#find out that the doctor had never been seen again‚ and presumably left or died thinking missy had betrayed him?

[grimark]

rotating in my mind the very real possibility that after missy regenerated into spymaster, one of the very first things to happen to spymaster might have been meeting nardole.

[ebaeschnbliah]

The plaster bust revelation .....

Impressions from Sherlock BBC, The Six Thatchers

A really interesting assembling of little scenes and short pieces of dialogue. Some do not correlate with each other, some seem to be taken from material not shown in the episode, one bust and its owner have been left out entirely and the person Sherlock unmasks in this final mind palace revelation, never turns up visually in the sequence at all.

For anyone interested, there are more details below the cut .....

The sequence starts when Sherlock remembers Ajay’s reply - at Sandeford’s pool - to his question about the man’s presumed connection to Jim Moriarty. 

While the sequence is unfolding, Sherlock stands on Vauxhall Bridge, his face is turned to the river. He looks into the distance ... into himself ... and concentrats on the memories that turn up in his mind. When the camera focuses on the back of his head, a Thatcher bust appears first on the left and then on the right side of the screen in a rather ‘explosive’ way. The next moment they get smashed and ‘explode’ into a myriad of shards and plaster dust. 

Sherlock’s profile materializes on the right side of his head and replaces the bust there.

In the episode, the left image of the Thatcher bust is used as transition from the scene where Toby the bloodhound loses track of the blood drop, found on Dr Barnicot’s bust, amidst a pool of blood on a street market. It leads to the scene that shows the destruction of Miss Orrie’s two busts, which are completely identical ... bust four and five of the case.

SHERLOCK: Clever. MARY: Well, if you were wounded and you knew you were leaving a trail, where would you go? JOHN: Like hiding a tree in a forest. SHERLOCK: Or blood in a butchers’. SHERLOCK: Never mind, Toby. Better luck next time, hm? SHERLOCK: This is it, though. This is the one. I can feel it. JOHN: Not Moriarty? SHERLOCK: It has to be him. It’s too bizarre; it’s too baroque. It’s designed to beguile me, tease me, lure me in. At last – a noose for me to put my neck into.

The right image shows the first of Miss Orrie’s twin busts that gets smashed with a hammer.  (The smashing of the twin busts)

Both of Miss Orrie’s busts are completely identical. The only thing that differs is the way they get destroyed. 

Bust A is hit by a hammer multiple times

Bust B is grabbed by a gloved hand and forcefully flung on the table amidst the shards of bust A

The way the transition is created - from the street market with the Watson couple to Miss Orrie’s twin busts implies that both images used for the revelation sequence are of bust A. If this is the case, then Sherlock is placed between one and the same bust (A), during that scene. It’s the broken bust nr 4 of owner nr 4. The twin-bust (B) is still untouched at that moment.

Then another bust makes its appearance. Sherlock sees the broken pieces of Dr Barnicot’s bust scattered on the floor. It’s the second bust of the case, the one on which Sherlock discovered the drop of blood after DI Lestrade brought it to Baker Street in a plasic bag.

Suddenly the scene that plays out inside Sherlock’s mind starts running backwards and the  pieces of the doctor’s broken bust reassamble themselves again. 

The background for this part changes from Vauxhall Bridge and the Thames to the livingroom in the Welsborough house. It’s taken from the very moment when Sherlock notices the ‘gap’ on the small round table where the first Thatcher bust had been placed and is now missing. 

Then the sequence runs backwards again and returns once more to the smashing of Miss Orrie’s first bust (A), while the second bust (B) can be seen, still intact, behind the bust-smasher’s gloved hand. The background is now a blend of the Welsborouh living room and Miss Orrie’s place.

From the moment when Dr Barnicot’s bust starts to reasamble itself again, to the destruction of Miss Orrie’s first bust, Sherlock remembers Mycroft’s words, spoken during the Cabinet Office meeting at the beginning of the episode:

Then, for the fraction of a second, the screen goes almost completely black before a new image appears in the left upper corner of the screen, while Sherlock’s profile on the right side slowly starts fading. The new image turns out to be Mary holdig little Rosie on her arm. The clip seems to be taken from John’s phone during the conversation between Mary, John and Sherlock before they enter the Welsborough living room.

Comparing the scenes from episode and revelation sequence shows that the images of Mary and Rosie are not completely identical. The position of their heads as well as Mary’s facial expression doesn’t really match. An absolut identical screenshot for those images doesn’t exist in the episode. This little difference between Sherlock’s view and that of the audience gives the impression that Sherlock processes his very own memory of the event in the revelation sequence. (Something similar happens during the baby shower scene when Mrs Hudson takes pics of the new Watson family. Sadly I couldn’t find that post anymore, nor do I remember the author. If anyone has a link, it would be highly appreciated.)

The image of Mary and Rosie is from John’s phone. Sherlock has just returned the phone, which he had taken to question Mary about her unexpected knowledge of the new case. The three men are already inside the Welsborough house and on their way to the living room. The image on the phone corresponds with Mary’s questions, directed at John: “What, an empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it? And what are you gonna call this one?” 

The dialogue assigned to the Mary/Rosie clip for the revelation sequence is taken from a scene prior - before Sherlock and John follow DI Lestrade into the Welsborough house. Sherlock has just taken John’s phone to question Mary about her unexpected knowledge of the new case.

The background for the revelation sequence has changed once more. Miss Orrie’s place as well as the Welsborough house are gone. The surrounding landscape at Vauxhall Bridge starts coming back and while the image of Sherlock’s profile slowly fades, the view of the back of his head grows more and more visible again.

This last part of the revelation sequence is dominated by images of Jack Sandeford’s shattered bust - the sixth and last bust of owner nr 5, destroyed by Sherlock himself, near the swimming pool. Mary and Rosie as well as Sherlock’s fading profile appear to be covered - seperately - by the remnants of that bust. Meaning - the same ‘explosion’ is displayed twice at the same time  - one to the left (on a smaller scale) and one to the right side of Sherlock’s head (on a bigger scale). 

Then new images come into focus left and right of Sherlock’s head. It looks like Mary and Rosie are overshadowed by another falling Thatcher bust. That’s a bit of an illusion though. The bust appears to be still the one of Jack Sandeford and the image seems to be taken from a screenshot prior to it’s destruction, when Sherlock rises the bust high up in the air before he smashes it on the floor. 

The image of Mary and Rosie vanishes then in something that looks like a fiery explosion of plaster bust pieces and is replaced by a single dark eye. Simultaneously with the ‘explosion’, Ajay’s AGRA memory stick, lying among the shards of the broken bust, appears on the right side of Sherlock’s head.

The single dark eye seems to be that of Ajay and is taken from the very first moment the man appears on screen. This happens after Sherlock’s first visit at his brother’s bunker office. The following transition deals with two busts - the second and the third - at the same time. First the destruction of Mohandes Hassan’s bust is shown, followed by Dr Barnicot’s bust. The two scenes are seperated by images of the single eye - opening and closing - and the small, dark flat of the bust-smasher, whose identity is still unknown at that moment. 

The dialogue assigned to Ajay’s eye for the revelation sequence is taken from the confrontation scene in Morocco, just before Ajay gets shot by an unexpectedly (conveniently?) appearing single policeman. His sudden death prevents the clarifying talk between the two former AGRA agents (mirrors for Jim and Sherlock in my metaphorical reading), which could lead to new insights and mutual understanding between them. 

AJAY: Ammo. Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo.  We were betrayed! SHERLOCK: And they said it was her? AJAY (to Mary): You betrayed us! SHERLOCK: They said her name? AJAY: Yeah, they said it was the English woman.

Then, while on the one side of Sherlock’s head the image of Ajay’s dark eye slowly fades out, Mycroft appears on the other side and starts to replace the AGRA memory stick before he too vanishes in an ‘explosion’ of plaster bust pieces. 

Again it’s Jack Sandeford’s bust but the degree of destruction shows that the image for this transition has been taken some shots earlier than the ones used before. The bust pieces are clearly bigger here. 

It was relatively easy to find fitting matches for all the broken busts, the different places for the background, Ajay’s eye and the AGRA memory stick, that got included in Sherlock’s final revelation sequence. Only the image of Mary and Rosie, taken from John’s phone, proved to be a bit of a challenge because there is no 100% identical match in the episode. 

Mycroft though turned out to be a really tough nut to crack. Stricktly speaking, I wasn’t able to crack it completely. I couldn’t find matching images of him, although I searched the whole episode three times. Then I started to comb through all the other episodes. Nothing. ‘Not knowing’ and ‘loose ends’ ... I can so understand Sherlock and Mycroft that they dislike this. :)

‘Don’t minute any of this’ ... these are the words Sherlock hears the moment when his big brother appears next to the right side of his head. Though partly overlaid by pieces and dust of the broken Sandeford bust, the expression on Mycroft’s face is quite distinctive. It should be easy to find matching pics. In the scene from which those words are taken though, big brother is filmed from behind. 

The only image that comes closest to the one from the revelation sequence - although filmed in a slightly different angle - appears some seconds later. It shows the very moment when Mycroft utters the code names for the people present:  “Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love.” The same four names that Sherlock associats with the smashing of the busts.

Basically, it’s the same as with the Mary/Rosy clip ... there simply is no image in the episode that matches with Mycroft face in the revelation sequence - not even roughly.

That sequence ends the way it began, with Sherlock’s eyes looking into the distance, looking ‘inside’ himself .... before he ‘returns’ to himself again and has the solution to the case. Mary’s wispered words that ‘they’ (secretaries) know everything, accompaniy Sherlock’s return. He starts running across Vauxhall Bridge. On his way he summons John, Mary, Mycroft and DI Lestrade to meet with them at the London Aquarium for the unveiling of the culprit.

Busts (masks) and characters involved:

Only five of the six Thatcher busts make an appearance in the revelation sequence, when Sherlock solves the case (Batches of Six).

4&5 - the first two busts shown, the twin-busts, belong to Miss Orrie Harker

3 - the next one, which reassembles itself in a backwards running scene, belongs to Dr Barnicot

4&5 - then Miss Orrie’s twin-busts reappear a second time

6 - they are followed by at least three different clips of Jack Sandeford’s bust, or rather its many shards and plaster dust

1 - the background used for most of the bust smashing - Welsborough’s livingroom - refers to the first bust of the case of which no smashing images exist

One bust is missing entirely though and that's number 2. It belongs to Mr Mohandes Hassan, the character whose names refer to the East as well as the West, to a winged god of sexual desire, equipped with 5 arrows, to rainbow colours, Ireland and the Irish word for ‘fawn’ (little deer, stag). Exactly this bust - and just this one alone - makes its appearance in the intro to all three episodes of Series 4 ..... side by side with the Houses of Parliament and the famous Clock Tower of Westminster Palace, also called Elizabeth Tower. 

Only three people are visually involved in the process of putting together the relevant puzzle pieces to solve the case, that takes place in Sherlock’s mind palace ..... Ajay, Mycroft and Mary. Each character has been given two seperated lines of dialogue in alternating order:

AJAY:  You think you understand. You understand nothing.

MYCROFT:  Code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock and Love.

MARY:  You’d be amazed what a receptionist picks up. They know everything.

AJAY:  They said it was the English woman.

MYCROFT:  Don’t minute any of this.

MARY:  They know everything.

That’s all the information Sherlock needs, to work out not only who the ‘culprit’ is, he also knows exactly the time and place where to find that person. Interestingly, that ‘culprit’ never appears visually in Sherlock’s revelation. Not once. 

Vivian Norbury turns out to be the ‘English woman’. Ajay tells, that’s how his torturers called the person responsible for the failed hostage rescue in Tiblisi, for his inprisonment and for the death of his fellow agents, his ‘family’. Ajay wrongly assumed that person to be Rosamund (Mary) ... now Mary (Elizabeth). Mary on the other hand tells about a phone call, the voice of a anonymous person called ‘Am(m)o’, who gave the order at the time. 

In my post about Vivian Norbury, I pointed out that this character shares a lot of similarities with Mycroft Holmes who is associated repeatedly with the Queen. 

The Queen .... wouldn’t she be the most well known ‘English woman’ worldwide? And hadn’t it been Mycroft who gave Jim Moriarty the perfect ‘ammunition’ to destroy Sherlock? Jim Moriarty sent the Holmes boys his ‘love’ via Irene Adler, the ‘Woman’ who considers herself to be ‘explosive’ and gay. Sherlock is convinced that the chemistry of love is simple and destructive ... explosive even. Well, ammo=ammonition and amo=I love. Both words make sense in this story about a war between intellect and emotions. After all, when you walk the streets of London with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield ... warns Mycroft at the very beginning of the story. It’s John Watson whom he warns, his brother’s new flatmate ..... between whose first and last name Mr Sex (Hamish=James=Jim) is hiding in plain sight. :)

Thanks for reading. I leave you to your own deductions. :)  Scripts by @callie-ariane​

May, 2021

[darling-i-read-it]

And the Woman Clothed With the Sun...

3x09

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.1k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, nightmares, talk of children and having them 

Author’s Note: I really really liked this episode. I love playing with dynamics SO MUCH. I hope you guys like this? 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: As the search for Francis Dolarhyde (Richard Armitage) continues, Will starts imagining himself in Dolarhyde's tormented psyche -- and asks Hannibal for help with the serial killer's profile; a new woman (Rutina Wesley) enters Dolarhyde's life.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif)

“That’s the same atrocious aftershave you wore in court,” Hannibal said. He turned around slowly, acting as though he were not surprised to see you and Will together. The thin line of glass between the two of you Hannibal seemed so thick.

The truth was, you had never truly gotten over Hannibal. You had pretended to, for the sake of Will, but you had never really stopped thinking about what he could be doing. There was a link that the three of you had with each other that was unexplainable. You had started a new life. But your old one still called your name. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” Will said simply. He was contained. You fed off of his energy to keep yourself in check as well. 

“Hello, Will. Y/N.” He stepped closer to the two of you. “I believe congratulations are in order. I apologize I couldn’t make it to the wedding. Alana gave me some pictures, to taunt me presumably.” You smiled. You thought about Hannibal holding the pictures of you and Will laughing, beaming at each other. “Did you get my note?” You nodded. 

“We got it. Thank you,” you said simply. You and Will stood close together. He had his coat draped over his arm and you held the papers from the cases. 

“Did you read it before you destroyed it? Or did you simply toss it into the nearest fire?” Hannibal asked. You scoffed a bit.

“We read it. Then he burned it,” you promised. He nodded. 

“And you came anyway.” Hannibal eyed you. “I’m surprised you let that happen.” 

“We all falter in some ways,” you said simply. 

“I want you to help me, Dr. Lecter,” Will said to break the conversation. He still didn't trust Hannibal with you. Reminiscent of the days you used to work with Hannibal.

“Yes I thought so. Are we no longer on a first-name basis?” Hannibal asked. 

“I’m more comfortable the less personal we are,” Will said. Hannibal looked over at you, eyeing your entire body. He made note of the scent. The scent off of both of you. 

“Your hands are rough Will. I smell dogs and pine and oil beneath that shaving lotion.” He looked at you. “Did you steal that perfume from my home?” he questioned. You stiffened. You had gotten some perfume from his home as they cleaned it out. You ended up liking and buying another bottle over the years.

“I’m here about Chicago and Buffalo. You’ve read about it, I’m sure,” Will said. 

“I’ve read the papers. I can’t clip them. They won’t let me have scissors, of course. You want to know how he’s choosing them,” Hannibal commented. You held up the case file. 

“Thought you might have some ideas.” 

“You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself Will? Or your wife?” Will let out a sigh. 

“I expected more of you, doctor. That routine is old hat.” Hannibal nodded stiffly.

“Whereas you are new people,” Hannibal said. “Let me have the file. An hour, and we can discuss it like old times.” You nodded happily at that, pleased he would help. You shoved the file through the document tray and into the cell. Hannibal came close to collect it. 

“Thank you,” Will muttered.

“Family values may have declined over the last century, but we still help our families when we can.” He took the papers. “You’re both family.” 

Will grabbed you around the waist, eager to leave. Your eyes lingered on Hannibal’s for a moment longer before you and Will left the room, swallowing his true words. 

-

You looked around Alana’s office. You hadn’t seen it since she had moved in. It looked better than when Chilton had run it. Perhaps that was just because you liked Alana more. The problems you once had with each other had mostly scabbed over. She was maid of honor at your wedding. Interesting, considering the fact you had once fought feverishly over Hannibal.

“It’s good to see you looking well. But I can’t help wishing you weren’t here,” Alana said. She sat on her couch. Her suit was pristine, her hair perfect. You admired her. 

“You aren’t the only one,” you commented. 

“I was surprised Jack came back in one piece,” she said. You nodded, running a hand over your pants before sitting down on the couch beside her. Will stood up, looking out the window. 

“You weren’t the only one,” Will said, turning to both of you. 

“How did it feel to see him again?” she questioned. You looked at the ground. Will sat down beside you, in between you and Alana. 

“Like Hannibal was looking through to the back of my skull. Felt like a fly flitting around in there. I had the absurd feeling that he walked out with me. Had to stop outside the doors and look around, make sure it was just Y/N,” Will commented. 

“I know that feeling. At least Jack Crawford’s pleased.” You pursed your lips but stayed quiet. 

“He showed me pictures of the families. I looked at Y/N and couldn’t say no,” he argued.

“Damn my presence,” you joked softly. Will slung his arm around the couch behind you, his fingered brushing your shoulder. 

“And Jack was counting on it.” 

“Are you still with Margot?” you asked, eager to change the subject. She took a deep breath and nodded, thinking fondly of her wife. 

“Yes. We have a baby. A Verger baby. A son,” she said. You smiled. You and Will had talked about kids. You wanted one. You were working for one when Jack spiked both yours and Will’s stress levels. 

“Good for Margot,” Will said.

“Good for me. I carried him. He’s my son. He’s the Verger heir.” You smiled. 

“Then what are you doing here? You’re set for life,” you pointed out. 

“There are only five doors between Hannibal and the outside. And I have the keys to every one of them,” she said. A daily ‘gotcha’ to Hannibal. Will admired that. “Hannibal has never been great with boundaries. ‘He who sups with the Devil needs a long spoon’.” 

“I am not letting him in, Alana. Don’t worry about me,” Will said. She looked at you sympathetically. 

“Last time, it didn't’ end with you Will.” 

-

“I want you to stay here,” Will said, standing outside Hannibal’s cell door. He hadn’t stepped inside yet. Hannibal could not see him. You scoffed.

“We’ve been over this. I follow you, even if you say no.”

“This time, I mean it. I think I’ll get more out of him if he isn't’ distracted with you.” You raised an eyebrow.

“You sure you aren’t jealous?” He gave you a look. “Fine, fine. Please be quick.” 

Will stepped into the room, leaving you outside to wait. Hannibal looked up at him from his desk.

“This is a very shy boy, Will. I’d love to meet him,” Hannibal said. He looked around. “Just us?” 

Will nodded.

“Just us.” 

“Have you considered the possibility that he’s disfigured? Or that he may believe he’s disfigured?” Hannibal asked. 

“That’s interesting.”

“That’s not interesting. You thought of that before.” Will nodded. 

“He smashed all the mirrors in the houses, not just enough to get the pieces he wanted. The shards are set so he can see himself. In their eyes. Mrs. Jacobi and Mrs. Leeds. And their families,” Will said. Hannibal pulled out the picture of a dead Mrs. Jacobi. 

“Could you see yourself in their eyes, Will? Killing them all?” 

Will instantly regretted leaving you outside. 

The two boys imagined themselves in the crime scenes, looking across the dead bodies of the families. 

“The first small bond to the killer itches and stings like a leech,” Hanibal said. “Like you, Will, he needs a family to escape what’s inside him.” Wills head shot up but he did not look at Hannibal. “You know a fair amount about how these families died. How they lived is how he chooses them.”

“How is he choosing them?” Will asked.

“I was surprised to hear you actually married Y/N. Not because I thought you weren’t a match made in heaven but it made more sense for you to start a family from scratch. No one that had even an inkling of me in their eyes. Find a mom with a stepson or daughter, not having to breed. You know better than to pass the terrible traits that you fear the most,” Hannibal said. Will did not look at him. Hannibal continued. “But Y/N wants children with you. How will you stand to look at a child you may have ruined before they were even born?” 

Will desperately wished he hadn’t left you outside. 

“Why are there no descriptions of the grounds? I see floor plans, diagrams of the rooms where the deaths occured, no mention of the grounds. What were the yards like?” Hannibal continued, satisfied with how he had shaken Will’s personal life. 

“Big, fenced, with trees. Why?” 

“If this pilgrim feels a special relationship with the moon, he might like to go outside and look at it before he tidies himself up. If one were nude, say, it would be better to have outdoor privacy for that sort of thing. One must show some consideration for the neighbors, hmmm? Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will?” 

Will suddenly saw himself in place of the killer, naked, drenched in pitch black blood. 

Will snapped back and nodded quickly.

“Thank you Dr. Lecter,” he said before stumbling out of the door. You sat on the outside in one of the waiting chairs. Will looked over at you and seemed to relax but not completely. 

“Will?” 

He grabbed you and you stood up quickly, hugging him tightly. He buried his head in your neck and you let him, rubbing your back.

“This is why you don’t go without me places,” you muttered. He scoffed but his breathing was already evening again. “What did he say?” He moved back and shook his head softly.

“We’ll talk about it later. I want to see the backyards.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, I suppose.” 

He walked out of the asylum, holding your hand tightly. Freddie snapped a couple pictures from the bushes.

-

“Have you come to wag your finger?” Hannibal asked as Alana entered the room behind him. 

“I love a good finger-wagging.”

“Yes, you do. How is Margot?” Alana ignored the remake as she gleaned down at the picture of her as Botticelli’s Fortitude.

“Your cogs are turning, Hannibal. I can hear them clicking.”

“Click, click, click, boom,” he whispered. 

“I don’t know what you’re planning with the Grahams. But you’re planning something. Why wouldn’t you be? You’ve already cracked the lid, can’t resist peeling it back.” 

Hannibal pursed at the name. Alana noticed this. 

“You can’t comment on her last name anymore you know. They’re married. She is, in the eyes of the law, a Graham now.” Hannibal stiffened.

“They came to me,” Hannibal said, ignoring her words.

“Yes, they did.” 

“I advised them against it.”

“I’m sure.” 

“Are you suggesting I don’t have Y/N and Will’s best interests in mind?” he asked. Alana scoffed.

“I’m stating it as a fact.”

-

You stepped into the room with Hannibal’s cage. He looked up, quite surprised to see you. You held your purse in both hands, stepping closer to the cage. 

“Hello love,” he said quietly. You let his words fall off of you like rain. They stayed for a moment, dripping down your arm before hitting the ground. “I don’t imagine you’re here to talk about the murder cases.” You shook your head softly. He walked up to the glass quietly. You stepped close to it, so you were really only a couple of inches apart. 

“I came to yell at you,” you said. He raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever for?” You smiled gently and shrugged.

“Lots of things. Firstly, you didn’t kill Jack when you got the chance. I’ll never forgive you for not feeding him to me in soup.” His eyes went wide.

“Careful Y/N. Alana watches these tapes.” 

“She would probably agree with me.” You took a deep breath. “Secondly, not coming to my wedding. I know you were otherwise indisposed but I thought it was rather rude.” 

“I thought it was rude of you to get married.” You shook your head playfully. The same banter. Joking with a cannibal serial killer. Just another Tuesday.

“Third, I told you to leave.” The air seemed to calm. 

“Does Will know you’re here?” 

“No. I didn’t tell him.” 

“Did he tell you he’s scared of his own children?” You raised a finger, shaking it gently. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Will is no longer my boyfriend I dated a couple of months. He’s my husband. You can’t wedge yourself between us no matter how hard you try.” You wanted to put your hand against the glass but you didn’t. “But I miss you.”

“Where do you work nowadays?” You shrugged.

“I had to get another secretary job but I’ve mostly worked up enough to take this amount of leave. My last employer wasn’t exactly the best reference.” He laughed. 

“I suppose you’re right.” He paused. “Eating well?” 

“Better. No people in the diet these days.” 

“Pity.” 

-

“Will!” You broke Will out of his thoughts. You were standing in the back of the Jacobi house. Will had just found a small sign on one of the trees. He was about to get into it but you had broken him out of his mind. “It’s Freddie.” 

Will walked out from the trees and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“Now are you just keeping America clean or is that evidence?” Freddie asked. 

“You’re trespassing, Freddie,” Will said sternly.

“I was trespassing before the blood dried.  When did they call you? Interesting to see The Bloody Valentines back at action. Beautiful ceremony by the way.”

“We aren’t talking to you,” Will said, grabbing your arm. You followed him.

“We’re co conspirators, Will. I did for you and your cause.”

“You didn’t die enough. You came into my hospital room while I was asleep. You flipped back the sheets and shot a picture of my temporary colostomy bag,” Will said, turning to her. 

  “Covered your junk with a black box. A big black box. You’re welcome,” she said.

“Justly so,” you argued carefully. 

“You culled us the ‘murder threesome’. Little crude, don't you think?” 

“You did run off to Europe together. Doesn’t help that the two of you ended up getting married. How does the Tooth Fairy compare to Hannibal Lecter? Haven’t seen anything like this since the Massacre at Muskrat Farm. Funny thing about that massacre. Not only did Dr. Bloom survived, she got rich. Lecter’s living in the lap under her care. What kind of arrangement you suppose they have?” Freddie asked. 

“A complicated one,” you said sternly. 

“Couldn’t be more complicated than your relationship with Hannibal. Both of you. You paid him a visit? Before you lie, know that I know that you did,” she said quickly.

“Good-bye Freddie.”

-

“I read your note before my office forwarded it to the Grahams,” Jack said, standing in front of Will. Hannibal swallowed, understanding. 

“To whet their appetite or yours? You’ve placed him back in the pot and you’re letting him cook.”

“We’re all in this stew together.” 

“Arguable considering how close Y/N is to drowning you.” 

-

You stepped into the hotel room where Will was already sitting on the bed. You ran a hand through your hair and let the chilly cold wash over you as you entered the warm room. 

“How are the dogs?” he asked.

“Good. The dog sitters said they were missing us but other than that, they’re okay,” you promised. You looked down at the dog that was laying on the ground beside the bed. “She’ll be right at home with them.” 

You sat on the bed and Will sat up, putting his arms around you from behind. You smiled about him, happy to see he was feeling better.

“I’m worried about the kids,” he whispered.

“The kids who don’t exist?” He laughed gently.

“Yeah. I don’t want them to end up like me.” You nodded slowly.

“So that’s what Hannibal said that got you worked up.” You took in the information. “If the kid isn’t like you I don’t think I’d be able to love them as much as I love you.” 

It was his turn to take in the information. 

“You’re just saying that.”

“Nope. I’m serious. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I’ve had the pleasure of loving you Mr. Graham.” He kissed your neck gently and smiled to himself. 

“I love you too Mrs. Graham.”

You let out a small sigh of relief. 

 -

Will screamed as he sat up quickly, sweating aggressively, blankets flying. You got up just as quickly, turning to him but he had already gotten up, rushing into the bathroom. You followed him, sleep that had just taken you over long gone. 

You practically ran up to him. He was looking at himself in the mirror, fear in his eyes at his reflection. You grabbed him quickly and he turned to you, wrapping his arms around you. You didn’t speak. You didn’t ask questions. You just held him as close as you could get him.

Nightmares had come back. Neither of you had had those in a while. You rubbed his back and let him breath. 

