#earlier she gestured at a big pile of boxes she’d left on the floor and was like ‘i’d love if you could take out the recycling this week :)’

[mildmayfoxe]

i never posted about my follow up re: my boss hole-punching all my journal papers but: it went bad. lol. i brought it up & she immediately started deflecting & acting attacked, telling me she hurt herself punching the holes in the paper & that she didn’t have time to cut me more paper (i never asked for this. for the record. i was ready to laugh it off & let it go & come to a mutual agreement about where my paper should go in the future. like a reasonable adult). and then she canceled the wholesale order for the journals i was supposed to make & SULKED for the rest of the day. and THEN she removed the journals from the wholesale shop entirely. because of my audacity to be like “haha hey i think you punched all my paper by accident :)”

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (25) Running

And Marinette had thought Highschool had been hard. Right now, in this moment, she'd give anything to go back to those petty arguments and gossip fueled drama. But she couldn't. Instead, she and Adrien were trapped here, being punished, humiliated, tortured, for being heroes, all broadcasted for the world to see. At least she and her kitty were in this together. For now. Whump!Fic

Ao3 | FF.net

A common trend in the comment section last chapter was: “I don’t care about Lila! Save my babies!”

It made me smile.

Um…I cried writing this chapter…so really sorry in advance.

Trigger warning for…claustrophobia? Darkness? Oh, and blood. And bones. Just all over nasty stuff. I’ll make sure to let you guys know when we’re in the clear.  

—

Unchained. Free from their cages. It was almost too much. They hadn’t even gotten out yet and Adrien was already overwhelmed. He expressed this with a small whine in the back of his throat.

Marinette took Adrien’s hand, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. She wanted to tell him so many things. How much she loved him, how no matter what happened, they could handle it.

You and me against the world, right?

Adrien squeezed her hand back, seemingly understanding what she was trying to say.

They quietly made their way into the hall. It was long, and lit every ten feet with a little light by the floor, like a movie theatre. It was lined with several doors, all with vault locks on them. All but the room they had been in. She hoped they were just lucky in that respect, and that it wasn’t some sort of trick.

So far, everything was quiet, as no one had noticed their escape. But they were both incredibly weak, and so they went slow.

The path to the torture chamber was well worn by now. Despite the halls being unmarked and dark, they still found their way there. The only problem was finding their way out.

They came to the door to the room, it only was open a crack.

It was time for phase two: retrieve the Miraculous.

Marinette peered inside. On the table on the far side of the room was the safe with the Miraculous. At least, she hoped they were still in there.

She nudged the door a little more, trying to see in the rest of the room. She could see the table with the computer, and the man named Harken sitting behind it. He had his arms crossed while he lulled his head in sleep.

The rest of the room looked empty.

Marinette turned to Adrien, making a ‘V’ shape over her eyes and gestured down the hall.

He nodded curtly, keeping watch.

Slowly, and ever so carefully, Marinette pushed the door open a fraction more, and slid inside.

There were a few cameras pointing around the room, and she made sure to stay out of their sight...though that meant coming closer to Harken.

The man wasn’t snoring, and he had big reflective glasses on like Salo, so it was hard to tell if he was sleeping or not.

But he didn’t move, so she made an assumption, and kept going.

Finally she reached the table, grabbing the safe and testing the lock.

It was locked alright, and Marinette had no guess for the combination.

Still, she scooped it up, and went back the way she came. Thankfully, the lockbox was like a briefcase and had a handle on it.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears, a silent clock in her mind, saying that all could go up in smoke at any second.

But so far so good.

Adrien was a step behind her, and he was slowly falling farther and farther behind.

She looked at him in question.

He was breathing harshly, but shook his head, gesturing her onward.

She only squeezed his hand tighter, and pulled him along.

Then they came to a fork, and Marinette hesitated. The lights on the floor stopped here, and there was no way to guess which way to go.

So she picked the right.

And ended up face to face with Pasolini.

“Hey!” He shouted, his voice much too loud in the infinite hallway.

After years of fighting, some things were still instinctual. With all the strength left in her trembling arms, she wound up, and careened the lock box into Pasolini’s face, knocking him on his ass.

Then she turned face and tried to run down the other hall.

But Pasolini, disorientated as he was, still had half a mind to reach out, and grab whatever was nearest to him. Which happened to be Adrien’s leg. His hand wrapped all the way around Adrien’s ankle, with no hope of kicking it off.

Marinette pulled on him, trying to tug him with her, grunting. All the while, lights were coming down the hall from behind Pasolini, and she could hear Salo’s voice.

“You have to let me go, My Lady.” He croaked.

Her eyes widened, and she moaned in protest.

“You have the Miraculous! Go! Run!”

I will never leave you. She had promised him that only a few hours ago.

But he was right.

As his fingers slipped from hers, a tear fell from her eyes. She backed away, unable to tear her eyes from him, until the shadows swallowed her.

Then she was alone. And the weight of her actions fell solidly on her gut.

She would never see Adrien again.

She stumbled, wandering blind. Guilt crashing into her with each step. Maybe if she went back, maybe if she offered the Miraculous back, they’d spare him.

But he’d never forgive her for giving up her chance at freedom.

She glanced back, the flashlights from her tormentors were just dots in the distance.

The hall was long, old, and covered with sharp rocks. Each step was painful, physically and emotionally. Eventually, she came to an intersection, and she took a turn without thinking, then another, then another, just trying to put distance between herself and her tormentors.

She hugged the lockbox to her chest. I wish Tikki and Plagg were here.

Well, they kind of were. She just couldn’t get to them. So she took a second to kneel and hold the box out. It was pitch black, but she felt along the box to find the opening. Then she felt along the floor for a sharp edge to hit it against.

She reeled up, and slammed the box down, hearing the Miraculous dingle from inside the box. But there was no give, so she slammed it again. And again. And again.

Her arms were so sore, and she knew she wasn’t making any progress, but she was desperate to open it.

There were footsteps. Someone had heard her and they were coming this way!

She wobbled to her feet, took up the safe again, and ran.

Left, right, right, left. She just continued to duck and weave to throw off her pursuer.

Then her legs gave out.

Exhausted, scared, and guilt ridden, Marinette sat on the cold dusty floor, and tried to catch her breath. She didn’t feel like she was making any progress. Where even was she? This building just kept going on and on like a Labyrinth. It was cold, and wet, and so so quiet, just like a grave.

Marinette took a sharp inhale. She…she couldn’t be…

Once she caught her breath, she pushed back up on her feet and began her trek again. She had to find some kind of hint to where she was.

Since she was so weak, she had to use the wall for support, feeling the cold limestone on her palms. And then for a moment, it was smooth and flat, with little grooves carved into it.

Are these words? She wondered. She felt all along the flat square and tried to make out the letters.

Sous les murs de la pépinière

Under the walls of the nursery. What nursery?

But that was French! She had seen German earlier, so why now French? Except, this was carved in the wall, while the German had been painted. Could this be older?

So there was a chance they were still in France. Where though, she had only a hunch. And she hoped she was wrong.

Marinette could hear the echo of voices, disorientated as they bounced around the cavern. But she’d rather move than stand still.

This was the stuff of nightmares. Being trapped in the dark, with no idea where you are, or who or what was with you. Every step was unknown, unsure. The only sounds were her rapid breath, her heart pounding in her ears, or rocks skittering around the ground.

And then, the inevitable threat of her captors, or something even more sinister, held in the dark. Even the path was a mystery. Would the ground give out beneath her? Would she run into something, like a wall, or something sharp?

She took a turn too quickly and stepped on something round. She rolled forward and landed in a pile of sticks. She groaned in the pain from the fall, her knee and arm taking the brunt of it.

As she went to stand, Marinette realized she had flung the lockbox forward in her trip, and she began to feel around for it.

A lot of smooth sticks is what she found, all clattering around with each movement.

Then her hand rested on a stone.  The perfect tool to help her get into the box!

But as she lifted it, she found it much lighter than a rock. It was smooth, and had little grooves on the top, but as she felt down, she felt a hole, two holes, a sort of heart shaped hole, and then some jagged pieces towards the bottom—

Marinette threw it away from her, realization dawning on her in horror.

That was a skull. And these weren’t sticks, they were bones. An entire pile of bones.

It wasn’t just a hunch anymore. She was in the catacombs! A maze of death, that went on for miles and miles under Paris!

She scrambled to her feet, and quickly found the lockbox among the bones. Then she backtracked away, going the opposite direction from them.  

Being a native Parisian, she had heard the stories. People obsessed with the catacombs, venturing down through forbidden entrances, only to get lost and never heard from again.

It was a horror story that every child knew. Don’t wander where you’re not supposed to, or you’ll join the 8 million remains under the city.

And right now, she very well could. She was so hungry, so tired, in so much pain…

She was lost. Utterly and completely lost. No light to see, no mouth to cry for help, barely any legs to stand on…

And no partner with her.

She just started crying. Like a toddler lost in the mall, helpless to figure out any solution, she just crouched and cried.

She had been staggering around for hours now, and all there was was darkness. Surely Adrien had met his demise by now. Even if she went back, there would be no saving him.

Not that she could find her way back anyway. She was lost in the depths of hell.

Part of her wondered why she was even bothering with escaping now. What was left? A lifetime of suffering from trauma and loneliness.

She had lost Adrien and Chat Noir. The two people who continued to stand by her side through everything. Her partner, her best friend, the love of her life.

Resigned, her head lulled back and hit the wall behind her.

God, if you’re there, please…please help me. I don’t want it to end like this.

She opened her eyes, and in the infinite blackness that surrounded her, there was a dot of light.

Daylight.

The first glimpse of it she had seen in what seemed like forever.

A hole in the surface, with fifty feet of concrete between them, with no way to get to it.

But it was a glimmer of hope in utter desolation.

It filled her with just enough hope for her to stand again, and start wandering.

She tried to push out all of the hopelessness in her brain that kept telling her to lay down and die. Yes, she had lost it all. Yes, she was alone…but once she got out, she was putting on both Miraculous. Then Salo would pay.

Wait, couldn’t the Miraculous give her a wish? She could have Adrien back!

She hurried her steps.

Within an hour or so, she reached an end. A wall with a series of bars on it.

A ladder!

She slid the handle of the lockbox over her wrist, and then slowly began to climb.

She climbed and she climbed. The ladder just kept going, up and up. It was exhausting, but once she reached the top, she’d be free!

The ladder came to an end on a platform. In front of her, she could see a line of light on the floor, the underside of a door!

Right there! Right in front of her!

She ran to it, her palms resting on the cold metal. A door! Here! And daylight beyond it!

Tears overflowed as she was overwhelmed with joy in the first time in days.

What was she waiting for!?

She felt along the edges of the door, finding an old rusty knob. She turned it, only to have it jam.

Locked.

Of course.

But she was so damn close!

