#folks in their cubicles muttering to themselves asking “how did he get in here”

[everlarkbirthdaydrabbles]

Hi, my birthday is February 19th and I'd love something along the lines of enemies to lovers Modern AU (smut) if that's possible. Thank you so much to all the authors who contribute!!

Wishing you a wonderful birthday! To start you days off right, the always delightful @appleblossomgirl0305 has written this perfect bit of Everlark, just for you! Enjoy!

Treed

Rating: M/E

Trigger warnings: Logging operations? Heights? The mating habits of quail?

A/N: Happy birthday! I hope all of your birthday wishes come true! Never-ending gratitude to @xerxia31 for helping in every way possible.

Peeta hunkered down in his chair, swiveling away from the opening of his cubicle. He had two immediate problems; his editor was looking for him and he was hungover. Again. Plutarch Heavensbee was hard to take on a normal day, but with a blazing headache and already sour stomach, Peeta feared the consequences of a run in this morning.

“Damn,” he muttered, sucking a sharp whistling breath as he burned his tongue on his scaldingly hot coffee. Why did the little kiosk in the entryway always insist on making horribly weak, but ridiculously hot coffee? Maybe a better question was why he continued to buy it. But every time he walked into the chrome and marble opulence of the Capital Media Corps foyer, with its twenty stories of frantically busy, hungry machine of information and commerce looming above him, he felt like an imposter. He felt like every silk-shirted woman in her clackity-clacking heels determinedly running to the next important story, each shiny-shoed, cuff-linked man barking into his cell phone that he “needed it yesterday, dammit!” could tell he didn’t really belong there. That he was a small-town boy from District 12 who still dreamt of his parent’s bakery, cinnamon and dill-scented tendrils curling through his dreams.

He knew how lucky he was to have landed a job at the Capitol Media Corps. The cutthroat elite clawed each other apart, climbing over the backs of their fallen colleagues to nab a position at the exclusive media conglomerate. Unbeknownst to Peeta, the editor at his hometown paper had entered some of his articles and cartoons into several competitions and Peeta was shocked when he received the letter that he had won the Snowbird Award for Outstanding Young Journalists.

Within days, Peeta was contacted by Plutarch Heavensbee himself and the renowned Editor in Chief had offered him a prestigious job at CMC. Peeta had wanted to be proud, to feel the undeniable tug of ambition, but all he felt was hurt. Hurt that Haymitch had gone behind his back and seemed happy to tie a bow around his neck and send him off to the Capitol. Saddened that his father had patted him on the back and told him he’d be a fool not to go. Devastated that even this grand achievement hadn’t been enough to attract the attention of the girl he had loved and pined for his entire life. So he accepted the job, drove everything he owned across the country to the god-forsaken Capitol and began what had turned out to be an incredibly depressing chapter of his life.  

When he had begun his job as the sole political cartoonist for CMC, he had been told that he was welcome to be funny, and reasonably political, but that in no uncertain terms he was not to bite the hand that fed them. And President Snow fed them all. And held their collective nuts in a vice. So the very things that had made him valuable, his shrewd wit and political astuteness, his ability to see several moves ahead to an inevitable end, were cut off at the knees. And thus, he had become a neutered journalist, reduced to drawing caricatures.

He tried not to care, to make the most of this charmed life, which people never tired of telling him how lucky he was to have. He spent the first year playing the part of hard-hitting, hard-partying member of the press. He drank too much, slept with way too many women who called him “Peter” and didn’t even ask if he wanted their number. He bought terrible, blistering-hot coffee as a prop, he dressed ironically in wingtips and open-collared shirts because he could never get the knot on his tie to sit right. He was just the quirky political cartoonist anyway. Most of his co-workers preferred to consider him invisible.

Now, four years later and nearing his thirtieth birthday, he was hungover, rapidly running out of creative ways to depict President Snow’s political rivals as zoo animals. And he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the clock and wondering if his dad, flour-dusted and ensconced in the warmth of bakery, had put the cheese buns in the oven yet.

“There you are, Mellark,” boomed Heavensbee from directly behind Peeta. Peeta sprang forward, juggling his coffee to prevent third-degree burns. “I’ve got an assignment for you.”

Coffee safely deposited on his desk, Peeta swiveled to face his editor. Plutarch Heavensbee was nothing if not flamboyant. Currently, he was decked out in an amethyst waistcoat with gold brocade and persimmon-orange scarf tied around his neck. “An assignment?” Peeta asked cautiously, he’d never been given an actual assignment before, just general instructions to point out the obvious buffoonery of Snow’s chosen targets.

“Yes,” said Plutarch, examining his nails. “We’re sending you home. To District 12.” Peeta’s heart took flight before he could stop it. Then he remembered that it was no longer his home. “It seems,” Plutarch continued, “that some silly girl has taken it upon herself to stop logical progress of an important logging project by taking up residence in some old tree.” He sighed heavily, as if the very stupidity of such a nonsensical act exhausted him. “The President himself has taken an interest in getting her to come down.”

“But, Mr. Heavensbee, I’m a political cartoonist,” Peeta felt the need to remind his editor, he couldn’t blame his boss for forgetting based on his unremarkable work to date.

“Of course you are, m’boy, but you were an investigative journalist before you came to us, were you not?” Before Peeta could answer, Plutarch continued, with a dismissive wave of his heavily ringed hand, “And regardless you’re from 12. Your lot are notoriously unwelcoming to strangers. Throw a Capitolite into their midst and their lips close up tighter than a clam shell. No, I need you to cover this story and do your best to make sure the community understands that it’s in everyone’s best interest if she comes down.” Plutarch’s pink-rimmed eyes narrowed as they met Peeta’s and Peeta was surprised to feel defensive on behalf of the unknown girl in the tree. You can take the boy out of District 12… Maybe Plutarch had a point.

Peeta ran through a litany of possible responses. He could claim he was too busy, but who was he kidding? He could refuse, but that seemed destined to end in him being fired, which was only partially attractive. He could try to wiggle out of it, claim he was sick or something, but he couldn’t muster the necessary conviction. What was the point? Then he was assaulted by a series of images that nearly stole the breath from him: his father’s soft chuckle, the smell of cinnamon buns fresh from the oven as he drizzled them with icing, the soft thud of hickory nuts falling into the sun-warmed earth. He sighed, shrugging, “When do I leave?”

“You’re on the noon train. Just enough time to pack and call your folks to let them know you’ll be staying with them.” Peeta tried to object, but Plutarch cut him off. “No hotels for our hometown boy. People need to see you coming out of the bakery every morning on your way to talk this crazy girl out of the tree.”

Peeta sighed. There was no use arguing with Plutarch, he’d figure it out when he got there.

Peeta stood, slung his bag over his shoulder and went to retrieve his coffee off the desk before deciding the trash bin was a better place for it. No matter what potential horrors the next few days held, strong black tea and cinnamon rolls would temper the experience.

As Peeta walked down the cubicle alley, Plutarch called out to him, “You don’t happen to know this girl, this,” he looked down at the note in his hand, “Katniss Everdeen, do you?”

All of the blood rushed to his feet, making him light headed as Peeta shook his head feebly and resumed his walk to the elevator. He wasn’t lying, he didn’t actually know her. Though she was the only girl he had ever loved. And as he imagined her lithe body scaling a tree, her signature braid trailing behind her, his stomach seized in humiliation. Now, in addition to his memories and dreams, he was going to be chasing Katniss Everdeen professionally.

xxxxx

It was surprisingly boring being an eco-terrorist. That’s what they were calling her now: Katniss Everdeen, the Eco-terrorist. At least that’s what the logging executives from the Capitol called her. Last she heard from Gale when he dropped off her latest supplies around 2:00 am, several of the more radical environmental groups were claiming responsibility for her “activism”. She wanted to roll her eyes at all of them. Better yet, she just wanted them all to go home and leave her and the forest alone. She wasn’t doing this for them (or god-forbid to be famous?), she was doing it because it had to be done. The trees and the creatures that depended on them couldn’t fight for themselves, so she supposed she should do it. Probably should have been Gale, he was definitely prettier than her, more charismatic and photogenic, but she was lighter and the better climber, so this one fell on her shoulders.

