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fanfic-scribbles · 5 years

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Lunch Buddy: Chapter Fifteen

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 15: Avoidance

Chapter Summary: The thing about avoiding your problems is that you always have to face them sooner than you think.

Chapter Word Count: 2611

A/N: Slight warnings for a little bit of angsting, and it’s a little light on Steve content (though he eventually appears from afar). Anywho. I wish I could say something cool like ‘enjoy the pining!’ but I have no idea how long I can actually keep them apart considering I have been mushing two dolls together in my head and going ‘now kiss!’ since I started posting. There will be a little pining though. Like, maybe a car air freshener, at least. Enjoy!

I avoided Steve for the rest of the long weekend. It was easier than it might have been had he not been called in for something. Though we still had texting, he was busy and I didn’t instigate. Even when we did communicate, my responses were short and didn’t leave much for follow up. He probably assumed I needed time to de-socialize, because that was the kind of guy he was, sweet and caring and all good things. Meanwhile, I knew exactly why I was trying not to talk to him, and it stressed me the hell out.

I didn’t want to think about any of it and found my perfect excuse on Monday morning, when a work project made me skip lunch and go into overtime. I immediately texted Steve telling him I’d be busy for a few days and threw myself into work. Unfortunately the project was too time-sensitive and it was done before I even clocked out Tuesday afternoon.

“Okay, this definitely isn’t about money anymore,” my boss said that evening, just when he was packing up. “Do you have a spouse you’re having a fight with?”

“I’m just…looking for stuff to do. To keep me busy.” I didn’t back down when he stared at me. “Just for this week?”

He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “Okay. Lunches and up to one hour after if you spend it working on organizing the junk drive. Make real progress on cleaning that out and I’ll approve the overtime.”

That was two hours of mindless-but-incredibly-draining work that would put me at a worse commute time and make me crawl into bed at the end of the day, and hopefully completely wipe me out on the weekend.

Perfect.

“Thank you!” I said and started to bound out to get started on the one job everybody in my department passed around like it was a beach ball on fire.

“Seriously,” he said and I stopped. He stood there with his bag over his shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”

I almost smiled, but remembered that would be out of character. “I’m fine,” I said and shrugged one shoulder. “Holidays, you know?”

It worked. For the most part. I at least had a plausible excuse to keep Steve off my back, and my boss didn’t press any further, and I made progress on the most mind-numbing task ever embarked upon by an actual human with an actual brain.

The only problem was that it wasn’t numbing enough. As much as I tried to avoid thinking about Steve at all, he was still in my phone, as was Sam, and even Clint and Natasha now too. Pepper wasn’t a very social texter, thankfully, but I kept getting pulled back to Steve in other ways. In the course of three days I: saw a tuft of blonde hair that made me do a double-take, heard his recorded laugh as I passed by someone who didn’t understand the concept of using headphones, and had to listen to a few older ladies gossip about ‘what a man’ he was in unfiltered detail. I even had a dream about some of the things they said because the universe hated me, apparently.

And then there was Steve himself, not texting that much, but always taking the time to send me a little photo every day that was obviously meant to make me laugh. He even sent me the ‘Hang in there’ kitten poster (which made me snort way too loudly in public) along with ‘I dare you to use this for your lockscreen for a month.’

I texted back, ‘What do I get for it?’ before I realized I was breaking my own goddamn rules and smashed my face into my desk.

Steve: Something good ;)

Oh god. Did he know what he was doing? If he did I wished he would have just put me out of my fucking misery already.

Steve: How’s work?

Fuck.

Me: Busy. Me: How’s work? Steve: Almost done Steve: I hope your job lets up this weekend Steve: Sam is coming back with me and we’re hoping you can come out with us

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Me: We’ll see

Work did let up. Unfortunately. I made good progress on organizing the long-forgotten junk drive and my boss repaid me and betrayed me in the same breath.

“I’ll approve the overtime,” he said. “But that’s it for now. You look exhausted and I need you to take the weekend to rest up, okay?”

It was the one and only time I had ever wished to have a bastard boss again. But I was tired, and I didn’t have any excuses. “Okay,” I said and left his office feeling miserable. I got home pretty quick for a Friday night, which just left me more time to think about things I really didn’t want to think about. And there was only one cure for that.

The club was busier than I was used to, busier than it had any right to be with the night just really beginning, but as soon as I got in I made a beeline for the bar and snaked in the first opening I could find. It was loud, and too crowded, and I really wasn’t up for this, but I didn’t know what else to do. So I started drinking.

That was a bad idea. Aside from the ‘using alcohol to try and drown your emotions’ being a baseline fucking awful idea, it also didn’t fucking work.

Couples. They were everywhere. Leaning next to each others’ ears, making out along the wall, dancing together like it was foreplay; they were so all over the place that even the fake ID crowd seemed less obnoxious by comparison.

Except for when a gaggle of party girls yelled right next to me for no real reason and reminded me they really weren't. The music thumped and I winced and turned away from watching the floor to sip my drink at the bar like the true lonely miser I was.

And wasn’t that just the thing.

Loneliness, as a thing in my life, had stopped bothering me after a while– or maybe I had just stopped noticing it– either way, it wasn’t generally a thing I dwelled on. I took for granted that I wasn’t the type anyone would settle in with; I was too…whatever. So for the longest time I had just assumed I’d be on my own and I was okay with it. I knew I could handle it, and figured I and everyone else was better off for it. People came and went, and no one ever stuck around before– not that I ever gave them a real reason to. And if I couldn’t make friendships work, I had no business getting into a relationship. It truly didn’t bother me. Most of the time.

So it figured I would fall for the first person I’d had qualify as ‘friend’ in a while. That thought was slightly concerning, but as long as I didn’t make these feelings Steve’s problem, I could sleep easy at night. For the most part. The question was how to deal with it. Did I continue as normal and bottle this up for the rest of time, hoping it would fade out? Did I continue as normal but let him know, and let him decide if he wanted to stick around?

Or did I just…let go. Did I stop putting in the time to keep this friendship going. Did I stop responding, start avoiding him, and just fade out of his life even easier than I had faded in. That seemed like a real option. I was so naturally good at it, had done it so much by accident, he wouldn’t even miss me. After a while I doubt he would remember I existed.

My mouth tasted sour and bitter and I tossed back my drink. It didn’t help.

An hour later I was home, sitting at my kitchen counter and hanging my face over a cup of tea that got colder by the minute. My head still pulsed in time with the beat that had driven me out of the club, but it had become less and less over time.

My phone buzzed. “Shh,” I said softly, but it ignored me and I looked over only to hurt my neck when I did a double-take. Steve had sent three texts. Shit. I sat up and opened my phone directly to my messages. If Steve had gotten injured again I was really going to hurt him.

Fortunately the first message was a simple ‘Hey’ sent soon after I had set out on my ill-advised adventure. The next was ‘Are you busy?’ and then simply my name.

I hesitated. I had the terrible thought that here was where I could start ghosting on out of his life. Fade away like the nonentity I was.

I swallowed and sent back, ‘Sry. Went out’

Steve: Oh Steve: Good :) Steve: How are you? Me: Okay Me: You? Steve: I’m okay

The conversation stalled and I realized why I had even considered ghosting– it was easy to not respond when you didn’t know what to say.

Me: Good Steve: Can I ask you Steve: Are you really okay?

His texts came too fast after mine to be responding to the silence. Fuck.

Me: Yes Me: Why?

I shouldn’t have asked, but I had a bad feeling about this. I tapped my fingers on the table while I waited for a response.

Steve: You haven’t been talking to me much lately Steve: I’m just Steve: worried Steve: Was it Thanksgiving? Steve: Was I inappropriate?

Shit, shit, shit. I hit my forehead on the table which, fucking ow, but I deserved it. I had never intended for him to feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault, nor was it ever supposed to be his problem. It wasn’t right for him to be upset because of my bullshit. So I decided to be honest.

Me: No Me: It’s not you Me: It’s very definitely me Me: I’m mis Me: miserable Me: And awful Steve: You’re not Me: Am too Me: It’s not you tho Me: I’m having a hard time Me: That’s all

Honest to a point, at least.

Steve: I’m sorry Steve: Can I help? Me: No Me: Gotta Me: Push through Steve: Okay Steve: I’m your friend though Steve: You can always come to me Steve: And hey Steve: Sam and I are going out tomorrow for dinner Steve: I’ll text you the details just in case you’re up to it Steve: But I won’t expect anything Steve: Is that okay?

Why did he have to be so fucking thoughtful all the time. Why did he have to be someone so out of my league in every single way.

Me: Fine Me: Can’t promise Steve: That’s okay <3

I was going to straight up murder whoever taught him fucking heart symbols. Preferably by taking their heart.

Steve: Have you eaten yet? Me: Don’t wanna Steve: How about dessert?

‘Only if you’re here to share it,’ I thought. The worst part was that it wasn’t even sexual– I just wanted him here. With me. All of the time. Okay, maybe not all of the time, but most of the time. And that was new. That was different. That scared the hell out of me.

Then there was a knock at my door and I froze up. Nobody had buzzed for me and while my building wasn’t exactly Fort Knox, I also didn’t expect company I didn’t explicitly invite over. I gave it a few seconds but kept my connection to Steve in hand (just in case) and went to the peephole.

Me: Someone knocked. If I don’t respond maybe send help Steve: It’s safe :)

I squinted at the message and then peered out again. I didn’t see him at all and it wasn’t like him to hide. I cautiously opened the door and looked around but there was no one– but there was something.

A bakery box sat in front of my door, with a note scrawled on receipt paper that had my name followed with very flowery bubble letters telling me to “Feel Better!” from a hand-scrawled smiling sunflower.