Marinette made a fist and pounded at the surface, her knocks loud and echoing throughout the cavern. Someone would hear her! Surely someone would!

—

On the outside, a two teenage boys, brothers, were walking home from school. The path led through Montparnasse, a path they had known all their lives.

And yet, they had never paid too much attention to the utility door between two old buildings.

Until today, when frantic pounding came from it.

“Did you hear that?” Asked the older boy.

“What?”

“It sounds like someone’s knocking.”

BANG BANG BANG

“Yeah…yeah, I hear it too. It’s coming from over here.” The younger boy wandered over to the side street. “Hello? Is someone there?”

The banging got louder, like two fists rapidly drumming on the surface.

“It’s coming from this door.” Said the older boy. “Are you in there?!” He called.

There was a muffled scream in response.

“Are you in trouble?!”

Along with the screaming came a much louder bang, like a rock or something hit the door.

“Alright, don’t panic! We’ll get you out!”

As Marinette had found, the knob was locked. “It’s locked, we’ll have to get something to break the knob off.”

“Oh my god,” said the younger boy. “Charlie, I just had a thought.”

“What?”

“What if that’s Ladybug?”

The older boy gave him a doubtful look. “I thought they said it’s likely that they’re in Germany. I bet this is just some utility worker that lost his keys.”

The younger brother ignored him and asked. “Are you Ladybug or Chat Noir?”

The answer was an unintelligible squeal.

“One knock for yes, two for no!”

They waited.

BANG

“Oh my god…”

“We have to go to the police!” Said the younger brother.

“No, we need to…look, there’s some real shit going down with this stuff. We need to go to Gabriel Agreste himself.”

“Why?”

“Because the cops aren’t doing anything, and I bet you fifty bucks a man like that has some PIs at work. Or something, I don’t know!”

“You’re right!”

From the other side came frantic screaming, and the pounding got louder and faster.

And then it stopped.

“Ladybug?! Hey, are you still there?!”

No answer.

“We’re going to get help! We’ll let you out! Just hang on!”

—

It was one of the unknown men that found her.

Salo hadn’t introduced any of her lackeys at any point, but Marinette was well acquainted with them by now. This was a bald guy who usually operated a camera.

“She told us to check all the entrances. Said if you weren’t at one, you’d probably be dead. And what do you know, this was the last one to check.”

Marinette didn’t even fight as he scooped her up. The boys weren’t able to open the door, and she wouldn’t be able to fend this man off long enough for them to find something to use.

“Now come along, Miss Bug. The Mistress has some words for you.” He lifted her and flopped her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Then he descended the ladder.

As the man carried her back to the torture chamber, Marinette was saddened to find that she hadn’t gotten very far. In all her twists and turns, she had doubled back on herself, and made little progress.

Still, it took about an hour to walk all the way back. But the man was walking at a steady clip, in comparison to her uneasy staggering.

And he had a headlamp so he could see where he was going.

“You know,” he said, his tone a lot more gentle. “If I’m being honest, I was really hoping you’d gotten out. I’d like to let you go...but Salo always knows when you lie. And you never lie to them, you know? Or else you end up down here.”

Marinette hummed with curiosity, latching onto that statement.

He seemingly understood and continued. “The place you’ve been, it’s an old World War II Nazi bunker. Salo and Savauge have been using it for years as a...final punishment for people that betray them. Videos are recorded of their demise, and are mailed back to their families.” He sighed. “You don’t quit a job like this. You get to retire, when your debt is paid and they’re confident you’ll keep your mouth shut.” He jostled her, trying to make her more comfortable as she laid in his arms. It didn’t seem to take any effort to hold her. “I’m riskin’ a lot telling you all this. If Salo finds out, I’m next in line after you. But I have to confess to someone. The guilt is eating me alive.”

Marinette just listened as he spoke, holding onto every word.

“You know, it’s amazing how willing people become when they have a family member on the line. My kid sister, just graduated from college, is my bartering chip. I love her to death, but she hasn’t spoken to me since I went to prison three years ago. I can’t blame her though. She was always a good kid. You’d like her, Ladybug.”

It was a long walk, and Marinette found herself dozing slightly as the man spoke.

“You know, when Elise, that’s my sister, when Elise was a kid, she watched The Little Mermaid all the time. At least ten times a day. I’d watch it with her, too. That sea witch, Ursula? She made me so angry, because she’d make these deals with people that sounded really easy, but then it would be too hard to come through on the payment. “Get a kiss from your true love in three days, and you can keep your legs permanently. Work for me for one year, and I’ll have your record expunged, and then your sister will speak to you again.”

He sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to face Elise after this. I’m taking Ladybug, hero of Paris, to her death...”

He stopped walking, gave her a little squeeze of a hug and continued on. “Salo knows we’re she lives, where my mom and my dad live...I can’t. I can’t help you, Bug. I’m sorry.”

Fear was a terrible state to live in.

Then the halls changed from limestone to cement, faintly illuminated by floor lamps, and Marinette knew she was back.

Her gut twisted as dread grabbed hold with its icy grip.

“Well well well...” Salo’s putrid voice cut through her despair. “Looks who’s back. Ten hours is quite the long time to run. And a very long time to leave your kitten alone.”

The man, who had wisely not given his name, set her on her feet.

“You’ve done well, I’ll be deducting this from your balance.”

“Thank you ma’am.” He nodded.

“Now darling,” Salo continued. “I must admit, I’m very impressed. I said I wanted to see you try to take your jewels back, and you did. You really did!”

The man handed back the lock box, as she inspected the outside. “Couldn’t get inside though. That’s a shame. Oh well, that’s why I sprung for the industrial case!”

Was Salo just patronizing her now?

“I should have known eventually you were going to bend that ductwork to get out. I just assumed you weren’t going to wait over a month to do so. But I guess that’s what I get for assuming.” She shrugged. “Anyway, there was a major flaw in your escape plan. You left the dead weight behind, knowing that you’d probably have to come back for him, or else the population would look at you like the monster you are.” Salo led her over to the familiar room, where nightmares became reality, and Marinette was frozen at the sight she beheld.

There was blood everywhere. Splattered on the walls and even the ceiling. It pooled on the floor under a body sitting it a chair. Or the frame of a chair, at least. It had no back, and no bottom, but just enough edge to balance on it. He was bound by his arms and legs.

From the base of neck, to the back of his calves, his skin was torn to shreds.

A cat-o-nine tails laid on the floor nearby.

Marinette rushed to him, kneeling on the ground in front of him, and reached up to touch his face.

His eyes were open, dull, looking right through her like she wasn’t even there. His mouth was open, the most painful sounding breaths leaving his lungs. He drooled.

“That would be one lash a minute, over the ten hours you were gone...so, 600? Does that sound right?”

“Technically 487, madam,” Said one of the men in the room. He was shirtless, sweating, and spattered with blood. “We broke for lunch.”

“Oh yes, I’m glad someone was taking count. You know, the science of lashings is very interesting. The more time you give the body between strikes, the more time it has to clot blood, and deal with pain. And if you spread out the lashes over more parts of the body, the less likely a person is to suffer nerve damage or organ failure. We did make sure to spritz him down with rubbing alcohol, so he shouldn’t get infected.”

Marinette was barely listening to Salo, as she just held Adrien’s face, begging him to look at her.

Her time was cut short however, as Pasolini took hold of her arm and started to drag her backwards.

There was another chair waiting.

Her heart pounded as the ties on her gown were undone, and she was forced into her seat. She never looked away from Adrien as the ropes coiled around her upper arms and knees. She balanced on the edge of the frame, and made her hands into fists, waiting for the blows.

“We’ve wasted enough time on these two today. Let’s get this over with.”

Marinette’s lashes were much faster. One about every fifteen seconds. They started at her back, making her groan out in pain. Each stroke went lower, the ones on her buttocks hurt the least, since she still had padding there.

But the first lash to the back of her thighs made her cry out, tearing at her stitching. It was a sensation she had never felt before, and wished never to feel again.

After about twenty, the pain started to increase, if that was even possible, and slowly, her body started to feel like it was on fire.

Her stitches were loose, letting her cry out freely and loudly. After a while, she couldn’t even tell where the blows were landing, just that everything burned and she wanted to die.

Then it was over. Her whole body shaking, covered in sweat, and in absolute anguish. She unfurled her fingers from her fists, but even that took great effort.

“How many was that?” Asked Salo.

“150, on the nose.”

“How do you feel, Little Piggy?” Asked Salo, rubbing her head.

Marinette knew the first thing she wanted to say once she was able to. A clue, if anyone was watching anymore. “…I have…a bone to pick…with you…” She managed between trembling breaths.

Salo smiled. “Oh honey…you’re not doing anything to me. Even if I just stood here, unarmed, undefended…you wouldn’t be able to hurt me. You’re too weak.” She snapped her fingers.

The ropes holding Marinette to the chair fell, and she almost sunk through the hole in the middle, if Pasolini hadn’t grabbed her first.

“On your feet. Both of you.”

Standing brought new pain to her whole body, as her skin stretched.

Adrien had yet to move.

“I said stand, damnit!” Salo shouted in his face.

His leg twitched, as he tried to find his footing. His working arm pushed against the chair, trying to force himself to stand.

Salo, becoming impatient, grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet.

He staggered, barely catching himself.

“March!”

Marinette walked slowly, keeping her eyes on Adrien as they moved into the hall.

He was not doing good. His breathing sounded like an out of tune cello. His steps came slower and slower…

Until he collapsed completely.

“Ma’am, he’s not going to make it.” One of the men stated. “He’ll probably pass tonight.”

“No!!” Marinette cried out for him.

“Ah…well, that’s how it goes then.” Salo unholstered her gun. “Might as well put the wrenched thing out of his misery, huh?”

Marinette grabbed Salo by the coat, and shook. “Don’t! Please don’t!”

“Bug, come on…you love him don’t you? You’re really going to let him suffer like this?”

Marinette knelt, grief and guilt swirling in her veins. “Here kitty kitty,” she begged. “Please…”

Adrien heard her, as he pushed up on his arm. It wasn’t much, but he sort of army crawled over to her, smearing blood as he slid.

Salo sighed and put the gun away. “Fine, you want to watch him die a slow and painful death? Be my guest.”

She at least had enough humanity to have someone pick Adrien off the ground and drag both of them to their new cell. The very same closet they had spend their ‘honeymoon’ in. This time, Marinette sat down first, and Adrien was placed in her lap.

The door slammed and locked.

The longest night of her life began.

Adrien laid his head on her chest, as she snuggled him closer. Blood was oozing all over her, soaking her arms and gown.

“Oh Adrien…” She breathed. “I’m so sorry…I got so close. I was at a door…I heard some boys…” She wiped her tears off of his cheek. “But the door was locked. That’s just my luck, huh?”