Since she’d climbed up here ten days ago, she’d spent most of her mornings negotiating via cell phone with irate businessmen who alternated between cajoling her to come down like a good girl and threatening that they’d cut the tree down with her in it if she didn’t get her ass down, then the rest of her day watching and listening, both of which suited her fine. They’d sent a few guys up on the pulley system they’d rigged with the order to “bring her down”, but who were they kidding? She just scampered out of their reach on the branches that couldn’t possibly support their weight and gracelessness, and at the first ominous crack, they had predictably retreated, swearing all the way down.

Gale had informed her that the press was “finally taking notice” and that they’d be showing up anytime now. Katniss hoped most of the interviews would happen from the ground anyway, she figured it was unlikely that anyone would be willing to climb up to talk with her. Haymitch Abernathy, who ran the local paper had sent up a fifth of good whiskey in her bucket and a note that read, “Good luck, Sweetheart.” That was pretty much her idea of a perfect interaction with the press.

But just as the sun was starting to dip down towards the treetops, she saw that someone was being raised up to her in the harness. She had positioned her camp 20 feet up the tree on branches too small to support a pulley system, but she was curious enough to go down to the branch where her visitor would soon be deposited. Of course, she’d stay a good four feet out of his reach, she wasn’t going to make this too easy on him, but she was a tiny bit impressed that he’d elected to meet her on her level.

But when the reporter from the CMC (she could tell from the orange vest emblazoned with their symbol) finally made it up to her, he grasped onto the branch in a way that made her heart clench in sympathy. She recognized his fear and climbed down to him. When he had stopped shaking enough to raise his head, from beneath the ridiculous hardhat, Katniss was met with the blue eyes and freckled cheeks she only saw in her dreams. And her heart clenched for an entirely different reason.

xxxxx

God, it was humiliating to see her like this after all this time. Being hoisted up in a harness, wearing a hardhat and neon orange safety vest. What these accessories were supposed to keep him safe from was a complete mystery. Maybe they just thought it would make him a little more visible as he plummeted to his death from the top of this damn tree. He hoped he wasn’t visibly shaking, but he figured he probably was, since his insides felt gooshy and his hands wouldn’t grip properly. Leave it to Katniss to make him feel even more ridiculously useless. As if silently pining for her for several decades wasn’t pathetic enough, now he got to hang from a harness and quake clamily. This was the farthest thing from the reunions he had fantasized about over the years. It was as if all those years of exile in the Capitol had meant less than nothing. The harness jerked as he reached the end of the cable and he squeezed his eyes closed and bit the inside of his lip to keep from crying out.

His own cowardice disgusted him. But then, he’d always had a weakness for this girl. And suddenly, confusingly, he felt more like his sixteen year old self than he did his 29. He was still a wreck for this girl in all the ways that mattered.

When he had steeled himself enough to open his eyes, there she was. Katniss Everdeen was perched, harness-free on a tree branch seventy feet in the air like some kind of fucking wood nymph. And she had the audacity to look like she was worried about him! Fuck that, he was not going to be undone again by Katniss Everdeen. He was going to interview her, write up his article and get out of District 12.

He forced himself to look at her with a journalist’s eye. The truth was, she wasn’t that big or that pretty. So why did she always make his heart race like he’d sprinted a mile? Why did he feel that it would be worth the risk of probable death to reach out and run her braid through his fingers like he’d always longed to do? There was something about Katniss, there always had been, that made him feel too raw. That made him acutely aware of how sub-par he was and how desperately he wanted to be better. The truth was also that she was magnificent. He gritted his teeth. Screw her. He was a successful Capitol journalist and she was sitting in a tree.

Suddenly realizing that he’d just sitting there staring at her for several minutes, Peeta cleared his throat and spoke. “Hi, Katniss, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Peeta Mellark. We went to school together.”

xxxxx

She scowled at him. He had be kidding her, of course she knew who he was. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t aware of him. Painfully aware.

She couldn’t stand Peeta Mellark. Mostly because he made her want things she could never have. He made her painfully aware of all of the things she lacked. Next to his golden beauty, his broad body that emanated health and calm, she was nothing but darkness, sinew and bone, and hunger. But worst of all, he was the embodiment of an unpaid debt. And even though he very obviously didn’t need anything from her now, she couldn’t help hating him a little for leaving. After all, Peeta Mellark was the only boy she had ever loved.

She nodded curtly, not trusting her voice. Peeta pulled out his phone and, with one arm still wrapped in a death grip around the branch, asked if he could record their interview. Considering that his hand was shaking too hard to write effectively, she agreed. She closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. This is what she had been waiting for. She needed to focus and speak for the forest. Even if what she really wanted was to know every detail of Peeta’s life since he’d left year ago. No, she admonished herself, what she wanted was to save this damn tree.

“Let’s start simply, shall we? Why are you sitting in this tree?” Peeta asked.

“Because those idiots want to cut it down.” Katniss gestured towards the ant-like people moving below. She saw Peeta glance down, then his head snapped back up and he swallowed visibly.

“Isn’t that their right? Isn’t it their tree?”

Katniss snorted. “This tree is at least 300 years old. Can it be owned by someone? Especially by someone who has no idea of it’s real value?” she snapped. Peeta looked away.  

She inhaled slowly through her nose, trying to stay calm, but calm just wasn’t her thing. Cold, stoic, unconquerable, yes; calm and diplomatic, not so much. She asked, “Have you ever heard of a keystone species?” When Peeta shook his head no, she explained, “It’s a… a species on which other species in an ecosystem depend. If it were removed, or destroyed, the ecosystem would change drastically, it would essentially collapse. This heritage oak is holding down this part of the forest. If they cut it down it will be eliminating food and habitat for all sorts of wildlife. It will impact the stream that flows from the spring on this hillside, which is the summer water source for the Seam.” Katniss took in the tree around her. It truly was magnificent, towering over the surrounding forest, and its extensive branches looked as though they were standing as a sentinel between the earth and the sky.

His voice broke her reverie. “How can one tree have such an impact?”

She shook her head in frustration. She herself understood how one vitally important thing, or person, could be the point upon which everything else pivoted. She had spent years trying to forget Peeta Mellark, and the debt she owed him. But five minutes with him and she was positive she had never been around a braver, more compelling, more captivating person.

“All of the plants and animals that live is this forest rely on a fragile ecological balance. If this tree is cut down, everything else falls out of balance.” How could she adequately explain that the forest simply made sense. She understood its rhythms, felt a peace here that she felt nowhere else. How was it possible that some greedy men hundreds of miles away could make a decision to exchange this exquisite complexity for a wad of cash that they didn’t even need. If they would just pay a little attention they would realize that this tree, and the forest it supported, could actually support them.

She’d spent years in the forest, making a living, feeding herself and her family, becoming self-sufficient. And four years ago, she’d nearly gotten to a point where she thought she might have something to offer Peeta, might be standing on stable enough ground that she was ready to return one of his shy smiles and see where it took them. She had thought that once she was good enough for him, that he might be satisfied with what little she had to offer. But instead, he’d left and she’d gone numb. And stayed numb until his cornflower-blue eyes had met hers moments ago and jolted something inside of her awake.

xxxxx

With some effort, Peeta tore his focus away from her lips. It was mesmerizing to hear her speak like this. So many words at once in that raspy, intoxicating voice of hers. She sounded so sure, so competent, he couldn’t find anything to argue with. “Okay, but why are you endangering yourself? None of this can possibly be as important as your safety.”