3x10

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Two ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3048

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Surprise! I wrote another chapter so I decided to go ahead and make another post. The reasoning behind this is I want to stay one month ahead and only one month ahead. That will give me a helpful buffer for when life happens but I don’t want to stockpile any more chapters than necessary. You know? So...here’s chapter two!

It’s nearing nightfall by the time we finally stop. My bones are stiff, my butt is sore, and my back hurts from all the tension I kept there out of fear that I would otherwise fall and be trampled under the horse’s quick-moving hooves.

Baranor slides down, reaching his arms up to me. I place my hands on his shoulders and allow him to help me off the horse. I stumble the moment my feet hit the ground.

Orophin—who I’ve yet to actually talk to—offers me a sympathetic smile. “Have you not ridden in a while? Take a short walk and stretch a little. It will help you feel less sore in the morning.”

I nod my thanks, tentatively releasing my hands from Baranor’s arms and turning away from the horses.

“Do not go far.” I jump. Haldir’s voice floats from the tree line just in front of us. I hadn’t seen him dismount, let alone climb into the branches. “We are not in guarded territory.”

With that ominous warning, I decide it’s best to stay close to the others. We’re near enough to the riverbank, so I hobble to the edge of the water and back again. Once movement comes a little easier, I extend my path to the tree line.

A voice to my left interrupts the silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart.

Rumil grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He hands me a canteen. “Sorry. I forget how terrible human senses are.”

I raise an eyebrow but bring the canteen to my lips, grateful for the drink. “And, what, elves are so much better?”

Mentally, I admonish myself for playing along. There’s no such thing as elves. Either they’re messing with me, or I really am having a wildly vivid dream.

Rumil nods, shrugging his shoulders in a way that suggests the answer is obvious. “Well, yes. We live longer, have better sight, hearing, reflexes. We do not tire as quickly as humans do, and we have a respect for our kin that the race of man cannot hope to imitate. I do not mean to offend.” He smiles, carrying a note of apology in his voice. “It’s only the truth.”

I shrug, unbothered by his comment. Because if elves exist in this world I dreamed up, why shouldn’t they be better than humans? It’s just as likely that I’ve imagined a race that’s worse than humans, and I only haven’t met them yet. “If you say so. But to answer your question, no, I don’t remember anything else. How long was I passed out?”

From his place by the now-grazing horses, Baranor answers. “Not long once we arrived, but I do not know how long you laid there before.”

“Yes, and you are quite lucky we arrived, especially with Baranor in tow.” Rumil winks, gripping my elbow and turning me back towards the part of the ground where I assume we will sleep tonight.

I give Baranor a questioning look.

He smiles awkwardly, a bit self-conscious. “I am quite skilled as a healer. I used the power in my spirit to call to your own. You were very nearly dead when we happened upon you.”

I file that information away. Power in my spirit…Probably something I’d read in a book once that my brain has brought up now. And these men I’m with—elves, I guess, according to the dream—must be people I know from…from…

But the fledgling thought dies away, leaving me with no more answers than before. I try to push back my disappointment, my logical side kicking in to soothe me. It’s okay. Soon the doctors will fix you, or you’ll wake up from this dream, and everything will be fine. You just have to wait. No point in getting freaked out.

Rumil, Baranor, and I settle on the high part of the riverbank. Orophin sits too, once he’s done refilling the canteens. I glance at the trees. I haven’t seen Haldir since we stopped riding. “Is he not going to join us?”

Orophin and Baranor exchange looks, but Rumil just snorts. “Likely not. As he said, we are neither in the territory guarded by the wardens of Lothlórien nor the patrols of Elrond. Someone has to watch for threats. More often than, not, Haldir insists on the job for himself. He doesn’t trust us to keep good enough watch.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Orophin hisses, and I flinch at the anger in his voice, even though it wasn’t directed at me. I have no idea how Rumil keeps his face blank. The two stare each other down until Orophin speaks again, still through gritted teeth. “Go and collect the rations for dinner.”

Rumil rolls his eyes, but does as his brother says.

Baranor clears his throat, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. He inclines his head towards me. “I see you are dressed for travel. Perhaps you were part of a company and got separated?”

Mildly perplexed, I look down at my body. Huh. He’s right. Something I had yet to take notice of is the clothes I wear — sturdy dark leggings, a deep green tunic, a red cloak, and thick leather boots. I haven’t the slightest idea how I conjured up these clothes, but Baranor is right — they’re perfect for this type of outdoor traveling.

Rumil returns and places a bundle of leaves in each of our hands. Inside seems to be bread and slices of some sort of fruit. Hesitantly, I take a bite. It’s surprisingly good.

“So how long until we reach this friend of yours?”

“Elrond,” Orophin informs, looking down the path we intend to continue on tomorrow. “Probably about thirteen more days, unless we hit bad weather. The mountains will take the longest, and traveling with a human will slow us down.” He realizes his words, eyes growing wide. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no, I get it.” I wave him off, picking at the bread in my hands. These elves sure have a bad view of me. “Humans suck.”

“At least it’s still spring,” Rumil supplies, trying to lighten the mood. “That will make our path through the Misty Mountains easier.”

“Right you are,” Baranor agrees, sipping from his canteen. “I detest crossing them in the snow.”

The three elves slip into easy conversation, exchanging stories of the worst travel conditions each has suffered, trying to one-up each other. While they talk, I place my bread back in its leaves and on the ground, no longer hungry. The stories they tell are quite detailed, and there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to make all this up…the landscape, the language, a whole new species with differing characteristics, vast knowledge of this world’s travel ways, four fully-thought-out ‘characters’, for lack of a better word….Dread and fear mingle with exhaustion and I slump, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a very long time. Perhaps when I wake, all will be well.

The murmurs from those around me sound muffled. A hand wraps grips one of my shoulders, holding me upright, and Baranor’s voice comes from beside my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. “I’m just exhausted.”

He makes a noise of agreement. “Of course you are, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

I try and wave off his apology, but it seems like too much effort to raise my arm over such a little thing. From the corner of my eye, I see Rumil stand and visit the horses. He returns carrying a rolled up mat and a folded blanket. He unfurls both, setting them on the ground between our gathering spot and the tree line. He beckons for me to join him and, with great effort, I stand without help, going to meet him as requested.

“Here. Sorry it’s not much. If we had known we’d be traveling with a lady, we would have brought much cushier sleeping provisions.”

I roll my tired eyes, realizing that he’s mocking me. “Goodnight, Rumil.”

He grins, sauntering off to rejoin his companions. “Goodnight, Cosima.”

I all but collapse on the mat, pulling the surprisingly warm blanket over my shoulders. Before I’m aware what’s happening, I’ve plunged into sleep.

{***}

Baranor woke me with the sun, and I’m very grateful to be leaning against him rather than directing the horse. I feel much too groggy to properly steer such a beast, especially given the fact that I have no idea how. Even though he must have stayed up most of the night, Haldir doesn’t look the slightest bit tired, and, on behalf of the bags underneath my eyes, I am thoroughly annoyed. He hasn’t said a word to me aside from the few sentences yesterday. I understand it a bit more now, though. He seems to be the leader of this group, and has either been charged with its security, or taken the task upon himself. Despite there not being another soul in sight, he rides at the front of our group—straight backed, stiff, his head on a near-constant swivel. Orophin tends to stay near one of Haldir’s shoulders—guarding his back and providing a sort of second watch, I presume. Rumil alternates between riding in-step with the horse Baranor and I occupy and cantering along behind us.

If riding was difficult yesterday, it is doubly so this morning.

Every bounce jolts though my bones, and I seem always on the verge of being tossed to the side, never quite able to fall into the rhythm the other four find so easily.  

Rumil pulls up beside us, seeming to showcase his perfect form. “Having trouble?”

I grit my teeth, but that only makes them clash together as the horse’s feet collide with the ground. “No.”

He snorts. “Toes up, heels down. Grip the horse with your legs, don’t put all that tension in your back. And if Baranor were human, you’d have strangled him by now. Loosen up.”

Baranor huffs out a laugh and takes an exaggerated breath when I relax my hold around him. “Finally, I can breathe!”

“So dramatic,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for Rumil’s benefit.

“What was that,” Baranor questions, though I know if he has as good hearing as he claims to have, he surely heard my comment.

“I said you’re a really great rider,” I shout.

The three of us dissolve into laughter, and I lose myself in this. For a moment, I forget that I am dreaming, that this is a strange world I made up in my head. I forget that I haven’t the slightest idea what comes next. Instead, I start to forge the first tentative bonds of friendship.

{***}

I am glad when we stop for the evening, and run through some stretches to try and help with the muscle aches. Rumil’s pointers certainly helped though, and I have hopes that perhaps this discomfort is only temporary. We still follow the river, and once again make camp in the space on the high, grassy bank. Bathing was an experience, but it was mercifully quick. The water was much too cold for my liking, so I washed as hastily as I could and then redressed, joining the others on the bank. I lean over to wring the water from my hair, the saturation making it seem nearly black. It’s getting quite long—almost too long, and I hope wherever we’re going has someone willing to cut it. Rumil watches me curiously as I take a spare cloth and scrunch my hair—bringing out its natural waves—but says nothing, only continues giving me an odd look. I guess with the stick-straight hair of he and his brothers, this would look unusual. Just as I am about to tease him for his staring, Haldir comes in to sight, looking quite severe.

“We have lost the cover of the trees. We will take watch in pairs, rotating halfway through the night. Orophin, Baranor—you take the first shift.”

They dutifully follow Haldir’s order, and I watch their faces as they pass. They show no signs of tiredness—no bags under their eyes, no yawning, in fact, not even a hair is out of place—but if it were me, I would be absolutely exhausted with all this staying up. And, though it is technically their turn to rest, Rumil and Haldir are still on their feet, occupying themselves with tending to the horses. I feel awful, peacefully sitting on my bedroll, messing with my hair and eating dinner, knowing I’ll get a full night’s sleep when none of them will have that luxury.

I return my food to the sack loaned to me and push myself to my feet, tentatively approaching Rumil and his brother. Rumil smiles in greeting. Haldir merely glances up and then back to his horse’s hoof he’s bending over to attend. Though I fight to keep my eyes open as it is, it’s not right for me to leave them to do all the work. So, I try to project energy I do not feel, and pose my question. “Do you want me to take a watch shift tonight?”

Haldir stiffens. Rumil raises his eyebrows and vibrates slightly—he’s holding back laughter! I give them my best unimpressed look.

Rumil tries to hide his amusement but can’t do away with his wide grin. “We appreciate the offer, really. But having a human stand watch when we have elves at our disposal? It would be the same to not set a watch at all.”

I huff, crossing my arms, trying to ignore the heat I feel in my cheeks. All this talk of how incapable humans are is getting a little old. “Well, there must be something I can do to help. I shouldn’t go straight to bed if the rest of you are still working.”

Rumil’s expression softens. He purses his lips, seeming to search for either a task for me or a way to turn me away.

“Do you know how to mend clothing?”

I’m momentarily caught off guard. Haldir hasn’t looked up from clearing his horse’s hooves, but it was definitely him who spoke.

Unbidden, the action of holding a ripped piece of cloth and using a needle and threat to bind it comes to mind. I must know how. So I answer in the affirmative. “Yeah, I think so.”

Haldir nods, straightening only to exchange one hoof for the other, never making eye contact with either me or his brother. “Good. There’s a blue tunic in my largest bag that needs mending, and one of Rumil’s too—that one’s red. Work with the light. Stop when you can’t see anymore and finish in the morning.”

I blink and feel my head tilt to the side. That’s the most he’s ever said to me. But it’s not even that he spoke, it’s how. Every syllable is crisp, curt, and succinct—a command in every sense of the word. I long-ago realized that Haldir is in charge of this little group, though now I wonder if he supervises in a larger capacity back in his home. I get the feeling he’s quite used to talking to people like this, and being obeyed.

But I did ask for something to do, so I don’t comment on his tone, only say my goodbyes and retrieve the shirts he’s described. They’re exactly where he said they would be and wrapped around a small sewing kit. I take the supplies and return to my bedroll, working through the sunset. When it grows too dark to see, I put the project away. Rumil and Haldir join me, bringing dinner with them. They set out their mats in a sort of triangle, and I realize somewhat belatedly that this allows each of us to watch the other’s back. It seems second-nature to them, to be cautions and on their guard, even during dinnertime and sleep.

I try to distract myself from that disconcerting thought. “Why are we going to meet this friend of yours anyway?”

Rumil’s gaze turns to his brother standing watch, a fond look in his eye. “There is an elleth there that Orophin is courting. Their time apart has been too long for his liking, so he is paying her a visit. It is dangerous to travel these lands alone, so Haldir and I took leave to accompany him.”

Courting. Elleth. Where am I finding all these words? I keep talking in an effort to distract myself. “That’s really sweet. Does Baranor usually go with you all, since he’s a healer?”

“Usually,” Rumil confirms. “He has extensive experience in the halls of healing, as well as healing on the battlefield, so he is an excellent addition to any company. Also Elrond—the friend we are taking you to—is an acclaimed healer himself, so he and Baranor enjoy conversing with each other.”

Haldir stretches his arms up, then reclines on his mat. “Better get some sleep, all of us. Rumil—we’re up in four hours.”

I take his advice, laying down on my own bedroll. Exhausted though I am, sleep evades me.

My mind runs a million miles an hour, piecing together bits of information from this world, trying to remember things from my home. And, all the while, thought takes root, sowing seeds of fear in my mind.

Because while I know this world isn’t real, and thus no harm can come to me here…Rumil said these lands are dangerous, and the increased watches only support my theory that we are under some kind of threat. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, let alone any skill, and while I know logically that I could throw myself off a cliff and still be fine….

What if that’s not the case?

I groan, rolling onto my back.

This is ridiculous. This place is made up. I’m trapped inside my own head, so I have no reason to be scared. Go to sleep.

And, when the moon is much higher in the sky, the exhaustion wins.

A/n Thanks for reading! You know how likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile. Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged (for some reason Tumblr isn’t letting me tag all of you?) try subscribing to the story on Ao3! That will update you when I post there. 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @fangirl-nonsense @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole

**Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you**

[so-small]

Connor Murphy x Reader: Dear Other Hansen: Part 1

words: 1,643

warnings: fight, slight harassment by a pervy football player

It was the first day of your senior year and your mom was giving the same speech to you and Evan that she gave every year. Growing up twins you shared everything: your anxiety, your interest in nature, your love-hate relationship with Jared, and your clear disdain for this speech. 'This year would be different, it's a new start- a clean slate. She's so proud of you already.'

"Oh and Evan, (Y/N)? I made you an appointment with for today, I'll come buy and pick you guys up after school. Make sure you guys have letters to yourself, the doctor expects you to have some." 

"We have an appointment for next week though, mom?" Evan questioned, worried that he overestimated the amount of time he could put off writing his letter.

"I thought you could use something a little sooner. I love you guys! Have a good first day, and remember if you guys need anything at all, call me. Bye," with that she was out the door.

Evan looked to you, and then down at his hands. "(Y/N), I still haven't written anything..."

"I know," you sighed, running your hands through your hair, "I haven't either. We were supposed to have another week." Procrastination. That was another trait you shared. You were well aware that it would only make the task at hand more daunting, but sometimes it was just more convenient to watch TV than do work.

"And we still have to take the bus. It's our senior year, and we're the only seniors who still have to ride the bus. Everyone is going to think we're losers."

"...What if we just walk?" You suggested, to which Evan responded to by nodding vigorously. You grabbed your stuff and the two of you began walking.

It was warm outside, but cloudy. Evan and you were talking about the normal stuff. He was talking about working at the park, and you were talking about hanging out with Zoe- another thing you had in common- who you had befriended one day at the mall at the beginning of the summer. You had been at American Eagle, trying to find the perfect outfit to boost your confidence. Zoe had seen you, said hi, and proceeded to help choose the cutest outfit you had ever seen. Ever since then, Zoe and you were good friends. Evan always loved hearing you talk about her, because he felt like he knew her better when you did. 

Finally, you arrived at school. Evan walked over to talk with Alana and then Jared, trying aimlessly to get them to sign his cast. Zoe had came over to you as soon as she saw you arrive to school, upset about the morning she had "-and then he finished the milk! Dry cereal was not how I wanted to start my first day back."

"Maybe he's just on his man period?" You didn't want to admit it, but Connor always intrigued you. He never looked like he was the same guy who Zoe complained about, or the rumors that spread across the school. He just looked out-of-place, which is how you felt most of the time. He didn’t look like he could be that much of a dick. Back in grade school, you had been in bed with the flu when Connor presumably threw a printer. After hearing little Evan cry for three hours after school about it- not because he was scared or even angry- because the teacher was printing out a coloring page for him, and he never got it. 

"Then he would have been menstruating since he was twelve-" Zoe was interrupted by hearing Connor yelling. She turned the corner to see him screaming at Evan and Jared scurrying off. "Oh no."

"Why are you laughing? Stop fucking laughing! I'm not the freak! You're the fucking freak!" Connor pushed Evan down and ran off sulking.

Zoe and you rushed over to Evan to make sure he was okay. You'd talked to her enough about Evan for her to know that he wasn't going to take this well. You were freaking out, both worried about Evan and horrified that he had already been pushed on the first day. The bell rung and Zoe went her separate way, while Evan rambled on, "-and then she introduced herself to me! Did you see that? It was so magical. Well, it would have been if I hadn't screwed it up."

"You'll be okay Evan. She's a sweet girl, she's not going to judge you. Especially since Connor was involved. What class do you have?"

"Stats, what about you?"

"English, see you at lunch or something?" You hugged Evan as tight as you could headed to class.

---

When you arrived to class, you took a seat in the back corner, relieved that you were in your favorite teacher’s class this year. Mr. Sinclair was half way done with the syllabus when Connor Murphy walked in. He walked to the back of the class room, but there were only two seats left. One by the captain of the football team, Derek, and the other next to you. He choose to sit next to you.

Not long after Mr. Sinclair was done with the syllabus, he announced that there would be a group project. “Your partners will be your table buddies. You will choose a book, and make a project on it. I emailed the requirements, but keep in mind that the books need to be appropriate. Derek you can join whatever group you.”  Mr. Sinclair then let everyone start working on the project. You were sitting with your hands cupped on the desk, staring down at them. You didn't know what to do. Sure, you'd seen Connor around at the Murphy's house, but he never really said anything more than the greetings his mom forced him to say. Other than that, all you knew about him were the rumors, what Zoe said about him, and that he'd hurt Evan earlier that day.

"(Y/N), right?" A voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You nodded, recognizing it as Connor's voice. "You're related to the kid with the cast and the polo?"

"-Evan, he's my twin." You didn't know why he was asking this. You’d been in the same grade level and classes as Connor since kindergarten, and even if you never personally spoke to Connor, you were sure he already knew these things.

"So you're going to go ask if we can just separate projects," You couldn't tell if this was a question or a command. "I mean, you're brother thinks I'm a freak, so why would you want to do a project with me."

"Evan does not think that, I promise."

Connor's voice got louder, "Yeah? Then why was he fucking laughing at me with Kleinman earlier?"

Your heart began race, and you began stuttering. Your face must have shown traces of anxiety because Connor's angry gaze softened slightly. He reached his hand toward your hand, but he was blocked by a figure.

“What do you think you’re doing, Murphy?” 

“Go away Derek.” The same amount Connor’s eye softened at the sight of your anxiety, they hardened when he saw Derek. 

“Were you going to hurt her?”

“Go. Away. Derek.”

“No can do. I’ve decided to be (Y/N)’s partner.” Derek slung his arm around your shoulders as you stiffened.

Connor was visibly getting more annoyed by the minute, “That would mean that your my partner too, go find a different set of partners.”

“Babycakes wants me here.” A smirk spread across his face. You were growing more uncomfortable, and were silenced by shock and disgust.  “No, she doesn’t. Neither do I, so don’t make me-”

“Make you do what? I’ve already decided. (Y/N), call me when you want to meet up for the project, sweetie.” Your face grew ten shades of red as you involuntarily grabbed onto Connor’s arm and scooted closer to him. Connor took one look at your shaky, nervous frame and lunged into action.

Connor drove his fist into Derek’s face, and Derek did the same. It was a blur as you gaped at the two men fighting, feeling a panic attack coming on, and before you knew it they were being pulled apart by Mr. Sinclair and two other teachers who had been called in. The teachers escorted Connor and Derek to the office. Mr. Sinclair pulled you outside the classroom and sat with you until your panic died down, “Are you okay, Ms. Hansen?” You nodded. “Did Mr. Murphy hurt you?” 

It took a moment to process what he said. “Connor didn’t do anything, Mr. Sinclair. Derek was making some,” you sighed, “comments about me that made me feel creeped out. I think Connor saw I was uncomfortable and tried to defend me.” 

Mr. Sinclair pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ms. Hansen, if what your saying is true, we need to get you down to the office so they don’t blame this on Connor.” Mr. Sinclair took you to the office just as the principal was getting ready to suspend Connor and release Derek. Mr. Sinclair reiterated what you had told him, and you confirmed it. Derek protested, trying to say that you were making it up.

“Very well,” the principal raised his hand to stop Derek, “Ms. Hansen has never given me any reason to not believe her. That, and last year three students came forward about you, Derek. I’m afraid I have no choice but to suspend you for a week and put you on probation from football until further notice. Connor, I’m going to let you off with a warning, and send you home for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, I will trust that you will not do this again, or you will be suspended.” Connor shook his head, and left without another word. 

---

A/N- I’m not sure how long this series is going to be, but we’ll see. 

[fencer-x]

Fencer’s Big Eva Review

Just got done watching the Eva finale, so it’s time to get out thoughts while they’re fresh! Caveat: Eva is difficult to understand for native speakers, and I’m definitely not a native speaker XD I feel like I got maybe half, and got the rough gist of like 10% of the rest, and the remaining was just no friggin’ clue. Would’ve gone better if there’d at least been JP subs, but you’ll have to deal with what I’ve got for now!

It should be obvious, but there’ll be HELLA MAJOR SPOILERS for the final Evangelion movie. Ready? Let’s go.

The movie very helpfully starts off with a ~2 min recap of the movies thus far. This was great because I didn’t have time to rewatch the previous three before going, and while I’ve seen them a few times, it took me a second the recall what had happened at the very end of Q, so I was glad to get a very brief recap.

The actual movie itself opens on...Paris! Or Paris post-Near-Third-Impact (Third Impact?), which is a red and black wasteland. It seems that Wille has been developing these things that look like Entry Plugs that they shove into the ground and restore everything to pre-all-impacts (so like, blue water and everything); couldn’t get HOW it managed that, but they had them and were attempting to restore Paris.

Would have been a walk in the park except for weird Eva-Angel-Machine hybrids that were trying to prevent them from activating the plugs. Lots of fighting happens, with Mari piloting her Eva to give them cover while the Wille staff set everything up. Eventually they manage it, and Euro Nerv is restored.

Then we switch over to right where Q left off: Asuka, Clone!Rei, and a catatonic Shinji wandering around trying to go who knows where. They eventually get picked up by...Touji! Yes, an older Touji now who lives in a commune of survivors, scraping out a semblance of a life in one of the areas protected by the aforementioned plugs (they had another name but I couldn’t get it).

In this community, Touji is the local doctor--and he’s married with a kid! He married Hikari, and they have an infant daughter named Tsubame. 

Now, let’s check in how our main three do when introduced to this relatively normal life they get to enjoy for a few weeks:

Asuka: Still in ‘fight mode’, ready to go at a moment’s notice. How she thinks she’s gonna fight when she has no Eva idk, but for this entire little bit, she’s either naked or in her plugsuit. She stays with Aida Kensuke, who’s kind of the handyman, and is generally just rude af.

Shinji: For 90% of this bit, he’s totally shut off. He’s incredibly fucked up from having JUST watched Kaworu die, essentially because of him, and Asuka has on a DSS choker, and every time he sees it, he collapses and begins vomiting violently. He stays with the Suzuharas at first but is quickly sent to stay with Asuka and Kensuke because they don’t really know how to deal with him. Kensuke manages to get him to open up a little bit, but eventually it’s Rei who gets him started on the path back to being himself. At one point he runs away and ‘lives’ alone for a while in what I think was either the building where he first met Kaworu playing the piano or one that looked a lot like it. He goes out to do odd jobs with Kensuke a lot, and on one occasion he’s taken to an ‘outdoor lab’ where some workers are experimenting with new gardening techniques. It’s here he’s meets...Kaji Ryouji. No, not that Kaji Ryouji. That Kaji DIED. This is the son he had with Misato (named after him).

Rei: Now, let me say I’ve never been super interested in Rei. I didn’t dislike her, like I did Asuka, but I wasn’t really interested in her either. She was just there. Guys.....I LOVED REI IN THIS MOVIE. I would have watched 2.5 hours of the Rei Learns To Be A Human show and been happy for the $20 I paid. Rei spends her time in the commune learning to be an individual. She stays with the Suzuharas and learns what different words mean, like “Good morning” and “Good night” and “Thank you” and “Goodbye”, she gets super close with a bunch of old ladies who essentially adopt her and teach her how to plant turnips and what a bath is, and she becomes her own person. When she first arrives, the Suzuharas think she’s “Ayanami Rei”, but she explains that she isn’t, so they call her “Sokkuri-san” instead (”Miss Spitting Image” essentially), and the old ladies find it amusing at first but then encourage her to choose her own name, and when she can’t think of one, they tell her to have someone choose one for her, so she asks the Uber-Depressed Shinji to choose one. These interactions are what eventually pull him back to himself, but ultimately he’s unable to come up with one, because “Ayanami is Ayanami”. She thanks him for trying anyway, returns his SD player to him..............................and then dissolves into a pile of LCL fluid, as apparently all clones eventually return to LCL. Fantastic, because Shinji didn’t need EVEN MORE TRAUMA.

Somehow, the above doesn’t break Shinji, and he resolves to go back to Wille and face his father I guess?? I’m not entirely clear on why (gotta go read some reports of my own I guess lol). Back on the ship with Misato et al., Shinji isn’t forced to wear a choker but he’s put in a cell with like explosives in it I guess. He starts having visions of Kaworu helping him accept things.

At this point it’s getting close to the climax, and Wille are going after Nerv/Gendo once and for all. During the final fight, Asuka tried to take out Unit 13′s core, and then she’s not managing it, she rips off her eyepatch, and we see that the patch was keeping the 9th angel bound within her eye, so she decides to throw away her humanity and let it take over to destroy Unit 13. Unfortunately, she’s killed in the end--how? She’s approached by a vision of her ‘original’. Yup, Asuka was a clone herself, like Rei, and she turns back into LCL and she and unit 02 are absorbed by Unit 13.

Eventually the fight comes down to Shinji vs. Gendo, who has thrown away his own humanity and bonded with Unit 13 in the hopes of completing the Human Instrumentality Project. He and Shinji go head to head as Shinji summons (???) Unit 01 from inside Unit 13, and there’s a really REALLY WEIRD final fight between the two that involves some weird animation choices. Lots of storyboards and overly CGI’d CGI, and some bits that seem to take them through the different incarnations of the Eva series.

We also get Gendo backstory by the boatload as he and Shinji have an actual goddamn conversation for once. Mari features prominently in Gendo’s flashbacks so she was definitely one of his classmates it seems, who introduced him to Fuyutsuki. I’m still not entirely clear on who she is/was.

However, through this conversation, Shinji gives the people he’s interacted with most closely/been closest with closure I guess? Gendo, Asuka...Kaworu.