She pressed a kiss to his head, as he continued his slow breaths. She didn’t expect him to respond.

“A boat on the water. Do you remember? That’s what you told me. We’d…we’d go sailing. A silhouette on a mirror, with thousands of stars surrounding us.” She shuttered with a sob. “But I think…I think you might have to go without me. I’ll join you when I can.”

In…

Out…

“You…you always take the hits for me, don’t you? Well…I’m really sick and tired of watching you die.”

In…

Out…

Marinette hugged him fiercely, desperate not to loose him. “You’re my best friend…the best partner I ever could have asked for. I love you so much.” She sobbed, clutching his head to her chest. “It’s been an honor.”

“Ladybug…Chat Noir…”

Marinette sat up straight at the foreign voice. The closet was cast into a soothing purple light.

“It’s been a long time. We’ve all missed you. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. It wasn’t as easy as I had hoped. You’ve taken care of Paris for so long. Now let me take care of you. In exchange, I ask that you go home and get healed. No Miraculous required. What do you say?”

It was a voice she thought she’d never be happy to hear. She didn’t even think, just responded:

“Yes, Hawkmoth.”

[beckzorz]

PREMONITIONS 2 (6/8)

or, Adventures in Pursuit of a Seven-Year-Old Seer

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 1639 Summary: It’s been over a year since you met Bucky, and you couldn’t be happier. If only you could figure out why your precognitive niece is burying you in abstract crayon art… Warnings for part 6: Mild violence

Light bleeds into your vision. Your limbs are numb with cold. There’s a pain in your neck, and you try to turn your head. Your chin is against your chest. You’re… in a chair?

You’re not in bed. So why are you waking up?

You open your eyes just a crack and hiss. The light is dim, but it’s enough to set your head pounding. Or maybe your head was pounding anyway.

“Finally awake, eh?”

Your eyes pop all the way open. You lurch in your seat, but your arms and legs are secured tight. Pain slices through you with every breath.

The man kneeling in front of you is covered head to toe. Dark clothes, a scarf over his face, tinted goggles. Your memory jogs—the hotel! You struggle against your restraints, eyes wide. The man just sits on his heels and watches until you give up, gasping.

Other than his unremarkable accent, he has no identifiable features. You can’t even tell his race.

Enough of him. Where are you? You cast your eyes around the small room you’re in. The walls are cracked concrete. The only light is a flickering overhead fluorescent fixture, two of its three tubes dark. You and the man are alone in the room. There’s no windows, no boxes, nothing. Just the two of you.

You look back at the man and set your jaw.

“Where I am?” you demand.

He stands up. He’s tall—not as tall as Bucky, though—and looks fit. He circles behind you and tilts your chair back. His fingers dig against your shoulder blades.

“Hey!” you yelp, wriggling like mad. “Put me down! Don’t touch me”

The man ignores you. He wheels you backwards out of the room through a door you couldn’t see before. Your continued yells echo, and you quiet at once, swiveling your head around to stare.

You were right—the lair is a warehouse. There are boxes piled high in the dim, cavernous room, boxes full of god-knows-what. Hopefully not bodies. But there’s no stench of decay, no suspicious blood stains. For all that this place seems empty, it’s oddly clean.

The man wheels your chair around, and you straighten your neck as you keep staring ahead. There are two other chairs at the other end of the warehouse. And there are two people tied down.

Matt? Sarah?

A choked cry escapes you. As you’re wheeled close enough to see, your heart drops. Both of them have been gagged, but you can hear them trying to call to you. Their muffled shouts slice through you like knives. And—oh god, Matt’s eye is swollen shut, and there’s a raw scrape across Sarah’s face, as though she’d been dragged. Both of them look horrified.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to collect yourself. God, you were so close, and now all you can say for yourself is that you haven’t been gagged. But you can’t think of a thing to say. Except sorry.

“A nice family reunion,” the man behind you says lightly. He wheels you around until you’re next to Matt, then steps back to look you both over. “You two even look alike.”

You bite your lip hard to keep from swearing at him. Back talk won’t do any of you any good. This isn’t a nice family reunion, not by a long shit. Your brother and his wife have been hurt, you’ve been hurt…

And where the hell is Gemma?

The man beckons with his hand to your left. You turn to look and—

“Gemma!” you cry.

A woman, her identity as well-concealed as the man’s, is dragging Gemma by her thin wrist towards you. All Gemma has on is a nightgown and socks. Tears and snot are running down her face, and you can see a hand-shaped bruise on her other arm. Rage turns your vision red, and you rock wildly in your chair until the man in front of you reaches out and steadies your chair.

“Careful there,” he says. “You might hurt yourself.”

“Get your hands off of her!” you snarl. You snap your teeth at the man by you, and he casually backhands you across your face. The ringing in your ears multiplies tenfold as your head snaps to the side with a gasp. Matt’s sob cuts through you like a knife.

Oh my poor brother…

“Now Gemma,” the man says, his voice still disturbingly light, “you see we’ve got your whole family now. You can’t have any objections about helping us now that we’ve brought your nice aunt here too, just like you asked.”

What?

Your head lolls forward enough for you to clap eyes on Gemma again. She’s staring at you, her heartbreak clear. No. No way. Whatever the man says, you know Gemma didn’t put you willingly in harm’s way.

“I love you,” you mouth, but the woman notices.

She hisses and claps a hand over Gemma’s mouth. “What did you say?” she demands.

“I—nothing!” You lean back as the woman pulls out a gun. “Just that I love her!” you cry.

“Well,” the man says, “how sweet.” He nudges his partner back. “Gemma, isn’t it nice to know your auntie loves you?” When Gemma doesn’t answer, the woman twists her arm until Gemma cries out. “You know I don’t like to ask twice, Gemma,” the man warns.

“It’s nice!” Gemma bawls.

If you could, you’d look away. You’d do anything to erase the terror and distress from her face, or the sight of it from your mind. But that’s your niece, dammit, that’s your Gemma, and you will not let her see you look away.

God, what have they done to her that you can’t see?

“That’s better,” the man says. He pats Gemma’s head. “Well, knowing you have your family here supporting you must be a big relief. All those nerves that made you so distracted earlier must have dissipated.” His voice turns suddenly hard. “And now you’ll deliver, or you’ll see what we do to people who disappoint us.”

Gemma’s shaking like a leaf. Tears are streaming down your face. You can’t imagine what Matt and Sarah are going through—this is their daughter, their only child…

“I—” Her voice breaks, but you can see her set her jaw. There’s a defiant sparkle in her eye, a stubborn tilt to her jaw. You know that look. Yet still she says, “I will.”

Both the man and woman relax visibly at that. The woman even holsters her gun. You blink away your tears, lips parted. You’ve seen Gemma like this before. This is exactly how she looks when she’s following her gut.

This is exactly how she looks when she’s having a premonition.

“We’re thrilled, Gemma,” the man says. He gestures to his partner, who loosens her grip on Gemma’s wrist. Gemma pulls free and rubs her arms. She must be freezing, you realize, but she’s not shivering anymore. “So what can you tell us?”

The woman snaps her head to stare at him. “You wanna do this here?”

“We didn’t bring these fine folks here to waste away,” he retorts. “Right now we can all see what’s at stake. Right, Gem?”

Hearing that nickname come out of his mouth turns your stomach. You swallow back bile as Gemma nods.

“I know what comes next,” she says slowly. She looks away from you and up into the man’s masked face.

“Do tell,” he says.

You have no idea what he looks like, but you can almost feel him salivating with anticipation.

Gemma swallows. Her eyes dart back to you, to her parents. You glance over at them as well—both of them have their hands clenched into fists; their eyes are wide with terror. If they were free to speak, you know they’d tell Gemma to tell the kidnappers whatever they wanted to know. But Gemma’s growing smirk is more wily than that.

Is she… playing them?

The pregnant pause speaks volumes. Finally, Gemma speaks.

“A bang bang.”

Your mouth drops open.

“What?” the woman asks, incredulous. “What the hell does that mean?”

Gemma sits down on the floor and crosses her arms. “A bang bang,” she repeats, louder. She scoots a little ways sideways and presses her lips together. “You should duck.”

The kidnappers glance at each other. You huddle down as far as possible in your chair. Beside you, Matt and Sarah do the same.

Then the wall blows in.

Dust and debris fly through the warehouse; sirens pierce the air. A piece of drywall strikes the man on the face, and he stumbles. The woman drops to a crouch and starts to run, but a gunshot rings out and she screams, falling to the ground with a hand on her leg. The man recovers and reaches for Gemma, but she’s already crawled under Matt’s chair. The man gives up on Gemma and whips out a gun from his belt, but by then Captain America’s shield is flying through the air.

The man goes down without another sound.

The woman snarls. You look back at her, eyes stinging from the dust—she’s got a gun aimed right at you. You gasp, heart in your throat, but the second she pulls the trigger, a dark blur moves between you, and the bullet pings as it’s deflected against metal.

A squad of policemen rush in, walkie-talkies blasting loudly. You can barely focus.

The dark blur slowly solidifies in your vision.

“Bucky?” you croak.

Bucky kneels at your feet and cuts your legs free. The police are already swarming Matt and Sarah, but you can’t tear your eyes from the man in front of you as he slices away the last of the duct tape over your—fortunately covered—arms. Only then does he look up at you, taking your stinging hands in his.

“Hey darlin’,” Bucky says softly. “Sorry I’m late.”

[woo-san-shine]

Our Way

ateez college au

Premise: You and your best friend from high school move away to a university 3 hours away from your small hometown. You find yourself meeting a strange cast of characters along the way that will help you find your way throughout your freshman year.    

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: A work in progress!!! Mostly just for fun

prev // next 

Chapter 2

Jongho and I begin to make our way towards the entrance of the residence hall.

"I don't think I caught your name," he says to me leaning past one of the boxes he was carrying to look at me.  "Jae, was it?"

"Kim Jaemin, but everyone usually calls me Jae," I reply.  He didn't even look like he was struggling with those boxes at all.

"Nice to meet you, Jae," he smiles back at me.  He adjusts his grip and starts to read the labels I had carefully written on each of my boxes.  Being almost overly organized is one of my many talents. "Kitchen Supplies, Shoes, Art Supplies?  Are you an artist?" he asks.

"Uh yeah, kind of," I answer a little sheepishly.  "I'm studying Graphic Design," I say.  Art was something I never really shared with anyone, except Sooyoung, so people were pretty surprised when I decided to major in something other than music when I went off to college.

"Oh wow, no way!  One of my friends is studying the same thing!" Jongho says excitedly.  "Maybe you'll be in the same class."  He flashes me another smile.

It takes me a second to answer.  His big brown eyes are so earnest. "Oh, yeah maybe.  That would be nice," I reply hurriedly in order to not let him catch me staring at his eyes again.  

We enter the dorm building on the first floor, which has a front desk area, a mailroom, and a common area full of couches, tables and chairs, and a few TVs.  