She huffed out a frustrated breath. “Without this forest, I…” And Peeta knew what she wasn’t saying, that she would died without the food she’d found here. The vision of her as a bedraggled, emaciated eleven-year-old floated before him and made his stomach clench uncomfortably.  She looked away from him, her face flushed, and continued, “Well, let’s just say that the health of this forest is vital to District 12.”

Then with her eyes hardening to a sharp steely gray, she added, “I don’t expect you to understand. You left. You chose the Capitol, you care about different things.” That stung. How dare she tell him what he cared about? She didn’t have the slightest clue how much he loved this place. How much it hurt to feel unwelcome here and miss it at the same time. He hadn’t wanted to leave, it was just that no one here needed him or wanted him around.

Katniss continued, “Maybe you even look at this tree like Snow and his profiteering henchmen and all you see is board feet and dollar signs, but it’s more than that. This tree is the life of the forest. And I’m going to protect that life until those men down there see reason. Or they give up and go home. That’d be fine too.” And she set her jaw and stared out at the horizon. He knew that look, and that this conversation was over.

All of the fight just drained out of him. “I need to go,” he said.

And though she looked slightly startled, Katniss just nodded and said, “Don’t hold onto the ropes, they’ll burn your hands.” And then she was gone, scampering up the tree like a gravity-defying squirrel. His heart sank as he descended to the earth, away from her. Again.

When Peeta had divested himself of the hardhat and safety vest and soothingly explained to the irate logging company executives that no, he had not managed to drag “that damn girl” down from the tree, he headed home to the bakery. My parent’s home, he corrected himself.

But as he trudged up the back steps of the bakery, knocking his boots against the top step out of habit as he entered the kitchen, his entire body being relaxed into the familiarity of it: the warmth of the ovens, the light dusting of flour over every surface except the spotless marble counter, the smell of yeast wafting from the bowls of proofing dough.

His father walked in from the storefront and stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of Peeta standing just inside the door. Those blue eyes, the same exact shade as his own widened in surprise. “Am I dreaming?” he asked breathlessly before lunging forward to capture his youngest son in a crushing hug. Peeta couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. His dad must of have squeezed the sound from his lungs.

“Look at you,” his dad said, taking a step back, but leaving a large, warm hand on his shoulder as he assessed him. “How has it been four years?” He shook his head incredulously then said, “Grab an apron, I’m just about to start rolling out the dough for the cheese buns.”

“He didn’t come here to bake.” His mother’s sharp voice surprised Peeta from behind. “He’s here to do a story on that Everdeen girl nonsense. Why anyone would give her any attention for her ridiculous behavior is beyond me.” She added in an accusatory tone, “Your editor called, said you’d be staying for a few days.”

“Only a few days?” asked his father.

“I’m sure he’s anxious to get back to the Capitol,” his mother answered, pretending to brush something off of Peeta’s shirt. That was as close to affection as he was likely to get from her. In their infrequent phone conversations, his father always talked about how proud she was of Peeta for going off to Capitol and making a name for himself, but Peeta always suspected what she appreciated most was that he had left.

“Oh,” responded his father, sounding crestfallen. “Well, at least we get a couple of days.” And despite the tightening in his chest at the thought of leaving here again, Peeta grabbed an apron off the peg, scattered some flour on the countertop and turned out a bowl of dough. He closed his eyes and savored the feeling of his fingers sinking into the springy concoction, the slightly sour smell of the dough and sharp scent of the cheese, the sound of his father’s cheerful chatter and the tinkling ring of the storefront bell. God, he loved this place, perhaps even more than he’d allowed himself to remember.

xxxxx

She watched as the next day he was hoisted up into the tree again. This time, he was able to manoeuvre himself so he was sitting on one branch and could sling his arms over a nearby branch. He settled in and waited. When it became evident that he wasn’t going to leave without speaking to her, she slithered down with some reluctance.

“So you’re still here?” she asked, sarcasm oozing from her tone.

He flushed, looked sheepish. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I really do want to interview you.”

She looked at him skeptically, but gestured for him to continue.

He pressed record on his phone and said, “Okay, Katniss, tell me why this tree is so important.”

She nodded, and relaxed a little as she explained how this tree was the largest and oldest tree in this part of the forest and how the acorns from this tree had helped seed most of the trees that grew around District 12. She explained that the extensive root system of this massive tree spread underground to stabilize the hillside and was like a sponge that helped to recharge the springs that fed the Seam’s watershed. And that if you cut the sponge it half it would obviously hold less water.

It hurt to look at him, that spectacular blue of his eyes, those damned freckles brushed across the bridge of his nose, those dimples. She thought she had loved him once. But that was years ago and whatever this feeling ricocheting through her chest was, it was just an echo, a remnant of what used to be. She should be used to it, she was so hollow now, everything got lost in her bottomless heart.

And he had done this to her, made her like this. She ground her teeth together and lifted her chin. That hurt girl, who had allowed herself to hope for him and lost, was in there somewhere. But before anything else, Katniss was a fighter, a survivor and she had a point to make.

“So what are you hoping to accomplish. What good can come out of your sit-in? Do you want more attention? Are you hoping to garner more allies?” he asked.

“I want what everyone in Twelve wants, I want the Capitol to leave us alone.”

There was something electric between them, his eyes continually flitting to her lips, as if drawn like magnets. She watched as he sat up straighter, as that confidence, that steadiness he’d always exuded settled into his features.

He started to speak again, but Katniss caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She shushed him as a round bird landed a couple of branches down from their perch. Peeta looked confused, took a breath as if to ask her something, but she held up her hand, “Quail,” she said softly. “Wait, another will come. His mate.“

She smiled, just slightly, as another softly cooing, comically round bird landed a few feet away and joined the other on its branch. The male sidled up to the female and cooed softly to her. Katniss was surprised to see quail up this high, they were ground nesters and usually stayed down in the understory. It felt meaningful, like some kind of sign.

“They mate for life,” she said quietly.

Peeta leaned forward, so close that her hair brushed his arm. So close that she could hear him swallow, see the way his long golden lashes fanned across his flushed cheeks. It felt intimate, cradled together in the keystone oak, silent but for the whispers of the forest all around them.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft.

Peeta stiffened, something unreadable flickering across his features. He cleared his throat and flashed her the kind of smarmy smile that probably got him lots of female attention in the Capitol. Katniss just pursed her lips and looked at him skeptically, her defences rising, her walls falling back into place. The moment was lost, if it had ever existed at all. “I’m great,” he said, unconvincingly. “I just remembered that I’ve got an appointment. Gotta go. I guess I know where to find you if I need you!” He barked out a laugh that didn’t sound even a little bit mirthful.

She scowled at the blatant brush-off and said, “Keystone tree. Don’t forget to look it up.”

xxxxx

Peeta remembered something important. Something his teenaged self had known. He knew where to look for help. He needed the research capabilities of the newspaper, so he went to Haymitch’s office.

The old man’s bloodshot eyes widened in what appeared to happiness, but at the very least recognition, when he saw Peeta.

“The Prodigal son returns!” he exclaimed patting Peeta on the back.

“I just need to use your database, can I work from here?”

“You can stay here as long as you want. The desk you like by the window is all yours.”