I stared at it, picked up the box, brought it in, set it on the counter, and stared at it some more.

Steve: Okay now you’ve put that thought into my head I’m a little worried Steve: Are you okay? Me: brb Me: crying into cake Steve: Don’t cry Steve: Or cry if you need to I guess Steve: But eat something too Steve: I’ll say good night here Steve: And text you again with dinner info Steve: Again, only if you want to. Sam and I will NOT be slighted Steve: I promise Me: Good night Steve Steve: Good night <3

“Just fucking end me,” I muttered and stared at the screen while I dug into the cake with a fork. (It was small; I felt no shame.) It was also so unbelievably good that I actually stopped and checked out the box.

Me: Wait, how did you get a cake this late??? Steve: Asking the real questions

I laughed. That surprised me, but I couldn’t help it.

Me: It’s really good Me: Thank you Steve: Anytime

I forced myself to think about this whole…situation…while I ate. Phasing out of his life was, apparently, not much of an option if he was just randomly thinking of me like this. And I knew now very firmly that even accidentally hurting him was not an option. Love was an easy word for complicated emotion, but it was the best way I knew how to classify how deeply I cared for him. And I cared, to the point where if anybody was going to get hurt, I’d rather it be me.

The more I thought about it though, the more I had real hope that maybe nobody would get hurt at all. Steve was a really good guy. So even if he accidentally found out (I knocked on wood at the thought) it wouldn’t be the end of everything. He wouldn’t let it be the end of everything; he would be flattered, reject me politely, and we could move on. I hoped.

And for once, the best-case scenario didn’t seem the least likely. I trusted Steve that much. That was something I didn’t want to look into too much, but to be fair, he also trusted…me. He would know I wasn’t infatuated with some aspect of him and we might even work past this together. If not, he would give me the chance to work past it on my own, and I wasn’t about to let him down.

The box topped off my trash so I pulled the bag together and got ready to make the trek to take it out. Coming out the door I almost ran right into my neighbor, Robert, who was apparently doing the same thing.

“Hey,” he said. I was polite like a real human being and asked after his wife and kids. We made some more small talk on the way, and he even waited to hold the chute open for me. When I lifted the bag, his eyes zeroed in on the box stuffed half in the top. “Oh, that place is nice. You celebrating something?”

“No,” I said and shoved it in. “I…wasn’t feeling so great. So a friend sent it to me.”

“That must be a pretty good friend,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, thinking about Steve and finally feeling hopeful. “A really good friend.”

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert #lunch buddy

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years

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Hi there, @callginalinetti! I’m your sub-in writer for the @b99fandomevents challenge 😃 👋🏼 You gave some very tempting prompts, but I went with the subway meet-cute ... hope you enjoy!

i'll put it all on the line

It was 10pm on a Tuesday, and Jake Peralta was officially experiencing the Longest Day in the History of Days.

He had been up since the early hours, chasing a lead on a case that had nearly driven himself and his partner Charles to the point of insanity. Their perp kept leaving obscure clues around the city, sending the two of them on a wild goose chase. They had travelled uptown, downtown, midtown, even underground before finally catching him in the act in a bodega three blocks from where it all began. The subsequent interrogation had been long but fruitful, and the sky had been just as dark when he finally left as it had been when he’d arrived this morning.

Waiting for the subway and choosing a quieter, less populated carriage, Jake drops into the first seat he saw, muscles beginning to throb as he finally gives in to the cries for rest they had been making all day. It was a twelve minute ride to his stop, but he has a feeling it was going to feel much longer.

Eager to switch his brain off for a moment, he pulls out his phone, opening up Kwazy Kupcakes and getting to work. He was one level from beating Gina, and he would be damned if he was going to let the opportunity to beat her slip.

His ride home can’t have been going for more than five minutes before it all appears to fall apart - train shaking as it struggles to push itself along the tracks before screeching out in protest and stopping suddenly. The inertia of it all pushes Jake’s body forward, gravity forcing him back against the plastic seats with a slap. He looks up from his phone, throwing his head back and groaning in frustration as the familiar half-lights of a broken subway flicker on. A garbled message that only native New Yorkers could possibly understand cuts through the carriage, confirming his worst fears. The train had broken down, and would be underway again ‘soon’ (which Jake already knew to mean an hour, minimum). It was official. He was going nowhere, fast.

“Looks like we’re stuck.” An unfamiliar voice breaks through his self-pity party and Jake drops his head, actually paying attention to his surroundings for the first time since entering the carriage.

And oh, how he wishes he’d looked up earlier.

Across from him, in a red dress, sat truly one of the most stunning women he had ever seen. Her hair was dark; her eyes sparkled, and in her lap she held a book - one finger tucked between the spine and the page she had obviously looked up from. She had a smile on her face that felt incredibly inviting, and when she raised her eyebrows slightly, he realised that he had been staring for probably a beat too long. Taking a nervous swallow, he nods.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

She looks around the carriage, glancing over at the teenager sitting at the other end of the carriage, staring blankly ahead with headphones covering their ears. Her eyes return back to him and shrugs. “At least they said it would be underway soon?”

Jake grimaces, leaning forward until his elbows are resting against his knees. “I’ve been stuck on these things more time than I care to count. I hate to tell you, but it’s going to be at least an hour.”

“ …. oh.”

Way to be a killjoy, Peralta. “Sorry. Hopefully I’m wrong.”

She shakes her head, soft curls shifting against her shoulders as she moves. “No, it’s okay. I was being foolishly optimistic, anyway.”

He blinks. “There’s nothing foolish about optimism.”

Watching him for a beat, a small smile crosses her face. “Maybe you’re right.”

Jake rubs one hand along the back of his neck as he feels his skin begin to flush. He really shouldn’t be feeling as skittish as he is right now, but ever since this woman had broken the silence, his heart rate has been on a steady increase. There was something about her that was incredibly intriguing, and it had made him completely tongue tied.

The lights dim further, and without a subway station outside the window to provide extra illumination, a chill begins to run through the carriage. He catches the other woman shiver slightly, pulling on the sleeves of the cardigan she was wearing until they cover her hands. Without hesitation he stands, shoes scuffing against the linoleum as he shrugs off his jacket, offering it to her with a smile.

Her dark hair swishes against the shoulder of her dress as she shakes her head politely. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly.”

He gestures at the hoodie he was still wearing and shrugs. “It’s fine, really.”

“Honestly, I’m not even that cold” she protests, right as a visible shiver runs across her skin. Her fingers tighten their grip on the cardigan, and she looks up at him with a rueful smile.

He extends his arm further, a silent encouragement to take his jacket. “Please, take it.”

She pauses for only a moment before nodding gratefully, wrapping the leather around her shoulders and letting out a quiet sigh of relief as the thicker material shields her from the cold.

Looking upwards and noticing that Jake is still standing, she gestures to the empty bench seat next to her, inviting him to sit. He hesitates for about 3.87 seconds before settling in, still leaving enough distance between them that he doesn’t automatically put himself in the category of Creepy Subway Guy. Pretending not to notice as she pulls a bookmark out from the back of her book before closing and setting it to the side, he drops his head back onto the window behind them and covers his eyes with one hand, letting out another heavy sigh.

She’s watching him when he opens his eyes again, and he sits a little straighter.

“Sorry. It’s … it’s been a long day.”

“I hear ya. I’ve just been through one of the worst dates I’ve had in a long time.”

His mouth twists. “I bet you I could beat your story.”

“Is there anything worse than being pushed into a date with your family dentist, who then speaks in great depth about your mother’s dental history for the majority of the evening - hello, denture talk - only to use the very utensils you were about to crack into your delicious creme brulée with to give you a dental exam, at the table, and then proceed to tell you that under no circumstances should you be having any dessert?”

“Okay, yeah. That is pretty bad.”

“Yep. So not only did I waste several hours of my life at a mediocre restaurant with a man I hope never to see again, I went without dessert. Which, to be honest, was the only thing I was looking forward to the entire time he was talking. Not a great sign for a date.”

Jake smiles, pointing to the jacket still wrapped around her shoulders. “I’ll let you in on a secret. If you look in the left inner pocket, you might find something that could help you.”

She cocks an eyebrow, eyeing him curiously before moving one hand in trepidation. Laughing, she pulls out a packet of sour straws, crying out incredulously - “Wait, do you always have sour straws in your pocket?”

“No, of course not, I was .. going to see a movie later.” Jake lies, face turning red because she had, in fact, hit the nail totally on the head. He was never far away from a packet of sour straws, or gummies, or candy of some sort. So he had a sweet tooth. What of it? It still made him an adult. A slightly less responsible one, but an adult all the same.

Her laugh grows quieter, lips turning into a soft smile as she takes in his reaction. “It’s no big deal, really. Kinda endearing, if you think about it.”

His blush takes on a new lease of life, and she rips open the package with her teeth, taking out a straw before offering him the packet. He takes one readily, eager for a distraction (and also, let’s face it - if he’s chewing on something, he’s less likely to embarrass himself).

“So, I’m curious.” She looks over at him, eyes narrowing slightly as her hair falls in front of them. “What was the ‘worst date’ story that you were going to bring to the table?”

Chewing on the candy as he thinks it over, Jake grabs for another from the packet he’d placed on the seat between them but doesn’t devour it straight away. “Well, it’d be like a fifty-way tie, I think. I could start with the girl who burst into tears when I told her my star sign.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Which is?”

“Uhh, Gemini?”

“Ah.” She nods quickly. “I get it. Okay, continue.”