So about Kaworu. Their conversation was VERY VERY WEIRD; it’s made clear that Shinji is also now aware of all the different iterations of their meeting. When they talk, it’s set at the beach where they first met in the TV series, and Shinji says he remembers all the times they’ve met before. Shinji mentions that Kaworu reminds him a lot of his father, and then there are some very strange flashbacks (????) of Kaworu’s that I feel like imply he’s to Gendo as Rei is to Yui. At one point, he’s seen talking to Fuyutsuki, trying to decide on a name for himself and settling on ‘Nagisa’ as it means ‘beach’, where the ocean meets the land. Fuyutsuki later addresses Kaworu, who’s sitting in Gendo’s desk, as “Commander Nagisa”. Kaworu reflects to Shinji that he failed so many times to make Shinji happy, but he’s realized now that that’s because he doesn’t know what would make Shinji happy and it was arrogant to think he knew better. He was looking for his own happiness all along.

In the end, after all these goodbyes, Shinji is left with the decision of what to do with, well, reality. He decides, in a conversation with Rei, that he’ll reset everything--create a ‘neon genesis’--to a world without Eva or Angels.

Our last shot is an older Shinji meeting his (presumed??) girlfriend Mari on a train platform. On the opposite platform waiting for their own train are Kaworu, Asuka, and Rei. Shinji and Mari hold hands and run, laughing, from the train station.

NEON GENESIS EVANGELION GOT A HAPPY ENDING. 2021 REALLY BE OUT HERE WILDING.

My final thoughts:

Okay I’ll say it: the fuck with Shinji/Mari endgame? Believe me, it was completely out of left field even in this movie. They just happened to be the only final survivors. Mari flirted a hell of a lot more with ASUKA and was distraught at her death than she did with Shinji. They were a kind of cute couple in the end, but very ????? 

I’m disappointed Shinji wasn’t the one to give Kaworu his happiness in the end, after Kaworu spent so long and so many lives and realities trying to make him happy and failing. I’m choosing to believe, since these multiple realities/resets are canon now, that he did it in one of them. They all deserve the happiness of their choosing, not just Shinji’s, and Kaworu showed us time and time again that his happiness definitively involves being with Shinji.

I’m sure I missed a lot, because yanno, Eva, and it was long enough as is, but gosh I wish I could’ve understood more of everything that was going on, cause there was SO MUCH WEIRD SHIT.

If I watch this movie again, I will 500% just be watching those “Rei learns to be human with the help of a bunch of old cackling biddies” bits :> Those were THE BEST PARTS OF THE MOVIE.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 3/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Read on AO3.

January 15th –

He opened his eyes!

He opened his eyes and looked at me!

After hours of waiting in the dark and in the cold, despairing every second and wishing I was dead myself, he opened his eyes.

But it came close to being all for naught because I almost died myself right then and there.

It was good to see him with his eyes wide open, but the golden eyes I loved so much are gone. 

These new eyes are white on white, the pupils infinitely dark, the irises torn. They stare without blinking. They look into me, into my soul, it seems. They connect to the love that runs deep within me, to every touch he has ever left on my skin, to every promise we both made. 

But they do not recognize me. 

Am I, at all, familiar to him?

I don’t want to reject him, whether he knows me or not. But those eyes unnerve me.

There’s so much about them that’s innocent and frightened.

So much about them that’s desolate and dead.

We literally spent the morning just looking at one another.

I would give anything to know what’s going on in his mind. 

What does he see when he looks at me? 

I want to reach out and touch him, but I’m afraid. I know it won’t be the same. He won’t be warm, won't be comforting. What could be worse than a dead copy of a once alive and loving creature? I don’t know. 

But whatever this is, it might be. 

He won’t smell like Crowley. He won’t have his cheek, won't have his soothing voice. It’s almost as if I adopted some wild animal and decided to make it my husband.

What have I done?

***

January 16th –

All day long, he tried to move, grunting with the effort of struggling to stand up and get out of bed. He didn’t speak words; he just groaned. I wanted to help him. I wanted to pretend that he was simply convalescing after a horrible illness. I wanted to bathe him and dress him. I wanted to sit him down in front of the television, prop up his feet, and feed him brandy and ice-cream. I wanted to put this chapter behind us and get on with our lives.

I wanted to make believe him dying had never happened.

But I’m not that good an actor.

He behaves exactly the way the old woman warned me he would. He reminds me of a child.

I never wanted children.

This is the ‘in sickness and in health’ part of the marriage package, which I agreed to without hesitation.

Never mind the ‘till death do us part’ portion.

This comes with my vows, and I will honor them.

My love will help him. I know it will.

…

Can I really do this, or am I fooling myself?

***

January 17th –

I’m trying my best to take the bad with the good.

I managed to get him to the living room sofa. His legs were stiff, and he couldn’t seem to bend his knees.

He had been declared dead-on-arrival because of the injury to his neck. But I wonder if anything else is broken. I wasn’t really paying attention to the doctor when he went over the extent of Crowley’s injuries. After I heard the word dead, I tuned out.

I should get a copy of Crowley’s hospital records.

But if his legs are broken, how will I deal with that? Will the potion magically fix everything? It brought him back to life. Could fixing broken legs be more difficult than reanimating a corpse? What is the extent of the potion's effects? Do I need a secondary potion of some kind to repair internal injuries?

Maybe I should call the shopkeeper back and ask.

We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

He stumbled numerous times and fell on me. I did my best not to cringe at his touch or accidentally drop him. But those eyes, so close to mine, were like looking into a nightmare. I could see through them to the veins and arteries behind, the blood inside them black and unhealthy.

The fourth time he stumbled, though, I got the feeling that maybe he was falling on purpose so that I would be forced to catch him.

I even thought I saw the shadow of a smile cross his lips.

I watched him as he sat in front of the TV and renewed his passion for The Golden Girls. That show had been one of his favorites since he was a small boy.

He sat so still. 

He didn’t swallow. 

He didn’t appear to breathe.

The only time he moved was when he looked over to where I sat, I think, to make sure I was still there.

He sat for hours and watched TV. 

There was nothing else for him to do.

I fed him salad for dinner, let him stay in front of the television instead of making him go to the dining room table. I didn’t see any reason to move him. He leaned down and sniffed the cold lettuce leaves, but he did not eat.

Neither did I.

***

January 19th –

After a full day of limping him around the house, Crowley is surprisingly steady on his feet. He can make it from the bedroom to the living room sofa by himself. It takes him a while, but he can do it.

His body is still in rigor, but he seems to be getting more comfortable with it.

I should be jumping for joy at his progress. The more mobile he becomes, the less dependent he will be on me. Every day that he improves, even a little, he is closer to becoming the man he was.

But I don’t know how comfortable I am with that anymore.

***

January 21st -

He doesn’t sleep. And now that he doesn’t rely on me to get around the house, neither do I. I know he sees me as a parent-figure, so he won’t hurt me. But he’s such an alien creature. Not like the old Crowley at all.

It’s strange having this version of him around the house.

When Crowley was

Before the accident, Crowley was so independent. He didn’t need me, didn’t need my help with anything.

But now, he needs to be near me all the time.

I understood there would be a change in our dynamic, but it’s such a striking change that it’s difficult to get used to.

I took a shower for the first time in days. I left him in the living room watching TV, but when I finished and opened the curtain, there he was, standing there … staring.

I fell asleep for about an hour afterward, and when I woke up, he was kneeling beside me, again staring at me.

He’s always staring.

What does he think about doing when he stares at me?

***

January 22nd –

I finally broke down and gave Crowley a shower. He didn’t stink, but there was something about him, something that smelled … well, I can't seem to find the words to describe it. 

I just wanted it gone.

I’ve seen the injuries to his chest numerous times, but I haven't paid much attention to his back.

When I saw them, I almost threw up.

And he noticed. 

He heard me gag. 

I gasped, held in my urge to be sick.

He turned to face me, and for the first time, he had an expression on his face different from his blank one … but also different from that smile I thought I saw when I was helping him walk around the house.

He looked hurt.

***

January 27th -

Each day that he improves, I debate telling our friends that he's here. I know they miss us terribly. But in the end, it would be too cruel. He’s not himself anymore. He never will be. Most days, I curse myself for doing this to him. My motives were selfish. I wasn’t thinking of anyone but myself when I made the decision to bring him back. 

I wasn’t even thinking of him.

Our lives are unrecognizable. We’ll never travel the world like we'd planned. Who knows if I’ll make it back to my bookshop? Should probably shut it down and have my books transported here. The way things look, the rest of our days will be spent in this cottage. 

I have to be okay with that.

But what about Crowley?

If you asked rational me if I think he wants to live this half-life, with no potential to be anything other than a human puppet, who only barely resembles the man that was Anthony J Crowley, I would have to say no. Absolutely not.

But I can’t turn back now.

What am I expected to do? Poison his tea? Smother him in his sleep?

Would attempting to kill him even work?

And what about his soul? 

If there is a Heaven, I surely pulled him out of it with my cock-eyed plan. What if there is no going back for him? 

I can only hope that my love for him is enough to keep him from hating me when he’s able to comprehend what I’ve done to him.

***

February 1st –

I’ve finally gotten him to eat – bits and pieces mostly, bites of vegetables and corners of bread. It doesn’t seem like he likes it, but he eats it, and that’s good. He eats because I tell him to. It shows that he trusts me.

He’s more self-sufficient now. 

He showers and brushes his teeth on his own. He picks out his pajamas and dresses himself. Sometimes he tries his hand at making the bed. He is attempting to be more vocal, but he has yet to say a single thing that isn’t a grunt or a moan.

I’ve been looking up the subject of speech delay on the Internet, trying to find ways to help him learn. I came across one website in particular with fun, creative ideas. I started making flashcards of consonant blends and one-syllable words. I felt so accomplished, so hopeful, like I was actually doing something positive toward the goal of moving us forward. I felt confident that after a little work with them, everything would be all right. I was so excited to show them to him, but then I realized …

… I have no idea if he can read.

***

February 3rd –

I tried calling the old woman at the antique shop in Soho to ask about the effects of the potion, but the phone has been disconnected.

I guess they went out of business after all.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing appears to be broken. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t feel pain.

I was teaching him how to cook, hoping it would bring a bit of the old Crowley back. We used to cook together all the time. Honestly, we weren't all that good at it, but that didn't stop us from trying. We had just gotten the hang of a decent souffle before ...

Anyway ...

I started him small. 

I had him grating cheese. 

Seemed simple enough. The grater stands on its own, so not much to juggle. But he pressed too hard, ran the grater over the backs of his fingers, scraped off skin. He didn’t so much as flinch. I think it bothered me more than it bothered him. I bandaged it up and, without thinking, I kissed the wound. I looked at him in utter shock …

… and he smiled.

My heart leapt.

It’s so nice to see him smile again. 

I never thought I would.

***

February 4th –

I took off Crowley’s bandage, and his wound from the cheese grater is gone! There’s not a trace of it left!

I guess that answers that question.

I should be relieved, but it bothers me, and I don’t know why.

***

February 21st –

Today was the most unexpectedly intense, depressing, and wonderful day all at once.

It started when Crowley woke this morning. He got up before me and tried to make me crepes. I had no idea why. He hadn't tried to cook by himself before, didn't even show an interest in cooking without me. He burned them, himself, and the stove all in one go. The fire alarm woke me, blaring in my ears. I managed to get to the extinguisher in time, but poor Crowley looked heartbroken over his ruined pan of blackened food.

Then, before lunch, he wanted to go outside. I think he was trying to sneak out, but I caught him jiggling the front doorknob (he has yet to master the bolt - thank God). When I caught him, he slammed his hand on the door in frustration and sprinted for the back one. I followed him, knowing it was locked and that he wouldn’t be able to open it. When I reached him, he was trying to wedge his way out of the old cat flap. (Note to self - board up the cat flaps! I don’t know why we kept them. We’ve never owned a cat.) 

I patted him gently on the shoulder and asked him what he needed. He stood up and groaned, moving his mouth and wiggling his tongue, making nonsensical sounds. When he couldn’t say what he needed to, he pointed out the window to the garden. I assumed he wanted to check on his dahlias. I’m a disaster with flowers, and, unfortunately, I haven’t been able to keep them up the way he could. 

Of course, it's one degree outside. The poor things are frozen solid. They're not even flowers any longer, I don't think, but the frigid remains of what they once were.

But he’d had yet to show any interest in them, either, before today. 

I shrugged, repeated that I didn’t understand. He pointed more forcefully, jabbing at the window with his index finger.

“I don’t know what you're trying to tell me, my dear,” I said. “Do you want to go for a walk?�� 

I've taken him walking around Soho a few times. I've been trying to tie up loose ends, decide if selling the bookshop is the road to take. I wrapped him up in a full-length coat and scarf with just his eyes peeking out. I guess he enjoyed it, but he’d never asked to go outside. He shook his head and pointed again, this time at the dying rose bushes that I hadn’t had time to deadhead. I didn’t get it. I shook my head, and he stormed off to the bedroom.

I followed him there, but he blocked the door.

I could hear him inside, moaning. It was horrible. It sounded like pain and embarrassment and frustration, all rolled together. And I couldn’t help him.

He wouldn’t let me.

I tried to lure him out several times, but he didn’t come out till dinner time.

And when he did, he was dressed in a black Bergdorf suit.

Crowley has dozens of expensive black suits, and he looks stunning in all of them.

But this suit.

This suit in particular.

This suit had been hanging front and center in his closet.

Because it was the suit I had planned on burying him in.

It threw me for a loop, dragging me kicking and screaming back to that day I found out he had died, before I’d decided to try bringing him back, before I knew that I could. I took out the suit to air it. I guess I hadn’t put it back with the others because there it was, standing before me with the living corpse of my husband inside.

The sight took all the air out of my lungs.

“Take it off,” I said quietly, trying not to alarm him, but how was I supposed to explain to my somewhat dead husband that I didn’t want to see him dressed in the suit I had planned on putting him in the ground in?

He looked confused and shook his head, opening his mouth and groaning.

“Please, Crowley,” I begged, hoping he would hear my anguish and understand, “take it off.”

He stomped his foot and shook his head, the way a petulant child would. It should have been cute, but I couldn’t handle it. I've had issues getting used to his looks lo these many weeks, but for the first time since he came back to me, he looked dead.

“Take it off!” I screamed. I ran at him, grabbed the lapels, trying to tear it off his body. He held me, pinned my arms, and I could feel his renewed strength. I hadn’t really let him touch me before, but now I knew that if he wanted to, he could probably hurt me.

I stared up at him, realizing that he was hovering above me, and I was lying on my back on the floor. My heart stopped. He had never looked menacing before. Even in death, he seemed so innocent. But now, he looked like a monster. He had a piece of paper balled in his grasp, and he tried to make me look at it, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from his face – pale and cold and lifeless, regardless of the fact that he was my Crowley.

He stared at me, trying to speak.

It hit me like a pile of bricks.

Speak.

That’s exactly what he was doing. 

His lips were moving in exaggerated, grotesque ways that shouldn’t be able to turn sound into words, but they were.

“A … Az … Azi …”

Crowley blinked and shook his head.

“Azir …”

“Aziraphale?” I asked in awe that he was trying to say my name.

Crowley laughed. It was a glorious, hollow, frankly frightening sound, but I couldn’t help smiling when I heard it. He put his fingers to my lips. 

I guess he didn’t want me to steal his thunder.

“Azzzir-uh-phale,” he said, smacking his lips. “I … lo … I lov …” Crowley swallowed again, closing his eyes, trying to make the words in his head match the movement of his lips. “I … love … you … Azzzir-uh-phale.”

Crowley tapped again at the paper on the floor. This time I did what he wanted and looked. He had torn off the current page from the calendar and was poking at a box circled shakily in red. I peered down at it.

I could have cried.

“Our ... our anniversary?” I asked, looking into his broken eyes. He sighed, nodding.

It was our anniversary.

He’d wanted to make me breakfast in bed … for our anniversary.

He’d wanted to get me roses … for our anniversary.

My husband had wanted to do something nice for me … for our anniversary.

My husband had spent all day teaching himself how to say, “I love you, Aziraphale,” because there was nothing else he could do for me.

My husband remembered our anniversary ...

... even when I had not.

***

June 4th -

Five months-ish later…

I can’t believe it! 

I cannot believe it!

Five months later and we’ve made it! Despite the odds. Despite the difficulties and the heartaches. Despite every time I thought about giving up, here we are.

Happy.

Together.

We spend our days wrapped in each other’s arms. We watch TV. I read books out loud - he sits and listens. Crowley is re-learning how to drive, and I’m on the hunt for a new Bentley. Our lives might not be what they were before, but they’re perfect for us.

We’ve managed to go to the city more, spent a few glorious nights at our flat in Mayfair. We've even interacted with one or two of our old friends. It's a wonder what some foundation and blusher can accomplish! I told them it was a medical miracle, and they believed me.

Because that's what Crowley is.

A miracle!

Okay, maybe I am tempting fate. But maybe fate needs to be tempted from time to time! 

His vocabulary has expanded immensely, and a hint of his old suave confidence has come back, along with the muddy accent I so often teased him about.

I am finally at a point where I am optimistic about the future.

Because I’m beginning to think that there might actually be one for us.

***

August 13th –

I woke this morning to a strange squealing noise. At first, I thought it might be the smoke alarm again - odd since we got the cooking situation sorted, I thought. The longer I listened to it, the more I realized it wasn’t the smoke alarm. It didn’t sound familiar at all, so I didn’t worry too much about it. As long as an errant sheep didn’t get hit by a car, there was really no reason to jump out of bed and investigate. After a few minutes of listening to the goings-on outside, I determined that wasn’t the case, so I considered going back to sleep.

But then I noticed that Crowley wasn’t laying beside me in bed.

That isn’t too unusual. He’s normally the first one up on any given day. I just curl back into a ball holding his pillow to my chest until he returns.

He always returns.

The squealing wasn’t really that weird. I’ve thought for the last few months that we might have rats. Or squirrels. Or possums. I’ve heard that same squealing a few times before. But seeing as I can’t find any evidence of rodent-caused destruction anywhere in the house, I haven’t been too aggressive about hunting it down.

My stomach began to growl. I guessed I had been asleep for longer than I thought. Instead of returning to bed, I decided to make some waffles for breakfast. So I got up and went out into the kitchen.

That’s where I found Crowley.

He was crouching on the floor …

… covered in blood …

… biting into the spine of what used to be a raggedy old Maine coon …

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

He grinned his old, sly grin, licked his bloody lips, and said, "Hello, Aziraphale. Can I get you a cuppa tea? I know just how you like it."

He winked at me, and my heart stuttered.

…

I may have a problem.

***

Those are the last words on the page.

A page where the ink is smeared from tears, and the edges crusted in blood.

I haven’t seen Aziraphale or Crowley in decades. They used to send the occasional letter, but those stopped a while ago, and they never call. But something tells me neither of them ever left this house alive.

I’m afraid my time, too, has run out. I came to this house alone. But huddled in the darkest corner of the attic, I hear footsteps coming closer, a sour voice on the wind calling my name …

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

Ka-thunk …

“Warlock …”

…

KA-THUNK!!

***

“Warlock Dowling!” Crowley calls, barging into the attic, footsteps heavy on the worn floorboards. “Are you recording another one of those Clip-Clop thingies again?”

“It’s TikTok, Nanny,” Warlock replies, rolling his eyes, “and no. I’m reading a story for my YouTube channel.”

“Well … you done getting a costume together or wot?” Crowley asks, changing the subject, saving face that he actually understands anything Warlock just said. “Adam and his hooligans are gonna be here in a minute. Aziraphale is gonna have kittens if you’re not ready to go Tricks or Treats!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Warlock says, gathering up his camera. He loves Halloween with a passion, but he’d been eyeing this one journal in Aziraphale’s bookshop for some time now. This video he’s been putting together promises to be epic - the crowning achievement of his burgeoning story channel. Most horror story channels get their material from the Creepypasta Reddit, but he has a unique source of original material … when he can get out to Soho, that is. “I’m coming.” He pulls the lapels of the leather jacket he’s borrowing for the evening together in front to tighten it up. 

It’s slim fit as it used to be Crowley’s from back in the day, but thirteen-year-old Warlock still swims in it. 

Warlock marches to the door under Crowley’s watchful eye. Before he can make his way through, Crowley stops him, slipping a hand underneath the jacket and rescuing an extraneous prop - an antique journal.

“Have you been snoopin’ through Angel’s old manuscripts again?” Crowley asks, wiping the cover clean. “You know how he feels bout that.”

“I know,” Warlock admits sheepishly, “but my audience loves them! I get thousands of hits off his stories! Besides, I put my own twist on them, freshen them up a bit.”

“Do you now?” Crowley asks with an unamused eyebrow notched.

“Why didn't he get them published?” Warlock shifts gears before the lecturing can start. “He’s an amazing writer!”

“He had his reasons,” Crowley mumbles, flipping through the pages. After skimming a passage or two, he puts it down on a pile of similar journals, a shiver sliding down his snakey spine. “Oof! Those things’ll give you nightmares.”

“They should terrify you. He’s murdered you in every single one!”

“Ah, but he does it with love.” Crowley grins wide enough to swallow his whole face. “It’s an honor.” 

[c-optimistic]

ally

She was led into an office and left alone with a cup of lukewarm coffee for nearly fifteen minutes before the door opened to reveal Maggie Sawyer.

Lena couldn’t exactly help her eye-roll.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, detective, but I was under the impression your job involved investigating aliens in National City, not just Luthors.”

“Brr,” Maggie said, grinning as she sat down in the seat next to Lena. “You know, I’ve heard of the world famous icy Luthor charm, but damn if those descriptions don’t do you justice.” She leaned back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest, still grinning—much to Lena’s annoyance.

“What are you doing here?”

“You may find this hard to believe, but I’m here for you.”

“Funny, I do find that hard to believe,” Lena said, leaning back as well. “Can you tell me what’s going on at least?”

To Maggie’s credit, she looked conflicted for a moment, like she was actually debating on telling Lena the truth.

“I can tell you that I really want to be here to see the look on your face,” she finally said, shrugging a little. “And also because I promised my friend who works for social services that I wouldn’t leave her alone with you.”

“Social services? Why would—”

She was interrupted when the door opened again, a small woman with short hair entering the office with a vaguely worried expression on her face. It was obvious she was the friend Maggie had mentioned, if the tiny smile Maggie gave her was any indication. Lena watched her settle into the only empty seat left—across the table from Lena and Maggie—and clasped her hands together, sitting up straight and meeting Lena in the eye.

“Ms. Luthor,” she began, her voice gruffer than Lena expected. “My name is Sarah Wilkins. I work with Child Protective Services. I’m here to speak with you about Ally.”

Lena blinked, not following at all.

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Alexandra Peters, your niece.”

The laugh that escaped her wasn’t her fault at all, though judging by the look on Maggie’s face, the wince and then frown, it likely wasn’t appropriate. Thoughts of this being one grand joke were immediately replaced by the nagging suspicion that her life would be upturned once again by something Lex had done.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I don’t have a niece. You see, my brother is in maximum security, and his chances of having a child are, well, low.”

Maggie and Sarah exchanged a long look and Lena shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Ally is six months away from her second birthday, Ms. Luthor. She was born before your brother was put away.” Or, Sarah didn’t say, Lex had plenty of time to have a child. Rather than speak, Lena continued to stare at Sarah, waiting for her to get to the point. “About a month ago, Ally’s mother, a Gwen Peters, died in a car accident—”

“Was it…?” Lena trailed off, unable to even finish the thought. To her shock, Sarah seemed to understand, her eyes even softening.

“It seems to have been just an accident. A tragic one, of course, but an accident all the same.” She stressed it enough that Lena found herself believing her. “Ally was placed in the care of her maternal grandparents, but CPS has recently discovered…well, to put it bluntly, the Peters are not fit to raise a young child. Which is where you come in.” She blinked, pausing long enough to needlessly straighten her blazer and to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “In Ms. Peters’ Will, in the event that her parents are unable to care for her daughter, she names you as Ally’s guardian.”

“I don’t even know Gwen Peters,” Lena protested immediately, shaking her head.

“That’s not actually true,” Maggie interrupted, placing a hand on Lena’s shoulder briefly. “You might not remember her, but she apparently worked with you in R&D at LuthorCorp for nearly two years before you began taking over your brother’s responsibilities after your father passed away.”

“And more to the point, Ms. Peters was quite adamant that Ally remained with family in the event of her death. And Ms. Luthor, you’re all the family Ally has left.”

Lena gaped at the two woman—at Sarah’s calm expression and Maggie’s suddenly concerned one—and shook her head again.

“I’m—no. How do we even know she’s actually Lex’s daughter? And why would—was the woman mad, wanting a Luthor raising her child?”

Sarah and Maggie exchanged another look and this time Lena could read the sadness in Maggie’s eyes, the reluctance in Sarah’s.

“Let me put it this way, Ms. Luthor. Without you, Ally will find herself in foster care. Is that something you want for your niece?”

(She thought about her own upbringing, raised amongst a father who paid her very little attention, a mother who hated her, and a brother who eventually left her. She thought about her loneliness, her ineptitude with anything relating to emotions, and the fact that everything she touched slowly wasted away.

But most of all, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kara’s, she thought about how she could never leave family behind—even a niece she hadn’t known about fifteen minutes ago, a niece she hadn’t even imagined could exist.)

“No,” she said, voice not shaking despite the trembling of her hands. “So? What do I have to sign?”

x

“You know, I looked her up,” Lena called out, childproofing the last of her cabinets, smiling slightly at her finished work.

“Looked who up?” Kara asked from where she sat on the ground, surrounded by all sorts of screws and pieces of furniture, an adorable crease between her brows as she studied the instructions for the crib. “By the way, Lena, I’m ninety percent positive that there’s at least three pieces missing.”

“Gwen Peters,” Lena said shortly, walking over to Kara and studying the crib. “I’m ninety percent sure you attached the head to the wrong piece.”

“Oh for the love of—” Kara cut herself off, unscrewing all her hard work and resigning herself to starting from the beginning. “So? What did you learn about Gwen Peters?”

“She was smart. It’s no wonder Lex liked her enough to…” She trailed off, not quite sure what she was trying to say. Kara kept fiddling with the two pieces she had in her hands until she realized that Lena had gone silent, looking up worriedly. Whatever she saw on Lena’s face spurred her into action; in one quick movement, she’d abandoned the crib entirely and was on her feet, approaching Lena slowly (as if she didn’t want to spook her).

“You did the right thing, Lena,” Kara said softly, and Lena nearly laughed, wondering how on Earth Kara had understood what she was actually trying to say (how Kara had heard the I can’t raise a kid, don’t you think Ally deserves better, what am I doing? in between the admiration she felt for Gwen Peters and the reignited anger she felt for Lex). “And it’s not as if you’re going to be doing any of this alone.”

“Sorry?”

“What? You thought I’d let you deal with something this big by yourself?” Kara rolled her eyes and reached out to squeeze Lena’s hand before turning on her heel and crouching back down next to the mangled remains of the crib. “Maggie claims she’s great with kids, and Alex is a doctor, and James can soothe any baby it’s practically magic I’ve seen it, and not to brag but Winn and I are greatbabysitters, we only lost Carter for an hour tops—”

“—you lost a child?” Lena tried to interrupt, but Kara was on a roll and didn’t seem to be listening at all.

“—so really, between all of us, Ally won’t even have time to feel lonely.”

(She talked as if they’d all be around when Ally was much older, when she knew enough about her family—her father—to feel sad.

Kara talked as if she and her sister and her friends were accepting responsibility for Lena’s niece as well, and it was overwhelming.)

“Kara…you can’t—I don’t know how much Maggie or your sister would appreciate being dragged into this mess,” Lena said, staring at Kara’s back, clenching her hands into fists in order to hide their shakiness.