Peeta rolled his eyes, but took his laptop over to the desk. It hurt how incredible it felt to settle into this place. The rightness of it making his skin crawl in recognition of how long he’d felt wrong, how out of place he was in his own life. He tried to ignore the ache in his chest as he sat down and got to work.

After a couple of hours, Haymitch dropped a turkey sandwich from Sae’s Deli onto the desk beside him along with a mug of dark tea. “No sugar,” Haymitch gestured to the cup.

“Thanks,” Peeta said and began to wolf down the sandwich. He was starving.

“So you’re gonna help the girl?” Peeta felt he should point out that Katniss was nearly 30 years old and that it was demeaning to refer to her as “the girl”, but this was Haymitch and there really wasn’t any use. So he just took another bite of his sandwich and nodded.

Haymitch perched on the edge of the desk and stared down at Peeta with an unnervingly sober gaze. “You know I never wanted you to take that job in the Capitol, right?” he asked gruffly.

“Is that why you entered my drawings into those competitions instead of giving me a promotion?” He wanted to sound sarcastic, but he just sounded wounded.

“I entered you in those damn competitions so that you’d see your own worth. So you’d recognize how gifted you are and stop wasting your talents. I never imagined you’d fall right into Heavensbee’s greedy clutches.”

“You gave him my number!” Peeta exclaimed indignantly.

“Yeah, so you’d tell his pompous ass to fuck off.” Haymitch said, scratching his jaw. But something in his demeanor was sheepish. Peeta was pretty sure he meant it. “One of these days, Peeta, you’re going to realize that mother of yours got it all wrong. You’re going to look around and see that everyone, including you, knows you belong here.” And with a swig of his flask and crack of his knees, Haymitch stood up.

“You’re going to help me with Katniss, right? You know how to fix this?” Peeta asked, hating the hopefulness even he could hear in his voice.

“I’ve got some wheels in motion,” Haymitch said. Peeta chuckled. Of course he did. “They just need some blue eyes and dimples to add some grease to the gears.” Haymitch slid a card out of his pocket and placed it next to Peeta’s tea, as he ambled off.

As he lay in his old room above the bakery that night, Peeta thought about what Katniss had said, about the vital importance of that tree. How its role in the forest was greater than the sum of its parts. Kinda like Katniss herself.

He had felt so useless for so long. But the dawning realization that he had the ability to help Katniss, to help his District, was settling solidly in his bones. There were so many things in this universe that were out of his control. But this wasn’t. He could do something about this. There was still time to right this wrong before it was committed.  He wanted to climb that tree and say to her face, “This is still my home. My heart still lives here.” But, he realized, he couldn’t just tell her that, he was going to have to show her. He was going to help her save the tree. And maybe somehow, in doing so, he’d find his way home.

He pulled out his laptop and got to work.

xxxxx

Katniss awoke with a gasp. She was bundled in her sleeping bag, strapped into her favorite tree nest. She could see the bright pricks of starlight stitched across the night sky. She was fine, she told herself, taking gulps of cold, sweet air. But the dust in the nightmare still threatened to choke her. The weight of the rock from the collapsed mine shaft still pressed against her chest. She whispered her father’s name into the night sky, promised him she would fight for the forest they both loved, find a way to keep her and Prim out of the mines forever.

As she settled back into the rough-barked embrace of the tree, a wish came unbidden to her mind. She imagined Peeta’s arms wrapping around her, his broad chest cradling her from behind. She allowed herself to long for the soft rumble of his voice, his cool lips on her temple, as he assured her that everything was going to be alright. She allowed herself to fall into the dream of him. But it felt more like a wish.

xxxxx

Bright and early the next morning, Peeta found himself staring up into Katniss’ tree. He adjusted the straps on his backpack, said a silent prayer that he’d survive the next few hours and started to climb.

“Katniss,” Peeta whisper-yelled into the canopy. The sun was just peeking above the horizon, sending shards of golden-pink light through the filter of leaves. He wanted to run the light though his fingers, to separate it into tendrils of pure color. He was sweating from the exertion of climbing, but it was so much better than the harness. It really was magnificent up there. Without warning, Katniss appeared about ten feet above him.

“Peeta? I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said sleepily. And his heart broke from the intimacy that he was the first person she was seeing today, the first person to hear the raspy scrape of her morning voice, her disheveled braid and sleep-soft eyes.

“How do you sleep safely up here?” he asked, still gripping the trunk so he had to swivel his head around to see her.

Her lips quirked up in a half smile and she looked around before asking suspiciously, “You promise this isn’t some kind of trick to get me down?”

“I promise. I’d cross my heart and hope to die, but I’m pretty sure that if I move my hand I will actually die.” And then she was behind him, chuckling softly.

“If you follow me up  a couple of branches, I’ll show you one of my favorite places in the world.” Even if it meant certain death, he was pretty sure he couldn’t refuse. “Just watch my feet,” she offered and climbed up to the next branch. She reached back and grabbed his hand, pulling him up behind her before resuming her climb. He followed her without hesitation. If Peeta’s last sight was Katniss Everdeen’s ass swaying just out of reach, his life might be a fair price to pay. Moments later, Katniss had somehow gotten him nestled into a junction of three branches that formed a secure cradle, complete with a mossy backrest.

“Now this is more like it,” he sighed, feeling the solidity of the tree all around him.

“I used to come up here all the time to read,” Katniss admitted quietly. “After my dad died, it was one of the only places I ever felt safe.” And as nonsensical as it was to see safety over fifty feet in the air, as he settled into the cushiony nest, it made sense. He nodded and carefully slipped off his backpack. “On really windy nights, sometimes I sleep here,” she confided, then immediately scowled, looking regretful. Just because he comforted her in her dreams didn’t mean she could start telling him all her secrets.

“Your secret is safe with me as long as you let me sit here while I give you my proposal.” He winked and pulled out the thermos of cocoa and tin of cheese buns.

“Did Prim tell you?” Katniss asked, her eyes wide with longing.

“Tell me what?” he asked, wanting nothing more in this world than to touch her, to run his thumb over the softness of her cheek.

“That cheese buns are my favorite.”

Peeta grinned at her, but didn’t confess that he had watched her devour one in tenth grade and had to do some creative rearranging to hide his body’s response to her licking her fingers clean.

As Katniss inhaled the first cheese bun he handed her the thermos top full of cocoa and instructed her to dip the next bun. She looked at him skeptically then shrugged and complied. The resulting moan of pleasure had him pulling his backpack back onto his lap.

In an effort to keep his body in check, he laid out his plan for her. He asked her about this tree, what she knew about it, what it meant to her. And with the sun rising behind her, creating a spectacular backdrop of vibrant pink and orange streaks through a cloudless morning blue, Katniss perched above the treetops and told her story of the forest. She talked about wild strawberries in the spring and trout in the summer, hickory nuts in the fall and mushrooms in the winter. She told about the quail pairs who mate for life, the deer who steal silently through the undergrowth, the music of the wind through the trees. She painted the picture of the paradise, the subsistence she had found.

And Peeta sat reverently in the tree’s embrace and filmed her on his iphone.

When she ran out of words, she turned to face him with flushed cheeks and shining eyes.  

“So,” he asked, clearing the lump from his throat, “Is it fair to say that the forest saved your life?”

“No,” she cocked her head slightly, “You saved my life.” Peeta drew in a sharp breath at the mention of the thing that lay between them. She continued, “The forest allowed me to keep saving it. Over and over again. My dad always told me, there’s food in this forest, if you know how to find it. There’s also the means to give a girl who’s never had the odds in her favor, choices in her life.”

Peeta turned the camera on himself and added in a voice clear and strong, “This tree is the beating heart of the forest. This woman is the beating heart of District 12. Let’s make sure we save them both.”