He gives her a slightly affronted look before continuing. “Oh! I’ve got a good one. Last week. I went on a date with this girl I knew through mutual friends. We went to this great little restaurant, and things were going .. okay. But then about ten minutes in, she takes a phone call, which lasts about twenty minutes - during which she never leaves the table, mind you - and proceeds to tell her friend all about this guy she’d met two nights ago that she’d ‘totally banged’ and how she’s hoping they’ll meet up again”

“Not at all rude.” She answers with a roll of her eyes.

“Right? And then, to add insult to injury, starts to describe me to her friend over the phone. She wasn’t even subtle about it. Like, I know I have a big nose - I see it literally every day. I don’t need to hear somebody using it as my leading feature.”

Her eyes widen, mouth dropping open. “Oh my god. Please tell me you left after that.”

“Totally. I mean, sort of.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were insane.”

“I think by insane, you mean ‘gentleman’. New York is a nightmare. I wanted to make sure she at least got a cab home, so I escorted her to the door. And you’ll never guess who was waiting outside.”

“The guy from the phone call?”

“The guy from the phone call! Who, after having to sit through a one-sided conversation, I knew to be named Brett. And, not gonna lie, it kinda felt like I already knew him. In a biblical sense.”

Throwing her head back she laughs, the sound of her joy bouncing off the carriage walls and uplifting Jake’s mood considerably.

“This is playing out like some kind of bad soap opera.”

He laughs along with her, running one hand through his hair as he shakes his head at the memory. “So anyway, as you can imagine, the two of them took off and I took a cab home on my own. And that was the end of that.”

Her laughter has died down to a soft giggle by now, and as she catches her breath she reaches for another straw, studying it carefully as she wraps the candy around her finger. “I really hate to admit this, but I think maybe you win the ‘who had the worst date’ award.”

Jake looks up in surprise, hand frozen in shock halfway into its journey back towards the candy. “No way. I hate the dentist. The very fact that you went on a DATE with one instantly put it into the Worst Date Ever category, regardless of whatever happened next.”

She laughs again, this time softer as she watches him shove another straw into his mouth. “And there’s no correlation to your secret stash of candies, and your hatred of dentists?”

“Total coincidence.”

“Of course. My mistake.” She unwraps the sweet from her finger, keeping it in a curl and shoving it into her mouth, dusting off the excess sugar as she smiles over at Jake. And he doesn’t mean to stare, but he kind of can’t help how captivating he was finding everything about her.

Desperate to break the silence that had fallen over them, he clears his throat and points toward the book on her side. “So, ahh … is it good, so far?”

She blinks in confusion, twisting slightly as she looks down at the item next to her. “Oh! Yes, actually. I mean, it’s okay. I just needed a bit of a distraction, and its doing that well enough.”

“A distraction?”

Nodding, she takes another look around the carriage before turning back to him, chewing on the edge of her lip slightly before confessing. “Yeah, I get a little claustrophobic sometimes.”

Jake nods, keeping his expression carefully blank. His aunt Linda had a similar problem, and he knew that panic often fed off of other people’s reactions. “And .. how are you feeling right now?”

She looks at him for a moment, tucking her hair behind both of her ears. “I’m doing good.” Ducking her head down, she mumbles, “Really good, actually.”

Another nod, lips clamping down as the word noice bubbles up inside his chest. And he doesn’t know why, but before he knows it he’s just talking. About nothing and everything - from the result of last night’s Mets game (he was devastated, she indifferent) to the age-old debate over whether pineapple had any place being on pizza (him an emphatic no, she impartial to the occasional slice, but refusing to call it her favourite).

The conversation is easy with her, the gap between them lessening as topics bounced between them. She laughs as though it has been too long since she’s had the chance to do so, her smile drawing him closer every time - and his jacket looks so perfect on her shoulders that he’s almost certain he’s never going to be able to wear it again without thinking it’s actually hers.

Jake’s halfway through telling her a story about the time he skinned his knees in the seventh grade when the lights in the carriage switch back on, the surprisingly loud sound of the engine whirring to life giving them both pause as the familiar rocking sensation of a moving train commences. And then she asks a follow up question, and the story continues, until suddenly he can see his stop coming up.

He wants to stay forever on this carriage, talking to this beautiful woman he still doesn’t know the name of, but its also been an incredibly long day and another early morning wake-up is looming. Reluctantly he stands, mouth dropping in surprise - and, dare we say, a little joy - when she stands as well, and in unison they realise that they must share the same stop. His head drops to the side a little, and he wonders how many times he must have walked past her and never even realised it. (Perhaps his mother was right, every time she scolded him for not looking up from his phone. Maybe, this whole time he had been missing out on something amazing.)

They’re still talking, walking against the crowd pushing to board the Very Late train when her phone begins to ring. She looks at him apologetically, mouthing a quick sorry before picking up the call.

“Kylie, hey - can I call you ba-” her brow creases, and she stops in her tracks. Jake, by default, stops as well - ignoring the muttered expletive of a disgruntled local as they bump into his shoulder. Her eyes turn towards his, wide and alarmed as she listens to the person on the other end of the line.

“Wait, where are you right now?” She drops the phone to her chest briefly, taking a few steps away from Jake as she shakes her head. “I’ve gotta go - I’m so sorry! It was really nice to meet you, uh - ” the last few words are softer to his ears as she’s already turning, moving further away, phone glued to an ear as she pays more attention to her friend’s obvious disaster.

“Jake!” He calls out across the station, already knowing that she’s too far gone to hear him. “My name is Jake.”

* * *

An apparent solution arrives the following morning.

“I think it’s pretty obvious what we need to do here.”

Jake gestured around the crime scene they were currently standing in. “Test for prints and start interviewing witnesses?”

“No! We have to find her, Jake!”

He looks up from an evidence marker, furrowing his brow. “I’m sorry … her?”

“Your mystery woman! The beautiful woman you were stuck on the subway with. She’s obviously your soulmate.”

“Charles. You’re insane. There’s no way any of that is true.” Jake hoped he sounded convincing, because if he was being really honest with himself, he’d have to admit that a certain someone’s dark hair and incredible mind had yet to disappear from his thoughts, since finally getting home and collapsing into bed last night.

“Even if you can’t hear the wedding bells, I can. We cannot let her slip away.”

Jake sighs. There was a part of him that knew this morning, when he began to describe his encounter with the mysterious woman to Charles, that it was going to end in some hare-brained scheme. “And how do you suggest we do that?”

“I mean, we’ve got a very comprehensive database at our hands that could definitely narrow our search down.”

Jake takes a step closer to his friend, lowering his voice. “Good idea, except for the fact that it’s highly illegal and a complete invasion of her privacy.”

“Right, right, good point, right. We could get Terry to do up a facial composite?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Charles.”

His partner falls silent for a moment, before giving Jake that smug smile that is almost definitely going to lead to a debacle. “Leave it with me, Jakey. I’ve got a brilliant idea, that absolutely cannot go wrong.”

“I’m almost scared to ask what it is.”

“No no, it’s fine … totally fine. Say, why don’t you finish up interviewing these witnesses, and I’ll meet you back at the precinct? Some … thing has just come up, and I’m going to need to take care of it real quick.”

“Flawless alibi, Boyle.” Jake rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “But yes, I will meet you back at the precinct. Just … nothing crazy, okay?”

“Jake. I am the King of romance. Trust me on this.”

* * *

“Oh my god, Charles, what have you done?!”

“Well I mean, you kinda tied my hands a little when you told me that the database was off limits, Jake.”

Lifting up the phone still in his hand as he approaches Boyle’s desk, Jake shakes his head in frustration. “That’s not what I talking about. I’ve seen the Facebook post. You put hearts where my eyes were. You’ve literally given me heart eyes. I am officially an emoji.”

“An emoji who is looking for his dream girl!”

“Charles!”

From her desk in the corner, Gina calls out. “Hey Jake, why oh why are you trending on twitter? When did your handle become @waiting4u? And who on earth is Mystery Subway Girl?”

“Mystery Sub - Charles! Come on, man!”

His partner shrugs, not even bothering to look contrite. “You’ve got to put all of this stuff on the line if you really want to meet her, Jake. The universe has already given you the first shot. We cannot afford to lose the next chance.”

“For the billionth time, I did not ‘lose’ my first shot. Her phone rang, and her friend was having an emergency. She had to leave. What did you expect me to do, chase after her?”

Rosa diverts from her path to the break room, empty coffee mug still in her hand. “Hold up. You were talking to a woman last night, and her phone rang with a friend having an emergency on the other end, interrupting your conversation?"

Jake frowns, staring at her with a puzzled look. “Yeah. Why?”

She snorts. “Dude. That’s the oldest trick in the book. Classic diversion tactic. Hate to tell you this, but she was obviously trying to get away from you.”

He shakes his head at her obvious error. “No way, Rosa.” And then his mind begins to replay the events. “Wait. No. I mean …” his head drops. “Oh my god.”

“You’re totally right, boo!” Gina calls out from the corner, throwing Rosa a wink when she turns.

“I don’t understand,” Jake mumbles, head still shaking in distraction. “We were totally hitting it off. The whole time we were talking, neither of us used our phones once. It couldn’t have been a set up.”

“Girls plan, Jake. She would have set it up for her ‘friend’ to call with an ‘emergency’ at a certain time. Her picking up was a signal that she needed rescuing.” Rosa shrugs, moving to refill her coffee. “Don’t take it personal. It happens.”

“I got played.” He says dejectedly, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I totally got played. Oh no. Charles. You need to take this stuff down, right now.”

From his position at his desk, Boyle leans forward, shaking his head vehemently. “No way, Jake! This is all crazy talk. There’s no way that she was using some tactic to get away from you.”

“Charles, it’s embarrassingly obvious. Please take it all down, before more people see it.”