Kara waved her off without even turning to look at her.

“Well, you’re my friend,” she said easily, picking up one of the pieces of wood and studying it before dropping it back down. “And by extension, my friends are your friends. And friends help out.” She turned her head, gracing Lena with a small smile. “I’ve said ‘friend’ too many times, but the point is you’re not in this alone, Lena. And if I have to spend all night figuring this crib out for you to accept it, then I’ll do just that.”

Lena laughed, recognizing a lost cause when she saw one, and crossed over to sit down next to Kara, hands finally unclenching.

“You know, I gave you the easy job.”

“The easy job, says the engineer,” Kara huffed in mock annoyance. “Fine then, show me how it’s done.”

x

“She sort of looks like him,” Lena said, head tilted to the side as she studied the slumbering Ally. They’d brought her home—and that phrase in and of itself boggled Lena’s mind, she brought her niece to her home, two words she never thought she’d think in relation to herself—earlier that morning, all the paperwork finished, Maggie’s friend Sarah long gone. “Doesn’t she?”

“I was going to say she looks like you,” Maggie called from the kitchen, busy digging through Lena’s fridge, searching for something to eat. Lena wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the familiarity Maggie presumed, but she didn’t comment on it. Even if it was unnerving, it was nice. “The dark hair, the pretty eyes. She’ll end up with that strong Luthor jaw too, just you wait.”

“You think I have pretty eyes, Sawyer?” Lena asked, focusing on only a single part of Maggie’s comment, blinking and turning to look at the detective. Someone snorted indignantly in the living room, where Kara and Alex were arguing in whispers over how to use a camera James had given Lena earlier in the week (calling it a peace offering, an apology, a gift he’d thought she could use what with having a child in her life), and Lena found herself smiling.

“I’m right here, Maggie,” Alex deadpanned, though judging from the way she was looking at Kara, she hadn’t been the one to snort. “And everyone knows you have pretty eyes,” Alex continued, not looking away from her sister. “Wasn’t there an article about it in the last issue of CatCo Magazine? Kara?” she prompted when Kara seemed much more interested in the camera than in the conversations around her.

“Who knows really? Maybe. Laurie might have pitched it. She might have spent over a day looking at photos of Lena, asking for everyone’s opinion for which picture showed off her eyes the most. I might have accidentally—” Kara stopped suddenly, clearing her throat and looking up, eyes flitting over Lena’s face briefly before throwing Alex and Maggie a dirty look—one that Lena hadn’t really known Kara was capable of making. “I mean, I was on assignment. Reporting the news. Doing my job. You know…writing.”

“Are you having a stroke, Kara?” Maggie asked casually, abandoning her search for food.

“She doesn’t look like him,” Alex informed Lena, ignoring her sister and girlfriend entirely. Sparing her sister an odd glance, as if silently promising a future (and private) conversation, Alex focused her attention on Lena. “She just looks like a kid. Because that’s what she is, Lena.”

(And Lena knew what Alex was actually trying to say, even if she didn’t know the elder Danvers as well as Kara, even if she was sometimes slightly intimidated by Alex. She knew that she was telling her not to worry, telling her to forget the nature versus nurture debate, telling her to remember that Ally was just a child who needed a loving family, that the sins of the father did not extend to Ally.

She was telling Lena to relax, that she could do this, and Lena marveled at the fact that Alex could say so much in so few words. She thought it might have been a sibling thing—or maybe just an Alex thing.)

“You’re right,” Lena whispered, eyes falling to Ally again, still slumbering peacefully in the crib Lena had suggested they leave out in the open where she could always see it, at least for a while (a part of her still thinking this was just a dream and she’d wake up and find she’d imagined the whole thing). “She’s just a kid.”

She reached down to gently smooth back some of Ally’s dark, curly hair, and without thought, warning, or preparation, Lena Luthor promptly fell in love with her niece.

x

She wasn’t going to call Kara, she told herself determinedly, huffing a breath and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she took in her niece’s red face. This was okay, this was manageable, she did notneed Kara. The fact that Ally had finally stopped crying gave a little bit more credence to her argument, but her soaked clothes and disaster zone of a bathroom spoke otherwise. But Lena did not need Kara.

At least, she didn’t think so.

“Come on, Ally,” she practically begged, dropping to her knees next to the bathtub and looking at her niece carefully. “You need a bath.”

Ally, standing shakily next to the bathtub, glared—yes, glared—at Lena, her blue eyes a little bit too fiery for Lena’s comfort.

“No,” she said resolutely, accentuating her point with a firm shake of her head.

It was undeniably frustrating and inconveniently endearing.

(In the past week, Lena had learned a great deal about her niece, first and foremost being that she inherited her parents’ intelligence, something Lena wasn’t sure she was entirely glad for yet. For example, though Ally didn’t speak more than a dozen or so words, it was always quite clear she understood everything that was said and done around her. She couldn’t confront Lena, tell her she knew that Lena wasn’t her mother—that she wasn’t even familiar—but she managed to convey those feelings by refusing simple tasks, like bath time, glaring at her food suspiciously, refusing to sleep until she literally passed out from sheer exhaustion.

In fact, most times it was only Kara who could coax Ally into doing anything—changing, bathing, sleeping, eating, it didn’t matter. Kara claimed it was because she just had ‘one of those faces’ but Lena wondered if her niece felt the same thing she had felt the day she first met Kara: an inexplicable pull, an undeniable trust.

Most obvious, however, was that Ally was full to the brim with what Maggie liked to call ‘the charming Luthor stubbornness’ something Lena found less and less charming every day.)

“Ally, please.”

“No,” her niece repeated, eyes actually narrowing.

(She’d been reading extensively about children and development and all the ins and outs of raising a child that wasn’t even yet two. She knew she had to be firm, knew that children took advantage of leniency, knew that she had to set boundaries as the adult. And yet…

She remembered her own harsh upbringing, the cold glances from nannies, the disinterest from Lionel, the outright aggression at times from Lillian. She remembered not feeling wanted or liked or even tolerated, and though she knew she had to be harder on Ally—put her foot down, so to speak—she just didn’t have the heart, even if she knew it wouldn’t be the same, that she’d never go too far.

She didn’t want to be a Luthor with her, even accidentally—even just out of habit. She didn’t want her to have the same childhood Lena suffered through.)

“What if I told you a story?”

(It was a last ditch effort, she didn’t think Ally would go for it.

Lena resigned herself to calling Kara yet again.)

Just as Lena made to get up, reaching for her phone, Ally held up her arms, finally acquiescing to her bath, allowing Lena to pick her up and place her in the tub. And Lena, woefully ill prepared for an impromptu story-time, cleared her throat and began to talk about the one thing she knew Ally would love—a tale about Supergirl.

By the end of bath-time, as Lena was drying off her niece, she earned the one thing only Kara had managed to coax out of Ally thus far: a smile.

x

She was in a meeting when it happened, arguing with some arrogant, narrow-minded old man who believed he knew what was best for her company. She was in a meeting, one she told Jess not to interrupt under any circumstances (wanting to put the old man in his place, needing the time and the privacy to do so), one she hadn’t expected to drag on quite as long as it did.

She was in a meeting when Ally was rushed to the hospital.

(Later, after she waved away all the apologies from the woman who ran the ridiculously expensive daycare, after she assured Jess she was right to contact Kara, after the doctor had smiled at Lena and swore up and down that Ally was fine—“She’s a child, Ms. Luthor, this sort of comes with the territory of being a parent”—and Alex and given Lena a sympathetic look, Lena collapsed in one of the uncomfortable hospital room chairs, head in her hands, body trembling.

She was in a meeting, she was rolling her eyes at the words of an insignificant man while her niece was struggling to breathe—because Lena hadn’t known Ally was allergic to peanuts.)

“How’re you holding up?” It was Kara, Lena could tell by the sensible shoes that were suddenly in her line of sight, and judging from the smell of coffee that wafted towards her, Kara had been successful in her quest for what she called a ‘pick me up.’ After several seconds of silence, Kara let out a soft sigh and knelt down, placing the coffee cup on the ground and then using the tips of her fingers to gently coax Lena to look at her. “Lena, it’s okay.”

“Is it?” she snapped, regret flooding through her immediately when Kara’s eyes flashed with hurt for an instant before she managed to mask it. “Do you know what could have—” Lena began, tone considerably softer, “—she could’ve…Kara, she could’ve—”

“—she’s fine,” Kara said gently, taking Lena’s hands into her own, squeezing a little, as if to ground Lena to the moment. “She’s been laughing at Maggie’s faces.”

It was Kara’s soft voice, the sturdiness of her presence, the fact that she could still somewhat hear Ally’s giggles as Maggie continued to make faces, Alex watching the whole thing clearly torn between amusement and fondness, that Lena found herself confessing everything to Kara.

“She deserves better than me,” Lena said, voice cracking, the truth of her words sending a stab of pain through her chest. Because it was true but oh she didn’t want it to be. “She deserves a family like yours. Something normal Maggie or Alex could give her. With me—with me she’ll always be a Luthor.” Lena thought about nights waiting up for her father to return home, of falling asleep in her father’s study, tucked in his leather chair and breathing in the smell of tobacco. She thought about afternoons meant to be spent with Lillian that she just spent alone, the days she waited for Lex to call when he went off to college and left her behind. She thought about how she’d learned—barely even a teenager—that the best way to gain her father’s attention was to drag herself to LuthorCorp every afternoon after school and watch him work, eventually wandering off to R&D when Lionel barely acknowledged her presence. “She’ll end up like me, Kara. How could I do that to her? How could I let her become like me?”

Kara leaned up, pressing a lingering kiss to Lena’s forehead.

“Ally could do a lot worse than become like you,” Kara whispered against her skin, not moving away, the heat of her hands finally—finally—beginning to warm Lena’s.

“Kara,” Lena chastised, not really in the mood for false platitudes, but she came off sounding less peeved and more amused, because Kara chuckled and pressed another kiss to Lena’s forehead.

“Fine, I’ll admit it. You’re right,” Kara began slowly. “We don’t want her like you. We don’t want her to grow up kind or generous, funny or intelligent. I especially don’t want her to be health conscious like you, for her to care about others, for her to be so willing to love—to be so good, in spite of everything terrible that’s happened.” Kara pulled back a little, just enough that Lena could meet her blue, blue eyes, a smile on her lips.

“She would be better off with a real family,” Lena argued.

“I will always be grateful for the Danvers, Lena,” Kara said, releasing Lena’s hands and cupping her cheeks instead. “I love them for taking me in, for giving me so much love, for being my family—for accepting me despite everything I put them through. But,” Kara’s smile turned sad, her thumbs wiping gently under Lena’s eyes, erasing the evidence of Lena’s tears, “I will always be heartbroken and will never understand why my own family—all I had left—sent me away.” The comment was loaded, heavy with untold truths, and though Lena burned to ask—knew that Kara would tell her anything in that moment—she just swallowed, attempting and failing to shake her head. “Don’t give up on her, Lena,” Kara whispered, sounding a little faraway, lost in her own thoughts for a moment, “she needs you, and she’s too young to know it yet, but she’ll want you, too.”

“And you?”

(Two words, that was all Lena was capable of saying. Two words, and yet Kara understood anyway.)

“She’ll always have me. And so will you.” She wiped at Lena’s cheeks once more with the pads of her thumbs then smoothly stood up, smiling down at Lena with her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. “Your coffee got cold,” she informed Lena simply, gesturing to the cup that was left forgotten on the ground. “It’s probably a good thing, Alex said it was really bad.” She held out a hand. “Come on, I know a great café not even five minutes away from here. We can even get Maggie a bagel.”

“But—”

“Alex and Maggie are hovering, Ally’s perfectly safe. Come on,” she repeated. “let’s go for a walk.”

And to Lena’s ultimate surprise, she found herself taking Kara’s hand, accepting the tacit offer of help.    

x

“So, Luthor,” Alex said cheerfully, licking her fingers clean of chocolate icing, “when did you and my sister start dating?”

Lena very nearly dropped the eggs in her hand, resulting in a moment of stupid juggling that had Ally pausing her search for grapes in her fruit salad long enough to giggle.

“I’m—what—we’re not dating,” Lena said, putting the eggs aside and helping Ally out by swapping her fruit salad with a small bowl of grapes. She seemed terribly pleased by the turn of events, clapping her hands together and shouting wape—what Lena assumed was Ally’s attempt at saying grape.

“Yeah, that’s what Kara said too. But with more stuttering. And blushing.” Alex grinned widely. “And head ducking, which means she’s hiding something.” She pulled the chocolate icing towards herself, clearly intending to get another taste, but Lena’s face must’ve showed her disgust more clearly than she thought, because Alex sighed and wiped her hands on a towel in defeat, abandoning the icing entirely. “Fine,” she said, choosing embarrassing Lena over sampling everything in sight. “So you’re not dating. Do you want to be?”

“Why are you here, Alex?”

“Seriously? I offer to help bake Ally’s birthday cake and that’s how you treat me? I’m hurt,” she said, going as far as to place her hand over her heart in mock-distress.

Before Lena could bother to point out that Alex hadn’t helped at all, Ally threw her now empty bowl of grapes towards Lena.

“More wapes!” she demanded, making Alex laugh.

“No more grapes for you,” Lena said, knowing her stern voice was off because Alex just laughed again. She turned around to check the oven—still rather unfamiliar with baking despite practicing as much as she could over the last few months—unsurprised to see Ally snacking on more fruit the second she turned back. “Seriously?” she asked Alex, raising an eyebrow.

“In her defense, she said wapes, which could mean anything, really.”

“You’re spoiling her,” Lena said flatly, though she couldn’t help her smile as Ally happily searched through her grapes, picking out the biggest ones and popping them into her mouth. “I’ll blame you if she becomes an intolerable teenager.”

“Brr,” Alex said, mimicking Maggie’s teasing—something that had, unfortunately for Lena, caught on in the past several months—and grinning. “Isn’t that right, Ally?” Alex said cheerfully, stealing one of Ally’s grapes, something that had Ally’s mouth dropping open in shock.  

“No!” Ally said, eyebrows rising and hands flying, reminding Lena so much of Lex in that moment that she thought her heart would stop. For a moment—a brief second—Lena was almost sure her older brother would pop his head out of the guest room, gesticulating wildly as he excitedly told Lena about his latest experiments, begging her to shut off her music for just a moment so that he could concentrate. She was so busy feeling overwhelmed by Lex’s sudden non-physical presence that she nearly missed Ally turning to her, looking a little bit betrayed. “Mommy, say no!”

“Did she—?” Alex started.

“No, no she can’t have,” Lena finished, eyes wide. She was barely aware of Alex calling Kara—telling her to put out the fire as quickly as she could—and only blinked blankly when Ally repeated the word that put Lena in this state in the first place.

“Mommy!” Ally said, trying to get Lena’s attention. “Mommy!”

x

Ally’s birthday party—something Maggie had rolled her eyes at, wondering what the point of throwing a two year old a party even was—had devolved into an impromptu comfort session, James putting his ability to soothe any child to good use while Lena sat on the ground, back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of her. Someone, likely Winn, had brought her cake earlier, but it sat forgotten as the minutes turned into hours of silence.

“You want to talk about it?” Kara asked, speaking for the first time since she arrived—still covered in soot from her fire rescue—and slid down the wall to sit next to Lena, cape and boots looking rather out of place in Lena’s apartment. She was being so patient, so good, and to be perfectly frank, Lena couldn’t deal with it.

“No,” she snapped. “I’m not her mother,” she immediately added.

“I know that.”

“Why would—why are—how are you so calm?” Lena suddenly felt the inexplicable need to cry. And Luthors…Luthors did not cry.

“She didn’t call me her mom,” Kara pointed out unhelpfully, chuckling when Lena could do nothing but groan.

“This is serious, Kara. Why would she think I’m her mother?”

As one, their eyes shifted towards the living room, where James was sitting with Ally in his lap, the two of them seemingly completely entranced with whatever was playing on the television. Winn was on his phone, sneaking not-so-subtle glances at James and Ally every few seconds, not-so-subtly taking photos. Not for the first time, Lena marveled at how normal it all felt, having friends at her apartment—having her niece giggle and play with James Olsen’s camera, James bravely hiding his anxiety as a two year old manhandled expensive equipment—talking, laughing, eating, generally enjoying each other’s company.

Six months she had this, the support, the friendship, the knowledge that she had people she could count on—that Ally could count on, years down the line—and it was only now, with Kara’s shoulder brushing her own and Alex and Maggie arguing over proper tackling procedures (which Lena hadn’t been aware existed), that she finally, finally, believed she wasn’t in this alone.

As soon as that thought registered, she felt calmer.

This would be okay. She’d get through this—with everyone at her side.

“For the last six months,” Kara began slowly, making Lena turn to her in surprise, unsure how to feel about the careful way she was measuring her words as she spoke, “you’ve been everything to Ally. It’s natural that she’d become attached to you. I became attached to Eliza.”

“Did you ever call her mom?”

“Well, no. But I was also much older.” She bit her lip, dragging her gaze away from James and Ally and looking and Lena instead, eyes full of a sadness that had only ever been hinted at before. She smiled, but it only served to make her seem more broken. “I was…I was really hard on Eliza and Jeremiah,” she explained softly. “I felt guilty that I was able to be happy with them. That they could make me smile and feel as if I was home. I worried—I still worry, sometimes,” she amended, laughing mirthlessly. “I worry that if I’m not careful I’ll forget about Krypton, that the love I feel for Eliza will replace what I feel for my own mother.” She knocked her shoulder gently against Lena’s, ducking her head as if she was trying to hide the extent of what she was feeling. “I lashed out at Eliza. Especially in high school, when she had to give me those talks usually reserved for your own mother. But even though I’ve never called her my mother, she’s been my mom in more ways than one.”

“But letting Ally think I’m her mother—she’ll find out the truth eventually. Should I lie until then? Should I try to tell her the truth?”

Kara laughed in response, taking Lena’s hand in her own.

“She’s too young to worry about all that anyway. That’s a problem for future us,” she said with a grin. “Right now we just need to worry about potty training. I called Eliza about it, she mostly just laughed, so I assume it’s not fun.”

Lena stared at Kara fondly for a moment, thinking of her use of the words us and we, the fact that she reached out to her adoptive mother for help, and she thought her heart might stutter right out of her chest.

“I think, when she’s old enough, I’ll ask her if she wants to be a Luthor. Alexandra Peters Luthor, it’s a good name.”

“The best,” Kara agreed immediately, smiling when Lena dropped her head onto her shoulder, leaning heavily against Kara’s soot covered suit. “I think I smell like smoke,” she added when Lena breathed her in, took in her warmth.

Lena closed her eyes and buried her face in the crook of Kara’s neck.  

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, voice slightly muffled. “I think you’re perfect.”

It wasn’t much of a surprise that Kara just laughed, hearing Lena’s tacit confession. And it wasn’t much of a surprise when she squeezed Lena’s hand reassuringly in response, wordlessly letting her know she felt the same way.

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday Reissue: The Heart Attack

Note: This is a repost of an older Stay Golden Sunday that had to be redone for housekeeping reasons.

Sophia becomes very ill one night and is convinced she’s going to die. The Girls confront the idea of mortality.

Picture It…

The Girls bid farewell to their guests as a storm rages outside. They praise Sophia for the meal she cooked for everyone, and Blanche says it was even better than the food she ate in Italy. The Girls tell Sophia to take a load off in the living room. They start the dishes in the kitchen, while Rose talks about her family’s Scandinavian cooking.

Back in the living room, Sophia says she’s got a “bubble” of pressure in her chest. Rose thinks it might be gas, but Dorothy says her mother isn’t looking so good. Blanche goes to call the doctor. Sophia clutches her chest as the bubble turns to pain. Dorothy lays her down, while Sophia worries she could be having a heart attack. Blanche says the doctor was out, so she called the paramedics.

DOROTHY: Ma, you know, you don’t look good. SOPHIA: I’m short and I’m old. What did you expect, Princess Di?

The two discuss their family’s deaths – which include a fall from a donkey and misfiring a gun while taking out the garbage – to rule out the possibility of heart disease. Blanche and Rose talk about how death should come without pain or illness, getting sidetracked until Dorothy shuts them up. They go to make coffee, while Sophia begins to worry she’ll die. She starts giving Dorothy instructions on what to do after she’s dead, and says Dorothy was always her favorite, even if she never showed it.

In the kitchen, Rose and Blanche discuss death. Rose says her family members live to their 90s and 100s, which Blanche attributes to the Minnesota cold slowing down the aging process. They also discuss cremation vs burial: Rose wants to be buried with all her sentimental items, while Blanche wants to be buried in Arlington Cemetery because it’s full of men. Sophia tells Dorothy she loves her. When Rose and Blanche return with the coffee, she thanks them for keeping her company. She decides to rest while Blanche goes to call the paramedics again.

BLANCHE: Do you want to be buried or cremated? ROSE: Neither! BLANCHE: What do you want to be, flushed down the toilet like a goldfish?

Rose tells Dorothy it’s probably not a heart attack, as she’s seen one and they’re bigger. She recounts Charlie’s heart attack to Dorothy, which happened while they were making love (she told Arnie this back in Episode 3, but this is the first time she’s told one of the other Girls). She dressed him before emergency services arrived, and his last words were that he loved her. Blanche returns and says the paramedics are held up by the storm, and they’ll just have to wait… and pray, as Rose adds.

The Girls crowd Sophia, who wakes up and tells them she had a near-death experience and saw Heaven. She describes seeing her husband and asks Dorothy to get her rosary. Blanche’s main interest is if there are lots of men in Heaven (which… why wouldn’t there be?), and eventually goes to help Dorothy. Left alone with Sophia, Rose bugs the crap out of her by recounting farm stories.

BLANCHE: What about men? Are there lots of men in Heaven? ROSE: Oh Blanche, come on! BLANCHE: Well you asked her about God and Jesus!

In Sophia’s room, Dorothy’s going through Sophia’s things, looking for the rosary. She tells Blanche that she’s not ready for Sophia to die, and that she’ll still feel like an orphan at her age. She breaks down in tears at the thought, and Blanche comforts her by saying Blanche and Rose are her family too, and they’re there for her.

In comes Dr. Harris, presumably Elliott’s replacement as their house-call doctor. He inspects Sophia and finds her side is sensitive, so he asks her what she ate recently. The girls list a truly disgusting amount of food, including scungilli, fried mozzarella, and two boxes of Milk Duds. Dr. Harris says it’s not a heart attack, but more likely a gallbladder attack from overeating. Sophia is instantly relieved, but takes back what she said about Dorothy being her favorite now that she’s not dying.

Later that evening, the Girls minus Sophia (who’s presumably resting) talk about mortality in the kitchen. They question the reason they worry about things like dieting when they’re going to die eventually – a thinly veiled excuse to eat some chocolate cake and ice cream. They do eventually get turned off of the dessert when they realize that, while they are going to die eventually, they’ll feel the negative effects of overeating immediately, like Sophia did. They decide to go out for a walk (one hopes the storm is not still raging), and Blanche brings it back around to her favorite topic:

BLANCHE: Let’s go for a walk. ROSE: Right, burn it off! DOROTHY: Are you kidding? After what we ate, we’d have to walk to Canada. BLANCHE: Oh, Mounties! I love Canadian men!

“You couldn’t say ‘belch?’ What is it, a Viking curse?”

This is the first episode that centers around Sophia, and given the multiple references to her age and health in the preceding nine episodes, it’s fitting that it’s about a health scare. Estelle Getty, who has mostly played comic relief up to this point in the series, gets her shot at carrying the dramatic half of an episode – and she definitely delivers.

To be a little real with you, this episode has been hard for me to watch the last few years, ever since my mother died. She was the one who introduced me to Golden Girls, and episodes like this hurt both because I know now she and I will never have that Dorothy-and-Sophia rapport in old age like I always assumed – my mom was not even 60 when she died – and because I was basically in Dorothy’s position at the time. If I could have chosen a quote to describe the months of my life after my mother died, it’d probably be this one:

DOROTHY: It doesn’t matter. You lose a parent, you might as well be six. It’s scary. And it pushes you right up to the head of the line.

I appreciate that, when confronted with the possibility that she might die, Sophia’s not accepting or serene even though she’s very old. I think there’s a perception that, when you get old, you just have to accept that you might die soon and be okay with it because you’ve “lived a full life” or some such nonsense. Instead, Sophia outright says “I’m not ready” and that she’d take even one more day of life.

I leave it to other shows to try and teach people to accept death with grace. I prefer Golden Girls’s way, which is to say “Screw that,” and portray the octogenarian matriarch as not wanting to die. There’s something very real in Sophia saying she never really thought she would die.

SOPHIA: 80 years old, and it would come as a complete surprise.

There’s quite a bit of real-world backstory to this one, too. Originally, it was intended to be broadcast live, which is why it’s the first episode since the pilot to take place entirely within the confines of the Girls’ home. According to Golden Girls Forever (quite a treasure trove), NBC had done a live episode of Gimme a Break and attempted to replicate its success with a night of live shows, ostensibly to promote Saturday Night Live. Golden Girls would have been one of about five shows to air its episodes live.

At first all the other shows were onboard, but then showrunners protested the final offering of the night, a detective show called Hunter, couldn’t be filmed live. So the live plan was scrapped. Director Jim Drake remembered it as being for the best, since the actresses weren’t really equipped to do the show in a single live, continuous taping. While their shows were filmed in front of a live studio audience, they still had the option of doing multiple takes. Somewhat relevant, but here’s a video of Golden Girls bloopers:

The other real-world issue that influenced the filming of this episode was one that also cast a pall over the previous episode – the death of Bea Arthur’s and Betty White’s mothers. But while it seemed to throw off the chemistry of the previous episode to a certain extent, if anything it helps this one. There are differing accounts as to whether Rose’s monologue about Charlie’s death was drawn from the deaths of White’s mother or her husband, Allen Ludden. I suspect it’s a combination of both, but you can see she’s genuinely crying while talking about it.

My only real criticism of this episode is that the final scene doesn’t really seem like it’s attached the rest of the story. The Girls talk about their own mortality, and how the fact of dying makes things seem trivial. They don’t even mention Sophia, despite the rest of the episode revolving around her. It feels like a discussion they might have after a friend died – or, more accurately, a scene inserted by a writer who wanted to opine about death for five minutes.

That’s not even mentioning the fact that the way the Girls behave in this scene is very at odds with the rest of the episode. It’s just strange to me that they’d come to the conclusion that, since they’re going to die, they might as well gorge themselves on rich food, when doing so is the exact reason Sophia had a gallbladder attack – and they just heard a doctor tell her that.

Regardless, this is another great Susan Harris episode, and the first episode that puts Sophia front and center. While it’s a bit melancholy there are enough jokes interspersed throughout to keep it from being a downer.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰🍰 (four cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

The Girls crowd around a sleeping Sophia (see the image at the top of the article), and she wakes with a shout, scaring them all. When Dorothy asks her what’s wrong, she says:

SOPHIA: What? You’re sitting on top of me. I open my eyes, I see pores like that, I think I’m on the moon!

[xathia-89]

Headcanons: Modern Warlords and finding out she’s pregnant

I’ve only done Nobunaga, Mitsuhide, Hideyoshi, Yoshimoto and Shingen 

Nobunaga

Everyone had been eager for him to get home, even Hideyoshi, which was a giveaway that his fireball was up to something. The press and public knew nothing of her, despite the suspicions that when she moved in with him then the rumours that Nobunaga was no longer single would be circulating. He still attends events with a different woman on his arm, or on his own. She always dressed him up and made sure that he looked as handsome as possible and never voiced any problems with the arrangement. Until the last few weeks anyway, and during the latest one, she had gotten so tearful and upset that she had locked herself in the bathroom until he had to leave. He had ended up sending Hideyoshi over to look after her for the time being and she was asleep in their bed when he had made it home.