“So here’s the plan.” He outlined the idea to distribute the video online, how his article had gotten the attention of the conservation groups, who were rallying their constituencies, their attorneys and their donors. He explained Haymitch’s idea of the protective easement and how the District would own the lands clear to the ridgeline.

He knew her private nature, but as much as the idea of being a symbol probably repulsed her, she agreed that the concept was sound and acquiesced to her role.

As Peeta gathered up his things and donned his backpack, Katniss laid a feather-light hand on his arm. As hard as he’d tried to keep this professional, to focus only on the story and doing what was right, her touch raised gooseflesh up his arm and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Thank you, Peeta. I appreciate your help.” She smiled, admitting reluctantly, “It’s really nice to have some company.”

“Do you have wifi?” he joked, “I think I can make this my new office.”

She rolled her eyes, but as he climbed down from his perch, he felt more like himself than he had in years.

Peeta spent the rest of the day with Haymitch and Mayor Undersee finalizing the acquisition of the forestlands with the heritage oak sitting like the crowned jewel in the middle. By the late afternoon, he strolled out to Katniss’ tree as the logging company broke down their operation and left the District.

Katniss was perched far out on a tiny branch, looking like she might take flight. Peeta called to her as he made his way up to her as high as he dared.

“What’s happening?” she called as she met him halfway.

“You did it,” he grinned. “They’re going to leave you alone.”

His heart nearly stopped as she grinned right back, “Don’t you mean, they’re going to leave us alone?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I do.”

He called out to her as she climbed out of reach, “Where are you going?”

“To grab my things. I cannot wait to take a proper shower.”

A couple of hours later, Katniss Everdeen was knocking on the backdoor of the bakery. Peeta tried to temper the smile that was making his cheeks ache as he pulled his apron off over his head.

“Hi,” he said, stepping out to meet her on the porch.

“Looks like I owe you again, Mellark,” said Katniss, shaking her head miserably. “Let me buy you a beer. It’s the least I can do.”

“My preferred payment method is actually kisses.” Peeta waggled his eyebrows at her, “C’mon, Everdeen, pucker up.”

She scowled at his teasing. But she didn’t flinch when he reached for her hand.

They walked down to Rooba’s, the only bar in town. Peeta was so distracted by Katniss’ ass as she walked in the door a couple of steps ahead of him, the resounding cheer from the bar patrons made him jump.

They sat down at the bar next to Haymitch and accepted the collective back pats, free drinks and congratulations on their small victory over the Capitol. When Gale came up and wrapped Katniss in a bear hug, Peeta slid off his seat to give them some privacy, though it made him a little queasy to see their knees touch as Gale slouched onto the barstool next to her.

But a couple of minutes later, Katniss appeared beside him. She levered up on her toes and leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his arm as she whispered into his ear, “I kinda still owe you that drink. Wanna walk me home?” Boy did he ever.

It was a balmy summer’s night, the kind that he’d loved as a child because every window was left open. The crickets serenaded them as they meandered through town along the edge of the Seam to an unremarkable three story apartment building at the edge of the forest.

“This is me,” Katniss said, gesturing to the door, which had been propped open with a rock. She seemed shy and had trouble meeting his eyes when she said, “I really can’t thank you enough, Peeta.”

“We made a pretty good team,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess when all is said and done, we did,” she responded, a small smile playing at her lips. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of her mouth. He cleared this throat.

“So… I guess-” he began.

But she cut him off with a blurted, “Do you want to come up for a drink?”

“Yeah,” he breathed in relief, “I’d love to.”

They stood in front of her elevator for a moment, stealing glances at each other, her shifting impatiently from foot to foot as she watched the down arrow, him chuckling nervously from time to time.

“Stairs?” she asked, gesturing to the stairwell as she took a step towards it.

“Right behind you.” They hustled up the steps, arriving breathless on the third floor.

He leaned against the wall, watching as she tried to get the key into the lock. She cursed softly under her breath in frustration and he couldn’t stand it for a second longer, he had to touch her. He reached over and tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers ghost over the shell of her ear and glide down her neck.

She exhaled a quivering breath and melted into his touch. Then those silvery eyes met his as she said, “If you want me to get this door open, you better keep your hands to yourself.” He smiled, hearing the key slide into the lock and felt the jerk of her body and she wrenched the door open.

Once he was inside, she threw her keys in the bowl by the door and shimmied out of her light sweater. She reached for him, but he was slumped against her door, his eyes closed. It was the smell. Her apartment smelled like forest and burnt toast and coal dust. It smelled like home.

He felt her cool hands on his flushed face and opened his eyes to find her staring at him with concern. “You okay?” she asked.

“Better than okay,” he said, his voice quavering slightly. He reached up and took one of her hands in his. She smiled that soft smile that he was rapidly becoming addicted to, the one that made her eyes crinkle, and led him into the small apartment. He wanted to spend a month just taking in every detail of her living space. This was where she lived! He never wanted to leave this sacred place.

She led him into the kitchen. He was so close behind her, he could feel the warmth radiating from her body, just like he had in the tree. He started to get hard just remembering it, and admonished his body to slow the fuck down. They were just walking to the kitchen, for Christ sake. His dick was getting a little ahead of itself.

Katniss stood at the counter opening a cupboard door before turning to look up at him, her lush bottom lip firmly between her teeth.

“I, ah, don’t really have anything to drink. Not unless I can find that flask Haymitch gave me.” She shrugged, looking apologetic.

“I’m not remotely thirsty,” he said, licking his bottom lip as he tugged hers gently from between her teeth. “But I’m absolutely dying to kiss you.”

“Thank fuck,” she sighed, levering up on her toes to capture his lips in a breath-stealing kiss.

He grabbed the counter behind her and held on to steady himself as he surrendered to the frenzy of lips and tongue and gently nipping teeth that had become his entire reality. So this must be what Haymitch meant by living in the moment. His entire being was so rooted in the experience of finally kissing her, so consumed by it that there was no room for any other thought.

Her arms were wrapped around him, one fisting the back of his shirt from his shoulder, the other snaking under the fabric, both grasping at his back.

“Touch me, Peeta. Please!” she demanded and he practically growled in response.

He released his death grip on the counter and wrapped both of his arms around her, squeezing her tightly against his body. She moaned against his mouth and he hoisted her up on the counter and pushed between her legs.

He was achingly hard.

They began to touch each other. And as their clothes fell to the floor, the world fell away, replaced by the certainty that there was nobody and nothing but the two of them and this perfect moment that had been in the making for decades. When she was finally naked before him, Peeta dropped to kneel before her, kissing her hip bone, then trailing his lips along the petal-soft skin below her belly button.

A soft whimper escaped her as she gripped his shoulders. “Bed,” she moaned, as he ran his fingertips up the back of her knees. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed laying on a bed.” His responding chuckle was met by her shocked gasp as he stood suddenly grabbing her ass in both his hands and hoisted her up until her strong legs were securely wrapped around him.

It was his turn to moan as he felt the slick heat of her against his skin. He carried her into her bedroom and laid her reverently on the bed. He ran his fingertips down between her breast down the length of her belly before kneeling and ghosting his lips over her pussy. She squirmed against him as he slowly ran his tongue up the length of her. As he feathered his tongue over her clit she buried both her hands in his curls and pulled his head up. “I’m so close,” she said almost apologetically, “and I want you inside me when I come.”

Peeta trembled as he slid into her wet heat, choked back a sob at how good, how unbelievably right, she felt. He tried to go slowly, to make it last, but as she ran her hands up his back and into his hair and he couldn’t help deepening his thrusts.