“Trust me Jake, there is no way that you could flash your baby browns at someone and not have them fall in love with you. You’re a total catch! Not to mention that she’s obviously your perfect match. Who wouldn’t want to fall in love with the handsome, funny cop you got stuck with on the subway?”

Jake shakes his head. “She doesn’t know I’m a cop. And she’s not my perfect match. She literally ran away from me. Take it down, Boyle.”

His partner gasps. “She doesn’t know your a cop? But Jake, that’s your signature move!”

He shrugs in response. “It just never came I up, I guess.” Lifting his phone, he checks the time and sighs. “Look, I’ve got a couple of witness interviews to get through. Will you just promise me that you’ll take all of this down, and give it up, Charles? Please?”

Charles fiddles with the mustard coloured tie that rested against his chest, looking over at his computer monitor before sighing. “Fine.” Satisfied, Jake walks quickly towards the interview rooms, already eager to keep his mind off the morning’s events.

* * *

It’s several hours later before Jake resurfaces from the room, rubbing his tired eyes as he makes his way back to his desk, almost running into Captain Holt on the way.

“Detective Peralta.”

“Sir?”

“While you have been conducting interviews, I have fielded phone calls from NINE different television broadcasting companies, all of whom are inexplicably eager to take time out of their days to drive out to the precinct and take video footage of you speaking to them. I am presently unaware of any high profile case that would warrant such a desire. Do you care to explain the situation to your superior officer?”

Instantly alert, Jake shakes his head in anger. “Charles was supposed to have taken care of this.”

Holt nods. “Ah. I had an instinct that Detective Boyle would have had some sort of role in this fiasco. As such, I have thwarted his last three attempts to leave the precinct before your interviews were over. He is presently in the bullpen. I suggest that you go speak to him, and sort this matter out before I receive yet another phone call.”

Jake’s already taken four steps in that direction before his captain can finish. “Already on it, sir.”

The other man at least has the decency to look remorseful as Jake storms up to his desk, momentarily lost for words as the anger supersedes him. “I know, I know. But I believe in love, Jake. And I really thought - ”

“Charles! Come on, man!”

His partner stands, raising his hands in surrender as he tries to calm Jake down. “If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. I’ll be man enough to admit it. But, I’m not wrong on this. We were just working too small at the beginning. I had to bring in the big guns to really get the message out. We’ll find her, Jakey. I just know we will.”

“P.S. Jakester, you’re now officially number two on the trending list on Twitter. You’ve made it.” Gina butts in, patting him on the shoulder as she moves towards the copy room.

“There was a man with a camera outside who stopped me when I went to get a hot dog!” Scully calls out, eyes wide with excitement. “He wanted to know my name and asked if I knew who you were. Don’t worry Jake, I totally told him how cool you are.”

“Our lovelorn detective!” Hitchcock cried out in agreement.

Jake throws his hands up in confusion. “I’m sorry, does nobody see how straight-up INSANE all of this is?”

From behind them a new voice interjects, clearing their throat softly before speaking. “Um, pardon me? I don’t mean to interrupt, but ..”

Jake pauses, tirade dying in his throat. He knows that voice.

His heart bouncing up and down like it’s found a jumping castle inside his abdomen, Jake holds his hand up to Charles in a silent warning. Slowly he turns, scarcely believing that perhaps one of his partners crazy ideas actually worked.

But it was true. As impossible as it may have seemed, one of Boyle’s plans had worked. And the beautiful woman from the night before, that his mind has refused to let go of once, is now standing in front of him.

She smiles, raising her hand in a tiny wave. “Hi.”

She’s here. From behind Jake, Charles clears his throat, and it’s enough to pull him from his stupor, smiling back at the woman so wide that his cheeks started to hurt. “Hi!”

Shoulders raising in a tiny shrug, she lifts up her left hand and for the first time Jake notices that she’s holding his jacket on her arm. “I’m sorry if I’m pulling you away from something important. I just wanted to return your jacket before the day turned cold again.”

She’s just a beautiful as he remembers - perhaps even more so, in a floral patterned blouse and perfectly fitting jeans. And then she gives him another smile, reaching out to hand him his jacket, and Jake knows he’s falling in deep.

“Thank you - you really didn’t have to go out of your way to bring this back to me. But … thank you.” He hears a tiny squeal escape Charles, and resists the urge to swing back around a clamp a hand around his mouth.

“Please. It was the least I could do.” Her voice is so soft, he could listen to it forever.

You can do this, Peralta. Just ask the beautiful girl out for coffee. “Hey listen … oh god, I just realised that I still don’t know your name.”

The beautiful woman smiles at him again, reaching out her right hand. “Amy. My name is Amy.”

Amy. “Well, it’s really nice to meet you, Amy. I’m Jake.”

His hand grips hers as they shake, and he has this overwhelming urge to never let go.

And then, there is Charles.

“So tell us, Amy - which one of my incredible plans drew you here? Was it my tweet? My post on Facebook? Or Instagram? The article I paid for in the evening edition? Or was it the billboard on -”

“Billboard? Charles, please tell me there isn’t a BILLBOARD out there with my face on it.”

“Uhhh … Maybe just avoid 83rd street for a little while?”

“Um, it was none of those things, actually.” Amy’s voice broke through the noise, saving Charles from what was about to be a Very Serious Discussion from Jake.

Charles blinks. “Wait … you didn’t see any of it?” She shakes her head. “So … how did you know to come here? Ohmygod you followed your heart! Jakey! I knew it! I knew you two were-”

“Hold it!” Jake raises his voice slightly, noticing the bewildered look that had taken over Amy’s feature, desperate to stop his best friend before he said anything too terrifying. “Charles, let her speak.”

Amy gives him a grateful smile, glancing over at his partner warily before speaking. “I’ve been at work, at Brooklyn Library, all day. Deep in the periodical section, which was in serious need of updating. So I haven’t really looked at any social media all day.” She shrugs. “It was kinda nice, actually.”

Jake nods, and she continues, gesturing to the jacket he still gripped in his left hand. “Your business card. It was in one of the pockets. Along with a receipt for five packets of sour gummies, might I add."

“Huh. I have no idea how that got in there.”

She shakes her head, eyes crinkling as she smiles at him, and Jake could swear he could almost hear the angels sing.

“Anyway. Last night when I got home and realised I was still wearing your jacket, I figured - worst case scenario, I’d just catch the subway again tonight and maybe run into you. Which, in hindsight, could have been a really long night. Safe to say I’m glad some part of me decided to go digging a little. Because there you were - Jake Peralta, Detective for the 99th Precinct.”

“AKA, the love of your life” Charles mutters behind Jake, thankfully low enough that nobody else hears him.

Okay. Time for a distraction. Grabbing a nearby pen and post-it from Charles’ desk, Jake quickly scribbles down a series of random numbers and letters before handing in quickly to his partner. “Charles, before I forget - could you please do me a favour and retrieve this file from the evidence locker? I really think it could help us with this case.”

The older man judges Jake with careful eyes, eventually nodding and pocketing the paper square. He turns to Amy, giving her an overly excited smile before spinning on his heel, taking his tan pants to a room far away from the bullpen, for the moment unaware that such a case file does not exist.

Jake turns back to Amy, catching her as she exhales a calming breath. “Sorry about that.” He begins, gesturing behind him. “It’s been an interesting day, to say the least.” She nods, and he can feel the cogs in his head begin to turn, trying to figure out the best way to ask this beautiful woman out before she walks out of his life forever. The stakes were sky high for many reasons, and he knew he couldn’t afford to mess it up.

Thankfully, she speaks before he can. “Hey … listen. I know that I said that I came by to drop your jacket off, but I have to confess something.”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’ve committed some obscure crime and you need my help to make it ‘go away’?” He asks, lifting his hands up to make quotation marks at the end of the sentence.

“What? No! I wanted to tell you - wait. Has that actually happened to you before?”

“I told you, I’ve had some truly terrible dates.”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise as she blinks. “Wow. Anyway, I kind of wanted to tell you that I had a really great time last night. Which is something I never thought I would say about a ride on broken down subway. But I really hadn’t been enjoying my night, and then you came along, and you completely distracted me from everything, and … well, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Thinking about you, actually.”

Jake smiles, trying not to be too obvious about the pounding rhythm his heart has since taken up. “I’ve been thinking about you, too. Although I feel as though I need to warn you about going on any sort of social media for the rest of the day. Charles kind of went a little overboard in his obsession to reunite us.”

“Oh, yes. I heard him, but honestly I was terrified to ask what he meant.”

“It’s probably going to look a little insane. But in all honesty, he has the purest of intentions. And he is, like, certain that we are meant to be together. And …” he pauses, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, “I don’t want to come across as a weirdo, but I’m beginning to think that maybe he’s onto something.”

Amy nods, teeth clamping down on her lower lip gently as her face turns a soft pink. Taking the chance while it’s in front of him, Jake takes a deep breath, summoning up all of his courage. “So, with that in mind … Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?”

Her smile is wide and bright, and with her enthusiastic nod Jake can feel his heart rate return back to its normal speed, relief coursing through his veins at the realisation that she wants to date me.

(It is also very possible that he just heard Charles squeal from the hallway.)

It only takes another evening before Jake takes Amy on what turns out to be a Very Good Date - perhaps even the greatest date ever. And when he kisses her goodnight at the front steps of her apartment, he knows that he’s not ever going to want to let her go.

Thankfully, she never asks him to.

#mine #b99fandomevents #b99fanfics #peraltiago fanfiction #b99fanfic #subwayau #hope you enjoy #jake x amy fic #myfic #callginalinetti #b99

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shireness-says · 6 years

Text

Playing the Part ch. 4: Stick to the Status Quo

Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

Title pulled from High School Musical, because my excellent beta @snidgetsafan (thanks as always!) suggested it and it was a little too perfect to pass up. It's performed by schools across the nation every year, so I say it still counts.