"Oh good, there's a place for you to get your mail," I hear my mom say from behind me.  "I've already been planning on what I'm going to put in your first few care packages."

I hear a slight chuckle come from Jungho and I shoot him an exasperated look, which makes him laugh even more.

"Elevator this way!" Dad shouts, pointing toward a row of elevators next to the mailroom.  

We pile in with all of my things, Jongho and I pressed towards the back.  "So uh, what are you studying?" I ask trying to fill the silence that had followed us into the elevator.  

"Exercise Science," Jongho proudly states, slightly puffing out his chest.  

"Oh, I can see that," I say without thinking.

"Why is that?" He asks, looking down at me with a raised eyebrow.

Why do I always have to dig myself in a hole?  I quickly think of a response. "Oh, uh, you just look like someone who knows a lot about fitness.  I mean, clearly you take good care of yourself," I say, nodding towards the three heavy boxes in his hands.  My eyes trail his built frame again.    

"Oh, well yeah you're pretty much right," he says with a slight smirk.  "I want to maybe be a personal trainer one day."

To my relief, the elevator door opens on the 7th floor and the four of us start the long trek down what seemed like a neverending hallway of dorm rooms.  

"Room 71024!" I yell towards my Dad who was leading the way with the cart.  

"That's my room," Jungho nods towards a door on the right.  There is a whiteboard hanging from the door with the names 'Choi Jungho' and 'Song Mingi' written in big bold letters.  Mingi must be his roommate.

"Oh, so the male and female rooms aren't separate?" I can hear Dad ask sternly, turning his head back towards Jungho and I.  

"Boys are on the right side and girls are on the left," I reply.  "They told us that when we were here for orientation, Dad"  

He lets out a loud huff and continues to push the cart forward.

"Oh, don't be like that, dear," Mom says, giving my Dad the side-eye.  "But look, here we are!"  She points to one of the last doors on the left side of the hallway.  '71024' is labeled across the top of the door, and another whiteboard hangs from the center with the names 'Kim Jaemin' and 'Choi Sooyoung' written in the same bold lettering.  

I eagerly step forward, key in hand.  "Well, here it goes!" I announce to my excitedly awaiting parents and a smiling Jongho.  I place the key in the lock, turn it once, and slowly open the door.  

The overhead lights are already on as I walk into the room.  The room itself is shaped in pretty much a perfect square, with the left and the right sides practically mirroring each other.  On either side, there are high lofted beds with a desk underneath.  On the far wall, there are two built-in closets with a rack to hang clothes and drawers for more storage.  In between the closets is a rather large window, and below that sits a mini-fridge and microwave on top.  All the furniture is the same dark-brown wooden color with a slightly worn look to it.

"It's...." Dad trails off.

"Cozy!" Mom exclaims, pushing past me to stand in the middle of the room.  "Yes it's a little small, but with all the storage on this wall with the closets, all your stuff will fit so nicely.  We can put the rug right here in the middle, the lamp over here, your coffee pot will look lice atop the microwave, oooh and there's even more storage over by your desk!"

"I love it," I say, still gazing into the room from the doorway.  Yes, it was a little small.  But I had known this going in.  Dunby hall was the largest, oldest, and most inexpensive residence hall on campus.  When Sooyoung and I agreed to live together, we decided on this dorm because it was the most reasonably priced for my family, and it was one of the few dorms that was covered under Sooyoung's scholarship.  She could have easily decided to live in one of the nicer dorms, but she wanted to live with me, and I greatly appreciated her for that.  Yes, its's a bit dingy, but it did have a rather cozy feel to it.  And with the right amount of care, I could turn this room into my new home.  

"Well, that's all that matters," I can hear Dad say from behind me. "But let's get unpacking or we're going to be here all day!"  He nudges me forward with the cart and pushes it into the middle of the room.  My mom immediately begins taking boxes out and finding places to all my things while my Dad begins to put the sheets on my lofted bed.

Amidst all this excitement I had almost forgotten about Jongho.  I quickly turn around to see him standing in the doorway, still holding those three boxes.

"Oh, um, you can just set those here," I quickly say gesturing to an empty corner of the room.  He obeys and gently places the boxes down.  He straightens up and gives me a kind of awkward smile, pushing his bangs out of his eyes again.  "Feels good to finally put those down, huh?" I say.

"Nah, I could've held those for at least another thirty minutes," he answers with a grin.  

I let out a giggle, which I quickly try and disguise as a cough.  

"You have been such a big help, Jungho," my mom says approaching the pair of us.  She grabs his hand.  "Thank you, dear."  She gives his hand a squeeze.  

"Oh, well you're welcome Mrs. Kim.  It really wasn't a problem at all, but I should probably get going.  I still need to unpack all of my things."

"Uh, yeah thanks, Jongho," I add quickly.  I give him a gracious smile, which he returns.  

"No problem, Jae.  I'm sure I'll see you around."  He gives one last bow towards me, my mom, and my dad before turning and exiting the room.  

"Wow, what a nice boy," mom sighs staring at the doorway that Jungho had just walked out off.

"Mom, he probably heard that," I say through gritted teeth.  

"You've said that already, sweetpea," Dad states from atop my lofted bed as he finishes tucking in my sheets.  "But we should really start unpacking everything so this room isn't a complete mess when Sooyoung's family gets here."

We spend the next forty minutes unpacking all of the remaining boxes, hanging my clothes in the closet, and finding room in the desk for my art supplies.

"KIIIIIIIM JAEMIIIIIIIIN!!!!!"

I hear my name echoing along the long hallway and quickly sprint outside the door to see none other than Sooyoung sprinting towards me, leaving her Mother, Father, and older brother in her wake pushing three full carts.

"Well, it's about time!" I shout.  "I was beginning to think you changed your mind!"

We run towards each other and when we finally meet, she practically lifts me off of my feet in one of the biggest I've ever received.  She starts spinning me around and through the blur I see what looks like two heads poking out of a doorway in the same spot that Jongho had pointed to earlier.  Before I can get a good look, Sooyoung sets me down and starts dragging me towards our room.  

"Oh my god I thought we'd never get here," Sooyoung says exasperatedly, still dragging me towards the room.  "We had to stop for gas, the traffic was horrible, and if Taeyoung had listened to me when I told him to take route 71 instead of 75 we'd have been here twenty minutes earlier."  

Typical Sooyoung.  She was the type of person who always thought she was right and if she wasn't, she'd somehow convince you otherwise.  Her whole family was like that though, so I couldn't blame her too much.  Most people found it annoying while I found her stubbornness slightly endearing.

"Wow, is this it?" she says excitedly when she finally reaches the doorway of our room.  "Hi Mr. and Mrs. Kim!"  She gives a passionate wave to both of my parents and immediately walks into the room to survey the place.  

"Well if it isn't the Chois," my dad says as he wipes some sweat from his forehead.  

Behind me, I can hear the rest of Sooyoung's family greet my Father and Mother.  Soyoung's parents were significantly younger than mine.  They had Soyoung's older brother, Taeyoung, when they were only 18.  They both put a lot of pressure on Sooyoung and Taeyoung to succeed and have a better life than they did.  Taeyoung is three years older than us and is already a student here at the same university.  Part of me thinks it's a big reason why Sooyoung choose to go here, but I'd never question her about it.  She likes to think that everything she does is her own idea and makes her unique, even when it doesn't

Our families exchange some more pleasant greetings.  

"It's a little small, isn't it?" Mrs. Choi questions after doing a once-over of the room.  "Tae's freshman year dorm was much bigger.

"Yeah," Taeyoung adds.  "This one definitely looks like it's been lived it."

"I mean, all of them have been lived in," I can hear my Dad mutter from the corner of the room.  

"Oh come on, Mom." Sooyoung shakes her head towards her Mother.  "I like it a lot.  I like what Jae has done with the room so far.  Plus, you can't complain too much right?  I basically get to live here for free on my scholarship!"  Sooyoung beams, looking proud of herself.

"Well, we should probably get out of your hair for a little bit so you all can fully unpack," Dad says placing a hand on my shoulder.  "We need to go get some lunch and stop by the grocery store and stock that minifridge over there."

"Yeah, we'll be back in a little bit!" Mom cheerily says, grabbing her purse and heading towards the door.  

"See you guys later," I say, waving at the Chois.  They wave back and immediately begin unpacking and organizing all of Sooyoung's belongings.

My family and I make our way down the long hallway and into the elevator. Once inside my Dad lets out a loud sigh.

"Man, those Chois really don't have a filter do they."

"Oh come on now, dear," my mom says putting an arm around my father and resting her head on his shoulder.  

"Sooyoung has to get it from somewhere, I guess," I add before I can stop myself.

Mom and Dad both laugh.  I join in, a little guiltily.  

prev // next   

[darkesttimelinestuff]

Happy Halloween, Philes!

Is the unremarkable house haunted??

'Poltergeist' by all_these_ghosts

This pre-IWTB fic is easy, fluffy, fun.

1,890 words, Rated Teen

On the way home from work she stops by Blockbuster. He'd requested something "creepy, not gory", so she checks out Poltergeist. They've both seen it before, but they never actually watch the movie, so she can't imagine it'll matter. 

At the counter she adds on a bag of mixed fun-size candy. Last year they didn't get any trick-or-treaters - not surprising, considering their house lies two miles down an unmarked dirt road - but you never know, and Scully has no interest in cleaning egg off the siding tomorrow morning.

When she pulls up in front of the house, he’s outside raking leaves in the waning light. She's glad to see him outside, glad to see him doing something useful. She worries about him alone in that house all day.

There's a pumpkin sitting on the front porch, perfectly fat and round and orange. "Where'd that come from?" she calls.

Mulder turns to her, letting the handle of the rake rest on his shoulder. "Took a walk earlier. The Harringtons are selling them out of their truck."

All of this is good news to her. He'd spent the whole sweltering summer lying on the hardwood floor in their living room with a fan blowing on him, refusing to go outside during the day even when she accused him of being a vampire. Maybe that was just a phase, or some kind of reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder.

"I got your movie," she says, waving the blue-and-white box in the air.

He lets the rake fall to the ground and comes over to grab the box. "Good choice," he says. He peers in the bag. "And candy? We never have candy."

"It's Halloween, Mulder, I'm not a monster."

“If you were, it’d be seasonally appropriate."

She flashes a grin at him. "Besides, we might get trick-or-treaters."

Mulder looks around at their complete lack of neighbors - way off to the west there's a little light on the horizon from the nearest house, and that's it - then back at her. "We're not gonna get any trick-or-treaters." Then he shrugs. "More candy for us."

"More candy for you," she corrects, linking her arm through his. He smells good, like earth and charred wood, and she brushes a stray leaf from his shoulder. "I'm only going to have one piece."