“Oh, please, Peeta,” she whispered and he flipped them over so she could control this, set their rhythm. He had never seen anything as treacherously beautiful as Katniss Everdeen coming undone above him. She arched her back, her pussy clenching around him and he surrendered to her, pouring his love, his devotion into her body in hot waves of ecstasy.

xxxxx

As she gazed down at Peeta’s beautiful face contorted in pleasure, Katniss accepted that she wanted to be close to him. Part of him. She wanted to look at that lovely face forever, watch lines form at the corners of his eyes from the endless smiling, the gold of his hair fade to gray. She wanted a lifetime with Peeta Mellark.

As soon as their bodies stopped spasming and they caught their breath, Peeta popped up and pushed the window wide, bathing Katniss’ sweaty body in a soft breeze and slivers of moonlight. He collapsed next to her and propped himself up on one elbow. He traced patterns on over her breasts and belly before asking, “So how are we going to do this?”

“Do what?” she asked, rolling slightly to kiss his shoulder.

“Make a life together, obviously.” He rolled his eyes and collapsed onto his back, pulling her against him.

“Oh, that,” she responded, stretching out and slinging a knee over his thigh. “I can’t live in the Capitol.”

“Oh, me neither,” he said shaking his head like that he’d never heard anything sillier.

“But what about your job? Your things?” she started to ask.

He cut her off, “I’m pretty sure Plutarch never wants to see me again and they can keep my stuff. I’m never making the mistake of leaving here again.”

“Good plan,” she said, yawning contentedly.

The next morning as they watched the story unfold online, watched Katniss become a symbol of forest conservation, Peeta kissed her nose.

“You’re basically the Lorax. But cuter.”

She narrowed his eyes at him and he held up his hands in defence and asked, “Less cute?”

Then she lunged at him and kissed the adorable grin right off his face.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

That One Time Kara Visited Charm City

Fandom: Supergirl/Powerless Rating: K+ Summary: What it says on the tin, folks. *points to title* A/N: Ridiculous nonsense, as per usual. Spoilers for Powerless and Supergirl. 

...

Meanwhile, in scenic CHARM CITY...

Van Wayne has a brilliant idea.

“No, really,” Emily says, shortly after Van holsters his finger guns and retreats to his office. “This might actually be a great idea.”

“He stole it from Lex Corp,” Jackie says, taking a languid sip of coffee. (Black and bitter, much like her feelings for this job.) “Oh. Sorry. L-Corp.”

“So pretentious,” Teddy mutters.

“I know. Like knocking off the 'e' and 'x' is going to improve stock prices,” Ron shakes his head.

“Did you guys know that even after it was revealed that Lex Corp was run by a raving megalomaniac, their stock prices were still better than ours?” Wendy says with her patented deranged cheer.

The group sighs.

“So much for morale,” Teddy quips.

“Hey, hey,” Emily grins, making sure to engage in at least three seconds of meaningful eye contact with her team. Only three out of four squirm in discomfort, which is progress. “That's why Van's idea is so great! We'll have a chance to show the world we aren't run by some...crazy billionaire with morally questionable secret agendas! And then we'll have an edge over Lex Corp!”

“L-Corp.”

“Whatever.”

The team doesn't look entirely convinced, but then, they rarely do. They wander back to their respective cubicles, while Emily and Jackie remain close to the elevators; Van's made them agree to meet the reporter. Something about aesthetically pleasing face symmetry and an article he read on BuzzFeed.

“So, do we know anything about this...person?” Emily asks, smoothing her sweater and skirt, in spite of the fact that both are immaculate.

Jackie shrugs.

“Just that it's the same person who did the L-Corp spread. I told you. He literally stole this idea from L-Corp. The entire thing.”

Emily's smile dips at the corners, just for a moment, but it's enough to earn a knowing nod from Jackie. And Jackie looks as though she's about to say more, but the elevator dings, and both turn on reflex.

A tall blonde neither of them recognize enters the bullpen hesitantly, adjusting her glasses and looking around.

“Um,” she says, spotting them, and hurrying over. “Hi. Sorry. I'm—I'm look for a...Stan Wayne? Am I in the right—”

“Van Wayne,” Jackie tells her.

The reporter's forehead sports a confused crinkle. “...What?”

“Hi!” Emily doesn't wait for Jackie's dry follow up, “Emily Locke, SVP of Research and Development.” She sticks out her hand and puts on a winning smile. Which is essentially the same smile she's been sporting all morning, but if asked, she'd argue that this smile has ten percent more 'Go Get 'Em' and at least forty percent more 'Charm City Charm.'

“Kara Danvers,” the reporter says, returning the handshake with a grip that seems...oddly measured. “CatCo Magazine.”

“It's so great to meet you,” Emily gushes. “I love CatCo Magazine. That series you guys did on vigilantism in the age of digital surveillance...inspired.”

“Oh, well, it's so great to meet you,” Kara gushes right back. “That rubble umbrella thing? So great for super battles.” She tugs at the sleeve of her cardigan.

Jackie watches the entire scene unfold with mild horror.

“My God. Two of them.”

Kara raises an eyebrow.

“I—sorry?”

“So!” Emily hurriedly guides the reporter away from Jackie—the object here is to portray Wayne Security in a positive light, and Jackie simply isn't built for a such a task. “You're here to talk to Van, right?”

“Um, yes,” Kara says, squinting once more at a Post-It note that she tucks back into the pocket of her slacks. “Since apparently 'Stan Wayne' is not a thing.”

“It might be a thing,” Emily replies helpfully. “I mean, Charm City's a pretty big place. There's probably a Stan Wayne out there somewhere.”

Kara offers a grateful grin as the two enter Van's office.

And Van...

Van is spinning in his desk chair.

Which...is probably the best that could be hoped for, in light of the fact that it's Van.

“Mr. Wayne,” Emily clears her throat. Van abruptly stops spinning, and Emily's sure she hears Kara suppress a giggle. “The reporter from CatCo Magazine is here.”

Van stares at her blankly.

“...Ah-hmmm.” And Emily can't believe this. He was just talking about this. Not even fifteen minutes ago.

But then again. ...It's Van.

“L-Corp spread!” Jackie yells from the bullpen.

Comprehension dawns at last. “Right! Right, yes, L-Corp reporter.”

“CatCo reporter.”

“Yes. Well! So great to have you here, and I would love to stay but I actually just received a call from my dear cousin, Bruce Wayne—” Van stands behind his desk, and looks pointedly at Kara. “...Are you writing this down?”

“...Um.”

“Bruce Wayne. Capital 'B', little r—”

“I'm pretty sure she'll know how to spell it, Mr. Wayne.”

“We're very close,” Van tells her. “Me and cousin Bruce. Which is why I have to rush off, unfortunately! But I'm sure Emily here can show you around, and if you have any questions—”

“Well, this is an interview,” Kara tells him. She looks over to Emily. “It's...entirely questions.”

“She can handle them!” Van finishes smoothly, ducking out the door. Emily laughs nervously.

“Ah-ha! Would you, um. Excuse me for just...?” She rushes off before Kara can respond, catching Van before he can get in the elevator.

“Van!” she hisses. “What are you doing?!”

“I believe they call it 'fleeing the scene,'” Van says, jabbing the 'up' button several times.

“You can't flee from your own interview!”

“Technically, it's not an interview with me,” Van points out. “It's merely a piece on the company. Ms. Dangers—”

“Danvers.”

“—Was never promised a sit down with yours truly.” Van straightens his jacket. “...Also...Jackie might have...kindly reminded me that I have a tendency to...offend—”

“He means 'piss off,'” Jackie calls from the bullpen.