Getting to their penthouse was east, but even the doorman seemed to know something as he walked into the entrance hall of the apartment block. Then when he got through their front door, she wasn’t in her usual spot on the sofa, hiding from him but there was a plain box wrapped in a ribbon with his name on it and the faintest smell of freesias from her perfume only frustrating him more.

Opening the box gave him more questions, since the sole object enclosed was a memory stick with a note saying to plug it into the television.

The image flickered onto the screen once it loaded. She looked as gorgeous as usual, but something was bothering her from the expression she was wearing, and the way she was playing with the hem of her skirt gave that impression as well before she gave a strained smile.

Hey, I know you expected me home since everyone has practically shove you into our apartment by now. I’ve something to tell you, but it comes with some agreements and adjustments.

The concern on her face worried him, along with the fact that she couldn’t say this straight up to his face.

I had to organise this because you’ve been so busy with work that you’ve missed all of the clues. I’m not blaming you, it’s the nature of you and your work, I’m explaining myself in the situation, and the only other person who knows our exact situation as well is our doctor, who was told he couldn’t tell anyone.

All of the worst-case scenarios were flying through his head. Maybe it was cancer, possibly terminal, or was it an autoimmune problem? Moving could help with this, and definitely a private nurse and doctor.

We’ve got a little princess on the way.

His mind went blank until her rich laughter from the screen brought him back, while holding an ultrasound photo in her hands.

She’s doing well, growing as she should be for how old she is. But there are a few questions I need to know the answer to before we get too far ahead of ourselves.

He felt the sofa dip under her weight, giving her time to settle comfortably before her screen self nodded for him to look at her in person, the screen switching to black. His body turned on automation, an arm supporting his weight over the back of the sofa behind her, and his free hand cupping her damp cheek. She was the type to cry when she was stressed and then cry more because she was mad at herself for crying as his thumb stroked over her skin.

“Please, what are those questions, fireball? Aside from that, I will need to know what you will need for a comfortable pregnancy, and if you are okay with a swift court ceremony the moment I get us a spot and then a big press ceremony when our princess is around nine months old?” The words couldn’t fall out of his mouth quickly enough, watching her facial expressions closely. “I’ll make a public announcement that you aren’t to be bothered, and I’ll assign you a bodyguard who will get his own team together and ensure that you aren’t bothered by the press.”

Her laughter made him stop, in time for him to see the cutest shade of pink creeping up her cheeks. “You just answered them,” she smiled. “I was in love when I found out I was pregnant, I just needed to know if I was doing this on my own with your financial assistance, or if we were in this together.”

Her expression was the cutest, and it made him melt on the inside. He kissed her lovingly, his arm sliding from the sofa to around her back and then lifting her onto his lap.

“Not a chance of you being on your own fireball, and I’ll fire anyone who tries to insist I remove the wedding band to sell anything,” he murmured, nuzzling into her hair.

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Mitsuhide

He hated some missions some days, and this was definitely one of them. It had been six months since he had last seen, spoken or held her in his arms. He hadn’t been able to even let her know that he would be gone in person, he had been at work and then told by his superiors that he was leaving now for the mission after the briefing. She had told him that morning that she had some news for him after work, and it had turned into six months of hell to find out. Being dismissed by his superior officers was the best feeling he’d had in a long time, though his glare had probably sped up the final briefing as he crossed the grounds to get to the on-base housing.

“Akechi-sama!” A recruit snapped to attention, a blush on his face at being caught lingering around his front garden before a familiar face opened the front door of his house and urgently gestured for him to come in.

“Thank god,” Ieyasu muttered, the blond man who had answered the door leading him through his house. “There were constant rumours that you had defected or died. The idiot couldn’t get out of the house some days for admirers.”

There was an extra layer of venom to Ieyasu’s tone that Mitsuhide didn’t like, never mind that Ieyasu had nicknamed his wife ‘the idiot’ for the entirety of their marriage. Though the idea of anyone bothering his little mouse in his absence was a sour taste in his mouth.

“And this is Daddy terrorising Uncle Hideyoshi,” Mitsuhide froze for a moment before bursting through ahead of Ieyasu into the living room where her voice was coming from.

The focus of the room was on him, captured and still in the moment as his golden gaze was fixated on his wife. She was lounging on the sofa, headphones on a very pronounced bump and hooked up to a laptop playing a video as he crossed the room seamlessly. She was a cycle of emotions before he sat down on the sofa and looked at the screen. It was playing out a video of the previous summer, he was terrorising Hideyoshi at a barbecue in the back garden, his chest swelling with new feelings as he recalled what he had overheard before busting into the room. His arms were around her, and he didn’t trust himself to speak as his friends all smiled and nodded their heads at him in goodbyes, leaving the couple in peace.

His wife had managed to wriggle free, removing the headphones from her bump, tidying them away before Mitsuhide pulled her back onto the sofa, secure in his arms. He nuzzled into her neck, still believing it to be a dream. He could never have dared to hope that this was the news that she had wanted to share. He was absent more than he was present, and she always seemed to be willing to wait for him, even now her fingers were finding those spots on his head that would relax him. It was too good to be true on the surface, this could be a dream still.

“Mitsuhide?” Her voice vibrated through her chest and against his, it was the right pitch, volume and tone for her as he lifted his head from her hair. “I think we need to talk.”

“I assume that this was the thing you wanted to discuss before I left?” He hand was stroking over her bump, trying to keep himself from breaking as he felt a foot collide with his touch.

“I had missed my period, and I wanted your opinion on waiting to get a pregnancy test or not,” her voice was so soft and unassuming, before her hand was on top of his. “I waited until it was clear that you were on an assignment before I went to speak to Ieyasu. He’s kept the bill for you.”

“Not long left then?” He had a lump in his throat at the thought of her going through pregnancy alone, but she was insanely strong like that.

“About three weeks, and then we get to meet our little girl,” she was so happy to share the news with him finally, their fingers entwined as a head butted against them.

“I presume my little mouse has done all the work for her arrival?” He chuckled, nuzzling into her hair as he was in the realm of disbelief over the news. He didn’t have long to prepare mentally for this, but then again he never did with his missions.

“Of course,” her tone was sly, looking up at him. “But, your superiors refuse to believe it’s your child and give you the time off.”

“Mm, well, when she arrives, then I am sure that there will be irrefutable evidence to her patronage,” he smirked before kissing his wife softly.

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

Yoshimoto

She had been off-colour recently, though seeing her at the exhibition that she had mostly inspired was also the thing that made him realise just how much she was bothered by it. He had to admire how much she was playing nice with the pervy old men who sponsored him as a way of finding new mistresses at these events. Natsuki had a way with words on turning them down, and it had only turned nasty on a handful of occasions. Mostly they would end up flattered to have met her, have an enlightening conversation and then come to find him and praise him for having such an intelligent partner. It made sense for her glass to be filled with ginger beer, as she loitered near one of his sculptures, tilting her head as though she was absorbing her interpretation of it.

He wanted nothing more than to show her off to the room, but he had to suck it up as he was stuck in a conversation with a few of his long standing sponsors. He was mostly discussing the turbulence that had surrounded Japan and influenced his works, but the sound of a slap silenced everyone and made the room look straight to the source of the sound.

Natsuki was looking mortified, her hand over her mouth in shock at what she had done since his cheek was flushed red from the strike. He didn’t recognise the man standing over her, but it took the room a few seconds to start murmuring with their presumptions while Yoshimoto was making his excuses and heading straight for her.

“You ought to have her thrown out! Terrible behaviour when all I did was ask to buy her a drink,” the stranger immediately began to launch into a rant the moment he approached.

“Are you okay?” Yoshimoto asked her, realising that she was shaking as well when he was closer.

She shook her head. “He was trying to get me to leave with him, he was on about getting to know him better and he was lavishing on the features of his hotel room,” her ramblings were displaying her vulnerability. Yoshimoto was never one for public affection at the viewings, but his arms were around her, stroking her back as he glowered at the stranger. “He was saying that I needed to be nice to him and be a good girl because he knows people and that he would make my life difficult if I didn’t sleep with him. Then after I first refused, he was saying I should be used to whoring myself out because I’m an artist and that’s how I’ll really get my patrons to afford to eat. He said that getting my work shown is good, but I should suck him off and then his friends, and then I’ll get rich the way a girl like me should be.”

It was impossible to avoid not knowing what had happened at that point. He could hear most people displaying their distaste, and even more shifting uncomfortably to see the intimate gestures between him and Natsuki.

“I’d not associate yourself with her any more, she will drag you down to the degenerate level that all artists thrive on,” the stranger sneered, before one of the sponsors was able to make his way over and insert himself into the conversation.

“Mr Ito!” The sponsor smiled broadly. “May I introduce you to Natsuki Saito, the heiress of Saito Fashions, and to the star of the event, Yoshi?”

The expression on Mr Ito’s face fell rapidly, as he realised the assumptions that had been made were all wrong.

“I must admit that when I heard the name Yoshi I did assume that Natsuki was the artist at first as well, until her father explained that his future son-in-law was seeking some sponsorship to spread his work. Mr Saito was full of nothing but praise for Yoshi, and how Natsuki had worked so hard to ensure that their relationship met all of his terms for his blessing. So I know what Miss Saito is like, Mr Ito, and for her reaction to have been so extreme, then I do also believe her story. Which isn’t the first I’m hearing of your behaviour. All of our business has been conducted under certain good faith clauses, but this is very much coming into doubt especially since you’ve begun to deflect all payment requests to my payment departments while continuing to keep all of your income,” the conversation began to fade into the background as Yoshimoto walked himself and Natsuki out onto a small and private balcony for some fresh air.

“I’m sorry,” was out of her mouth before he could stop her.

He wrapped his arms back around her, bringing her flush to him as he kissed her forehead. “You have nothing to apologise for, but it’s very unusual behaviour for you.”

“I found out I’m pregnant this morning,” she blurted out, before blushing furiously.

Laughter was his knee jerk response, he couldn’t stop himself before he squeezed her tightly. She was the only person on this planet that he would even have considered having a kid with, but it just had never been a conversation that they had ever had in all of their years of dating as she pouted up at him. “I’m sorry, but that was the cutest way of telling me,” he chuckled, kissing her hair. “Is that why you’ve been so strange for the past few weeks?”

“Yeah,” she admitted reluctantly and buried her face into his chest before she remembered that she was wearing makeup and groaned in defeat.

“Let’s go home, I think my sponsors can take care of things,” he smiled and kissed the top of her head.

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

Hideyoshi

Late nights and long shifts were the norm. She knew that it would be lonely at times when they met at university, but now they were both flourishing in their chosen careers. At the moment, it wasn’t something that she appreciated while she was sat on the sofa, picking her lip from nervousness and watching the sunrise while waiting for him to get off a sixteen-hour shift. Normally, it could and would have waited until after she came home from work so they would both be rested, but sleep was the last thing on her mind.

“Natsuki?” His footsteps were rushed from the front door of their small apartment, a frown on his face as he knelt down in front of her, checking her over visually for signs of illness. Then his gaze fell on what was tightly clenched in her hand.

The deer in headlights look wasn’t one she saw often on him. He saw all sorts of scenarios at work, but it wasn’t him that was affected by the situation, her hand beginning to reluctantly uncurl from around the object. The puzzle pieces began to fall into place. It hadn’t been food poisoning, she had been moodier than usual and her clothes weren’t shrinking.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

He would jump to that, as she picked up the letter next to her with the hospital’s header on top of it. The results in black and white for them both to see.

“I went yesterday morning, after taking a test before you came home from work. But, I still didn’t believe that, so I took this one last night after work,” she explained quietly. “They’ve booked in a scan for next week, first thing in the morning just after your shift ends. I gave them your name as the father and this slot magically appeared after they tried to say it needed to be the middle of the day.”

“It’ll take no time at all then for my colleagues to be teasing me,” he was smiling widely as she finally lifted her head.

“I thought you didn’t want kids just yet, that your career wasn’t as stable as you would like?”

“No, but you’re pregnant right now, and I can’t see anyone but you being the mother of my children,” his joy was barely contained, kissing her on the head as she was frozen in confusion. “We’ll need to make sure everything is sorted. Maybe look at moving sooner rather than later, and school areas are definitely a cause for concern,” he was already miles ahead of her, shattering all of her fears as she laughed brightly. “What?”

“You’re such a mother,” she giggled, wrapping her arms around him.

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Shingen

When she remembered the tabloid stories about him, it always made her nervous. He came from money and constantly had models, pop stars and influential people falling over him. He was gorgeous, men and women alike would fawn over him as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger before a ‘tsk’ noise made her jump.

“Yukimura would kill him if he did anything,” Kenshin scoffed, shaking his head at the television that was currently playing the music awards ceremony. Managers almost never managed to get any kind of spotlight, but Shingen just attracted attention by nature. It had gotten to the point that he had hired a security detail for the pair of them by default. “You’re the only girl that hasn’t made any scenes or drama for the sake of headlines and attention, and Shingen has stayed completely faithful to you.”

“Did you tell him where we really went yesterday?”

“I’m not Yukimura,” Kenshin scowled, pouring himself out a large sake, and then carried a fresh bottle over with him to sit with her on the sofa. “But don’t delude yourself that Shingen won’t know something is wrong with you.”

“He doesn’t need me adding to his worries,” she snapped back, arms folded over a bloated stomach after she leant back into the sofa cushions.

“That’s for him to decide,” Kenshin replied, sitting at the opposite end of the furniture, before the chaos on the screen, caught both of their attentions. The two were fixated as a rising starlet was trying to throw herself at Shingen, shrieking loudly and demanding that he acknowledged the pregnancy results in her hand.

He was as graceful as ever in the face of accusation, but paused and the facade seemed to crack as he read the sheet. It was passed to Yuki, the two muttering and the smaller man shaking his head before Shingen was looking at the intruder again.

“What’s your name?” He wasn’t as put together as usual, and it was going to make stories regardless of what the outcome was here.

“Yuka Saito,” she proudly announced, apparently glad to be getting her five minutes of fame.

“Which means these results aren’t yours,” Shingen was looking down the camera, he always told them to watch a specific station each time he was on the television and she knew why now. “Kenshin, keep yourself parked on my couch with her.”

Everyone was startled by the sharp change in demeanour, not that it stopped all the photos being taken. The speed at which Yukimura had the car already brought to Shingen and then speeding off down the road had everyone with slack jaws. Then the reporters started buzzing with news of ‘her’, trying to work out who could possibly have the playboy manager on a leash.

Kenshin didn’t care that he was in trouble, he simply changed the channel they were watching on the screen after closing all the curtains around the penthouse apartment.

“Natsuki!” was bellowed the second the door was thrown open before Shingen came storming into the living room. “What did I tell you about going to public hospitals?”

“That’s what you’re choosing to be mad about at this moment?!” She yelled back in disbelief, standing up from the sofa.

“Right now, yes!” He frowned. “I told you when we went public that this sort of thing was liable to happening,” Shingen sighed, his hand running through his hair. “Kenshin, I’m revoking your sake and pickled plum tab for a month, and I’ll make it a year if you slip up before the baby has their first photoshoot released.”

“Wait, what?” Natsuki was frowning in confusion, before Shingen had his arms around her, stroking her back and burying his head into the crook of her neck. He was making sure she was okay while coming down from his own adrenaline high. “I thought we agreed that this would be nothing serious-”

“Natsuki, nothing serious was over the moment we fell into bed together,” his head was lifted, and his hands were cupping her cheeks now with a faint blush over his cheeks. She could feel Kenshin smirking at her from behind, and Yukimura was trying to look anywhere but at them. “You haven’t left my apartment for longer than a day, and I can’t remember the last time you did anything more than collect things out of your apartment never mind sleep there.”

“I assumed that you wouldn’t want a baby given your lifestyle and the type of job you have,” she trailed off, playing with his tie.

“And I would give that all up, because I know I am in love with you. It’s only been you for more than two years now, more than that really. You know me. You knew what was going on and what my reputation was, and you never once pressured me into changing when we were casual for the eighteen months before that. You don’t try to change things that would make me unhappy, but there is one thing I’d love to change about you,” he paused, and smiled as she went to object. “Your last name,” Shingen was soon down on one knee in front of her, holding her hand as he looked up at her in earnest.

Natsuki was crying like a baby, throwing her arms around him instantly. “Yes! You impossibly smooth buffoon!” She cried, clutching at his jacket.

His chuckle was low, the two cradled close together as Shingen lifted her up and moved them both to sitting on the sofa again. Yukimura and Kenshin were back to checking the security as he held her close, the unease banished from them both for now.

[falling-pages]

The picture: Kaoru x Reader (Angst)

Okay soooo I’ve been in an angsty mood lately to combat my own heartbreak SO it’s angst time!! I’ll try to round up a prompt list because it’s time to write! Away! My! Heartbreak!

Get ready for this angst, y’all.

The smell of dust never appealed to you, but Kaoru didn’t seem to mind, and you gulped down his happy expression like oxygen. A trace of sweat melted down your back as you lift another decrepit box. You’d give anything for a servant to take your place, or even for this whole situation to have never happened at all, but whatever Kaoru wants, Kaoru gets--if only for right now.

“Who knows what kind of mites and dead bugs might be hiding in this stuff,” you mumble.

“What’d you say?” Kaoru asks. 

You snap your mouth shut, remembering your instructions. This is about him and Hikaru. You can’t lead him down this path so close to his speech. If he falls into that pit, he probably wouldn’t make it out in time.

Doctor’s orders were to cater to his every whim right now, just make him happy and forgetful. That meant, when Kaoru rebuffed your suggestion of letting the servants do the dirty digging in the attic, you obeyed. As long as you could get him through the end of the day without a breakdown, then you’d consider that a win.

“Nothing,” you reply. You smile, the gravity heavy on your cheeks. Even though it’s a lie, he needs all the smiles he can get right now. “I’m just glad you asked me to help.”

Kaoru grunts as he moves a cabinet with his shoulder. “I know it’s dirty work,” he says, rifling through a drawer, “but these pictures were my idea. I feel like I should find the perfect one myself. They wouldn’t understand.” He switches hands, poking out his tongue as he reaches. “Bingo.”

You put down your box and walk to your friend, watching his muscles and tendons under his tank top. The dampness of the attic combined with the late July heat did no favors with your physical labor. You knew the circumstances couldn’t be helped and that the heat was turning your grief into anger, but you wanted to reach out and throttle the person who decided “black” was the color to wear to a funeral. 

“It’s our baby pictures,” Kaoru says, pulling out a small black photo album from the cabinet. You wince at his avoidance. Ashamed of your own selfish attitude, you dig your nails into your palms. Kaoru was handling this much better than everyone expected. Why couldn’t you?

He touches the small of your back and leads you to sit on an overturned cabinet. The cool metal elicits a shudder from deep in your throat, a relief from the heavy heat.

Kaoru traces the sudden goosebumps on your thighs. “Cold?” he grins, putting on the flirtatious air from his club days. His demeanor shakes you, sends a queasy feeling through your gut. He’s acting like a host again, carefree and playful, like his twin brother, his familial soulmate, hadn’t just died.

Normally, you’d welcome his hand. You had wanted to feel his gentle hand caress your leg ever since you met him freshman year of college, but there was never a good time. It was worse now, knowing that his grief was causing him to act out. Despite his affection, there’s just something shifty in his eyes and the way he holds his breath that worries you. Maybe he isn’t handling this so well after all.

You put his hand down, though you miss the pressure. “Are you okay?” you ask.

Too quickly he grins and replies, “Yep! Or, as okay as I can be. You know. I’m fine, really.”

Not that you’d believe him anyways, but he gives it away with his smile. He smiles so wide that he closes his eyes, so you can’t look into them. With his expressive personality, those golden eyes really are just a reflection of how he feels. And right now, he does not want to be seen.

If his eyes shut any tighter, his face would crack like porcelein.

He ignores your stares and starts leafing through pages in the scrapbook. The first picture is of his heavily pregnant mother smiling into the camera. Then it’s the twins in their hospital bed, all pink and wrinkled, blue caps tucked over their already-full heads of orange hair.

Kaoru traces the baby on the left. “That’s me,” he whispers. The baby version of himself cuddles next to his brother, ducking his head into Hikaru’s side. The boys hold hands--still the same, after 21 years.

“We were always together,” he murmurs. “We never went anywhere without each other, never needed anyone else.” The happiness drains from his voice, and the finger tracing the baby starts to shake. “He needed me there, that was such a central part of our identity--”

He falls into you, letting the picture float from his fingers as he cries. As the warm tears cover your shoulder, he wraps his arms around your waist like a buoy holding him in the ocean. His lifeline. The only thing keeping him from drowning beneath the waves of grief and guilt.

“I got you.” You press kisses to your friend’s hairline. 

There’s so much you don’t know, so much you can’t give him. You can’t promise that he’ll be okay--false hope is worse than no hope. You wish you could give him his brother back. You wish you could give him your love. You wish you could take the weight of the world from him, wish you had been killed in that car accident instead, wish you could take every god who allowed this to happen by the throat and squeeze until they felt the bitter fire washing over Kaoru right now.

But you couldn’t. Revenge would work itself out, since the driver was caught and is awaiting trial. You could offer him no polite condolences. He had heard them all already this week.

The beautiful lie of “you’re going to be okay” offers neither comfort nor merit. You love him too much to tell him something that wasn’t true. He wouldn’t have believed you.

So you offer him the only truth of any value: “I’m here.”

Kaoru’s arms tighten around your midriff. “Thank you.”

As he tucks his head against your neck, his sobbing starting to slow, you could only look out the window and plead for this poor boy’s sake. He has lost his other half. He has suffered enough.

He had wanted attention for so long. He wanted his identity. But not like this. Never like this. Not at the cost of losing the person he loved most in the world.

“We were running late,” he managed to say, gasping. “He wanted to wait for me, but I told him to go, I’d take a different car--”

You give him another kiss as he heaves. Despite the sweltering heat, his skin is cool. 

“I’m here. I’ve got you. Hold on to me.”

Just like at the hospital where he had passed out on your shoulder while Hikaru slept. Except he wasn’t sleeping--looking at the surviving twin, it all became too vibrant: the red soaking through white bandages, blue lips on a pale face, the heart rate decrescendoing into a flatline...

Keeping Kaoru nestled against you, you bend down and sweep up the picture. Twin or not, Kaoru was still Kaoru. He always will be.

Once he quiets down, you slip the photo into his hand. His eyes lighten up as he sees his brother alive once more.

“Is this the picture you were looking for?” you ask.

He bites his lip, nodding. Then he slips it into his pocket. “Funeral’s in an hour,” he says, his voice grainy. “I need to shower.”

He takes your hand as he stands up, bringing you to him. With a kiss on your cheek he heads to exit the attic. 

“You’re going to do great,” you say at the last minute. With the speech or with life, you weren’t sure what you meant. Maybe both. “I’ll be right there with you.”

Kaoru’s head pops up from the ladder. Despite your vagueness, he understands. He knows. His shoulder moves, presumably patting his pocket, and he smiles. “I know,” he says. “Both of you are.”

[buckthegrump]

Whenever You’re Ready

Summary: Bucky lost the love of his life three years ago and he’s still trying to figure out how to deal with that. But that gets harder when he gets an unexpected visitor.

Warnings: Mentions of death, angst, so much angst, fluff, a whole lot of feelings y’all 

Word Count: 6.2k

A/n: I had this thought and needed to write it

“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer said, “We have reason to believe that -”

Bucky stopped listening after the officer said ‘I’m sorry’. The words ‘I’m sorry’ were never followed by good news. Or even just neutral news, it’s almost exclusively followed by bad news. Especially when the ‘I’m sorry, sir’ comes from a doctor or a police officer.

But it didn’t matter that Bucky had stopped listening because he knew what they were about to say. They were going to tell him that they couldn’t find her body and that they were presuming her dead. But she couldn’t be dead. Y/n had promised that she wouldn’t die on him.

“We also lost his trail,” the officer finished.

“What?” Bucky’s head snapped up.

“He disappeared.”

* * *

Bucky sat up. The room was dark and silent. He glanced at the clock already knowing what time it was 1:35 am. The exact time that he was told that his fiance had been killed. No, not killed. Murdered.

It was the same dream, same memory, every year on the same day and he woke up at the exact same time. He was positive that no matter how many years passed it would be the same. He didn’t know if it would be worse if it was a happy memory that reminded him of what he was missing, or if he should be glad he was stuck with the worst night of his life.

The dream happened for months after and then it slowed to once a month until it only happened on the day.

He could roll over and try to fall back asleep but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to. He threw the covers off of him exposing his legs to the cool air of the room. He got up and made his way to the bathroom.

The water from the shower was as hot as it could possibly be. The hope was that it would get so hot it would burn away the pain, but nothing he tried was taking away the pain. The grief group he went to was just starting to make the pain a little less but -

Hours passed and the once nearly boiling water turned to ice against his back. All he wanted was to stay in the shower but he was meeting friends soon.

At 9:30 Bucky got into his car and drove to the cafe. Sam and Steve were waiting for him when he walked in. His friends decided that day when Bucky found out that he shouldn’t be alone on that day and so every year on that day, they would take the day off and spend all day together.

Sam was the first one to spot Bucky, he smiled and waved. 

“You were almost late, Barnes,” Sam said calling Steve’s attention to the new arrival.

“Well,” Bucky said as he sat down in the empty chair at the table, “I don’t think I could be late anywhere.”

Sam and Steve chuckled slightly at this. They remember the countless fights that Y/n and Bucky got into about being late versus showing up at least five minutes early. Y/n won and now ever since Bucky’s been on time for everything.

“How are you doing, Buck?” Steve asked. Bucky shrugged. “Did you have the dream again?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered. “I pulled out one of her dresses the other day, it doesn’t smell like her anymore. And I’m having trouble remembering the last time I told her that I loved her. But the day I found out she was dead -” he laughed humorlessly, “that day I can remember perfectly. It’s really fucked up when you think about it.”

Sam began talking about one thing or another and the conversation started flowing easily. And for a while, Bucky’s heart didn’t feel as heavy as he knew it was but it was nice to feel lighter.

After their coffee, they all went to watch a movie that ended up being terrible. It was about a man who didn’t know the ‘real’ value of life until his wife left him and took the kids. Sam leaned over and whispered snarky comments in Bucky’s ear. Bucky only heard about half of them, the ones he did hear were rather funny.

But Bucky couldn’t help but think about how lucky this guy was that he got a second chance. That he was able to go back to his wife and tell him everything on his mind, and Bucky would give anything to have that chance.

* * *

After the movie, Bucky got into his car and when he looked into the rearview mirror he saw Y/n. He gasped and looked out the windshield and then back into the mirror but she was no longer there. He let out a sigh of relief.

“What’s your problem?”

Bucky’s head snapped to his passenger seat where Y/n sat. She was looking at him.

“What?” She asked with a cheeky smile.

He turned back toward the wheel of the car and started driving.

“Did I do something?” She asked clicking her seatbelt into place. “Are you mad at me? Is it because I said that Star Wars isn’t as revolutionary as Legally Blonde? Because I’m right I don’t know why you’re trying to fight it, I’m always right? Also, do you think Firefly might be overrated? Because I have a theory that if they had more seasons it would’ve been one of those shows that started out great but then just ended terribly.”

Bucky gripped the steering wheel as tightly as he could. His bottom lip was shaking and every breath felt like it might be his last. She continued to talk like this was an everyday occurrence. Like Bucky hadn’t been slowly dying from the inside out because the love of his life, his soulmate had left him to live in this world without her.