"That's what you always say," he grumbles. "And then I look up and the whole bag's gone."

"I don't think that’s ever happened.”

”Selective amnesia.”

“Sounds like an X-file,” she says lightly, and his smile isn’t entirely convincing. One day they’ll be able to joke about it. Eventually enough time will pass. The wounds will scar over, then fade.

One day.

An hour later they're curled up together on the couch, eating fun-size Mars bars and drinking spiked apple cider in their pajamas. A couple of Scully’s pumpkin-scented candles light the dark corners of their living room. It's pleasantly festive.

His hand, which started out resting on Scully’s flannel-clad knee, has gradually wandered up her thigh; it reaches a critical juncture right when Carol Anne gets sucked through the TV, and she smacks him away.

“You made me stop for this movie after an incredibly long day at work, so now we have to watch it,”  she says, but the way her hips curve toward him means that she could be convinced otherwise.

He puts his hand right back where he left off and presses his lips to her ear. ”I’ll make it worth your while,” he says, running his tongue around the curve of her ear.

Apparently Scully doesn’t need much convincing. She climbs into his lap, her knees on either side of his legs, all of her wrapped tightly around him. It’s immediately obvious that he’s been thinking about this for a while, and she leans down to kiss him, nipping at his lower lip and mumbling, “Thatis not fun-size.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” he replies, but he kisses her again, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her even closer. She moans into his mouth, her arms go around his neck—

And then she pulls sharply back. “What the hell was that?” Her eyes dart around the room, then lock on the window even though there’s nothing to see. It’s just as dark outside as it is in the house. “There’s something out there.”

He cocks an eyebrow. ”You’re not getting spooked by the movie, are you?” A thousand years ago they’d watched The Exorcist in some motel somewhere - Georgia, maybe? - and she’d pretended to be scared, and he’d pretended to be fifteen, stretching his right arm out and then letting it rest across her shoulders. He’d pulled her close when she fake-gasped.

But she shakes her head. Which makes sense; they’re well past the point of needing excuses to touch each other. ”I’m serious, Mulder, I heard something."

He mutes the movie and they sit in absolute silence. This time he definitely hears it: the sound of screaming, coming from somewhere outside.

Feeling suddenly like the lead in a slasher flick, Mulder disentangles himself and goes into his office, emerging a minute later with their handgun. (Well, her handgun; for obvious reasons, Mulder can't get a license.) He tries to remember how those movies go. The lead doesn't die, right?

What about the lead's partner? Girlfriends always die in those movies, he's pretty sure. Probably wives too. Partners might be safe. But just to be sure...

"Stay here," he says to Scully, but she just rolls her eyes at him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mulder." She shrugs on her coat and follows him outside, grabbing a flashlight off the hall table.

They stand on the porch for a minute, surveying their surroundings. A screech echoes in the darkness, and when they look toward the sound they see flashlights dancing in a copse of trees.

"What the hell?” Mulder barks, but Scully's already out ahead of him, running towards the woods. He calls her name and then follows her. The screaming continues.

And then abruptly stops. The flashlights go out. He catches up to her and they stand together, breathing heavily, staring into the woods.

“Who’s there?” Scully calls.

Silence. Then giggling. A flashlight blinks on, then off, and a voice hisses “turn that off!” and another voice says “shut up!”

Scully sighs. “It’s just kids, Mulder. I’m going back to the house.” She turns and walks away. He considers following her, but instead he continues toward the woods.

The snickering continues. Under his feet branches snap and leaves crackle. He remembers that you’re never supposed to split up.

And then a third voice, slightly louder, says, “Did you hear that?”

“It’s just a squirrel, don’t be stupid.”

“It’s not a squirrel! Squirrels don’t make that much noise, it’s somebody walking—“

“They left, the flashlight’s gone—“

“Then it’s someone else! I told you this place was haunted! Nobody who’s alive would live in that dump.”

Mulder can’t decide whether he thinks that’s funny or offensive, but he’s kind of enjoying the increasing panic in their voices, so he keeps coming closer. And just for good measure - it’s Halloween, after all - he says, “oooooooo” in his ghostliest voice.

Somebody screams. The last voice, again: “I told you!” They’re not whispering anymore.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” says the squirrel one - this kid is the Scully, clearly. “It’s the wind.”

“Oh my God it is not the wind.”

“Somebody turn a flashlight on so we can see.”

“Do you want it to eat us?”

“Do you seriously think that ghosts eat people??”

“Let’s just go,” says the panicky one.

The Scully says, “Not a chance.”

Mulder steps in an extra-thick pile of leaves and crunches them vigorously underfoot. “Oooooo,” he says again, louder.

That’s the final straw. They scream, and then two silhouettes run through the woods, making no attempt to keep quiet.

This is fun, he thinks. He should do this every Halloween.

But the Scully - he should’ve known - the Scully didn’t run away. He hears her mutter, “For fuck’s sake,” and she turns her flashlight on.

Right in his face.

He winces in the bright light and brings his arm up to cover his eyes. Flatly, the girl says, “You’re not a ghost.”

“Uh, no.”

She lowers her flashlight enough that he can see again. She’s maybe fifteen, and she is not impressed. ��Is that your house?” she asks, pointing her flashlight towards it.

“…Yeah.”

“What are you even doing out here?”

“What are you doing out here? This is private property.”

The girl shrugs. “It’s Halloween. We’re ghost-hunting. Abby thinks your house is haunted.” And then, with just the tiniest glint of curiosity in her eyes, she adds: “Is it?”

“Not that I know of.” And he’s checked.

“Well, you freaked my friends out. Honestly it’s kind of weird for a grownup to wander around the woods pretending to be a ghost.”

“It’s Halloween,” he retorts. “And we only came out here because we heard you and your friends screaming. Besides, you said you were ghost hunting. Now you can say that you found a ghost.”

“But we didn’t.”

He gestures towards the woods, all the footprints the other kids left behind. “Your friends don’t know that.”

For the first time, she does look impressed. “Huh.”

“I mean, as far as they know, you stayed behind to fight off the ghost.” He shrugs. “You’d look like a badass. That’s all I’m saying.”

She nods. “That’s…kind of awesome. And they’re stupid enough to believe it.” She grins at him. “Thanks for the tip, Mr…”

“Freeling,” Mulder supplies, suppressing his own grin.

“Mr. Freeling,” she repeats slowly, and for a second he thinks she’s going to call him out. “Why not? Well um…I’m gonna try to catch up with my friends. Enjoy being a creepy ghost, I guess.”

“Next year just ring the doorbell,” he says. “We have candy.”

Her eyes go big. “Dude, no one is ever going to trick-or-treat at your house. No offense, but even if it’s not haunted, it’s creepy as shit.” Just for good measure, she repeats, “No offense.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Happy Halloween, kid.”

“You too,” the girl says, and then she’s running off, flashlight bobbing in the dark.

Mulder comes through the door in his socks, muddy shoes abandoned on the front porch. When he tells Scully about the kids in the woods, she just laughs at him. And then she starts picking leaves off his clothes and brushing the dirt from his shoulders, and then he says that he should probably take a shower, and since she was running around in the woods too she might as well join him - and in any case, they don’t finish the movie.

In the middle of the night, Mulder wakes up when he hears more noises from outside the house, but he convinces himself that it’s his imagination. He goes back to sleep, pulling Scully close against him. She snuggles into his arms, and all he can think is how much he likes this house. Maybe it’s creepy - it might even be haunted - but it’s theirs together, which makes it at least a little bit perfect. He dreams of ghosts and snickering teenagers and strange crackling sounds.

And in the morning, the side of the house is covered in gooey, dripping egg.

Mulder cleans it up.

[frauleinsmaria]

We Can Feel So Far (From So Close) (1/2)

Waiting until your best friend left for a cross country tour was a fine time to realize you're in love with him. Captain Swan.

This is the first of a two shot that I finally decided to post after having it sit in my Google Docs since last summer. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this first part!

Rated T | Word count: 8139 | Also on AO3 and FF.net

There’s an old quote that says something along the lines of “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” That you don’t realize just how much you love someone until they’re no longer around.

When Emma would come across phrases like that a few years ago, she would typically roll her eyes and mutter some kind of sarcastic remark, all while trying not to dwell on the fact that there probably would never be someone for her to love like that.

But of course, that was before she met Killian. And everything changed.

They meet on a Thursday night, under unusual circumstances. Emma had moved into her new apartment that afternoon, a simple one bedroom in Boston that was more than enough space for her and the small amount of items in her possession. The whole day had been a disaster from the get go. First thing that morning, her previous landlord accused her of not paying the last month’s rent, and threatened to sue if he didn’t get it immediately. (The look on his face when he realize he was in the wrong was priceless. And he wondered why she was moving out of his crappy building.) Then, the movers she could barely afford to hire wound up taking her furniture to the wrong apartment complex on the other side of Boston. By the time the fiasco had been taken care of, it was nearly the end of the day. Saying she was exhausted was an understatement.

Emma stands in the middle of the living room, observing the chaos that was now her new home. She may have brought a small number of things with her, but most of said things were still in boxes, scattered around on the floor and waiting to be put away. She’d unpacked a box of clothes solely to dig out her favorite Batman pajamas, leaving the rest piled up in the corner of her bedroom. Just something else that could wait until tomorrow when she wasn’t both starving and sleep deprived.

Her phone chimed with a new message, letting her know the Chinese takeout she ordered earlier had finally arrived downstairs. She's beyond ecstatic when her cartons of lo mein and egg rolls are opened and laid out on the coffee table ten minutes later, just waiting to be eaten.

Of course, it would be then that the bulb inside the fixture that lights both the small kitchen and living room space decides to burn out, leaving her in the dark before she’s even had a chance to take a bite of her food.

Damn. Unless she was willing to sit there and eat using the light from her cell phone- and she’d rather not make a huge mess her first night in the apartment- her only option is borrowing a light bulb from one of her new neighbors. People in movies went next door for sugar all the time, didn’t they? Asking for a light bulb wasn’t that weird.

(Okay, maybe it was, especially when she’s yet to meet anyone else in the building. But she was too hungry to care at this point, and too exhausted to make a trip to the store down the block.)

She knew someone was at home in the apartment next to hers- she could hear “Simple Man” being played on guitar when she brought her food upstairs. Emma just hoped the guitarist next door was generous with household supplies, and wouldn’t be put off by her odd request.

Five minutes later, after using the dim light from her phone to find the door (and tripping twice over boxes she couldn’t see), she’s standing in front of said guitarist’s door, the melody of another familiar rock song they’re playing catching her attention-; whoever this is clearly isn’t lacking where talent is concerned. She raps her knuckles on the door twice, hoping she can be heard over the song. After a moment, the music stops, and she hears footsteps coming in her direction.