“—Various news outlets.” He casts a frosty glare in Jackie's direction. “So she...suggested that I fabricate some sort of...cover story, and leave the schmoozing to you.”

Emily doesn't argue with Jackie's very sound logic, but she does have one question.

“Why me?” she asks. Don't companies usually have people for this sort of thing? Last she checked, 'schmoozing' was not in her job description.

“Because you, Emily Locke, are a model employee. The very picture of all that Wayne Security stands for.” Emily's irritation begins to fade, expression softening as she's warmed by the praise.

“Aw, Van—”

“No one else would do it,” Jackie yells.

The warm fuzzy feeling is gone in an instant. Emily can practically hear Ron chiding her. Congrats, you played yourself.

The elevator announces its arrival with its usual 'ding.' Van slides between the doors. “...Okay bye!”

And Emily has no choice but to wander back to the abandoned reporter in a mild daze. This has to be a record—have any of Van's other plans gone this south this fast?

She's somewhat surprised to see Kara standing at Jackie's desk, as opposed to inside the office, where she left her.

“Ah, Emily,” Jackie says, with the same manufactured professionalism Van had used on both her and Kara mere moments ago, “Kara here was just showing me a rather riveting...cat video.”

Her tone screams, 'save me.'

“Is it the one with the lightsabers?” Emily is genuinely curious.

Kara nods enthusiastically. “You've seen it?”

“Uh, of course I've seen it, it's amazing.”

Jackie's lament is just barely audible. “God help us all.”

Once a sufficient number of cat videos are shared, Emily bites the bullet and takes Kara on a brief tour of the main floor. She makes sure to keep the entire affair light and fluffy—this is a puff piece, after all.

Kara seems to pick up on this (really, how could she not, given the altogether unprofessional beginning of this endeavor) and is happy to adjust her questions accordingly.

And, though Emily has been actively trying to avoid the lab, inevitably, they find themselves standing before the reinforced steel doors.

“...And this is the lab...” Emily gestures somewhat weakly towards the yellow and black diagonal bands along the door frame that urge 'caution.'

Kara jots down a note on her pad, and Emily hesitates. Because behind those doors, ready and waiting to cause a PR nightmare, is her team.

And while she's certain they'd be able to offer some valuable insight, maybe even some cute anecdotes, they could also offer some very unflattering information that would get her into all kinds of trouble with Van.

She's debating whether or not to risk exposure to the troublesome trio when the doors slide open and suddenly there's no other option.

Teddy, Ron, and Wendy emerge from of the lab, engaged in a lively debate involving Calendar Man and Cat Woman.

“Okay, but the ratio of puns—” Ron is saying.

“Hold up,” Teddy stops him, throwing out his arm. “You,” he points to Kara. Kara flinches slightly. “I don't recognize you.”

“Is this the reporter?” Wendy asks.

Emily sighs.

“Ye—”

“Hi,” Kara nods in greeting. “I'm Kara.”

The trio rattles off their names, and Emily is already planning a hasty exit, because Ron suddenly, desperately needs Kara's opinion on the acceptable number of puns in regards to a three minute super-battle and—

“Sorry, I don't mean to change the subject, but...” she's looking towards the workbenches in the lab, squinting slightly. “Can I ask what you guys are working on?” Emily notices that Kara's put her notepad in her bag.

Is this off the record?

“Well you can ask us,” Wendy says brusquely. “But we might not answer.”

“You can totally ask us,” Teddy declares with his usual bravado. “Are you familiar with the Anti Joker Venom in sangria—” But Wendy's not finished. She shoves Teddy aside and scrutinizes the much taller reporter.

“What's your angle, blondie?”

Of course. Of course it would be Wendy to go and ruin this, but Kara doesn't so much as bat an eyelash at the woman.

“I just think this stuff is really neat,” she says, with such open sincerity, that the entire group is fairly swooning with sudden affection.

They rarely receive outright praise from Van, and any and all credit seems to always migrate upwards on the food chain.

And here's Kara, eager and engaged, with her head cocked to one side looking for all the world like a curious puppy.

How could they possibly resist?

“Forget the joker venom. That's so last year. What we've got now is ten thousand times better.”

“Um. You did sign the nondisclosure agreement, right?” Emily could kiss Ron...if not for the mountain of sexual harassment violations that would generate. But bless the man all the same for remembering company policy.

“I did,” Kara says. “I promise. Entirely off the record. I just...” she shrugs. “I'm really interested in...keeping the world safe.” she chuckles—almost to herself, really, and adds, “Superheroes...have a tendency to make a mess, you know?”

The trio nods.

“We do!”

They show off the Atlantis tech first. Teddy practically prances and most definitely preens; he's so pleased to have someone other than Ron fawning over his work.

“This is amazing,” Kara says, adjusting her glasses and flipping through the schematics. If anyone notices that she seems to scan the documents a little quicker than the average human, they don't say anything.

“You see those paint chips?” Teddy points to some of the design notes on the side. “My suggestions. “Ultramarine. Perfect for Atlantis, amiright?”

“Is this the frequency you're using for the force-field generating equipment?” Kara asks suddenly.

“Yes?” Wendy says.

“This will interfere with Aquaman's powers,” she says.

“...Huh?”

“It will?”

“How would you even know that?” Teddy demands.

Kara practically jumps back from the drafting table.

“Oh, well, uh—” Emily watches as she fiddles with her glasses—it's becoming more and more apparent that it's a nervous tick. “...I read an article.”

“Pssh!” Teddy flaps a hand. “You read an article.”

“Um, she's right,” Ron pipes up from behind one of the laptops. He flips it around and there, on the screen, is The Daily Planet logo, accompanied by the headline: He Speaks with the Fishes! An Interview with the King of the Sea and, in much smaller letters below: By Clark Kent. “Aquaman uses a very specific frequency to communicate with aquatic lifeforms.”

Teddy and Wendy stare at Kara.

“I told you,” she says. “An article.”

That Kara doesn't seem very enthused by the Kryptonite glass project is presumed to have more to do with the rather boring 'glass' aspect of the project.

Because it's not like it could be the 'Kryptonite' part. Come on.

“So we're trying to get a contract with this company out in Central City,” Teddy's saying. Somehow, they've all ended up in the cafeteria downstairs. Emily's not complaining—the whole visit has gone remarkably well.

“Oh yeah?” Kara takes a bite of her sandwich, making sure to chew and swallow before she continues. “I have a friend out in Central City!”

“Have they ever seen the Flash in action?” Wendy leans forward. Kara coughs.

“Erm. Well.”

“You know...” Now all three of them are leaning forward, dropping their voices conspiratorially. Emily laughs.

“Guys...” she says, but they won't be deterred.

“Ron's pretty sure he knows Flash's true identity.”

Kara takes another bite of her turkey on rye.

“Yeah?”

Ron doesn't bother with a dramatic pause—it's just not his style. “It's Bruce Wayne!”

Kara chokes on her sandwich.

“You'll have to excuse them,” Emily tells Kara, once they've all finished their lunch. “They've got a ton of superhero conspiracy theories.”

“Can you really blame us?” Ron asks.

Kara considers their place of work. “Well, no, I guess not...”

“They thought our co-worker was a superhero. Just because he'd suddenly vanish anytime there was some sort of disaster,” Emily shakes her head, recalling the recent fiasco.

“O-oh, you guys...noticed that?” Kara shifts her weight from foot to foot.

“Of course we did! It was so obvious,” Ron tells her. “In fact, I'm still not entirely convinced he isn't a superhero.”

“Ron, we've been through this,” Wendy says with a long-suffering sigh. “The test results proved he wasn't a superhero.”

“Test results?” Kara pipes up.