I haven't done so lately, so I think this is a good time to remind people that my theater experience is all on the community theater level, not the professional level. Things that happen in this chapter or in this fic may or may not be realistic, leaning towards the latter. I hope you enjoy it anyways as a lovingly crafted piece of fiction.

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happen.

Enjoy!

Tuesday starts alright (at least as much as Tuesday mornings ever do). As everyone involved in the production has fallen into a new routine at the theater, Emma’s stress level has dropped significantly. The creases are slowly being ironed out on the tech side, the cast is fully off-book, the choreography looks fantastic, and she had even managed to get home in time to hang out with Henry for a little bit before his bedtime. Not bad for a Monday - and hopefully a pattern that sets the tone of the rest of the week.

Henry does trip her up a little at breakfast. It’s early still, but Emma had wanted to make breakfast for once - sort of as a “thanks for being a great and patient kid” gesture, since she knows it’s been a hectic few weeks and not likely to get any better. Nothing special, but Henry really loves the pancakes from the box, and she cooks up a few slices of bacon to go with. Unsurprisingly for a boy his age, Henry falls upon the meal like he hasn’t eaten in a week. Emma’s not complaining; it means he’ll be sent off to school with a hearty breakfast instead of the usual Pop-Tarts or toaster waffles, and they’ve never been much for leftovers.

Breakfast conversation (or at least what passes for it with a halfway awake ten-year-old) is happy, if predictable - talk about upcoming tests and projects, how his friends are doing and the like - before Henry turns the conversation back around on her.

“So, is it going better?” he asks. The words are seemingly normal, even casual, but something is setting off Emma’s mom alarms all the same.

“Yeah, we’re all settling into a routine. Still on schedule,” she replies. “Any particular reason you’re asking?”

“No, no, just… making conversation,” Henry hurries to answer. After a pause to shovel more pancakes into his mouth, he continues his inquiries in a almost painfully casual tone of voice. “So… have you seen a lot of Killian lately?”

Emma casts her son a suspicious look, grabbing the plate of bacon before answering his question. “I see him every day at rehearsals, but not any more than the rest of the cast. Why, should I have?”

Ok, that last part isn’t strictly true. Killian has a way of showing up when she least expects him to, often to offer his assistance on things he doesn’t strictly need to concern himself with. But Henry doesn’t need to know that. Hell, Emma doesn’t know how she feels about that - no need to drag her kid into that.

“Oh, no, definitely not,” Henry hurries to add in a move directly stolen from Mary Margaret. “Just, you know, I had a great time hanging out with him the past couple of days. He’s a really nice guy.”

It’s the emphasis that really drives home Henry’s intentions, and Emma groans loudly when she realizes. “Aw, kid, not you too.”

“I’m just saying!” Henry protests, loudly and enthusiastically. “He’s super nice, and he totally has a thing for you.”

“How do you even know that?” Emma demands.

Henry just shrugs in return. “Robin says so.”

That elicits another groan from Emma. God, this is not the conversation she wanted to be having with her kid this morning. “When were you even hanging out with Robin? And don’t get me started about how you two are apparently gossiping like a pair of sorority girls.”

“We were not!” Henry tosses back, affronted at the mere suggestion. “And you were doing something else. Talking with Scarlet, maybe? I don’t know. Robin’s a cool guy, he’s teaching me about the light board. And he says Jones is totally smitten with you.”

“Well Robin needs to watch his fat mouth,” Emma grumbles petulantly.

“Would it be so bad?” Henry says, switching gears to that pouting routine Emma is usually weak for. “I’m a big kid now, you know, you don’t need to drop everything for me anymore.”

“I’ll always drop everything for you,” Emma promises solemnly, choosing to ignore Henry’s point.

In return, her son just rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I know. Super-Mom or whatever. I’m just saying… if you wanted to go out and have a life… I’d be fine with it.”

That’s her kid - trying to look out for his mom, even when she doesn’t ask for it. “I’ll keep that in mind, kid.”

Emma thinks the subject has been exhausted, but with a mischievous smirk, Henry lobs one more verbal missile. “And if you are going to get out there on the dating scene… I do really like Killian.”

Emma affectionately sticks her tongue out at her son in retaliation before shoving the bacon plate back under his nose. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Eat your breakfast.”

The thing is, early morning heart-to-hearts over pancakes have a way of lingering, and even if Emma had brushed off Henry’s prodding at the time, she finds herself still thinking about those words when she arrives at rehearsal. Her son is a great kid to be so concerned about her and her social life, but it’s not like she’s lonely or something. Honestly, she doesn’t have the time; she’s got great working relationships and a great kid and some pretty great friends (even if Mary Margaret is concerningly optimistic and Ruby can sometimes drive her nuts). Sure, she hasn’t really been in a relationship since Henry was born - a few flings on the weekends Henry was with Neal, a smattering of dates that never went further - but she’s not desperate for a man in her life. Emma’s got everything she needs, just the way things are now.

Of course, that doesn’t stop her from thinking dangerous and romantic things when Jones shows up with her daily hot chocolate and a smile. She may not need anyone, it’s true, but maybe Henry has a point. It could be nice, to actually be involved in an adult relationship. Killian really is a nice guy, handsome to boot, and, as pointed out by far too many people in her life, clearly besotted with Emma. When Killian grins at her as she takes that first marvelous sip from the cheap to-go cup, Emma finds herself thinking: would it really be that bad?

The answer, of course, is yes. The fact still remains that they work together. If Emma has one hard and fast rule for her non-existent love life, it’s not to mix business with pleasure - regardless of Jones’ feelings, regardless of Henry and Robin’s less-than-subtle hints (and God forbid Ruby or Mary Margaret catch wind of those conversations), and definitely regardless of any attraction Emma may or may not feel towards the man (because honestly, the more time she spends in his company, the more she’s moving away from no and towards yes, absolutely yes). So, despite everyone’s wishful thinking on that matter, the answer is still that it would be an awful idea.

(It won’t stop her from thinking about it, though.)

Thanks to that breakfast conversation with Henry, the morning isn’t going at all the way Emma had planned. But still, it’s got all the potential to be a good one all the same.

Of course, that all goes to shit by noon. Zelena has remained a problem, one Emma has known for a couple of weeks now that they’ll have to deal with, but Emma had been hoping she’d restrain herself to the status of a nuisance instead of actively working against the interests of the production. However, luck seems to have deserted them in that regard. Emma is consistently confused by the amount of criticism that Zelena is able to offer, considering the size of her part. Caroline Bingley is certainly an important role, but it’s not a sizable one - really only a few scenes and portions of two songs. And yet, the redhead has something negative to say about seemingly every moment of it. The best Emma can figure is that Zelena must have greatly inflated the role in her head, to the point that she’s decided that she knows best, and everyone else will think the same way.

“She’s a large character, darling,” Zelena is telling Merlin in that condescending voice she’s perfected. “I’m only doing what best suits the script.”

“Actually, I’ve got the same script as you do, and there’s hardly any direction for Caroline,” Merlin tells her yet again, a tired argument by this point. “Miss Bingley, while we all think her efforts and motives are a bit cartoonish, is all about the subtle dig, hiding her bite behind impeccable manners and passive aggression. Like I’ve told you before, I need you to tone all of your reactions down unless I specifically direct you otherwise. You’re wildly overacting.”

It’s only then that things become more heated, Zelena huffing dramatically as her voice reaches new piercing pitches. “Well any director worth his salt, one with a little more experience, would clearly understand my acting decisions, and see that they’re superior choices for the good of the production.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Merlin replies agreeably enough, apparently still trying not to engage beyond what is strictly necessary or stoop to her level of unprofessionalism. “However, as long as you’re part of this production, we’ll be doing things my way.”

The rest of the room is dead quiet as Zelena makes more and more of a scene. Most expressions vary from shocked to irritated to slightly scared on some of the younger cast members, though Emma spots an amused glint in Killian’s eye as their gazes meet. Honestly, he probably has the right idea; view this whole display as the ridiculous spectacle it is, instead of turning it into an even larger drama. Back at the proverbial center stage of the unfolding drama, Emma can see Zelena drawing herself up to a haughty stance, clearly preparing to deliver what she thinks will be a damning blow.

“Any other inexperienced director would appreciate my generous contributions. Frankly, your blatant disregard for my superior understanding of the character you hired me to inhabit makes me think you want this production to fail. Well, I won’t be around to see it.” Zelena dramatically flings her prop into the wings, a well-made ladies’ fan that Emma is concerned won’t stand up to being thrown. Hopefully Scarlet is around to catch it. “You can consider this my resignation! Rest assured, everyone will know about how poorly you’re directing this.” Zelena begins to stalk off the stage to her (now former) dressing room, before dramatically turning back to add a last word. “You’ll never find anyone to replace me with even a quarter of my raw talent!”

And in a final twirl of fabric, Zelena Mills exits their stage forever. Good fucking riddance.

Of course, that relief lasts for less than a minute before Emma remembers that holy shit, they’re weeks out from previews and one of their major cast members just quit.

Faintly through the blood rushing in her ears she can hear Merlin dismissing everyone for an early and extended lunch break, but Emma’s far too focused on the quickly intruding panic to process much else. As everyone else disperses, Emma all but collapses into one of the velvet-covered theatre seats. God, this could be the end of it all. Zelena is undeniably a pain in the ass, but she wasn’t underselling how difficult it would be to replace her on such short notice. Not to mention, the publicity… if Emma knows anything about Zelena, it’s that she won’t be making a quiet exit. No, Miss Mills’ style tends more towards the dramatic, towards making the biggest splash, and Emma won’t be at all surprised if she sees their production’s misfortune plastered across several websites and magazines by the end of the week. Not to mention how opening night creeps closer and closer, and their Thanksgiving Parade appearance before that… The more Emma thinks about any facet of this fiasco, the more she realizes that this is an absolute nightmare from every angle - in terms of time, publicity, practicality, and everything else.