Emma quickly realizes how ridiculous she must look and then regrets being too lazy to go buy her own stupid light bulb. She’s wearing threadbare pajamas, her blonde hair tied in a messy knot on the top of her head, and glasses that she hopes do something to distract from the bags under her eyes. Hopefully she can borrow and then rebuy them a light bulb as soon as possible so she won’t have to spend more time than necessary with her new neighbor since she doubts any of this will make a good first impression.

The door opens, and she opens her mouth to speak until the face on the other side catches her off guard. The first thing she notices are his eyes- big and bright blue, seeming to contrast yet still fit perfectly with his head of messy, dark hair and the scruff covering his cheeks. “Can I help you, lass?”

He’s English. Of course.

(She was always a sucker for men with accents.)

“Um, yeah. I just moved in next door and I was about to eat dinner when the light in my apartment burnt out and I don’t have an extra bulb and I’m too tired to go buy another one so…” Emma could feel her face turning bright red with embarrassment. “Sorry. I’m Emma Swan. I just wanted to ask if you had a light bulb I could use, then I’ll stop babbling about my problems and leave you alone.”

He laughs as Emma tries not to think about the fact that he’s got a damn near perfect smile. “Killian Jones. I believe I can spare something for you. It wouldn’t be very neighborly of me to leave you in the dark on your first night in the building, would it?”

At least he has a sense of humor. Most of her previous neighbors would have given her a dirty look before shutting the door in her face. He gestures for her to come in and she does, casually glancing around at the space that’s identical to hers. Well, identical in layout, anyway. The walkway at the door leads into the living room that’s connected to the kitchen to the right, with the bedroom and bathroom at the back of the apartment. But that’s where any similarities end. While her place will probably remain bare of many personal touches, as all her homes have been, Emma’s able to get a good impression of what kind of person Killian Jones is just by standing in his living room. The acoustic guitar she heard being played earlier is resting against a leather couch, which faces a simple wooden coffee table along with a flat screen that’s mounted to the wall. The additional five guitars and posters from various rock bands- he’s got everything from The Beatles, Pearl Jam, and Staind- hanging on the other side of the room confirm her original assumption that he must be a musician. He certainly looks the part from what she can tell: faded jeans, unkempt hair, along with clusters of various tattoos that wrap around both of his arms.

“This what you need, love?” Killian asks, breaking her train of thought as he holds up a light bulb that he’s just pulled from a drawer in his kitchen.

“You just might be my savior,” she laughs when he hands it to her; she’s never been more grateful to see a light bulb in her life. “Otherwise I’d be eating Chinese in the dark.”

He reaches up to scratch a spot behind his ear almost as if he’s nervous as he makes another comment about being neighborly. It’s then that she can’t help but be aware of just how good looking he really is with his dark hair and piercing eyes. The thin fabric of his t-shirt does little to conceal the taut muscles underneath, and she has to force herself not to stare.

“Aye, we wouldn’t want that. Might get a bet messy, especially being your new place and all.”

It’s then that she becomes aware of how long it’s been since she’s been alone with a guy, even on friendly terms. The thought makes her remember a warm smile and brown eyes she once trusted, would have done anything for. It makes her remember why she hasn’t even considered going on a date in months, why she dismisses everyone Elsa and Mary Margaret attempt to set her up with. And why she needs to get out of Killian’s apartment immediately; no matter how good looking and polite he may be, she can’t risk putting herself in a position with someone that had even the slightest chance of being more than just a neighbor.

“Well, um, thanks for this,” she says, awkwardly holding up the light bulb as she turns to the door. “I’ll buy you another one and have it here asap.”

“Not a problem, lass. Let me know if you need a hand with anything in your apartment. You know where I live.”

“Sure, I’ll keep that in mind.”

No, she won’t. Emma somehow manages to get the bulb back in place without injuring herself and spends the rest of the night trying (and not succeeding) to forget about Killian Jones.

And that’s how it begins. She’s too busy settling in her apartment and chasing her latest skip all over Boston to spend much time thinking about attractive, talented neighbors with beautiful accents. But she can’t help but smile to herself and hum along when she hears him playing his guitar almost every night when she comes home.

-/-

Emma’s been in the building just over a week when he shows up at her door the next Sunday night. She’s annoyed at first when she hears the knock; the newest season of Game of Thrones was about to start, and she’s not about to miss a single minute. There’s always the option of ignoring whoever’s there and pretending she’s not at home. But of course, her conscience wins out. Groaning, she abandons her comfortable spot on the couch and trudges over to the door, already prepared to tell her visitor that she’s busy and can’t help unless they’re dying..

She’s surprised to open the door and find Killian standing in front of her, nervously thumbing a silver ring that hangs on a chain around his neck. “Hello, Swan,” he starts before she can open her mouth. “I hate to bother you, and I realize this is quite a long shot, but are you by any possible chance planning to watch Game of Thrones tonight?”

If it was any other show, she would be convinced he’d been spying on her or had some kind of weird sci-fi telepathy. “Um, yeah,” she answers, “I was actually about to do just that.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and smiles. “Oh, thank goodness. Look, I don’t want to annoy you, but is there any way I could borrow a seat on your couch for the next hour? It was my arse of a brother’s turn to pay the bill for our HBO account this month but he forgot, and it’s going to drive me up the wall if I have to wait to find out what happens. You won’t even know I’m here. And I brought refreshments,” he adds, holding up the large bag of popcorn in his hand.

If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have thought twice before saying no. But he’d done her a favor just a week ago. And he clearly wasn’t lying about wanting to see the season premiere. Considering the way the last one ended, she can’t exactly say she blames him. Surely letting him watch it with her wouldn’t do any harm, as long as he stayed focused on the show. (At least that’s what she told herself.)

“Mi casa es tu casa...er, whatever.” She steps aside and gestures for him to come in. “You get the point.”

“You’re my hero, Swan,” he declares, following her into the living room.

Emma snickers. “I wouldn’t go that far. Just your average TV junkie.”

True to his word, Killian made no effort to bother her, and didn’t say a word aside from a few mumbled “bloody hell”s when the newest plot twists were revealed (and there were quite a few). Of course the added popcorn didn’t hurt, either.  

She feels her eyes getting heavy as the episode ends. It’s barely ten o’clock, but she spent most of the day busy with a stakeout and it’s obviously taking it’s toll on her.

Killian must notice her all but nodding off since he says, “I suppose I should get going so you can get some sleep.”

“I’m not that ti-” she protests, but the yawn she can’t conceal gives her away.

He chuckles and gets up from his spot on the couch. “Quite alright, Swan. I certainly don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“So,” she questions as she trails behind him to the door, “how were you lucky enough to end up with a neighbor who planned to watch the same show as you tonight?”

He shrugs and runs a hand through his already unruly hair. “No idea, lass. I was in a bit of a bind, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what the odds were.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll be doing this again at the same time next Sunday if you want to come back.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Last week, she didn’t want to be more than his neighbor, and now she’s inviting him back into her home. But she thinks about how polite he’s been, how he spent almost an hour on her couch not concerned about doing anything but watching TV...unlike Walsh, who tried to grope her in the movie theater on their first date. (He went home that night with a black eye.)

“As long as you’re sure I won’t be intruding, love.”

He smiles when she says, “Not at all.”

Emma can’t exactly say she’s surprised (or unhappy) when he shows up at her door the same time the next week. And every Sunday for the next month and a half. They don’t say much while they watch TV, usually too engrossed in what’s happening on screen to give it much thought. But before she knows it, the season comes to an end, finishing on a cliffhanger that neither of them saw coming. She can’t help but be a bit disappointed when he goes to leave that night; it’s been kind of nice having him around for company over the past few weeks.

“I tend to watch a lot of Netflix,” she tells Killian as she follows him to the door, “so if your brother ever forgets to pay that bill, you’re more than welcome to join me in whatever I’m currently binge watching.”

He wants to agree, she can tell my the way his eyes light up just a bit at her suggestion. But he hesitates, waiting to make sure she’s serious first, that she’s actually comfortable with having him in her apartment more often than just for an hour on Sunday nights. “I might do just that sometime,” he tells her, smiling.

They somehow develop a casual friendship of sorts over the following weeks. Emma doesn’t know if it’s because he’s right next door, or if it’s just refreshing to have a guy in her life that doesn’t expect anything from her, but she’s grateful for it all the same. For awhile, it’s nothing but sitting in front of their TV’s for a few hours whenever the chance arises. They begin making their way through all six seasons of Lost one weekend out of pure boredom when they’ve caught up on the rest of their shows. She hasn’t seen an episode since the series ended, and Killian’s never watched it before. He becomes quite invested in the plot, while also constantly pointing out characters that remind him of other tenants in their building that she’s yet to come across. (She gets the idea that he’s warning her to avoid the redhead on the fifth floor at all costs.)

And for some reason, she’s not so scared of his presence in her life anymore. At all.

-/-

They don’t mean to become each other’s best friends, it just...happened.

It’s not just popcorn and Netflix nights anymore. It’s going to his Friday night gigs at the bar he both works and plays guitar at, having pointless conversations via text message in the middle of the night, pancakes at Granny’s Diner every Tuesday, sharing beers when it’s been a particularly bad day, and learning almost everything there is to know about each other.

Emma quickly realizes that music isn’t just a hobby to Killian, like she’d presumed the night they met, it’s his entire life. Going to just one of his shows at the bar is enough to show her just how comfortable his is on stage with a guitar in his hands. He’s been playing since junior high when he began to idolize artists like Bruce Springsteen and Eddie Veder, much to his mother’s dismay. And he’s good. She’s not biased because he’s her friend; he’s one of the most talented people she’s ever met. He’s the type of musician that deserves popularity and tons of adoring fans, and she tells him so as he laughs at her, even though she knows he would love nothing more. He pretends to be content with his job at the bar and the occasional gigs that come with it, but she can see beneath the facade he puts on. He obviously wants nothing more than to do music full time, in spite of the fact that he thinks his odds of being successful are slim.

She learns how his father left before he was old enough to know him, and how his mother moved him and his brother to the States for a new start before she died from cancer several years later. He mentions Liam in passing every now and then, who’s just been promoted to senior partner at his law office in London. Killian may not say it aloud, but she can tell he misses him quite a bit.

He finds out the details of her unconventional upbringing and lack of family, which helps him understand the lack of personal items in her apartment months after she’s moved in. Emma even spills her guts about Neal after a few too many drinks one Friday night at his apartment. She woke up the next morning in his bed while he slept on the couch, a glass of water and aspirin on the nightstand waiting to help combat the worst hangover she’d ever had. He made her pancakes and bacon the next morning without mentioning anything she may have said or done the night before, while she sat at his kitchen table and wondered how in the world she deserved to have him in her life.

He’s lost love, too, thanks to a drunk driver who took away the woman that meant everything to him. She finds out what happened when he breaks down on the anniversary of her death, and hopes he never again has to endure that kind of pain. Neither one of them mention that night again after it happens, but she gets the impression that he’s just as grateful for their friendship as she is.