“Ok, baby blue,” the nickname made Bucky tear up, “what is up? Is this because of the Star Wars thing? Or have you changed your mind about marrying me?”

“Never,” he whispered. He glanced over at her half afraid that once he acknowledged her she would disappear. She was still there beaming at him with her wild eyes that sparkled and her hair pulled back in two french braids.

“Good, because I was thinking about some things that should happen for the wedding,” Y/n continued to talk wedding the rest of the way home.

At every turn, Bucky was sure that she would vanish but she didn’t, she just talked and didn’t mind that Bucky wasn’t saying much of anything (which wasn’t too different than when she was alive). He was just going to see this time as a gift. Live in this fantasy for the rest of the day because there was no way that this would continue after he fell asleep.

While Bucky was getting ready for bed Y/n sat in bed and watched him.

“Wow,” she said in her best Owen Wilson voice, “My fiance is hot as fuck.”

Bucky snickered and rolled his eyes. He climbed into bed, he laid on his stomach head faced towards the ghost of his dead fiancee.

“Goodnight gumdrop,” he muttered.

“Sleep tight, baby blue,” she whispered and Bucky could’ve sworn that he felt her kiss his forehead.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky Barnes fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

The first thing that registered was a horn blaring past him. He blinked his eyes a few times trying to figure out what was happening. He was in his car stopped on the side of the road off of US 26. It was dark outside and he was on the portion of the highway that was surrounded by a forest.

He looked to his passenger seat but just like he suspected Y/n wasn’t there. The more concerning issue was; how did he get here? And why was it 2 am?

He chalked it up to sleepwalking and drove back home. He flopped back into bed instantly going back to sleep.

* * *

Bucky spent most of his day at work on autopilot, but that was no different than any other godforsaken day. Tony, his business partner, barged into his office an hour before quittin’ time.

“What do you want Stark?” Bucky asked not taking his eyes off the screen.

“I was thinking about something the other day,” Tony paced in front of Bucky’s desk, “I know we mostly work with veterans who are dealing with PTSD but we should set up a foundation that also helps with the spouses and the significant others of vets or people who died overseas.”

Bucky froze before actually looking at Tony. He didn’t say anything so Tony, being a babbler, started to babble.

“I mean we could open it up to everyone else that lost someone because I know that you had a tough time coming back to work, and it’s ridiculous that society puts a time limit on grieving. So I was thinking that we set those up. And before you ask yes I was a little apprehensive about bringing this up to you because I wasn’t sure how you would react -”

“I like it,” Bucky cut him off.

“Good, because I kind of already set the plan in motion.” Tony gave him a thumbs up and promptly left the office.

This wasn’t an unusual thing, Tony having an idea and setting it in motion before consulting with Bucky. Luckily over the years, Bucky had gotten good at retroactively putting things to a stop when needed.

Bucky really did like the idea of setting up another foundation that helped people with the grieving of a lost loved one and mentally kicked himself for not coming up with the idea himself.

* * *

Bucky had snagged a coveted seat on the light rail train that ran through the city. It wasn’t a subway because it wasn’t underground, which Bucky (and most of the people in the city) found ridiculous because that meant when it got too hot outside the train was only able to go so fast.

And being the end of July the annual heatwave was rolling into town. The AC on the train was only doing so much during rush hour and people were packed in tight.

Bucky was doing his very best to ignore the discomfort by reading a book, but the book was getting boring and had recycled the same plotline about three times now and he was only halfway through. 

Just as he was closing the book the train came to an abrupt stop and someone fell into his lap.

She looked at him wide-eyed. 

“Sorry,” she grimaced.

And it felt like the whole world froze. There was no one else in the world but them and she literally took his breath away with one word. He was certain he’d never seen anyone quite as beautiful as she, just as he was sure he would never find someone more beautiful.

“It’s ok,” he breathed. “I’m Bucky.”

She smiled at him and Bucky’s heart nearly burst out of his chest. “Y/n.”

“So,” he was very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t moved out of his lap, “do you make it a habit of falling into people’s laps?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Is it working?”

She chuckled softly and got out of his lap. “If it was, how do you see this conversation ending?”

“Best case scenario?” He asked and she nodded. “Exchanging numbers and dinner plans.”

She pulled out her phone, quickly unlocked it, and handed it over to Bucky. “Let me apologize for literally falling into your lap.”

“There’s really no need to apologize,” he said as he took her phone and put his number in.

When he handed it back she typed something in then looked back at him. “This is my stop. I’ll see ya around Bucky.”

Bucky watched dumbstruck as she hopped off the train at the stop. A second after she disappeared into the crowd his phone buzzed. An unknown number had texted him a simple message: Y/n Y/l/n.

* * *

The next time Bucky saw Y/n was when he went to get after-work drinks with Tony, Steve, and Sam. It had been a month since the anniversary and the next day Tony and Bucky were launching their new foundation.

Steve was telling a story about a date he’d had recently and Tony and Sam were just taking the piss out of him for everything that he’d done wrong on the date.

Bucky looked up in the middle of the story and found Y/n standing next to the jukebox staring at the options. She turned her head towards him and smiled. He blinked and when he opened his eyes she was gone.

He didn’t see her again for the rest of the night.

But the next morning around 5 am, a full hour before he would get up to go to the gym, he woke up on the side of the road again. It was the same spot as the last time. As Bucky drove home he kept his eyes peeled for any hit and runs, he wasn’t sure what he would do if he ended up hitting someone with his car while he sleepwalked.

* * *

Her skin was soft beneath his fingers as he drew lines across her skin. She let out a sigh as she slept next to him soundly. Bucky had woken up with the sun on that particular Saturday and he knew for a fact that Y/n would be pissed if he woke her up.

So he laid there with her and watched her sleep. He pressed a soft kiss to her bare shoulder and she shifted so she now she was laying on her side with her nose nuzzled into her pillow.

“Y/n, are you awake?” He asked softly. He smiled when she didn’t answer. “You don’t know this yet, but I’m going to propose to you. I don’t know when or how but I have the ring. I think you’ll like it, and I hope you say yes. God, I have no idea what I’ll do if you say no. Please don’t say no.”

She continued to sleep soundly, breathing deeply. He brushed his thumb across her eyebrow. The only time she looked this at peace was when she was sleeping, or after Bucky had shown her what she did to him.

“I love you,” he whispered.

A few seconds later she groaned and made the same noise she always did when she woke up, a small whimper that her night’s sleep was over. She opened an eye and looked at him.

“Were you watching me sleep again?” She asked in a hoarse voice. Bucky h’mmed in response. “You fuckin’ creep.”

“Oh yeah, because I’ve never caught you watching me sleep,” he chuckled.

“Uhh, when I watch you sleep it’s to make sure that you’re still breathing. Some times you’re sleeping so deeply I’m afraid that you’re dead,” she argued fully awake now. “Please don’t die on me.”

Not caring that neither of them had brushed their teeth yet, he kissed her lips softly. “I won’t as long as you promise to wait until we’re both well into our 80s or 90s.”

“Deal, but I hope you know that when I do die, I’m going to come back and haunt your ass so you’ll never actually be able to get over me and date someone else. I’m selfish like that.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Bucky admitted.

“Well, when you say things like that it makes me feel bad for finding Sam really attractive. I hope you know that if you break your promise, I’m definitely turning to him for comfort and then we’ll fall in love and have a million babies,” she teased.

“Oh, a million babies?”

“Oh yeah, one million babies, and they’d be so much cuter than any babies you and I would have.” She smiled smugly until Bucky poked her sides and started tickling her. She giggled. “No!” 

“Take it back!” 

But she didn’t she just kept laughing and swatting at his hands. After a minute or two, he stopped and kissed her again. He paused and looked at her, really looked at her in the morning sunlight that peaked through the drapes of their bedroom window. He leaned over to his nightstand and opened the drawer and dug around for something.

“What are you doing?” She sat up and leaned against the headboard. Bucky turned around holding a ring. It was simple enough, it was a white gold band with a blue sapphire with two smaller diamonds on either side of it but the gems on the ring were huge. “What are you doing?” She repeated.

“I have been waiting for the right time, the perfect time to do this but I realized that when doesn’t matter. The perfect time wouldn’t make a difference, what matters is the person. You might not be a perfect person but neither am I, but you are the perfect person for me. So Y/n, I’m breaking one of your rules and asking you a question before breakfast,” he extended his arm slightly so the ring was closer to her, “Will you marry me?”

Y/n gasped shakily as tears welled up in her eyes. “Yes, of course!”

Bucky took her left hand and slid the ring on her finger, thanking the heavens that it fit. He stared at the ring as it sat on her finger.

“Are you not going to kiss me or anything?” Y/n asked snapping Bucky out of his daze.

“Neither of us have brushed our teeth and your morning breath is so bad -”

“My mom just called, she says that I can’t marry you.”

Bucky shook his head at his fiancee. “Shut up,” he chuckled and kissed her.

* * *

One Saturday, early January, Bucky was eating his cereal staring at Y/n or her ghost or whatever she was.

“Can I help you?” She asked cocking her head to the side.

“Are you a ghost?” He asked.

“You already know what I am, Barnes,” she answered solemnly. “You’re just afraid of what it means if you’re right.”

“But if you’re a hallucination,” his voice broke as he spoke, “that means you’re not real.”

“If I was real then you wouldn’t be keeping the fact that you can see me a secret?” She leaned back in her chair.

“I could just have a fever,” he reasoned.

“You’ve been seeing me off and on for months. If your fever had lasted this long you’d probably be dead,” she propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand.

“So what’s wrong with me?” He asked, cereal long forgotten.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged then gasped. “Maybe I’m a vision from a god or some higher power. Here to tell you that you’re missing something.”

“But what would I be missing?” Tears began to fall down his face.

“Do you not miss me?”

“I miss you every goddamn day but there’s not much I can do about that.” There was a brief silence and Bucky found himself wishing that she was actually something he could touch, not an uncommon wish for him. “I should go see a doctor, shouldn’t I?”

Y/n gave him a sad smile and Bucky pulled out his phone.

* * *

Y/n was sitting on the couch with Bucky, her legs on his lap and he was going over something that Tony had sent him. Bucky was petting her legs.

“Why are you petting my legs like a dog?” She asked pulling one of her headphones out of her ear. “You know I’m not into pet play.”

Bucky stopped his movements and glared at her. “Must you make everything dirty?”

She grinned. “Yes.”

Bucky shook his head and put the stack of papers down on the coffee table. He crawled over so his head was on Y/n’s stomach without missing a beat she started running her fingers through his hair. He moaned at the feeling and closed his eyes.

“What are you listening to?” He asked his voice muffled but the fabric of her shirt and her tummy.

“The podcast My Favorite Murder,” she said. “If you just gave it a chance you might enjoy it.”

“Why are you so obsessed with true crime?”

“Well if I’m prepared for it then I have a better chance of surviving and listening to how fucked up people are, helps me learn what to do if I’m ever in that situation.”

He chuckled softly, he lifted his head and looked at her. “You realize the chances of you getting murdered are very slim right? Besides, I’ll protect you if that ever becomes a real possibility.”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes, “You’re very strong and manly. Will you please just listen to this one story about people who live on an island and one of the couples shares a pair of stainless steel teeth?”

Bucky didn’t really have that much of an interest in true crime, but he’d be lying if he said that story didn’t sound interesting.

“Fine, but just that one story,” he said, “You’re not going to hook me on this.”

He lied, she got him hooked on that podcast and any time they came out with a new episode they either listened to it together or texted the other if they were apart.

* * *

Bucky was listening to the podcast that Y/n had gotten him hooked on. He was sitting in the waiting room for the doctor and Y/n was in the chair across from him watching him closely. He was doing his best to just listen to the podcast but her stare was making that hard.

“Barnes?” A nurse called. 

Bucky sprung up from his seat and followed the nurse back into the exam room.

“Bucky Barnes,” the doctor greeted when she walked in.

“Dr. Cho,” Bucky greeted.

“What seems to be the problem?” She asked settling into the office chair in the room.

“I keep seeing my dead fiancee,” he said bluntly.

Dr. Cho pursed her lips and nodded her head. “Are you sleeping well?”

“Yeah,” he said completely forgetting about the sleepwalking he’s been doing.

“How long has it been going on?” She asked making a note in her chart.

“It’s off and on for a few months.”

“But not all the time?”

“No.”

Dr. Cho sighed. “Well, it might be a psychological thing if that’s the case the next plan of action would be to see a psychiatrist.”

“And another option?” Bucky asked though he already knew the answer.

“That you have some sort of brain tumor,” she answered and Bucky’s entire body sagged, “So I will schedule you for an MRI, but I would also like fo you to talk to someone.”

Bucky nodded silently agreeing with her.

After he got home that day he looked into some highly rated therapists and when he talked to his friends about it they all had suggestions for him.

* * *

The hauntingly familiar sound of a horn blaring startled Bucky awake again. He was sitting in his car that was idling with the radio playing quietly. The clock in his car told him it was 4 am. When he looked around he noticed that it was the same part of 26 that it usually was.

He really needed to find a way to stop himself from sleep-driving.

* * *

The room was eerily quiet. Bucky picked at his jeans pretending to rid them of pieces of fluff that didn’t exist. He’d been sitting in this room for almost half an hour silently, other than the initial hellos.

“You won’t know if this works until you talk to me and we are able to start a discussion,” Maria Hill, his new therapist told him.

“I know, I just don’t know where to start,” he said.

“Start from the beginning.”

So he did. He told her the story of how he met Y/n and falling in love with her and then proposing. He only wavered a bit when it came to the birthday party he’d planned for you.

* * *

“Are you sure you sent her the right time?” Natasha asked.

“Yes,” Bucky answered.

Natasha had asked that question about five times and it didn’t matter that Bucky had shown her the text that said he’d told Y/n to meet him at the restaurant at 6:30. Nor did it matter that Y/n had texted at 5 saying ‘hey love, I’m going to be a little late the meeting is running long and I still have to talk to some people afterward.’  

No, none of that mattered to Natasha who was nervous that Y/n would hate the surprise.

Bucky had set up a dinner for Y/n’s birthday. She thought it was just going to be her and him but Bucky had also invited all their friends because Y/n had started complaining that they didn’t all hang out together anymore.

Natasha was th only one who was worried for the first ten minutes of Y/n not showing up. After that everyone started to get more and more concerned about her unusual tardiness. Until they all decided to call the cops.

* * *

“They didn’t believe us at first,” Bucky told Maria. “They said that we had to wait 48 hours before we could officially file a missing person’s report. But we knew. It didn’t matter to them that Y/n was never late and if she was she would’ve called or texted. They thought she was running from me.”

Maria was quiet as Bucky took a tissue to blow his nose. 

“They never found her body either, isn’t that just a kick in the nuts?” Bucky laughed sardonically. “And the last thing I told her to her face was ‘just so you know you lost the game’ which might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Maria gave him a confused look. “The game?”

“It’s this thing where once you start playing the game you can never stop and the way to win the game is by not thinking about it but once you think about it you’ve lost the game,” Bucky explained.

“That’s counter-intuitive.”

“That’s the game.” Bucky shrugged. “I’ve also been seeing her.”

“Natasha?”

“No, Y/n. Not all the time but sometimes. We talk and I know it’s crazy but I like being able to talk to her again.” Bucky bounced his leg as he thought for a moment. “I’ve also been sleepwalking. More like driving.”

“What?” Maria looked shocked.

“Not all the time, but sometimes I’ll wake up to find myself in my car stopped on the side of the road. It’s the same spot every time, I never hit anyone or anything as far as I can tell.”

“Well, there are ways to get around sleepwalking maybe have a friend spend the night to stop you from getting into your car, set up an alarm system, I can send you a list of what some of my other clients have found helpful.”

* * *

A week after his therapy appointment Bucky was in the hospital for his MRI. 

It wasn’t until he was in the machine when he heard her voice.

“I hope you still have that amazing insurance because MRIs are not cheap,” she said and Bucky held back the urge to roll his eyes, “Are you ignoring me because you don’t want to look crazy in front of the doctors? Because you know that they know why you’re here right? They already know you’re crazy.”

As Bucky lay there for the rest of the scan Y/n sang a song that had been stuck in Bucky’s head for the past week. When he came out of the machine she was standing there in the corner of the room. He didn’t say anything but he made eye contact with her.

“You’re still missing it,” she said. He furrowed his brows at her. “Bucky you’re missing it.”

An hour later Bucky was sitting in front of a neuro doctor.

“There’s nothing showing up on the MRI,” Dr. Banner told him, “Medically? You are fine, Mr. Barnes.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

* * *

It happened again. He woke up on the side of the road in his idling car. But this time the sun was just beginning to rise. Bucky slammed his hands against the steering wheel before turning his car around to head back home.

He was about halfway home when something realized something. It was what Y/n had told him about missing something.

Every time he’d woken up on the side of the road it was after he’d seen Y/n. That’s the only time he’d sleepwalked was the night after all of the hallucinations. Which made him wonder, why that particular spot?

He could’ve gone home and just ignored his thought for the rest of the day but that might actually kill him.

He flipped a u-y and drove back to the spot. He pulled over on the shoulder. When he got out of the car he took a few deep breaths. 

Not really knowing what he was going to find or if he was going to find anything be began walking through the forest.

“This is the part of the horror movie where I die because I’m walking through a forest because a hallucination told me to. If Y/n could see you now she’d kill you for being stupid. Also if you get murdered they are definitely going to make fun of you on all the podcasts for being a complete idiot,” he mumbled to himself as he stumbled through the foliage and brush of the forest floor.

He walked for about a mile or two before he came across a small cabin in the middle of nowhere.

“What the hell?” He whispered to himself.

Then someone from inside the cabin let out an ear-piercing scream. Bucky finally had a logical thought and pulled out his phone to call 911. They told him to stay on the phone with him and they were sending units to him.

The screaming had stopped and Bucky almost went into the cabin. It was only a few minutes later when he heard the sirens and the officers came and two pairs walked over to the cabin and went in. Bucky was standing next to an officer who was told to wait with him.

There was a gunshot, not long after one of the officers made a call over the radio for an ambulance because there was a girl in the cabin who needed medical attention.

The officer that hung around with Bucky took his statement as they waited for the ambulance. Giving the statement to the officer was a blur and he tried to find a way to tell the officer that visions of Y/n had led him here without actually telling him that.

When the EMTs made it through the forest the ‘girl’ was escorted out of the cabin and Bucky’s heart dropped. There was a woman walking with the officer who looked so much like Y/n but her hair was unkempt and looked like she hadn’t eaten in years.

But then her eyes met his.

“James?” 

“Y/n?” He asked and his voice broke. Bucky didn’t wait for her to answer again as he ran over to her, how he managed not to trip over anything was a mystery to him. He stopped right in front of her. “Is that really you?”

Y/n let go of the officer and lifted her hands to his cheeks. She gently touched his face and he leaned into her touch. He was almost sure that at any moment he was going to wake up from this dream to an empty bed.

“You found me,” Y/n whispered before collapsing into Bucky’s arms.

* * *

Bucky sat next to her hospital bed and watched her. He was afraid that she would disappear. But he could touch her, he could feel her again. But he wouldn’t. Not until she made the first move, he wouldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to do, he didn’t even know what’d happened in there.

The detectives that had come around informed him that any number of things could’ve happened during those three years and she would be a very different person now. That she would need countless hours of counseling.

Y/n had been unconscious since she fainted outside the cabin. Bucky knew he should call everyone, tell them that Y/n was alive, but he also knew that they would all want to come and see her so he settled for the two people who needed to know. Tony, because there was no way in hell Bucky was going into work today or anytime this week. And Natasha, because Nat would kick his ass if he kept this from him. 

Everyone else could wait until Y/n woke up and was ready for visitors.

* * *

Natasha had come in an hour after Bucky called and cried into his shoulder. She’d stayed for a while before Bucky told her to go home and that he would call her the instant Y/n woke up. Natasha had been reluctant at first but agreed because it didn’t look like Y/n was going to wake up anytime soon.

Which wasn’t true because an hour after Natasha left Y/n’s eyes fluttered open. She looked over to find Bucky wide awake watching her sleep.

Y/n gave him the smallest of smiles that somehow still took his breath away.

“You were watching me sleep,” she croaked.

“I thought you were dead -” he stared and had an apology on the tip of his tongue but she cut him off.

“Don’t apologize for not looking for me,” she ordered.

“But -”

“No,” she said firmly. “You were working with what you had.”

“How ok are you? Scale from one to ten.”

“If one is I’m dead, I’m gonna go with a one-point-five.” A tear fell from her eye and Bucky wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. Her lip began to tremble. “Um, he uhh -”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bucky cut her off. “Not yet.”

There was a silence that Bucky didn’t know if he should fill or not. He knew what he wanted to tell her, but he wasn’t sure if he should if it would be what she wanted to hear.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want me anymore,” she told him. “I know that three years isn’t really a long time but if you don’t -”

“You can’t get rid of me that easy, gumdrop,” he told her and a sob escaped her lips. “I’d go get you another ring tonight. I meant what I said when I told you that you are the perfect person for me. And I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“But baby blue, I’ve changed. I’m not the same person I was. I’ve done things -”

“Y/n, neither of us are the same person we were three years ago. And whatever you did, kept you alive,” he said, he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. “So yeah, we have some stuff to work out but my heart belongs to you and you alone. And I’m not giving up on you.”

Y/n reached out her hand for Bucky and he took it. Her frail hands wrapped around his one, they were cold. He could only imagine the rest of her body was just as cold.

“You still wanna marry me?” She asked softly.

“Do you still want to marry me?” He pulled over a chair not removing his hand from hers and sat down.

She nodded. “But I’m not ready to. Does that make sense? Like, I wanna be ready.”

“I would wait forever for you,” he told her.

“So you lied,” she sighed and he furrowed his brows at her. “Clearly, you couldn’t have changed that much you’re still the cheesiest person on the face of the planet.”

Bucky scoffed and pressed a gentle kiss to her hand. “Promise me you’ll let me know if you don’t want me to do something. Like if I touch you in a way you don’t like, you have to let me know. I never want to be the reason you’re in pain.”

“Ok,” she whispered. “Where’s everyone else?”

“I only called Natasha and Tony today because I wasn’t sure how you would react to a room full of people wanting to see you. I can call them if you want and get them here.”

“Not yet, I haven’t seen you in three years,” she played with his fingers. She hadn’t let him go as if she had been touch starved for so long.

“Ok, whenever you’re ready.”

And yes they had things that they would have to work out together and individually, but Bucky meant it when he said that he wasn’t going to give up on her.

[mail-me-a-snail]

House Keys

chase…oh chase i love you so but you’re in for it now. chase brody, the former bro average superstar, comes home for the first time in a year.

part 1 part 2 part 3 Even if Chase Brody had moved out the year prior, he still has the keys to his brothers’ house. He stands now on the crisp, green lawn and swings the key-chain around. He cards a hand through his hair and rubs his eyes—he doesn’t get much sleep these days. Three years before he moved into his brothers’ house, he was sleeping in the back of his car. He’s been conditioned to fall asleep on the hard leather of the car seat, not in his own bed. He didn’t have a bed those weeks. Stacy and him still don’t talk.

He shoots Marvin a text.