Oh god, what are they going to do?

———

This morning’s rehearsal has certainly been… eventful, Killian reflects, watching Zelena make her dramatic exit. He can’t honestly say that he’s sorry to see the woman leave; in fact, he thinks it’s about time. Every day spent dealing with that woman was a Production in its own right, one that distracted from the hard work necessary to put together the real production they were all hired to create. Sure, Zelena’s departure might create some stress and possibly some delays in the short term, but Killian is confident that Merlin and Emma will lead them through it. Especially Emma.

The thing is, he’s not sure that Emma is quite as confident in that as he is. It takes a few minutes to find her after Zelena’s dramatic exit, distracted by the event and the ensuing rumble of brewing gossip, but when he does, Emma’s face is white as a sheet and she’s collapsed into a seat on a side aisle, panic written plainly across her face. At this point, crossing the room to join her is an irrepressible compulsion. Since admitting to himself his feelings for Emma, Killian hasn’t even tried to curb his impulse to assist her in any way she allows.

She clearly hasn’t noticed him, eyes glazed over with a million racing thoughts. She does, though, when Killian less-than-subtly throws himself into the neighboring chair, effectively shaking half the row and snapping Emma out of her reverie. He means to say something clever, something witty and funny, but seeing her still-anxious expression, Killian takes slight pity on her, offering a reassurance instead.

“It’s going to be alright, you know,” he tells her, injecting his voice with every ounce of confidence he feels.

Emma snaps her head around to meet his eyes, her incredulity apparent for all to see. “Is it? ‘Cus it sure doesn’t feel that way.”

“Of course,” he shrugs, calm as a quiet sea. “I’ve yet to see you fail.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, to give Swan her own boost of confidence, but instead it only seems to discourage her further. “Yeah, well, stick around,” she mutters gloomily.

“Oh come on Swan, we’ll manage. It’s not so bad.” That’s not strictly true, but Killian really doesn’t think this roadblock will be a death knell to the entire enterprise. At this point, he’s willing to say just about anything to pull Emma out of her bleak outlook on the whole affair.

Though he certainly achieves his goal of dispelling Emma’s blind panic, she instead whirls towards him in sudden anger over his latest words. “Yeah? Well, I’m stuck having to find a way to solve a major problem in a matter of days before it seriously sets us back, so I’m sorry if I don’t share your weird laissez-faire attitude about the whole thing. You might not be affected, but I sure as hell am, and I’m going to have to deal with the fallout!”

It’s quite the reaction - more of an explosion, really. Killian is just glad most people have already filed back to their dressing rooms or out to lunch, minimizing the witnesses to Emma’s outburst and the embarrassment she’ll likely feel later. He can’t resist raising a questioning eyebrow at her comments, however; Emma’s suggestion that Killian wouldn’t be affected by the sudden cast upheaval is especially ridiculous, considering his status as a major actor in the production.

Emma seems to process her words at the same time, letting forth a loud groan and dropping her head into her hands. “And now I’m an asshole too, on top of the stress.” Turning her head to look at him, she props her face on one hand, features squashed and distorted by the pressure of her palm. “Do you ever get so caught up in your own problems that you stop thinking about anyone else?”

Killian chuckles drily. “I think that’s just a human thing, love.” He probably shouldn’t have added the endearment, but Emma’s far too distracted by the present circumstances to notice or care.

“Yeah, probably. Still, sorry. I know you have to deal with this too.”

“It’s quite alright, Swan, you’re already forgiven. I understand, anyways - we’re all going to have to deal with this, but you’re the one that takes much of the logistical burden of replacing her.”

“God, don’t remind me,” she groans, face again hidden by her hands. “I just need two minutes to just… not think about this. Ok? Just… don’t remind me for two minutes, and then I will haul myself out of this deceptively uncomfortable chair and go talk to Merlin and attempt not to show the meltdown that’s happening inside. Or, at least, make it a very professional-looking external meltdown.”

Conversation dissolves into a long silence, but Killian can still hear Emma’s rapid breaths. Despite any claims she might make to the contrary, mere avoidance of the topic isn’t doing much to calm her down - just allowing her to retreat into her brain, where he’s sure a full replay of the incident is lurking with a million imagined potential outcomes. Quickly, he searches for something - anything - to distract her with, before settling on an unexpected sight happening just inside the wings, barely visible from their vantage point down in the audience.

“I think I’m hallucinating, Swan. I must be. The stress of it all has finally gotten to me and I’m having a mental breakdown,” he declares, trying to be as deadpan as possible in an attempt to make his blonde companion laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about, Jones?” Emma impatiently sighs. Oops. It seems his phrasing may have backfired a bit. Nothing to do but plow on, now.

“Tell me - is that, or is that not, Will Scarlet attempting to put the moves on poor Belle?”

That certainly catches Emma’s attention, her head snapping up and frantically searching her surroundings. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

“Unless I’m facing the previously discussed hallucination option, right over there. Center wing, stage left,” Killian replies, pointing. When you know where to look, it’s easy to see Scarlet’s cocky stance as he chats with Belle with a smile he must think is charming plastered on his face. The lady, interestingly, doesn’t seem opposed to his attentions; the look on her face is a little skeptical, if amused, but she’s made no move to send Scarlet on his way - a feat she’s more than capable of, regardless of her sweet demeanor.

“Well shit, you’re right,” mutters Emma as she witnesses the interaction. “Didn’t see that coming.”

“Well, we can’t be certain that anything will come out of this.” Killian had intended his words to be hedging, but they come out more snappish than he intended. Swan, of course, notices his tone, shooting him a concerned look.

“I’m not sure why you’re getting adversarial with me about this,” she remarks, causing a small flash of shame to shoot through Killian.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just… I worry about Belle, you know? We’ve gotten close these past weeks. I don’t want her to get hurt.” The word again remains unspoken, but hovers implied over the conversation all the same. They all know what poor Belle has already been through.

Emma smiles in a reassuring manner, absent-mindedly patting his knee in a comforting gesture that still manages to set his heart thumping wildly. Gods above, he’s got it bad for this woman. “If it makes you feel better, Scarlet’s a good guy. I know he’s a little goofy and mouthy, but he’s got a good heart under there.”

“That does help, actually, thank you Swan.”

They watch the possibly budding romance for a few moments longer before they spot Merlin heading over to their little corner, sporting his own worried look. Quickly, Emma recollects all her assorted paraphernalia, preparing for the inevitable meeting addressing how to proceed, but Killian is relieved to see that her face is slightly less panicked, the set of her shoulders marginally less stressed.

It feels even better when Emma turns back to Killian before she leaves, the most tentative of smiles on her face. “Hey, thanks for talking me down or whatever back there. It, uh…” she falters. “It means a lot that you have that confidence in me. Thanks.”

“Anytime, Swan,” he replies, smiling gently. “As I said, I’ve yet to see you fail.”

———

Regardless of Killian’s fantastic pep talk and his seemingly unending faith in her, it’s still a rough, stressful day, any hopes Emma might have for a nice, easy week absolutely shattered. Henry senses her rough day as soon as she gets home, having been directed back to the apartment instead of meeting at the theater after school, and drags her to Granny’s for dinner in a valiant attempt to cheer her up.

(Of course, having to pay for your own cheering-up dinner kind of defeats the purpose, but Henry’s a good kid to try. Not to mention, Granny gives them significant discounts anyways, to the point where Henry probably could have paid out of his allowance if Emma had let him.)

Thankfully, salvation arrives sooner than expected in a pencil skirt and fabulous high-heeled boots, asking in an authoritative voice to speak with Mr. LeMage, please.

As it turns out, salvation is named Regina Mills. Mills, as in the sister of the source of all their problems.

“I’m sure I don’t have to pretend about where I heard about this vacancy from,” Miss Mills the Younger explains. “For what it’s worth, you aren’t the first director she’s caused a fuss with, and you won’t be the last.”

It’s a hollow reassurance. Thankfully, Regina is already passing out resumes, offering them a proposal. “With your permission, I’d like to audition for the role she left. Frankly, I would have auditioned previously, and saved you all this mess, but I was committed to another show that was shuttered due to financial difficulties.”

Merlin raises his brows in surprise before replying. “That’s an awful lot of confidence. How do I know that that… shall we say, excess of confidence won’t result in the same problems that have led us to this conversation?”

Regina scoffs. She’s got presence and attitude, Emma will give her that. “Please. Unlike my sister, I’ve inherited a self-preservational gene that keeps me from actively sabotaging my employment. Not to mention an ounce of common sense.”

“And what are you getting out of this?” Emma thinks to ask. “Even you can’t deny this is unusual, one sister resigning and the other one showing up to make a run at the role.”

“Besides the steady job and a promising script?” Regina asks, her very eyebrows somehow regal as they lift into an elegant arch. “A healthy helping of sibling rivalry. Call me petty, but she’s been bragging about how the role was practically made for her for months. It’s been a bit hard to stomach. I like to think I could do just as good a job, if not better - though ultimately, that’s your decision,” she defers.

Emma hates to admit it, but she’s inclined to believe the regal brunette. She may have strutted in here, but she’s demonstrated an understanding that her sister is a nightmare and gone through the normal steps of seeking a role - providing a detailed resume of her past roles and asking to audition, instead of just assuming she’ll be given the part. Granted, she has effectively jumped the line by coming to see the director before the role was even advertised, but Emma’s willing to overlook that for the moment. They’re in a serious pickle at the moment, and Regina Mills offers a way out; Emma, for one, is willing to give her a chance to try.