Emma’s not even fully aware of how close the two of them have actually become until her other friends point it out to her. It’s girls night at Elsa’s, one of their regular get togethers that usually involves copious amounts of junk food, sangria, and life updates around the coffee table. “You guys need to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie,” she tells her girl friends through a mouthful of Ben and Jerry’s. “Killian and I saw it after work a few days ago, and he already wants to go back and watch it again this weekend.” She stops digging into her pint of Rocky Road when she notices the look Mary Margaret and Elsa exchange. “What?”

“You and Killian are getting pretty close, aren’t you?” Mary Margaret asks, raising an eyebrow.

She just shrugs. “I guess. Why, what makes you ask?”

“Emma, you’ve mentioned him at least a dozen times within the past hour,” Elsa notes. “I’ve only met the man once, and I feel like I somehow know everything about him just from hearing you talk.”

Does she really talk about him that often? “He’s a friend...we just hang out a lot since he’s right next door.”

“Just a friend?” Mary Margaret looks skeptical. (Emma loves her, she really does, but the woman is far too obsessed with playing matchmaker among her single friends.)

“Yes, Mary Margaret. Just a friend. Don’t expect that to ever change.” Despite her close relationships with the two women around her, it’s been awhile- years, actually- since she’s had a friend like Killian that she felt she could tell just about anything to without worrying about his reaction or how he could use it as leverage to hurt her later on.

Emma can tell from the look on Mary Margaret’s face that she desperately wants to make a comment about how the best relationships can develop from friendships, or something else she probably learned from the latest issue of Cosmo. She fights the urge to kiss Elsa when the blonde changes the topic of conversation, and Killian isn’t mentioned again that night.

-/-  

She’ll never forget the night she convinced him to play Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” just because she knew Killian couldn’t stand him, or any other mainstream pop artist for that matter. But he actually made it sound less than terrible, which shouldn’t have been a surprise considering just how skilled he was with an instrument in his hands. Of course, he made it up to Emma by serenading her with several of her least favorite songs for a solid week. (It took days to get both “Shake It Off” and “Moves Like Jagger” out of her head.)

At one point he sets out on a mission to improve her taste in music. She listens to a little bit of everything (besides country, she can’t stand any of it), but he’s convinced as a prominent member of his life that she needs to be familiar with more bands than just The Rolling Stones and Nirvana. (“Of course they’re great artists, Swan, but that barely scratches the surface of rock music.”) He steals her phone long enough to add several new stations to her Pandora app, and goes as far as to make her a mix CD for her Bug, which isn’t exactly up to date with a fancy stereo or a USB port. Slowly, but surely, his efforts begin to rub off on her. She runs to “Back In Black” almost every morning, listens to “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” during late-night stakeouts, and even catches herself singing “Friday I’m In Love” in the shower. She hears Killian laughing at her through the thin walls after an unusually enthusiastic performance, and insists it was all his fault for getting her hooked on The Cure in the first place.

She’s the one who encourages Killian to put his music out, somewhere besides the bar. Although he’s not yet thirty, he’s convinced that his chance has probably come and gone somewhere along the way thanks to the media’s constant obsession with younger artists. Emma rolls her eyes, tells him he’s being ridiculous, and refuses to get off of his back about it until he at least tries to snag a few gigs and auditions outside of his regular ones at The Rabbit Hole. (“You’ll thank me one day,” she promises.)

Of course, she never expected that day would come quite so soon. She hears him mention over their regular breakfast at Granny’s the next week that he has an audition to be considered as a musician for an up-and-coming rock band whose guitarist quit in order to spend more time with his family, leaving them with an available spot just weeks before their next tour is set to begin. She smiles and tells him he’s a shoo in, that they would be crazy not to pick him over everyone else in Boston.

Their friendship as she’s always known it completely changes just days later. She’s dragging herself down the hall to her apartment, thanks to a particularly exhausting day chasing her newest perp when his door flies open and he quickly runs over to her.

“Swan! I got it!” It takes her a moment to realize what he’s talking about, her current state of mind affecting her more than she realized. Before she can react, he’s wrapped her in a hug so tight she can barely breathe as he spins them around in the hallway like the massive dork he is. “They picked me to go on the tour!”

“Hold up, you’re making me dizzy!” she cries, reaching out for the door frame to hold herself up. “Congratulations, I knew they would! Do you know any details yet?”

The smile on his face has yet to waver. “Just that we leave in about three weeks or so. I have a meeting tomorrow with the rest of the band to finalize everything. Bloody hell, Emma, can you believe I’ll be playing in Los Angeles in a few weeks?”

She hopes her shocked expression hides the way his words made her heart sink. “L.A.?”

“Aye.” His smile suddenly isn’t quite as bright. “I thought I told you the tour was on the west coast. The band’s record label just started an office in L.A.; they figured it’d be good publicity to tour there.”

Of course he told her all of that. She was just too naive and caught up with other things to really give it much thought...until now. “Right, you did. But, wow, that’s awesome! I’m so proud of you.” She hugs him a little too hard this time, biting down on her lip to keep from tearing up.

“You really mean that?” he asks, as if it’s hard to believe someone would actually be happy for him.

“Of course,” she says, the smile on her face dull in comparison to the one he deserves. “You’re my best friend.” It’s the first time she’s ever said as much, even though it’s probably been obvious for months now.

He was her best friend. And now he’s leaving. A few months apart wasn’t the end of the world, but it’s the possibility of what could very well happen afterwards that scares the hell out of her. For all she knows, he could hit it big on this tour, and as much as he deserves it, she can’t help but picture him moving to some fancy mansion in a big city where he’ll become a mega star and forget that she even exists. This is why she so rarely allowed herself to get close to people, rarely let the sky high walls she’s built come down. Killian Jones has unexpectedly come to mean so much to her within the past year that she’s known him. And because of that, she’s given him the power to wreck her from the inside out.

“And you’re mine,” he says, as it’s the first time he’s given it much thought, too.

There’s a long pause between them, as she wonders if his thoughts are anything like the ones currently running through her head. “Breakfast at Granny’s tomorrow morning?” she asks, desperate to change the subject.

“Of course, love. Celebratory pancakes are on me.”

-/-

Neither one of them mentions his upcoming departure much over the next few weeks, mainly because he’s busy meeting and rehearsing with the band, and she refuses to accept the fact that he’s leaving until the last possible minute. They still have breakfast together and marathon their usual shows on Netflix as if nothing is about to change. Part of her feels guilty for her selfish attitude about the whole scenario. She couldn’t be happier for him, but deep down, she’s still scared for herself and what could very well happen to their friendship.

The time that he has left in Boston goes by so quickly that before she knows it, it’s time to tell him goodbye. (For now, she tries to remember. Easier said than done.) His tour mates offer to pick him up on their way to the airport, but he asks Emma to take him instead, in what she hopes is a way to spend a few more moments together before he leaves. They leave their apartment complex at five on a Monday morning, the bug’s trunk filled to the brim with luggage along with his guitar case. Despite the fact that the band will surely have several high dollar instruments for him to choose from, he’s insisted on taking along the acoustic she heard him playing the night they first met.

They spend most of the drive to the airport cracking jokes and making normal conversation, trying to put off the inevitable while they still can. Halfway there, he finds “Bohemian Rhapsody” on the radio and chooses to serenade her, intentionally making it the worst Freddie Mercury impersonation she’s ever heard. She wants to laugh and cry all at the same time thinking about just how much she’s going to miss him.

She gets to meet his tour mates when they arrive, Killian introducing her as “My best friend, Emma.” Robin, August, and Will all seem nice enough, jokingly promising to keep Killian in check while they’re gone. She’s only able to offer a half-assed laugh in response, still not quite ready to tell him goodbye, or even sure how to, for that matter.

They’re sitting on a bench, drinking overpriced coffee from the airport cafe when the boarding call for his flight is announced. The weight that’s been building up on Emma’s shoulders for weeks feels heavier than ever now as they stand and look at each other, knowing this is it.

“Looks like you’ve got a plane to catch.”

“I guess I do. Swan, I know I should have told you this a long time ago. But, thank you.”

“For what?” she asks.

“For, all of this,” he smiles. “If it weren’t for you, I never would’ve gotten this opportunity in the first place.” He pulls her in for a hug, holding her so tightly that he’s the only thing keeping her in one piece.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She bites down on her lower lip, hard; there’s no way she’s going to cry in front of him. “You’re the musician here, not me.”

“Maybe so, love. But it was thanks to your constant reprimanding that I finally tried to do something with my music, other than playing in that bloody bar once a week. So, thank you.”

“Then I guess you’re welcome. I now expect to be included in the acknowledgements on your first album.”

They still haven’t let go of each other yet; she doesn’t want to. He laughs at her words, and Emma finds herself grateful that technology will still allow her to hear the sound while he’s away.

“I almost forgot. I need to see your phone.”

“Why?” she asks, taking the device out of her back pocket and handing it to him. There was no need to tell him her pass code, he’d known it by heart for months now.

“I have something for you.” His brow furrows in concentration as he scrolls through something on her phone to find what he’s looking for.

“Really? You’re the one going away, and I’m getting a gift?”

“Not really a gift, just something I thought was necessary. Ah, here we are,” he confirms, giving her phone back. She shouldn’t be surprised that the Spotify app is open. What does surprise her is the new playlist he’s apparently created within the past few days that she hadn’t noticed.

“What’s this?” Scrolling through the selection of songs, she recognizes several right off the bat that they’ve listened to together on occasion, but there are quite a few she’s never heard before.

“You didn’t think I was going to let my absence cause your music taste to be lead astray, did you? I think I’ve left enough selections to keep you occupied over the next few months,” he laughs, gesturing to her phone.

She notices that he’s included well over two hundred songs. There’s no telling just how much time he spent on this, considering how picky he tended to be where music was concerned. “You did all this for me?”

“Just consider it a parting gift.”

“You know I expect pictures of, like, everything, right?” she reminds him, ignoring the knot quickly building in her throat. “It’s been months since I’ve gone outside of Boston, and I expect you to take full advantage of this opportunity in every way possible.”

“Of course, Swan. I’ll even send everything to you first, so you don’t have to wait to see it on Instagram like everyone else.”

“Jones!” The sound of his name makes Killian turn around. “It’s time to catch a flight, mate,” calls, Robin from where he and the other boys are waiting. The regretful expression on his face makes it seem as if he was sorry to break up their conversation.

“Aye,” he replied over his shoulder, turning back to Emma. “I’m afraid I’m not adept when it comes to saying goodbye, love.” Was this anywhere near as hard for him as it is her?

“Then don’t.” She pulls him in for another hug, trying her best to be the supportive friend he deserves. “Go out there and be amazing, just like I know you will. I’ll see you in a few months,” she promised.