hey bro im outside. will come in with the keys. jackie okay? are you all okay? There’s no response. Chase shrugs and tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans. He’s a little hurt, but it’s fine. It’s Chase’s first visit since he’s moved out. It’s exactly as he remembers it. The lawn is in immaculate condition, with the hedges trimmed neatly and flowers springing up all over the place—Jameson was always in charge of that. He has an eye for lawn care. He takes after Jack. The door and porch are dark mahogany, though it’s washed in orange now as the sun is starting to set. The house itself is painted an egg white. The tiles of the roof are black. Potted plants litter the porch, some new, some old, but all beautiful and trimmed to perfection. No doubt it’s Marvin’s work. The sidewalk he stands on is decorated with faded chalk drawings. Robbie. Of course. Chase is standing on his own face drawn in chalk. It’s a wonderful likeness and Chase can’t help but smile. Robbie even got the faded green in his hair. He steps off. He doesn’t want to ruin a masterpiece. The light in the wide upper story window—Henrik’s room—is off. The doctor’s probably getting his much needed and deserved forty winks. The only light on is in the living room. He takes a deep breath, the kind that pulls his shoulders up like he’s shrugging, and walks towards the door. Anxiety wriggles in his belly. He clutches the keys tightly in his hand—they bite into the skin and leave an impression with their teeth. He remembers the call with Marvin the night before. He had been in his apartment putting together some videos when his phone had rung. Marvin had explained everything to him; finding Jackie bleeding out in the city, teleporting him home, the surgeries…all of it. Jackie was okay, Marvin had assured him, and that he would heal. But the fact that it was…was you-know-who’s work… It hadn’t stop his hands from shaking as soon as he said goodbye and dropped the call nor did it let him breathe. His panic attacks were always bad, but he managed the one he had that night fine. And the one in the bathroom this morning. On the drive here, too. He doesn’t have everything under control yet. Being here again reminds him of all the times you-know-who had been there. He had been there, for Jack and Henrik. It went the same way; a phone call. A panic attack. The fear. Now it’s happening all over again. Why can’t he ever escape the demon? Why can’t any of them? Even a year after…he still looks over his shoulder and tosses and turns at night. When will he stop being afraid? The keys bite into his palm like his old dog had lovingly done. He misses him. Stacy had to take that away from him, too. The sting and the thought of Bulls-eye grounds Chase and he lets go, letting it hang by the key-chain instead. Deep breaths. He slides the key into the lock and turns. The door opens. Chase looks around as he steps into the hall. It’s just the same. The walls are orange. The umbrella stand to the right of the door filled with Marvin’s props, the coat hanger opposite, and the stairs upwards at the very front. To his immediate left is the closed door to Henrik’s makeshift clinic. To his right is the doorway to the living room. There’s a movie on, though Chase can’t identify it as the volume is set way down low. He doesn’t know where to go first as he stands awkwardly in the middle space. “Hello?” He says to the seemingly empty house. “Is anyone home? Marv? Schneep?” “Chase,” His heart skips a beat when he hears the raspy call from the living room, but he brightens when he recognizes the voice. “In here.” Chase has to stop himself from running into the living room. Brown couch, flat screen TV (playing Die Hard, of course), wide windows, and white curtains that blow softly. The coffee table has coffee mug rings on it and abandoned medical supplies like gauze, cotton balls, and antibiotics. Henrik’s neatly folded coat, too. Jackie sits on the couch in a black t-shirt with the brightly coloured graphic of a cartoon dog on a bicycle. He wears the flamingo shorts to accompany it. It’s the first time Chase has seen the hero out of his supersuit; it almost feels wrong. His hair is the neon green Chase remembers it to be. He’s wearing his mask. The only sign he’s been hurt at all are the bandages around his neck and forehead. He’s hardly watching the movie. He has a big smile on his face, the toothy kind of sunshine Chase missed so much. “Jackie,” he breathes. Chase wants to cry with relief. He settles with hugging Jackie as tightly as he can. “I missed you, Jackie,” he says, muffled as he buries his head into the hero’s chest. “I was so worried about you!” “O-ow, ow,” the other hacks out a laugh and winces, patting Chase’s back. “I missed you, too, bud, but…stab wound.” “Shit, right, sorry.” Chase lets go, albeit reluctantly. “Dude, how are you? It’s, I mean—I’ve never been stabbed before.” “I don’t recommend it,” Jackie grimaces. There’s humour in his voice but he also sounds exhausted. “You get here okay?” “Parked out front,” he says, “Came in with the keys. Still have ‘em.” He holds them up to confirm that. He drops them in his lap. “How’re you holding up?” “This thing—” Jackie pats his stomach, presumably where the wound is. “—is a bitch and a half of pain. The neck thing I can handle. It just hurts to talk.” He coughs. It sounds like shaking a dead bush. “Really hurts.” “Oh, I can do the talking, if you want.” “No, it’s okay, Chase. Marvin did something to me, I think, when I was out. Makes my mouth and throat taste like mint. Pretty soothing, actually. Besides, I haven’t seen you in forever! I want to talk.” How can he be so chipper even after he almost died? Chase doesn’t understand it. He really is a comic book superhero. Always getting back up again. “Aw, it hasn’t been that long,” Chase ducks his head, sheepish, but straightens right away. “Can I ask, though? What…what happened?” The silence is thick with tension. Chase bounces his leg, the sole of his sneaker squeaking against the hardwood floor, and pulls at the rubber bracelet around his right wrist under his hoodie sleeve. He picks at the multicoloured bandages on his fingers and arms. Jackie turns the TV off just as John McClain launches himself through a window. He turns to Chase. Their knees touch. “This is what I remember,” Jackie says, and begins. He had met Anti during one of his day patrols, but it wasn’t the song and dance number they usually did; it was in the back-alleys where no one could see them. Maybe that’s what Anti wanted. Maybe it wasn’t. “Anti had…had said something to me,” he mumbles, “that I’m not the hero I think I am. That all of what we do, this hero versus villain thing, is just a show. I-I don’t know why he’s been pretending this long, or…or what he hopes to gain, but…” Chase watches him closely. Jackie stops, shakes his head, and moves on. That’s how the hero has always been. Hit a wall? Just go around. Forget about the wall and keep going. He remembers the fight—and the pinning stab through the gut. The words Anti whispered into his ear. Chase is trembling with raw anger as he sees the large dark bruise marks wrapped around Jackie’s neck where Anti’s hands had been. “But after that,” he growls in frustration, “I can’t remember anything else. By my wound here, I can guess what finished me off.” He taps his neck. “Everything else is beyond me.” “Fuck him” Chase breathes, voice quivering with fury, “You’re a hero to me, to everyone. To Jack.” Jackie flinches when he hears those words. “I don’t have any powers,” Jackie mutters. “What? Yeah, you do! That—that super strength of yours!” “Anti can manipulate objects,” Jackie shoots back, “Time and space, just like Marvin can. How do I know he hasn’t been doing it for me this whole time?” “I…I don’t know.” The anger evaporates as quickly as it came. “I-I don’t want to talk about this.” Jackie throws his hands up. “Please, Chase, let’s…let’s talk about you, okay? I want to hear about where you’ve been—what you’ve done.” Chase bites his lip, trying to find a way to stop the subject from changing. The one frustrating thing about superheroes? They build walls around them, shutting the people they love out hoping to save them from whatever inner turmoil they’re wrangling with. …Chase isn’t stupid or in denial. Even he can admit the similarities between them. But that’s just it. Chase knows he does it—Jackie doesn’t. He’d rather not push further and get into an argument, spoiling the whole visit, so Chase drops it. It’ll sit in the back of his mind, though. He tells Jackie about the new apartment; it’s spacious and less of a dump than the last one. Modest kitchen, shower instead of a tub. “I miss the tub here,” he says forlornly, gesturing to the stairs. “And my little rubber ducky. Shower’s okay, though.” He earns Jackie’s laugh. The apartment is far into the city, maybe ten blocks away from the alley Marvin had found Jackie in, and just across a coffee shop. Having cleaner, more colorful walls than ugly white granite that popcorned helps a lot to take his mind off more…painful things. He hung up posters, bought a flatscreen, had a whole new gaming rig up for himself—he’s doing okay for himself, he thinks. The therapy, the talking, has brought him out of the hole he was in three years before. He tells him about new friends. Baristas at the coffee shop who’ve recognized him as a regular. YouTube is more fun than anything for him right now. The Bro Average brand was dissolved, but he couldn’t care less. It had been time for a fresh start. His channel is up and running and he’s been invited to panels, talks, and conventions. Some people from AA said they had watched his videos. He tells Jackie about how good it is to just. Work. To produce content for others to consume, to make people happy, but not at the cost of his own happiness. He notices he’s rambling when Jackie says nothing and keeps beaming at him. He falters and lets his words trail off into silence. “What?” Chase says. “I’m so proud of you,” Jackie replies, and the pride is trembling in his voice. “Chase, you’ve gotten so far without us. You’ve got a job, a new house—you’re practically shining!” “You’re…you’re proud of me? You mean it?” Chase feels himself smile, too. “Yes. I’m proud.” Jackie puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my bro. You’re the bravest damn person I know and you’ve come out of this so strong, so…it’s…Jack would be proud too.” Chase understands why he starts crying. That’s all he ever wanted. To hear those words come out of Jackie’s mouth. It means he’s done it. He’s gotten better. Maybe not recovered fully, not just yet, but better. Even in his joy, he hates himself for crying because whenever he cries he bawls like a big baby. He buries his face into Jackie’s chest, shoulders shaking. He’s staring at the cartoon dog through blurry, teary eyes. The dog says, in a neon bubble, “RADICAL!” The other rubs his back in soothing circles. “That’s it, buddy,” Jackie whispers, “I’ve got you, bro.” Chase swallows thickly, sniffles, and wipes his face with the back of his hand. Jackie hands him a tissue and he blows. His eyes are stuffy. He looks up into Jackie’s eyes, milky white, hidden behind the film in the mask, but he can tell they’re full of soft, unspoken love. The hero holds his cheek. “Chase Brody Mcloughlin,” Jackie declares, “I, your loving bro, will never stop being proud of you. Don’t forget that.” “Thanks, Jackie,” he sniffs, wiping his eyes. “Thank you. It’s…i-it’s nice to hear that what I’m doing is finally right.” “We’re all proud of you.” Jackie’s hand drops but gives Chase’s shoulder one last firm pat. “S-speaking of,” Chase clears his throat. “Speaking of…where is everyone?” Jackie blanks. “Uh,” he says, unsure. “Good question, actually! No idea. I woke up, like, ten minutes before you came in. I kind of assumed Henrik went to work, and who knows where Marvin is at any given time? JJ and Robbie are out on vacation or something. It’s just Henrik, Marvin, and I.” “Huh,” Chase frowns and stands. “You wait here, Jackie. Henrik can’t have gone to work; he’d never leave you here alone.” “Marvin would be watching over me!” He argues. “This is Marvin we’re talking about!” He shoots back as he leaves the room. He considers going upstairs but stops before he can do it. He notices, to his surprise, that across the hall the clinic’s lights are on. How did he not notice that coming in? The harsh white fluorescents bounce off the tiles and under the door. Chase knocks. “Doc? Marv?” He says, “Yoo-hoo. Anyone in there?” Of course, unsettling silence follows. Great. Chase has played enough horror games to know that whatever’s on the other side is bad. He flinches as glass shatters behind the door. A shadow moves under the door. “Henrik?” “Schiesse!” comes a muffled curse to answer. Angry German swearing? Yeah. That’s Henrik. “What the hell was that?!” Jackie says from the couch, halfway to standing. Chase notices he’s wobbling like a newborn deer. “Jackie, get back on the couch,” Chase scolds the hero, “You’re in no condition to walk!” He turns back to the door. “Doc, I’m coming in.” He takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob, and turns. What he finds on the other side isn’t horrible, so he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Henrik, hair messy and eye bags seemingly darker, clutching his head, is kneeling among shattered glass. From the way the metal table beside the hospital bed is on its side, Chase surmises that Henrik knocked it and the beakers that were on it to the ground when he tried to stand. “Doc!” He exclaims, rushing over to Henrik. He takes the doctor by the arm, helping him up, and looping the arm around his shoulders. “Danke,” Henrik grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “Chase, is that you?” “A-are you blind, Henrik?” Panic momentarily flares up in him. “Oh, jeez, I can get something for your eyes. Maybe ice—” “No,” Henrik sighs, but in the most affectionate way possible. He opens his eyes halfway, tired grey-blues looking up at him. “Chase, relax. I’m not blind. It’s these damn fluorescents—they could make me go blind. I don’t know why I thought they were a good idea. This nausea…it’s like someone took a hammer to my skull. Might as well have… I see enough of those lights in the hospital. Is it any wonder I wear glasses…” Henrik reaches into his pocket for something. He swears again as he brings out the bent and cracked frames of his glasses. “Oh, that is just great,” he hisses under his breath, “They must’ve gotten smashed in the fight.” “T…the what?” This is plenty strange already, but of course, he just has to notice only now that Marvin is crumpled in a desk chair, long, flowy hair messy and tangled, falling behind him as his head leans back, showing his neck. “Oh my God—Marvin!” “He’s okay,” Henrik straightens, though he’s still too weak to stand. Chase helps him into another chair. The doctor sits down with a sigh of relief, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “What the hell happened here?” Chase gestures vaguely to the entire room. “To Marvin? Actually, to you? Was it…was it you-know-who?” “Anti,” the doctor spits. Chase winces at the name. “It’s not right to fear his name. He and I had an…encounter last night. I thought I was going to die.” He briefly touches his neck. Chase sees all the scars crisscrossed there; it’s why the doctor wears turtlenecks to work. He’s always been insecure about them. “I thought it was all over but…but I woke up here. My head hurts like a bitch but I’ve got no other wounds. My neck, my concussion—they’re healed, like they were never there. "So, I have reason to believe,” he continues, “Marvin used the full extent of his magic to save me. It’s probably why he’s passed out.” “He’s always been shit at restoration magic,” Chase jokes, but turns serious right away. “Jesus, doc. Are you really okay? Why the fuck did you-know-wh—I mean,—A…Anti go after you?” “Teach me a lesson? Finish me off?” Henrik raises his shoulder in a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. God, I’m sorry, Chase, that this is the scene you’ve returned to. You’ve had enough of this…this Anti business, and now we’re dragging you back into it. Forgive me.” “No, doc, don’t say that,” Chase waves him off, “it’s not your fault. Besides, the guy’s messing with my brothers. That’s not gonna fly with me.” His voice shakes. He knows how unconvincing his moxie is. He swallows the stone in his throat and turns away before Henrik can call him out on it. The man crosses the room and takes a trauma blanket from the cabinet—he practically knows the clinic as well as Henrik does—and drapes it over Marvin. The magician barely stirs. He’s completely out. “CHASE? IS EVERYONE OKAY?” Jackie shouts from the living room. Chase startles and nearly knocks some important doodad over. Henrik’s blue eyes crackle to life at the sound of the hero’s voice. “He’s okay,” he says more to himself than Chase, “Oh, God, he’s okay.” To Chase, he says, “Chase, help me up—I must see Jackie.” “But what about Marv?” “He’ll need rest. Neither of us are strong enough to move him upstairs. Please, Chase, let’s go.” Henrik is almost begging. The tone unnerves and stirs Chase into action. He helps the doctor, slowly and surely, into the living room. “Henrik?” Jackie breaths, “What happened to you? Why are you limping? Is Marvin o—” Henrik launches himself from Chase’s arms and onto Jackie, nearly tackling the hero into the sofa. Jackie grunts in pain. “You idiot,” Henrik growls, though with utmost love. “You had me so worried! You could’ve died.” He hugs Jackie tight, despite his weak state. “Don’t ever do that again.” “What, get stabbed?” When Henrik glares up at him, he sobers. “Okay, okay. I won’t. I promise. Chase, where’s Marvin?” “Getting some rest,” Chase explains, “He used a whole bunch of his magic to heal Henrik. A-Anti attacked the doc last night.” “He…what?” Jackie’s tone is dangerously quiet. His shoulders are tense—he looks like an apex predator. It takes everything in Chase not to back away. “Calm yourself,” Henrik cautions, “I’m okay now. Marvin made sure of it. It is true; I had a fight with Anti and…I did not emerge the victor. But it’s alright. I’m alright.” Jackie deflates and hugs Henrik back. “I’m glad you’re okay, doc.” “You too, Jackie.” Chase bites his lip and leaves the room. He knows what he said about Anti, that he’d be ready to fight the demon again, given the chance. It’s one big lie, because he is fucking terrified of Anti, terrified of the fact that this is all very real, and that it had gotten all too real very fast. He wants to run away in that stupid little way of his, where he drives and drives until he can’t or locks himself up in his room, anywhere where Anti can’t reach him. He’s managed not to see the demon for a full year. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not again. Not again. – Chase goes up to his room and finds the hatch to the roof still unlocked. He goes out and sits there, on the uncomfortable tiles, and stares up at the stars. It’s somewhere around 11:30, maybe midnight. He doesn’t check his phone. Henrik’s gone to sleep. Jackie had helped Chase move Marvin to the couch. The both of them weren’t nearly strong enough to bring him up to his bedroom. Some part of Chase is telling him to relapse. To drink. He snaps the rubber bracelet against his wrist over and over instead. It makes an angry red mark. It’s a distraction. It makes him all the more ashamed of how fast he crumbles in the face of all this. He’s hasn’t gotten better. Even in the darkness, he knows what the bracelet says. He’s seen it, worn it ever since the last time Anti had tormented him. Alcoholics Anonymous, in white letters against a garish neon green. His mouth tastes of smoke. His eyes are heavy. He is tired and deflated. His brothers nearly dead—what a sight to come home to. At least now, he’s here for them. He is so tired, he doesn’t turn around when the hatch opens and Jackie sits beside him. He’s changed out of that cartoon dog shirt—he sports one of Henrik’s striped shirts. “Hey,” Jackie greets him softly. Chase can see the hero watching the bracelet snap repeatedly against his wrist, which he doesn’t stop. “Hey.” Silence. Cicadas. Snap. Snap. Snap. “How long have you been sober?” Chase knows how much Jackie wants to say more, but he doesn’t. It’s a simple question. “A year.” An exact year from the last time Anti hurt him. He and Jackie match in scars now. Not on the neck, though. “Dude, that’s awesome. I’m proud of you.” The words are hollow. He doesn’t deserve them. Snap. Snap. Snap. “Chase?” Snap. Snap. Snap. “Welcome home.” Chase breaths shakily. His wrist stings. He cries, the fourth time that day, and bites back the urge to scream. “He’s g-going to f-find me again,” he says through quick breaths, “I’m n-next.” “Chase…” The man shakes his head furiously. “I-I’m not leaving. If he think he can fucking s-scare me,” Chase hiccups, “he’s w-wrong. I’m tired of r-running away. I’m going to fight.” Nothing, for a moment. Then, Jackie says, “It’s what Jack would’ve wanted.” Chase cries harder at that. He wants to toss his house keys off this damn roof and never see them again, because they remind him too much of the doors he’s just opened up. He’s not afraid. Shaking and sobbing, he is not afraid. He is furious.

[chipsandcoffee]

Whouffaldi Fanfic

“You Sound Like a Song”

Post-Hell-Bent, fix-it of sorts, memory loss, confessions, angst, romance, eternal love, s10 spoilers, canon compliant (well technically at least), cameo appearance by Bill Potts

Also on AO3 at this link.

______________

He knew her name was Clara. He knew they’d travelled together. But that was all he knew.

The list of things the Doctor didn't know about Clara was so much longer and went so much deeper, prodding away at him from a restless corner of his mind. What was she like? What had they meant to each other? Why would he have wiped the memory of her from his mind? And the one question that troubled him most: what had happened to her?

He ruminated on these questions yet again as he slumped in a leather armchair in his office at St. Luke's University, absent-mindedly strumming his guitar. He often felt a sense of melancholy on these solitary nights. Nothing was sad until it was over, he thought. Then everything was.

He had spent a long time trying to look for Clara (being stuck on Earth for a number of years hadn’t stopped him, for he was based where she was most likely to be). Of course he didn't know who he was looking for (hadn't someone told him that once?), but he believed he would know her if he met her again, and she would surely know him. But it had never happened. And he’d never heard a word from her.

He'd eventually reached the most logical and painful conclusion: she was dead. She'd likely been dead all along, even before he’d erased her from his memory (he could tell he’d used a neural block, could feel the sensation of a hole in his mind where something ought to be). Maybe that was why he'd taken the drastic step of eliminating those memories in the first place: her death had simply been too painful for him to bear.

He obviously had no idea how Clara had died, but he had the painful feeling that it had somehow been his fault. Hers was probably another life cut tragically short because of him, just like too many other people he’d been close to.

Indeed, he’d experienced more than his fair share of loss over his long life, and the last few decades had certainly been no exception. River had gone to her inevitable death shortly before he’d arrived in Bristol (at least by his timeline). He’d also very nearly presided over the execution of Missy before rescuing his oldest friend and bringing her to St. Luke’s. But for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, the very idea of Clara being dead made his hearts ache in a way nothing else did. Perhaps more than anything else ever had.

It was strange grieving for someone he didn’t remember. His grief after losing River had made sense to him, and he’d been able to move on from it (even if Nardole, devoted to River as always, continued to assume that any sign of sorrow from the Doctor was connected to his late wife). But he had a vague, shapeless sense of loss deep in his bones that he knew, he just knew, was the grief he was still carrying for Clara. He obsessed over the unknown and unknowable details of her life, their life, and her presumed death. 

His grief frequently bubbled up to the surface when he played his guitar. In fact, as he sat there in the shadows of his office, he realized that he'd once again started playing a variation of a song from long ago that he knew was called “Clara.” Bill was always curious about that tune, but he'd never told her its true title. How would he begin to explain the story behind it when he didn’t understand it himself? 

The Doctor suddenly recalled with regret that he’d been rather curt with Bill earlier that day when she'd teased him that that particular song was the only one he knew how to play. He thought maybe he should say something to her by way of apology when he saw her again. He also knew he was rubbish at such conversations, so he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and fished out the stack of dog-eared index cards that he relied on for such occasions. He'd had them for many years, each card a neatly-written sentence that he could use in tricky social situations (which for him was most social situations). One of his companions had probably made them for him at some point, but he couldn't remember who. He liked to imagine they came from Clara, that he still had something tangible left of her that he carried with him. He wondered if she would have liked that.

The Doctor put his guitar aside, ran his hand down his face, and started pacing around his office. All this brooding wasn't doing him any good. He needed a distraction. He paused, fingers drumming on his desk, as his eyes fell on his TARDIS parked in the corner following his last outing with Bill. He'd been thinking recently that the timeship’s interface stabilizer could use an upgrade; that would keep him busy for a while. But he’d need to get his hands on a few parts first. He considered his options. 

His favourite place to get spare parts for the TARDIS was at a marketplace on the planet Haligonia. Of course Nardole would give him grief if he found out that the Doctor had travelled off world, but Nardole was currently occupied with tinkering with the locks on the vault deep under St. Luke’s and likely would be for a while. The Doctor could be gone and back before Nardole knew he’d left. He rubbed his hands together, his decision made. He pushed open the TARDIS doors.

A few minutes later, the Doctor was strolling through the bustling marketplace on 48th-century Haligonia. The planet was a human colony, but the well-known market attracted shoppers of a variety of species from all over the galaxy. It was a warm, sunny day, and the breeze carried smells of local street foods as he made his way past vendors selling everything from the latest tech gadgets to exotic jewellery to flowers of every possible colour.

Soon enough he spotted the parts dealer’s stall. As he approached it he noticed there was a rather spirited conversation going on between the tall, burly dealer and a petite young woman. The customer was dark-haired and wore a black leather jacket with a well-worn satchel slung over her shoulder. Her clear voice stood out over the din of the market, and as the Doctor walked up behind her, he could hear her haggling over the price of something.

“Come on, this would've cost less when it was new than what you’re asking for it now.”

The dealer folded his arms. “Yeah, well life’s not fair, lady. And if you can find it new somewhere else, feel free to buy it there.”

“Fine,” she said nonchalantly, “I will then.” The woman spun around and began striding off, nearly walking into the Doctor.

“Sorry,” she said, glancing up at him. She did a double take and suddenly froze, staring at him, her strikingly large eyes becoming impossibly larger. She stood stock still for a long moment. “Doctor,” she breathed.

He peered down at her, knitting his eyebrows and squinting slightly. “Have we met?”

“Yeah, yeah we've met,” she said faintly, sounding dazed. She continued to stare at him, and now her eyes were starting to look distinctly watery.

The Doctor became increasingly concerned that this stranger might inexplicably burst into tears right in front of him, a prospect that he found rather frightening. He reached into his pocket for his social cue cards in a desperate attempt to find something to say that might diffuse whatever was happening.

He found one of his frequently-used cards, and recited, “I apologize for not recognizing you. I am a time traveller and I sometimes meet people out of order.”

The woman tore her eyes away from the Doctor's face to look at what he was holding. However, much to the Doctor's horror the card had only made things worse, as she had clasped her hand over her mouth and a tear trickled down her face.

“I, um,” he spluttered, his arms flailing.

The woman suddenly seemed to snap out of her emotional state and darted her eyes around the marketplace, as though searching for an escape route. “I'm um, I'm so sorry,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to smile. “Have a good day.” And with that she turned and strode away without a backwards glance.

The Doctor felt somewhat relieved that this problematic encounter appeared to have resolved itself. But he also felt responsible for upsetting this person, and he found himself chasing after her through the crowd of shoppers.

“You there,” he said, starting to catch up to her. “Are you okay?”

He thought she must not have heard him, because she kept on walking. But then she came to a sudden halt, and the Doctor had to stop himself from running into her from behind. After a moment’s hesitation, she turned around, her face somehow conveying trepidation and relief at the same time. The Doctor was baffled how she managed to do that. 

The woman heaved a long sigh. “I am so sick of hiding from you.” The Doctor frowned as she stepped towards him, the crowd swirling around them. “The reason I recognize you but you don't recognize me isn't because of time travel. It's because you’ve forgotten me.” She paused for a second and wiped away a tear. “You, um, you chose to forget me.”

The Doctor felt as though his hearts had stopped and that all the blood had drained from his face. His mouth fell slightly open. Some distant part of his brain thought he must look like he'd seen a ghost. To him he had.

“Clara,” he whispered. It wasn't a question. He knew somehow, he was certain who she was.

“Yeah,” she whispered in return, gazing into his eyes.

“You're not dead,” he blurted out, immediately realizing how ridiculous that sounded.

“Yeah,” she frowned. “Why? Have you remembered--”

“I haven't remembered anything. I'd just… guessed. That-- that you were dead.”

Clara looked into the Doctor’s eyes and he immediately felt like she could see into his soul, into every lonely, hopeless night he’d spent grieving for her. Her face grew concerned.

“Oh, Doctor.” She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek, and the Doctor surprised himself by not flinching under her touch. “I think we should talk.”

______________

A few minutes later, the Doctor found himself incredibly, miraculously sitting with Clara at a small table in the corner of a quiet cafe on a back street near the marketplace, a steaming mug of herbal tea in front of each of them. They sat in silence at first as they stole glances at one another and tried to figure out how to navigate this strange situation.

“I like your coat,” Clara started, nodding at the blue-lined black velvet jacket he'd favoured of late.

“Oh, um, thanks.” He felt himself blushing. He wasn't used to people saying that sort of thing to him. Another moment passed and he asked, “How did you travel here?”

“In my TARDIS,” she answered easily, as though that were something that humans did all the time.

“What?” He was flabbergasted. “You have a TARDIS? How?”

Clara sighed. “Oh, this is going to be a very long story, Doctor.”

Several cups of tea later, Clara had told the Doctor the story of their final days together: the raven on Trap Street, the Doctor pulling Clara from her time stream on Gallifrey (which partly explained the vague memories he’d had of being trapped for a very long time in his confession dial), and her escape in a stolen TARDIS (oddly with the immortal woman Ashildr).

Once Clara had finished her story, the Doctor sat in stunned silence, attempting to make sense of it all, of the extreme lengths he'd gone to for Clara. He tried to wrap his mind around the idea that he’d actually plucked this woman from her time stream right before her death. And here she sat, still time-looped. Still, in essence, alive.

“You know how to fly a TARDIS?” It probably wasn’t the most important question, but it’s the one that popped out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she laughed, her eyes twinkling, and the Doctor thought her laugh was perhaps the loveliest thing he’d ever heard. “I picked up a thing or two in the years we travelled together.”

The Doctor was impressed. “So how long has it been for you since you last saw me?”

“Oh, um, I'm not sure anymore. A while back I stopped keeping track of how long it’d been. It was--” She paused, lowering her eyes, a hint of pain crossing her face. She cleared her throat, met his eye again and continued, “I figured that was for the best. But I guess it must be close to a hundred years now.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows slightly. "I think it's almost exactly the same for me."

The corners of Clara's mouth quirked up. "Yeah, that's just the way things seem to go with us. We've always been… connected, somehow.”

“What have you been doing all that time?”

“Oh you know, flying about a bit, watching the odd star being born, saving the odd planet.”

The Doctor couldn't help but laugh at Clara's jokingly casual tone, and he marvelled to himself at this amazing woman. But there was an important issue that Clara hadn’t yet explained.

“So why don’t I remember you, Clara? Based on the type of amnesia that I experienced, I’m guessing that I used a neural block of some sort?”

Clara’s face turned serious and she glanced down.

“Um, yeah, you did.” She gave a puzzled frown. “It's weird though, I saw you shortly after the neural block, and you seemed to remember a bit more than you do now. At least some of what had happened on Gallifrey.”

“Ah, well it's not uncommon in the early stages following a neural block to be left with some disjointed shards of memories. Over time, if the brain can't process those fragments, they're forgotten. It's sort of like forgetting a dream shortly after awakening.”

“Right, okay.”

The Doctor searched her face. “Clara, why did I use a neural block to forget you?” 

Clara looked upwards as if searching for inspiration on how to respond to the Doctor’s question, tears threatening in her eyes again. She took a deep breath.

“It wasn't meant to be you, not at first.”

“What do you mean?”

“You, um, you were going to use the neural block on me. You thought I'd be safer from the Time Lords if I didn't remember you.”

The Doctor frowned in confusion. “So what happened?”

Clara lowered her eyes. “I used your sonic sunglasses to reverse the polarity on the neural blocker when you weren't looking.”

“You what?”

“I didn't want it to go off on you, I just didn't want you to use it on me.” She began to raise her voice while a tear spilled down her face. “I didn't want you to use it at all, I told you what I'd done!”

Her voice broke and she paused, catching her breath and wiping her face. The Doctor felt a rush of sympathy and heartache for her. He realized that as difficult as it had been for him to live with his missing memories, Clara had suffered too, in a different way: she'd had to carry around the weight of everything they'd been through, while he had been blissfully ignorant.

Clara continued, speaking more quickly as she got through the rest of her story. “So. You didn't know at that point what would happen when the button on the blocker was pressed. That's when you suggested that we both press the button together, knowing that one of us would forget the other, but not knowing which one. Better than flipping a coin, you said.” Clara dropped her gaze and her voice fell to nearly a whisper. “And I guess you kind of lost the coin toss.”

The Doctor watched Clara for a moment, her head bowed. Then he found himself leaning forward and placing his hand on hers. Clara looked up at him, surprised at the contact.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For everything, I guess. For forgetting you. For trying to make you forget me. I'm sorry that you feel bad about what happened with my memories, because it wasn't your fault, Clara. We knew the risks and we pressed that button together.” 

She squeezed his hand, a hint of relief on her face.

“You didn't say why I thought one of us needed to forget the other,” the Doctor continued. “But I think I'm starting to understand. Everything I did, the confession dial, the extraction chamber, my plan to hide you away and make you forget me.” The Doctor felt his hearts stirring as he now wrapped Clara's hand in both of his. “I think I would have torn the sky apart for you, Clara Oswald. And I think I knew that.”