Of course, watching Regina audition, she’s perfect - deliciously haughty in that same way her sister was, but with a hint of humanity underneath that makes Caroline Bingley into a real woman - albeit, a selfish one - instead of a cartoon villain.

Merlin’s still a little nervous, but Emma’s got a good feeling about Regina Mills. She’s got the job; now, time will only tell what she does with it.

———

The entire production breathes a sigh of relief with the arrival of their new Caroline - Emma particularly. Killian is himself intensely relieved, though that has less to do with the casting change and more to do with the fact that it removes a heavy weight from Emma’s shoulders.

He likes comforting her, likes being able to relieve her stress in any small way, Killian realizes after that fateful day Zelena stormed out and the even more ground shaking - at least emotionally - conversation that followed. If he’s honest, he wants to play that role on a more permanent basis. Of course, Emma Swan is a tough lass, a damsel who can resolve her own distress, but she shouldn’t have to shoulder that on her own. It’d be a lucky man who could be her emotional support, her shoulder to cry or scream on, and Killian not-so-secretly dreams of filling that role.

Killian wrestles with himself all week over the idea of asking Emma out on some kind of date, weighing Liam’s words of caution and his own common sense against the fanciful wish of his traitorous heart. He’ll admit that it’s likely still a terrible idea, but ultimately, the heart wants what the heart wants.

He’s not fully confident in his suit (though that’s likely more a matter of temperament on his part), but it seems like Emma isn’t necessarily opposed to his attentions. Sure, he probably hasn’t made his interest quite as blatantly obvious as he could have, erring more towards the side of light flirtation in a valiant attempt not to undercut in any way the respect she’s earned in her position, the authority it’s crucial for her to wield. Still, she always seems genuinely happy to see him, pleased by the hot chocolate he brings her whenever he has time, welcoming of his attempts at conversation and lighthearted teasing. Ultimately, that’s enough to encourage him to act, hesitance (and, if you ask Liam, common sense) be damned.

Still, it’s with no small amount of nerves that Killian resolves to ask Emma Friday afternoon after rehearsal wraps up. Things have gotten better as the week has gone on, Regina’s hiring and subsequent excellent work ethic doing much to ease Emma’s stress about the situation from Tuesday.

Gathering his courage, he approaches her as she’s loading up her supply box for the day. Emma seems happy to see him, though not surprised - a sign, perhaps, that his attentions have not gone unnoticed.

“What’s up, Jones?” she asks, curiously but not unkindly.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, scratching behind his ear - his own personal nervous tic. Does Emma know it’s a nervous tic? God, he hopes not, he’d love not to seem like a nervous wreck for this.

He doesn’t know if its his words or his tic that causes it, but her eyebrows are furrowed in a distinctly concerned way, Swan clearly thinking something is wrong. “Yeah, of course, what’s the matter?”

Quickly, Killian waves a hand as if to physically swat away her worry. “Oh, no, nothing’s the matter. At least I don’t think it is? Maybe you’ll think so, but I’m not intending it that way —”

“What is it, Killian?” Emma interrupts his rambling, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone.

Taking a deep breath, Killian takes a last moment to muster up his courage. “Well, I was wondering if you’d want to get dinner sometime. Or coffee. Or whatever would work for you, really, I know Henry takes up a lot of your free time, as he should —”

Killian quickly stops his rambling (again? Gods, this really is becoming a pattern, isn’t it) at the sight of Emma’s face. At best, it’s an uncomfortable expression, at worst an irritated one. Regardless, it makes Killian think that he perhaps misjudged his chances and how much Emma enjoyed their time together.

“That’s very… flattering, Killian,” Emma replies in a much nicer voice than he expected, “but I don’t date coworkers. Ever. It just doesn’t work. You’re a great guy, and I am flattered, but let’s just… keep things professional, ok?”

Red-faced, Killian nods, trying to retain what dignity he can. “Of course, Swan.”

“Great.” Emma gives a sharp nod as if to settle the subject before jerking a thumb towards the doors. “Then I’m just… gonna go. Have a nice weekend.”

“You as well,” he says softly as she retreats, impossibly lovely even in awkwardness.

Now it’s time for him to go and sink into the ground forever and definitely not tell Liam.

———

Emma is flattered; she really is. Under other circumstances, she might have even accepted. But honestly, what the hell was he thinking? Honestly, this week has gone from bad to worse, with barely any bright spots.

Partially, she blames herself; she should never have been so permissive of his attentions. But she had enjoyed being treated like an adult for once, like the attractive woman she still believes herself to be underneath all the stress and overworking and being 24/7 Supermom. He hadn’t been trying to distract her from her job, either, or compromise her authority - just helping in little ways, not to mention providing that welcome distraction the other morning during the Zelena debacle.

Still, she can’t. She’s a professional, one with a quasi-authority over Jones; she can’t risk undermining her career in what would appear to be a blatant show of favoritism.

Emma hates to do it, but she thinks it’s necessary to abruptly sever all but the most professional of connections to Jones; she can’t afford to do otherwise.

She only hopes it will prove to be a clean break.

#my writing #Playing the Part #Stick to the Status Quo #cs ff #modern AU #Broadway AU #stage manager!Emma #actor!Killian

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lattetudes · 7 years

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hey!!! i was wondering, how come you study in france? i'm fairly new to your blog and i love your posts, i would like to hear more about your experience regarding studying in france in your situation!! and if you have any anecdotes about that that you would like to share!!

hi! firstly, thank you so much! it really means a lot to me. (seriously, i have the biggest smile on my face). i’m so sorry for the late response, i was moving (:

send me another ask if you’d like to know more! this is a little long -

the how

french has been in my life for a long time. i think i was first enrolled in an international program (where they taught it) when i was twelve - not even a couple months later, i left to visit france for the first time to visit my mom.

she went to france (in 2011) to get her master’s degree in linguistics.

my brother (2013) and sister (2011) went with her. (i, however, didn’t join her until the the summer before what would have been my freshman year. was that something i regret? yes.)

so for three years, i visited them (and when i wasn’t, i lived alone with my dad, who worked a lot to support an apartment in france and in the united states).

when i fourteen, i visited paris for two weeks with my class as part of an exchange program.

it was chic, it was this entirely new universe i’d never seen before. i’d never felt more different, and i think that was a good thing. the cafés, the music, the pathways where hemingway walked - it’s this sort of unconquerable way of living that makes up Paris’s charm – something that cannot be calculated into a ranking.

it’s truly beautiful. and when i was asked if i wanted to go to poitiers, three hours away from paris (my last chance) for freshman year, i took it. i made the mistake of staying for friends - i couldn’t go through life wondering what if. i didn’t want to regret anything, you know? i knew i wasn’t going to be at the top of the class, not at first.

only, it didn’t end up being one year. i would end up staying there for my entire career as a lycéenne.

the apartments the apartments my family stays in are very small, with exception to our last one

our first one was the size of a shoebox. i’m not kidding when the kitchen and the bedroom were in the same space. (the bed was a fold out couch).

i don’t remember our second apartment very well. i think it was next to an indian restaurant - it did have two bedrooms, making it easier to stay in when i visited my family.

the third was located in a small complex with a small parking space.

the fourth, i don’t remember at all (:

the fifth apartment is located above a sephora, about two minutes from the central square. we spent about three-four years here (renting), and it even had a loft space on the third floor. an artist, an attorney, and many other people with different stories lived there with us. i remember when the police showed up, twice. another story for another time (: i’ve got so many memories here, which makes it even harder to leave. it means a lot to me. i love it here: it’s empty now, save for a computer (the one i’m writing on right now), a desk, wifi, and a printer. our lease is up by the end of the month (:

the sixth, next to a park and a café, where the neighbors play their music just a little too loud (: it’s different for sure. we just moved here, the rooms are fill with boxes and nothing is unpacked yet - hopefully, it will feel like home soon.

i spend christmas and the summers in the united states, in the house where i grew up until i was fourteen.

since i live in a small city, i walk by almost all the apartments i’ve visited / lived in everyday. it’s surreal for sure - i get to see where i’ve started and where i’m going to be.

france!

i live in a city where you know everyone, and everyone knows you.

there’s music almost always playing in the street.

some people will judge you because of your nationality: it’s okay and you learn to deal with it.

a lot of people like to do manifestations (they like to protest) here.

shops are everywhere - all of them are small town french stores and they’re super chic and very inexpensive.

the cafés are great, very lovely and the food is above average

breakfast isn’t a big deal. croissants, orange juice, little bread and cheese, coffee..

i don’t like croissants (: or i didn’t, i’ve started to like them after four years.

bacon isn’t bacon.

in central square, they’ll have parties / an event in correspondance with the season

at christmas, central square is transformed into santa’s village: skating, hot cocoa, waffles, churros, cute scarves and hats, hazelnut coffee, that type of thing (:

most restaurants close at 2pm and re-open around seven.

the bagel shop knows me and my order because i go there everyday.

the quiches are amazing, if you like quiches.

cobblestone streets.

sundays are quiet, almost everything is closed.

where i live, it’s true: the french dress to impress.

smoking is a thing - it’s not unusual, and everyone does it (not me), teachers included.

i once saw one of the social economics teachers smoking with his students and taking instagram photos.

he was one of the newer professors. he left to get some life experience

the language: studying in french

freshman year, it was hard. i didn’t have many friends, i was just learning the language, and most of all: i was lonely.