“That you will.”

As hard as it is, she makes herself release him. He reaches down to squeeze her hand before turning away to catch up with his new band mates. She stands there alone, in the middle of the airport, and watches him walk away from her until he’s finally out of sight.

She’s able to make it back to the bug before she sheds a few tears. And if she spends the rest of the day on the couch, numbing her feelings with junk food and Killian’s new playlist, well, that’s no one’s business but her own.

-/-

The first week that he’s gone isn’t quite as difficult as she expected. She’s swamped with new cases at work, and comes home every night too exhausted to do anything but fall straight into bed. They text regularly and he sends her photos from wherever the band is that day, but it feels more like he’s away on vacation rather than gone for the next three months.

However, it’s only the next week when his absence truly begins to take its toll on her.

The hall is silent every night when she comes home, no chords from “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” or “Yellow Ledbetter” waiting to greet her after work. She can’t bring herself to watch much of anything on Netflix; even watching a single episode of one of their regular shows feels wrong without him sprawled out beside her on the couch.

Killian’s been meaning to set time aside to Skype ever since he arrived in Los Angeles their first week, but he’s stayed busy thanks to rehearsing with the band, the actual shows themselves, and the unexpected amount of publicity he and the boys have been getting recently. Although he hasn’t told her so yet, she’s gotten the idea that they may consider keeping him in the band even after the tour is over, and he clearly wants to make a good impression on everyone involved. She does her best to be happy for him since he’s come so far, not entertaining the thought that life on the road could very well become his new normal.

The first three weeks of the tour take place in California alone, thanks to the record label and a big part of the band’s fanbase being based in Los Angeles. Liam is able to fly out for the first show, the first time the two of them have seen each other in months. Killian is clearly thrilled to see his brother- he’s grinning from ear to ear in all the pictures she sees of them together, and even the few texts he has time to send her show a shift in his demeanor. He’s happy to be back with his only family for a short while, and she’s happy for him because of it.

But Emma still misses him terribly. She misses hearing him play his guitar, misses him singing terribly off key just to make her laugh. She misses his laugh, misses having someone next door she can open up to after a bad day. She even finds herself missing the occasional blonde jokes he tosses her way every now and then that he knows annoy her to no end.

Elsa and Mary Margaret waste no time in pointing out the change in her attitude. It’s Emma’s turn to host girl’s night this time, which consists of The Princess Bride and a pizza ordered at the last minute since she completely forgot they had plans until Elsa texted that they were on their way.

Buttercup and Humperdinck haven’t even gotten engaged yet when Elsa picks up the remote from Emma’s coffee table and pauses the movie. “What’s going on, Emma?”

“You tell me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t give us that,” Mary Margaret chimes in, giving her friend a Look. “This is your favorite movie, and you’ve barely paid it any attention.”

Emma shrugs. “I guess I’m just tired,” she lies, forcing a yawn that she hopes doesn’t look as fake as it really is.

“I knew it,” says Elsa, taking a bite of her slice of pizza. “This is about Killian, isn’t it?”

Apparently all her problems seemed to be related to him as far as her friends were concerned.  “Why would anything that’s wrong with me have to do with him? He’s not even around now.”

“That’s just it,” Mary Margaret points out. “He’s away, and you’ve been sulking about it for the past month. You miss him.”

“Of course I miss him! He’s my best friend, Mary Margaret.”

Elsa sighs. “I hate to bug you about it, Em, but I think you stopped viewing him as just a friend a long time ago.”

“Hear us out,” Mary Margaret stops her before she has a chance to object to Elsa’s words. “You two do everything together- and not just because you’re neighbors. You understand each other better than anyone else can; I don’t even think Elsa and I know you as well as he does now. You went to all his gigs at the bar, even that one a few months ago when we could all tell you were sick, but you insisted on being there for him regardless. He’s joined you on stakeouts before, and not because he cared about spending hours cramped in your car; he wanted to spend time with you.”

“And let’s not forget about the fact that he’s only been on two or three dates since you first met, and you were grumpy for days when you found out about all of them.” She was expecting Elsa to be on her side this time. Traitor.

“You two are so ridiculously in love with each other...and the craziest part is, neither one of you is willing to admit it,” Mary Margaret adds for the icing on the cake.

“Geez, did you two have that prepared?” Sure, some of the things they pointed out were true. Yes, spent a lot of time together (when he was here, anyway).  Yes, she made it a point to attend all his gigs, and he’d joined in on one or two of her stakeouts before. And yes, she’d been irritated about his last dates, because none of those women seemed good enough for her best friend. But there was no way that meant…”Neither one of us is in love with the other.”

“Are you sure about that?” Elsa, just like Mary Margaret, looks entirely unconvinced.

“Really, guys? I thought I invited you over to hang out, not to nag me about my love life,” she snaps, irritated.

The room grows quiet. Emma presses play and resumes the movie in attempt to ease the tension between the three of them. They watch the rest of The Princess Bride in silence, and her friends leave as soon as it’s over, with little to say to her. She feels terrible. She shouldn’t have snapped at Elsa and Mary Margaret, but they’re right about at least one thing: she does miss him, and she’s willing to attribute it to the awful mood she’s been in. It was clear before he left that this would all be hard, but she also expected more than pictures and brief text conversations once or twice a week. She tries her best not to be angry with him, he’s busy and has things to do that she knows are more important than talking to her.  

The time difference doesn’t offer any additional help. When she goes to her room to get ready for bed, the alarm clock on her nightstand tells her it’s almost midnight. The band is Seattle this week, where it’s not even nine. Like most nights, she’s usually asleep before he’s even finished up for the day.

After she’d washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into pajamas- the Batman ones she was wearing the night they met- Emma sat in bed under the covers and opened her laptop to double-check the information on where the perp she was looking for would probably be tomorrow when she went out to look for him. She did what she needed to and was about to turn off the computer when the Skype notification popped up in the corner of the screen, with a call request from a number she didn’t recognize. Her first thought was to dismiss it; it could very well be someone who’d typed in her information by mistake. But, what were the odds…

It’s safe to say the neighbors heard her “Oh my gosh!” when she accepted the call and saw Killian’s face looking back at her on the computer screen. She hears him laugh at her reaction. “Hello, Swan. I was hoping I could catch you before bed.”

“Yeah, you had great timing.” She sat up in bed and adjusted her pajama shirt, trying to look somewhat decent considering her current position. “Killian, as glad as I am to hear from you, how the hell did you find time to call me? I thought it would be a few more hours before you were back from tonight’s show.”

“Aye. But I came back to the hotel as soon as we finished up. I was determined to speak to you sometime today since I’ve been a poor excuse of a friend these past few weeks,” he says, a hint of regret in his voice.

“Shut up with that. You’ve been really busy, becoming world famous and all.” Despite how much she wants the man to be next door again, she really is proud of him.

“I wouldn’t say world famous by any means, love.” He laughs nervously, and scratches that one spot behind his ear. God, she’s missed thim. “Although, I will admit, there are more fans than I was anticipating.”

“Uh huh. I saw an article last week from one of those hipster music magazines that mentioned one of the shows in LA. Everyone in the comments wanted to know who the new hot guy was,” she teases him, knowing his face would likely turn three shades of red. (She was right.)

“Alright, alright, enough about my life. What’s been going on with you, Swan?”

Emma tells him about her newest cases, about the crappy server the Rabbit Hole has hired in his absence, and about their new neighbor that’s just moved in down the hall, an older guy from Wisconsin she’s dubbed “Grumpy” in her head thanks to his lousy disposition. She mentions that Elsa and Mary Margaret have asked about him, but doesn’t tell him the nature of their questions. There’s no need to make this conversation awkward, considering she has no idea when the next one will take place.

She has no idea how long she stays online with him, making up for lost time. But eventually, the long day begins to take its toll on her. It becomes harder to stay awake, despite how much she wants to, and Killian can tell. “I think it’s bedtime for you, Swan. Hard to catch criminals when you’re half asleep.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right,” she confesses, another yawn escaping her lips. “But I’m really glad you called me. I’ve missed you.”

“Aye, I’ve missed you, too. Will and August are staying in the room next door, and they aren’t quite as tolerant of my singing in the shower as you are.”

As hard as it is, she eventually tells him good night, and ends the call with a promise to hear from him again as soon as he’s given the time. She’s just turned off the lamp on her night stand and curled up under the blankets when she finds herself unable to stop thinking about him and their conversation. He had so much to say to her, and yet all she could focus on just him: those blue eyes she’d never realized were quite that bright, his hair tousled and looking even messier than usual. Those fans weren’t exaggerating when asking about the “hot guy” online. (She wasn’t blind. He was clearly good-looking, and she couldn’t find a single reason to say otherwise. But that meant nothing...didn’t it?)

She smiles at how nice it was to finally hear his laugh again, and to watch his face light up when he told her about his experiences on the tour so far. He’s finally getting to do what he loves most every day, and he’s never been happier. She doesn’t doubt that he’s also probably getting quite a bit of attention from the band’s fanbase; there’s no telling what kind of opportunities he’ll have access to once the tour wraps up. What could happen afterwards still scares her, even though she still wants whatever is best for him.

If she thought she missed him before, now it’s hitting her harder than ever. It’s not just his presence she wants back in her life. Before, she thought of the obvious things about him that made his absence hard, like his music, his voice, and his unwavering desire to spend time with her, no matter how difficult she made it. Tonight, she thinks of how he bites his thumb nails when he’s concentrating on something, whether that be the show they’re watching, or the new song he’s trying to learn. He can’t sleep without socks on both of his feet, and ninety percent of the time, they never match. He can’t bring himself to kill a bug, even the biggest of spiders. (He usually called her to come take care of it instead.) Despite his obvious passion for rock music, he loved musicals, and often sang songs from Wicked and The Book of Mormon while he cooked breakfast or cleaned his apartment.

She considered what Mary Margaret and Elsa had said to her earlier that night, and suddenly finds herself unable to deny any of it. She certainly couldn’t speak for him, but her own feelings are coming through loud and clear.

She was in love with Killian Jones.

And she picked a fine time to realize it.

-/-

ES: I think I owe you two an apology.

EA: No need. We should have left you alone about it.

MM: I agree.

Even though it’’s true.

EA: Mary Margaret!  

MM: Sorry...

ES: Don’t be….I think this is the part where you say “I told you so.”

EA: Wait, why?

ES: You were right...I think I’m in love with him.

MM: I knew it!

ES: I’m so screwed.

EA: I know it sucks that he’s away, but at least you know he probably feels the same.

ES: Don’t be silly. Killian doesn’t love me... Not like that, anyway.

MM: Emma, are you blind?

EA: I’ve seen the way he looks at you. No way that’s not love.

MM: If Killian’s not in love with you, I’m willing to bet David’s not in love with me, either.

ES: Okay, now you’re serious.