A sad smile crossed Clara's face. “And I would have done the same for you.”

The Doctor and Clara gazed silently at each other, her small hand wrapped in his two, lost in the universe that was each other's eyes. 

After a while Clara swallowed, leaned forward, and spoke in a quiet voice. “Doctor, there's one more thing I still haven't told you. When you and I were on Gallifrey, we sat together in the Cloisters, and I told you something important, something I'd never told you before.” Clara took her free hand and laid it on top of his, her eyes round and sparkling. “I told you that I loved you. That I'd always loved you and I always would, and that I wished I'd told you a long time ago. That maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently.”

The Doctor had been surprised by many things Clara had told him that day, but somehow her declaration of love wasn't one of them. He’d known it, felt it, from the moment he'd met her in the market outside.

“And how did I respond?” he whispered, scarcely breathing.

Clara gave another sad smile and shook her head. “You didn't. That was the moment you got the service hatch open and, well, we had to keep running.”

“Ah,” was all he could think of to say.

“Yeah. We’ve had a lot of bad timing, you and me.”

As if to emphasize the point, the cafe owner at that moment walked by their table and turned off the “open” sign in the window, pointedly clearing his throat as he did so.The Doctor glanced around and realized that he and Clara had been alone in the cafe for quite some time.

“I think we’re being kicked out,” Clara whispered loudly, her eyes twinkling.

“Looks like it,” the Doctor replied with a crooked grin.

Outside, the Haligonian night had fallen, and the streets were nearly empty. The planet's two champagne-coloured moons shone overhead, and the air felt damp and cool after the warmth of the day. The Doctor and Clara wandered together through the town for a while, swapping tales of adventures and wild escapes, their bursts of laughter ringing through the stillness of the evening. The streets and laneways they walked eventually gave way to a green, park-like area on the edge of town where the scent of blossoming trees drifted through the night air. The Doctor wished they could keep walking forever, but as his TARDIS came into view in the moonlight, he was reminded that their magical day had to come to an end.

They walked together across the dewy grass and stopped near his blue box, standing in an uncertain silence, the only sound a nocturnal bird calling in the distance. Clara finally spoke. “So what happens now? Me and you, what do we do now?” The hint of tears glistening in her eyes told the Doctor that she probably already knew the answer.

“Oh, Clara. I don't even need my memories to know that there’s nothing in this universe I’d like more than to travel with you again. But I said today that I would have torn the sky apart for you all those years ago, and I know in my hearts I still would. And that you’d still do the same for me.” 

He took a step closer to her. “Everything you’ve told me, everything I can see and feel now tells me that we were amazing together. But also that we were dangerous. And I don't think there’s any way to stop that from happening again, because of who we are, and because of--” He paused and took a deep breath. “And because of how we feel about each other.”

Clara looked down and nodded, a tear falling to the ground. “Yeah,” she whispered.

The Doctor tenderly placed his hand on Clara’s cheek, and she looked up at him. Clara had told him so much that day. Now there was something he felt he had to tell her, something that was burning within him. He wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by again, not this time.

“Clara, I never got the chance to respond to you in the Cloisters, and I know a lot of time has passed since then and I’ve forgotten so much. But I know, I’m certain of one thing. I loved you, Clara Oswald. I loved you-- I love you with both my hearts. And I always will.”

Clara smiled up at him, even as another tear rolled down her cheek. The Doctor wiped away the tear with his thumb, feeling dizzy with the emotions swirling inside him. He found himself slowly leaning towards her, feeling a pull as irresistible and inevitable as gravity, as Clara ran her hand up his arm. Their lips met in a soft, heartfelt kiss. To the Doctor it felt surprisingly natural, right, perfect. It felt like the long-awaited conclusion to a conversation begun 100 years ago.

The Doctor stepped back and took Clara's hand as he stood there smiling softly at her, warmth and contentment infusing his body. She smiled back at him, all dimples and shiny eyes.

“I’m really glad I got to see you, Doctor.”

“I’m really glad I got to see you too, Clara Oswald.”

But his smile faltered as the reality of his situation sunk in. Clara frowned.

“What’s wrong, Doctor?”

He released her hand and sighed. “My neural block, Clara. I don’t know what'll happen when I leave tonight. Seeing you today, talking to you, learning all about you, about us. I don’t want to forget any of it, not again. But my brain has blocked my memories of you for a very long time, and I'm afraid it'll do it again.”

Clara’s face was filled with concern. “There must be something we can do.”

He shook his head and half-shrugged his shoulders.

Clara’s eyes lit up. “Hang on, I have an idea.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and opened her satchel. After some rummaging around, she pulled out a small cardboard box and opened it. “I carry these around with me. They still come in handy for all kinds of things.”

______________

Bill started packing up her things as the day’s tutorial with the Doctor wrapped up.

The Doctor was sitting behind his massive desk, continuing to flip through the book they'd been discussing. “And don’t forget that your research paper on laser-cooled ions is due tomorrow.”

Bill rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good.” The Doctor tried to look stern, but he had a feeling he wasn’t quite pulling it off. Tossing aside the book, he stood and picked up his guitar from the chair where he'd left it, wandering around his office as he played the song that he now knew was named for the woman he loved.

Bill paused as she walked towards the door. “Don't think I've heard that version before. It's, I dunno, cheerier.”

The Doctor smiled to himself. “Good night, Bill.”

“‘Night, Doctor. See ya tomorrow.”

Now alone, the Doctor played for a while longer before setting his guitar down. He relaxed into his favourite armchair and reflected on how different things were for him since his trip to Haligonia a few weeks earlier. He could still remember much of his wondrous encounter with Clara, though some of the details were growing hazy, almost as though the whole thing had been a dream. Sometimes he thought maybe it had been a dream. But whenever that unsettling feeling arose, he would do as he did now. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small stack of index cards. Some were old and dog-eared, but some were new. All of them had the same neat handwriting, and now he knew whose handwriting it was.

He picked out the new cards. The one on top read, “Clara is alive and doing well. She wants you to be happy.” He gave a contented sigh. The next two were his favourites.

“Clara loves you. She always has and always will.” 

“You told Clara that you love her, and she will always cherish that.”

He smiled even as his eyes felt wet with tears (perhaps he was malfunctioning). He gazed at the cards for a long time, his fingers running lightly over the words.

He knew her name was Clara. He knew they’d travelled together. He knew she was still out there, exploring the universe. He knew they'd loved each other deeply and truly, and they always would.

He also knew that nothing was sad until it was over. And he and Clara would never be over. Not in his hearts, not ever.

______________

Thank you for reading! This is my first fic and any feedback would be very welcome and appreciated!

[monkey-network]

My Issues with Butch Hartman

Call this the sequel to my post on Mr. Enter. But honestly compared to Enter, Butch Hartman has made himself look far worse in so little time. Not only with how he uses his influence, but he basically showed his true colors not long after he left Nickelodeon. With Enter, the worst you can say about him is his opinions on media and his politics. With Hartman, there is a surprisingly lot more under his belt that made the hate towards him .

To preface this, while I’m gonna shit on this dude, I’m not shaming anyone who still likes his past content. With that said, bibbity Boppity boopity. Let’s look at the fucking scoopity.

The Telltale Oaxis

This really takes the cake as the scummiest thing Butch has done. Words and opinions can be one thing, but using your platform to basically trick some people out of their money for a project you abandoned for the most part grinds me gears a lot more. As bad as his marketing strategy was, at least Enter provided effort in his indiegogo project beforehand for god’s sake. Oaxis is one of the most pitiable crowdfunded projects I’ve seen.

It’s nearly two years since Butch got Oaxis funded and what have gotten beyond pure dead silence. Nearly two years and little to no significant updates for Oaxis’s Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, his Youtube, or the site’s official account. No wait, that last part’s kind of a lie. They had monthly updates on the official site up until September 2019. Could’ve posted this on their social medias but you take what you can get. 

The major takeaway from the updates, in all fairness, was that the kickstarter wasn’t enough and they still need to raise more funds for the service. The “capital-building” stage he calls it where he’s looking for more investors in addition to getting actual programs onto the service. That and Oaxis is a big vision for Butch and his wife in spite of not only giving up the monthly updates and basically secluding any mention of Oaxis from any place else. That’s basically it and I legit feel sorry for everyone that couldn’t get their refund back.

This isn’t HBO Max or Disney+ where you just expect them to have something together after their initial announcement because they’re already media conglomerates, this is an independent project. One that people, your fans included Butch, put over 200K thinking you would at least give people something. But beyond a “sizzle reel” that said nothing aside from Oaxis going to be a thing, you have presented jack after two years. I don’t expect the ins and outs of every business meeting with executives, but staying silent about everything except for monthly newsletters that offer very little encouraging progress and hasn’t updated since September of last year is not a good sign. And I’m especially hard on this topic, Butch, because this is the biggest point where it is seriously hard to trust you. It’s not criticizing your ego when after having too many cracks in your story, you really haven’t put your money where your mouth is.

I don’t wanna presume the guy’s given up on it, hoping everybody would forget it after a while, but he’s really put the effort in to make Oaxis feel like a afterthought. I’m not an expert in business, but even I can believe that after his non-apology for not being upfront with his initial intentions, that he’d try to provide updates on the project to not come off as the scam artist people have accused him as. Even with his Youtube channel that I’ll get to later, I don’t think it’s hard consistently posting about your so called vision if you have that much faith in its success. You’ve already gotten thousands of bucks initially with the crowdfund, people deserve more than your pitiful wishful platitudes and I unfortunately can’t believe you’ll have anything after a few years. It’s not that everyone forgot about it, but you mostly took the money and ran. If Butch pops up with something if he sees this somehow, I’ll eat that crow, but I sincerely doubt it after this long. Like at least post something on the Twitter, I get depressed just looking at it; that account is the textbook definition of famine.

The Childhood Reposter

I’ve brought up Butch’s youtube channel a couple times, and it’s when every time I look at it, it’s a little sad. When it comes to major creators, I typically think that after finishing their projects they’d move to newer things. People like Lauren Faust, Mike Judge, CH Greenblatt are all continuing to make new works under differing studios while new creators are getting the spotlight. Butch though? I mean, he has a new cartoon that I swear you’ve never heard about but other than that, the dude looks like he has little to say for himself nowadays beyond the 2 shows he’s famous for, Fairly Odd Parents and Danny Phantom. I would’ve added TUFF Puppy and Bunsen is a Beast but I can see that those two aren’t his major players seeing as how they’re rarely ever mentioned on the channel.

If it’s not some watchmojo level meme video, almost every other video is about either two of those shows in some varied fashion. I get that he “created your childhood” and made credulous bank from Nickelodeon, but it’s like Danny Phantom is all that stands between him and having an audience. That and drawing anime characters in his style which is... y’know, I’ll leave that to you. It’s like he retired and yet goes on about the good old days like a fluctuating ego. He’s still making a cartoon but to him that’s hardly a factor compared to his known successes.

Personally, I wouldn’t want to just be known as the guy who made two of your countless beloved cartoons. Not that that’s all he talks about, but it’s the insistence of his legacy that unfortunately gives me Bojack Horseman vibes. He no doubt has a good thing going but I believe that this isn’t gonna last. Just saying, dude has 850K subscribers and unless it’s a real hook like with the recent Danny Phantom/Jake Long death battle, he’s hardly getting a good fraction of views anymore. There’s only so many times you can milk Danny Phantom as your masterpiece before everyone moves on.

The Holy Boast

I wanna make this short because I’m not a huge talker of religion, but I stand to say that you should NOT, under any circumstance, believe BPD, PTSD, autism, fucking heart & kidney failure can be “cured” or “healed” through sermons of prayer. This here? This is genuinely something else.

https://www.healingjourneys.today/

For clarity, this was a gospel conference hosted by Butch and his wife and yes, they openly proclaim that BPD, austism, and heart disease can be cured through prayer of holy worship.

Now, I’m gonna give a full disclosure right here because this most certainly biases my point here, like I’m gonna own this. But my grandpa was a religious man that suffer from health problems. He notably prayed to carry on, yes, but at the same time he sought medical help. Even he told me that prayers wasn’t gonna keep the pacemaker going, he went to the doctors and actually did more than read the bible to improve himself. He unfortunately passed, but he was in his 70s and I honestly couldn’t believe, as hard as I try, that he was gonna live forever. My grandpa would’ve no doubt died far earlier if he followed this conference’s logic.

My point is that this is personally unsettling. I seriously cannot believe this is how autism and religion works and it blows my mind that him and his wife thought this conference was a suitable idea. I’m not bashing them as christians, but thinking mental disorders and bodily diseases can be done away with motivational seminars because that’s basically what they are is a legit slap to the face. And the seedling idea that they’ve done this before blows my mind.

The Financial Flaker

This is very recent and everything is generally explained in the 12 minute video but long story short: Butch hired an artist and never paid them for their work. The artist in question, Kuro, describes what happened between him and Butch in this video and provides receipts. Can’t really add anything to this myself beyond this just builds to the idea that Butch cannot be trusted as a professional business maker. I believe he still has people working for him but from this video, it tells me that Hartman will gladly use those lower than him in favorable pursuits and will gladly throw ignorance when he wants to because his cartoon veteran status presents that shield from thinking he can do no wrong, which can mean throttling his hires.  Let’s end this.

The Conclusion

When I get down to it, Butch is almost a Machiavellian character in a way. It’s amazing how much the trust people have had with Hartman have evaporated in less than a couple years. It’s amazing how much his ego has truly shown after he stopped being a namestay in Nickelodeon. Haven’t even mentioned the times he arrogantly deflected criticism because he was a namestay at Nick and how a couple who’ve worked with are well aware of his ego. I can’t help but believe that even after everything, he claims ignorance to his fall from grace and keeps going. Even when more and more are knowing his true self, he’s mostly just doing what he’s been doing for the past few years.

It’s respectable in a way, but shows that the world will move on without him. Again, if you like Danny Phantom and Fairly OddParents, I won’t judge you for it nor say you should be ashamed. This isn’t about cancelling Butch, or get him to stop spreading whatever wacky things he believes in. It’s my personal take of how this man whom I once respected because of what he made before has lost every bit of that from me. It really feels like he grew up with that “I Created Your Childhood” mentality being a 4 time showrunner for almost a couple decades. And when he finally left Nickelodeon, I guess the chance to be that stand out self-made success got to his head and he finally showed his true colors. I now find it hard to believe Butch cares about the little guy that were his fans as much as he rides off his success and others who tolerate him. As such, like JK Rowling, more are seeing this side of him and leaving him behind. Meanwhile Butch is gonna chug on until he just loses steam. It’s kinda like Icarus where the guy will make every effort to fly to the sun. But sooner or later, he’s gonna fall, and in the end I doubt anyone’s gonna care to see it. I know he won’t.

[atths--twice]

Onto the next chapter! I hope you are all enjoying this new journey. : ) 

The Sixth Month 2b/6

Chapter Two 

A Houseful of Memories 

At a request from Scully, Mulder makes a stop and picks up some things from the past. 

Walking out of the elevator, they were both still smiling. Mulder gripped her hand in his and headed back outside. Back to the afternoon heat, although it felt a bit cooler. He felt so happy. So at ease.

The baby was fine, Scully was fine and apparently he had some insatiable sex to look forward to again. God, when she was pregnant last time, she had been an absolute animal when it came to sex. Their sex life had been amazing right up until he had been abducted and then presumed dead.

That put a damper on the old libido, he thought with a smile.

But when he came back, after being dead for months, he had felt out of place. Like he did not belong. He was even unsure of the paternity of the baby and not sure how to broach the subject. The IVF had failed, how was she pregnant?

Until she had sat him down, told him he was being a fucking asshole, that she knew he had been through a lot, but so had she, and he needed to knock it the fuck off, did he understand how angry she had been. Angry and so scared. They had not been them and finally she had reached her breaking point. They had talked, really talked. About the baby, about everything.

After that night, they had started getting back on track. Things were better. They had gone back to touching and kissing, but not until the Lamaze class did they really fall back into the sexual aspect of their relationship. Boy, did they ever. And now he had that to look forward to again? He was older, but he was most definitely up to the challenge.

He looked at her, at her radiant smile, the afternoon sun shining behind her and lighting her up. She smiled as she caught his eye, squeezing his hand, and holding his arm with her other hand. The wind blew and she closed her eyes. Happy. She was so happy.

“So, how about we head home, make something delicious for dinner, and see where the night takes us?” Mulder said, as they got closer to the hospital.

She smiled. That sounded great, but she was about to throw a wrench in those plans. A big one.

“Mulder, I have to get back to the hospital for a little bit. There are some things I need to check on before I leave for the weekend. Just a few things. I should be home about seven, eight at the latest,” she said, giving him an apologetic look.

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. I can head home and pick something up on the way. Do you want me to get something to make or pick something up?” he asked as held her hands in his.

“Well, it’s almost 4:00 now, and I have a favor to ask of you. Kind of a big one. You can say no, but I would really appreciate it if you did it," she said, with a hopeful look.

“I’m all ears, Scully. At your beck and call. You can bend me to your will. I am your willing servant.” He grinned cheekily at her.

“You good?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. He smiled and bowed his head. “Okay. So, I stopped by my mom’s house yesterday.”

He squeezed her hands, knowing that she stopped by there sometimes. Mrs. Scully had left the house to Scully when she died. They were still going through the stuff at her house. Pictures, boxes of memories, old outdated clothes, furniture. All of it held meaning to Scully.

“I was walking around, looking at things. Maybe some things I’d like to move to our house. Some photos, maybe some things that could go in the babies room... I don’t know. But, I found some boxes with my name on them. I don’t know what’s in them and I didn’t want to lift them. But, Mulder, I’d like to have them and see what's inside.” She smiled a sad smile and he touched her cheek.

“You want me to stop over and get them for you? That’s not a problem at all Scully. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it. I think there are like five, maybe six at most. I’m pretty sure they will all fit in your car.”

“Well, if they don’t I can make another trip. If it makes you happy Scully, then I’m happy to do it.” He cupped her face and kissed her, then pulled her in for a hug.

“Oh, I need to get you the key,” she said as she pulled back, her eyes a little wet.

“No need, I have one,” he said showing it to her on his key ring.

“When did you get a key?” she asked surprised that he had one. Usually if he went, he was with her and she used hers.

“Your mom gave me one years ago,” he said. “Didn’t you know that she did? In case she needed something or.. if I did. To talk or just visit.” He looked sad and she pulled him to her. They held each other, both with their own memories of her, but both mourning a mother. One from birth, the other from respect and then love.

She pulled back and kissed his cheek, letting go of him and walking back to the hospital. She turned and looked at him just before she walked inside and smiled.

A little while later, he pulled up to Mrs. Scully’s house. He sat in the car, at the curb, and stared at it. He had not been completely honest with Scully. Coming here was not really something he liked to do, especially by himself. It made him feel sadness in a different way than being in his own parents homes.

He had to deal with his parents estates when they passed. A lot of the items he donated, some he put in storage, but anytime he was there, he could not wait to leave. Too many unhappy ghosts running around in the house to make him feel any ease.

Scully had come with him a couple of times years ago. She helped him sort through which things he would keep, though most of the time he had just shrugged his shoulders and she had to make a guess. He did not have memories tied to items like Scully did. His memories were dark and mostly sad, not exactly something that would look nice hanging on a wall.

But being here, at Mrs. Scully’s, he had felt the love he had missed out on as a child. Felt accepted and his presence had been welcomed. He stared at the house and told himself to stop being such a pussy. He got out of the car and walked into the house.

The air inside was stale and warm and he hated it. It felt all wrong. Mrs. Scully’s house had always smelled inviting and welcoming, a floral smell that was never too heavy.

He stood in the foyer, looking into the sitting room. He had paced that room when Scully had been missing. He had shown up at odd hours, unable to sleep, to concentrate on anything but finding her. Mrs. Scully had always let him in, no matter the time. She had sat silently in her chair and listened to him rant, watched him as he paced. She did not try to offer him comfort, not at first. He needed to let it out and she knew he needed to do it.

He would eventually tire out and fall to the floor, crying, apologizing to her. She never yelled, never got angry with him. She would come to him and hold him as he cried. She would murmur her comfort then, offer her strength to him, but he would never accept it. This was his punishment and he deserved it. If his past taught him anything, it was how to take on the pain and suffering. How to accept the punishment.

He stepped further into the room and stood exactly where he had when Scully was suffering from mind control. When she thought he was the enemy. Mrs. Scully had stood by his side and then in front of him. Protecting him, as well as Scully. If Scully had shot him, Mulder knew she would have never forgiven herself. Her mother knew that, too. She knew that offering herself in Mulder’s place, would be enough to give Scully pause. To make her give up and see reason.

He felt tears in his eyes as he remembered the image of Mrs. Scully walking to Scully and holding her as she crumbled. That image would be burned in his mind forever. The power of a mother’s love.

He kept walking in further. The dining room table where they had so many meals. Where they played Scrabble. Mrs. Scully laughing as he and Scully got into an argument over acceptable words. She would drink a glass of wine and watch them bicker until one of them would cave and move on.

The kitchen where Mrs. Scully made the most delicious food. She always had enough to feed an army, making sure Mulder had as much as he wanted, and sending them home with leftovers, every time. That food had been his sustenance when Scully was at the hospital working long shifts. He would come out of his office, starving from missing meals as he pored over articles. Finding those little containers of plastic ware full of delicious food, had kept him going. His heart ached as he realized he never quite properly thanked her for that.

He walked back toward the front door and up the stairs. The upstairs bathroom held a special memory. He had come up there to escape Bill one year. Bill had been poking at him all night. Jabs about his job at the FBI, or his past one, seeing as he did not have a job anymore. How was Mulder going to provide for his sister? What was his plan?

Scully had jumped in and told Bill to shut his fucking mouth. She was a doctor and she did not need anyone to “take care of her," had not needed it for years. Bill had yelled back that she was wasting her life with a fucking loser like Mulder. And then Scully had slapped him. Hard.

Mulder had quietly slipped away, catching Mrs. Scully’s eye. Not because he was scared or weak, but because he did not want to cause a problem in her home. He had wanted to punch Bill in the face and he knew coming upstairs was a better choice. He had been pacing in the bathroom when someone knocked three times. Scully.

He opened the door and she shoved her way in. Her eyes were blazing and she was angrier than he had ever seen her. She had paced and then grabbed him and pulled his face to hers. She kissed him roughly, their teeth and tongues clashing. She had pushed him back and hopped up on the counter. She had pulled him to her and locked her legs around him, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him back to her. He had rounded second and was going for third, when someone else had knocked on the door.

Mrs. Scully’s voice had come through the door telling them it was time for dessert. Mulder had waggled his eyebrows at Scully and she grinned. She had called to her mother they would be down in a minute, as Mulder helped her down. As she had stepped past him, she brushed her fingers over his crotch, making him jump. She had whispered she would take care of that later and began to readjust her clothes; getting her breasts back in her bra, tucking in her shirt, smoothing down her hair.

They had walked downstairs and to Mulder’s surprise, Bill was still there. His cheek had been very red which Mulder found highly amusing. He sat at the table and Mrs. Scully brought him a piece of cobbler. He noticed it was a bit larger than Bill’s and he looked up at her. She glanced at him and then rubbed his back.

His fondness for her grew in that moment. She was telling him, once again, that he was welcome, he did belong there, and she knew how much he cared for Scully. That he was enough.

He felt his breathing pick up, almost like a panic attack when he heard his phone beep. He jumped and cursed. The past meeting the present, as he saw a text from Scully:

“I realized I didn’t tell you which room the boxes are in. The first bedroom to the right, top of the stairs. They are in the closet. Thank you again for doing this for me. I know you don’t like going over there much, especially on your own. Too many ghosts, huh? But I appreciate it. Thank you, Mulder.”

He smiled as he read her message. So she knew. He did not have to tell her, she just knew. Of course she did, it should not surprise him. His phone beeped again with another message from her.

“Big, small, and every way in between, Mulder.”

He grinned and sent one back to her:

“Bring home some earplugs.”

He put his phone away and closed the bathroom door. He went into the first bedroom and saw the boxes in the closet. Scully was right, there were five of them. She had failed to mention one thing though. Not only did they have her name on them, but his as well. “Dana and Fox” in Mrs. Scully’s handwriting.

These must be from when they were first hiding out, laying low, fugitives from the law. He never really thought about what happened back home. His main thought was for Scully’s safety, then his own. He did not think that people were back home, taking care of things. Packing and making sure their combined homes were seen to. Obviously, Mrs. Scully was there, making sure these boxes were safe. Keeping them all these years, never asking for the closet space back.

He touched the boxes where her handwriting was, their names boldly written across it. Too much. It was too much. He dropped to his knees on the floor, his head against the boxes and he wept. Deep wracking sobs.

Two and a half years had passed since she died and it hit him like a ton of bricks in that moment. She was gone. The mother he never deserved but who never gave up on him. Always accepted him. Always loved him. The woman who went out of her way to get him wonderful birthday and Christmas gifts. The woman who trusted him to hold her daughter’s heart and did not hate him when he broke it.

He wept knowing that she would never know they had found William. That they had stood in a gas station and watched Scully on a surveillance tape, having a conversation with him, but unaware it was him. That Mulder had tracked him down, held him.. and then they saved him. Together they worked to bring their boy to them. He could no longer think. It was too much. He just let the tears fall.

He had no idea how long he knelt there, but he felt drained and at peace simultaneously. He staggered off his knees and looked at the boxes again. He put his hand on the top one and whispered, “thank you” before taking the first box down the stairs. Up and down he went until they were all in the foyer.

Then back and forth he went until they were all in the car. He came back and stood in the foyer again. He closed his eyes and he could hear Scully’s laugh ring out at some crazy thing he had said and Mrs. Scully’s laugh answered hers. He could smell the floral smell of the house, the wine they drank, the food they ate.

He opened his eyes and the air was still again, heavy. He took a deep breath and turned to leave. He looked back and once again pictured her standing there, between him and Scully. Their protector. The mother he never expected, but the one he had always needed.

“Thank you.. Mom,” he said quietly. His words hanging thickly in the heavy air.

He walked out the door and locked it behind him. He got in the car, buckled in, and looked to make sure there was no traffic coming before pulling away from the house.

He looked in the rear view mirror and for a second, he could swear he saw her standing there on the porch, waving goodbye like she had done hundreds of times. When he turned his head, the porch was empty. He checked his mirror again and it was still empty. But he knew what he saw. He saw her smiling at him and waving. Her eyes shining with happiness.

He smiled, but felt a lump in his throat. He looked at the boxes and realized something. He was not just bringing “things” home with him. It was love. The love they had shared in her apartment. The love Mrs. Scully had put into keeping these items safe. The love Scully had for not wanting to part with this house just yet. Needing to keep her mom close to her still. His love, for coming over and facing his feelings even if he did not like it.

His love for Scully would make him walk through fire. Whatever was in these boxes, already held a special place in his heart.

One last glance in the rear view mirror and he took off. His heart felt light and happy. He rolled the windows down and let the breeze blow through the car. He turned left and headed for home... bringing love to his love.

____________________________________________________

So, just a side note, I do not believe that Mulder would drive that Mustang. It’s impractical and so not “him” to me. He has an SUV. The one he had in TLAOFS and RM9... something that can hold a sleeping bag, or a blanket roll in the back, for those nights he wants to take Scully camping, but she insists on a bed of sorts, because she doesn’t deserve to sleep on anymore forest floors. And soon that car will be the one that takes his OTHER girl camping and on many amazing adventures.

That Mustang was ridiculous for HIM, let alone a family.