everyone spoke so fast. i was completely out of my depth. to make matters more difficult, i suffer from social anxiety: which made talking a struggle i have to live with.

by the end of my first year, my comprehension of french was excellent.

when studying in another language, it may get a little bit overwhelming, but you have to really acknowledge what you don’t understand: is it the concept, the idea, or vocabulary?

there is a trick to learning languages that can shorten the journey to fluency from decades to mere months. there’s also something most teachers won’t even tell students for fear they would never start, but in fact, is vital that you know. hint: complete linguistic immersion is everything (:

4% of students embarking on language courses in schools achieve a basic level of fluency after three years. this is what happened to me, and i realized this as soon as i got here: basic was a generous way of describing my level back then.

one of the biggest reasons cited for abandoning is that students don’t feel any sense of progression. a student with an A* will visit france and find they can’t even have a basic conversation. (me, my first year)

i felt like giving up becuase i had the wrong expectations set.

it takes 600+ hours of study & practice to reach fluency in french

from february (which is way too late to start studying for the bac), i studied for a minimum of three - four hours every single day.

be realistic about what you can achieve so you won’t get demotivated.

immersing yourself as deeply as possible in the subject allows you to rack up the hours as quickly as possible.

memory fades unless it’s the language is used.

low-intensity studies (high school french) are ineffective because their intensity is so low that you end up forgetting a large percentage of what you learn.

it’s not until B1/B2 that the light comes out and it starts to feel really good speaking French.

i took the B1 in tenth grade, my second year. i passed with like an 85 percent. it does get better.

It’s really worth while registering to take DELF exams - tests that mesure your linguistic ‘level’.

i hadn’t heard of the DELF until i got to lycée. don’t be me!

i felt lost for the better part of a year.

repetition is vital to learning.

sleep is vital to memory. i still have problems with this, given the fact it still takes me a while to complete all my work.

my lycée, or high school

is amazing. it’s made out of glass, shaped like a pyramid, and is relatively new compared to most of my city.

we have french, spanish, russian, and chinese students (i’m the only american) who study here!

it’s right next to this mall, auchan, where everyone goes when they don’t have class.

a mini-café is managed by the MDL (student council) on the first floor.

you can get coffee, tea, cookies, chocolate, or crèpes there (on some days). it seriously helps with the long hours in the library

we have soundproof music rooms: pianos, music, drums..

on sunny days, groups of us will sit outside on the grass and just talk. we form circles and listen to people play music and sing.

a lot of people smoke / hang out near the observatory (which is shaped like a flower). hasn’t been used in years.

for the most part, the teachers are very good.

for our last history class, we cried because the professor was leaving.

he baked us brownies and brought some drinks and it was one of the saddest moments of première (eleventh grade).

last year, we visited paris for two days. one night, the whole class united in a hotel room - we told ghost stories until 2am.

in spring, we host a festival: dancing, handball, singing contests, etc.

one day, my class dressed up as the x - men.

french literature class is one of the hardest classes i’ve ever had to take.

international week (where every student comes from around the globe to visit): i went to a party with some romanian students and drank beer for the very first time.

i can drink legally, now that i’m eighteen.

drinking isn’t a big deal here, not where i live.

on tuesdays and wednesdays, my classes end at 12pm.

three days out of a school week, i go to school at nine thirty in the morning.

mondays and fridays, i end at five thirty.

i have to take the bus for forty five minutes everyday.

ACFs on thursdays: classes created by students which are validated by a jury at the end of the year. i did fashion couture class this year and dance class last year.

if you guys have any more asks about my lycée, i’d love to answer them!

#answered

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justanothergrl · 6 years

Text

mission: recovery; part 1

I feel like I always have a lot to say, but this topic I believe is about to be extra long, so thanks for continuing to read haha.

Before I begin, there are two things that I want to stress on. No system is perfect but maybe raising awareness can bring about changes. One can only hope.

#1: I told you guys this already - it was impossible for me to get into a rehab or a detox facility. They say all over the news about how it’s an epidemic, yet resources are scarce. That whole situation was ridiculous and I’d like to put this into perspective for you- IF I had still been in my hometown in MI, things could’ve very easily gone a different route. After being turned away I could’ve very easily said “screw it” and went back to using. So you see how that’s an issue right? Someone trying to get help and being turned away? After all I’ve told you so far, I shouldn’t have to explain any further. I told you all it takes is one time. One time and I could’ve overdosed. One time and I might not of been here writing this to you. I told you I’m not sugarcoating. I’m grateful to be here, but we all know not everyone’s that lucky.

#2: What do you do after you detox? There’s no manual for this. If you’re able to get into a rehab, well they do meetings and stuff, or so I’m told. There are a lot of resources to help people, it’s just not common knowledge. I told you I didn’t associate with others while using, so it’s not like I could turn to them with my questions. There’s got to be a way to fix that, so that others can know what options they have available. And more importantly, that they’re not alone.

So let’s, again, rewind to right after I finished detoxing in December. I agreed with my Dad that I would find an outpatient program- something I could hopefully afford. Fortunately I was able to find a place about 20 minutes from us that worked with you if you didn’t have insurance. Making that phone call still wasn’t easy. I had to force out every word. I’ve only been clean for a couple of weeks. I need help. Each word took effort as if I was learning to say it for the first time. My shame was still there. I felt as if I was the lowest person on earth. The woman on the other end of the phone was sweet. Do I deserve to be treated so nice? She told me I would need to come in for an assessment and we’d go from there. Easy enough?

The morning of my appointment it snowed. I was anxious. The entire ride there I gave myself a pep talk. You can do this Sara. You need to do this. Things can only get better from here. I parked the car and stared at the clock. I was almost 40 mins early. Maybe they’ll see me sooner? I forced myself to open the car door. Before I knew it, I was making my way through the parking lot. I wanted to turn around, start the car, and drive home, yet my body wasn’t listening. I entered through the automatic sliding doors and was blasted with heat from a fan above. I stood in the doorway, wobbly, and made eye contact with an older woman behind the desk. She smiled up at me and then looked down. I stood there awkwardly brushing my hair out of my eyes. There was a glass wall surrounding the desk. I took a step forward and we made eye contact once again. I swallowed the lump in my throat and was able to squeak out: “Um, where’s addiction services?”

“Up the elevator, left, and left again- you’ll see the signs. Sorry dear, I thought you worked here!”

I looked around. No one else. Good. I walked over to the open doors, stepped into the empty elevator, and pushed button 3. I watched the doors close as I stepped back against the wall. I hate elevators. Please, please, please don’t let me get stuck in here all by myself. 1... 2... 3. Thankfully the doors opened almost as fast as they had closed and I rushed out into the hallway, almost knocking over an older gentleman with a cane. Oops. “I’m so sorry!” I could feel my face turn red. He just smiled and continued into the elevator. Relax, Sara.

I was in that waiting room for what seemed like forever. I signed my name on the clipboard and chose a seat close to the counter. I looked around. The room was empty. Finally, I was called over and given a stack of paperwork to fill out. This time I chose a different seat, closer to the door. Included on the clipboard was a test, you know the ones that give you statements and you circle which fits you- the “I often feel this way” vs “I never feel this way” and all of the options in between. What’s the point in this? I told them I have an addiction, what’s that have to do with how I feel? I filled everything out and handed it to the lady behind the counter. Then I sat some more. A guy around my age entered, signed in at the desk, and sat down in a chair across the room. We make eye contact and he smiles. I stare down at my boots. Did I really expect to not see another living soul here? I’ll probably never see him again. Why am I embarrassed? I looked over at the door. There’s still time to run, Sara. Then, as if somehow they could hear my thoughts, I hear “I’ll do her assessment” and the door opens. An older gentleman (maybe mid 60’s) steps out and smiles in my direction “follow me.” We sit down in his office as he explains to me that he’s the person in charge here. As he rattles on all I can focus on is the annoying jazz music blasting from the boom box thats sitting on top of the filing cabinet across from me. Is he going to turn that down? The door is cracked open & I watch a woman walk by. Okay maybe the music is so people can’t hear what we’re saying? I relax back in the chair. This shouldn’t be too bad. “Tell me how you got here.” I notice his right arm is in a sling. “Does addiction run in your family?” Typing with one hand has to take forever to get anything done. “Have you ever been raped or abused?” I shuffle in my seat, what does that have to do with anything? I answer each question, avoiding eye contact, even though the words were spilling out of my mouth like I was talking with an old friend. In a sense it felt freeing, to say everything out loud. As I talked, he typed. “Have you ever thought about suicide?” “No.” I yank down on the sleeve of my coat and look at the floor. Hmm, nice briefcase. “Good.” He then begins saying out loud what he’s typing as if we’re in the doctors office “patient seems to have good hygiene” tap, tap, tap. He looks over at me. “She is casually dressed” tap, tap, tap. I looked down, I was wearing jeans and a hoodie. Should I of dressed up for this? I must of had a look of confusion on my face because he immediately reassured me it’s all part of the process and not to worry. Okay. At the end of what seemed like an eternity of questions, he lifted some papers off of his desk and turned in his chair to face me “So looking over your results on the test we had you take, your results are literally off the paper.” That’s good right? He held the papers up for me to see, and I looked at the chart in the middle of the page. “You are very depressed. Are you aware of this?” I shook my head no. Guess that wasn’t good. We make eye contact. “Well, maybe a little.” No more lies, Sara. I stared down at my boots. He went on to tell me that he had high hopes for me. He told me he was going to put me in IOP- intensive outpatient program. It was going to be Monday, Tuesday’s, & Thursday’s 9-12 for 12 weeks straight, starting after New Years...

And so it began... the beginning of my recovery. I want you to live through this with me, so hopefully my writing doesn’t fail me now. Ready?

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