“Wendy...” Emily isn't sure how to phrase this, actually. “She applied some...force?”

“She hit him with a chair,” Ron blurts.

“Very scientific,” Teddy says.

Emily's shaking her head as Kara eyes the group of Wayne Security employees with obvious confusion. “...And this...disproved the theory...how?”

“See, if he was a superhero,” Teddy begins.

“He would've broken the chair.” Ron states with a firm nod. Wendy smiles pleasantly.

“But the chair broke him instead.”

“Well what if he was just faking?” Ron challenges. “A superhero would know about the chair rule, and would totally fake an injury to protect their secret identity,” he turns to Kara. “Right?”

Kara throws up her hands. “Pffft, why would I—I certainly wouldn't—” she clears her throat. “A-hrm. I...I wouldn't know. Nope. Not me.”

He gives her an odd look. “...It was...more of a rhetorical question.”

Emily eventually has to put an end to the socializing—she feels bad about it, truly, but there is work to be done, and she's pretty sure Kara could keep these guys talking for hours yet.

“It was so nice to meet you all,” Kara tells them. Ron ducks his head bashfully, while Wendy and Teddy respond with variations of 'I know.'

“And so great to meet you, Kara,” Emily says, flashing an annoyed look at two thirds of her team before smoothing over her frown. “Again, sorry about Mr. Wayne's...sudden...cousin emergency...”

“Oh, no worries,” Kara says, gathering her things. “I...know how that goes, actually.”

“Still, I feel like—”

Emily's response is interrupted by a sudden flurry of beeps. The entire group is startled.

“Um. What's...?” Kara starts to ask. Teddy huffs.

“That's Ron's Jack-O-Lert.”

“...A jack of what now?”

“The Jack-O-Lert!” Emily cries. And again, she could kiss Ron, because she's been so preoccupied with making sure the visit goes off without a hitch, that she hasn't thought to talk about the company's most recent success. “It tracks one of Charm City's most troublesome villains using a very specific odor—”

“Wait—like that thing Batman uses?” Kara asks. “...Did you guys steal this from him?”

“Batman stole it from us!” Ron says.

“We should move away from the windows now,” Teddy says as the beeping grows louder.

“Oh, yeah.” Emily says, and promptly shoves Kara to the floor.

(Which is a lot harder than it looks—the girl is solid. Like a brick wall.)

The windows explode in a spray of broken glass mere seconds later, and the entire office groans.

“Not again.”

“Ow?”

“Someone call Janice.”

“It's just a flesh wound.”

Manic cackling follows shortly thereafter as Jack O’ Lantern streaks across the sky. Emily cautiously peeks over the nearest desk.

“Sorry about this,” she mutters to Kara. “But, hey, it's not a true Charm City visit until you've seen the—”

“She's not here,” Wendy says.

“...What?”

“Said she had a severe pumpkin allergy and took off towards the elevators,” Wendy explains further. Emily glances behind her and, sure enough, the reporter is missing in action.

“...Oh,” Emily frowns. “That's...really weird, actually.”

“And that's insensitive,” Ron lightly reprimands her.

As he says it, a muffled 'boom' sounds from outside the shattered windows. Almost like...a jet, breaking the sound barrier.

“Oh my God,” Ron breathes. He's on his knees, looking over the adjacent desk.  “Oh my God.”

“What, what?!” Teddy scrambles to look past him.

Emily follows his line of sight and gasps.

“Oh my God!”

“It's Supergirl,” the entire office seems to yelp in unison.

An A-List superhero.

In Charm City!

“SOMEONE TAKE A PICTURE!” Teddy shouts.

And Emily smiles fondly, remembering her first day in the city, when an entire train full of commuters couldn't be bothered to even look at the superhero battle outside.

Nice to know there was still some wonder left in the world.

“I can't believe Kara's missing this,” Emily says, fumbling for her own phone. Teddy waves her off.

“Aw, she's from National City, she probably sees Supergirl all the time.”

The heroine in question grabs the super villain and hurls him...up and away from the buildings.

Emily's never seen a superhero do that before.

As he tumbles back down, Supergirl grabs him again and Emily's pretty sure she hears some faint, terrified screaming coming from the man. The duo disappears from sight as Supergirl flies off with the apprehended Jack O’ Lantern, and the office breaks out into riotous applause.

“That was amazing!” Ron says.

“A shame Kara missed it,” Teddy adds.

“Missed what?” Kara asks, a little breathless, fidgeting slightly with her cardigan.

The group regards her with surprise; they hadn't noticed her return.

“Supergirl showed up to take down Jack O’ Lantern,” Ron fills her in. “And stuff like that never happens here.”

“Well, okay, stuff like that actually happens all the time. But! Never with an A-Lister like Supergirl,” Teddy amends. Kara grins.

“Supergirl's an A-Lister?”

“Duh.”

They make sure to share the video with Kara before she leaves, not caring one iota that this is probably small potatoes to a National City resident, such as herself.

She assures them that it's very exciting, really, and she's thrilled to see that Supergirl's popularity isn't limited to one county.

One of the other employees overhears the conversation as they begin sweeping up the broken glass. “Are you kidding?” she interjects. “Supergirl's awesome.”

If anyone notices that Kara's face goes a bit pink at that, they don't say anything.

And then it's time for true goodbyes. Mercifully, these aren't interrupted by any supervillains.

Kara promises the write up will be ready by next month's edition, and Emily promises to get Van to send some sort of apology.

The troublesome trio are devastated to see her go.

“She was so interested in our research...” Teddy says with a wistful air.

“Yeah, that was cool, right?” Emily says.

Jackie wanders over, another cup of black coffee in hand.

“Did Supergirl leave already?”

Emily furrows her brow at the question.

“Yes?” she looks around at the ruined office. “...That was at least twenty minutes ago, Jackie.”

“Not the fight,” Jackie says without missing a beat. “I mean did the reporter leave.”

“Kara?”

“That's what I said.”

“You said Supergirl,” Ron crosses his arms.

Jackie narrows her eyes, and raises her coffee mug to gesture at the four of them. “...Because Kara is Supergirl,” she says. Slowly, of course, like they won't understand, otherwise.

“What?”

“Oh, come on!”

“Don't be ridic—” Emily starts to say, but.

It...is a little...coincidental...that an A-List superhero—who's never visited Charm City before—shows up on the same day as a reporter from National City.

A reporter who was very interested in civilian safety.

And who seemed to know an awful lot about various big-name superheroes.

All four of them are replaying the reporter's visit in their minds, synapses firing and dots being connected.

“Oh...my...God,” Ron breathes.

Jackie snorts.

“Like anyone was fooled by that pair of glasses,” she shakes her head, sipping her coffee and striding away. “That stuff only works in comic books.”  

[luxurysystems]

Hi lux, sorry this is so out of nowhere....! I was listening to some tunes the other day and heard the song Gonna Serve Somebody by Bob Dylan... it was giving me major vice city au energy, just big money inc vibes in general, thought u might get some ideers from it :3c mwah

This is the song that plays when Ted finds out that Irwin is sent to kill him.

Playing off of this.

Ted knows he's fucked if he allows the week to go by without doing anything. He paces around his penthouse suite...god, fuck, his old employer is not fucking around if he sent him...

Ted gets a taste of what's to come. An off-white Sentinel XS is seen as soon as Ted gets up in the morning. It's parked in the same spot, windows are tinted, and it leaves at around 8 a.m. Rain or shine— it doesn't matter.

Ted feels the paranoia set in when he leaves his place each morning to head to the Colonel's yacht. He's heard of the guy, sure, but Ted finds himself looking over his shoulder one too many times for it to just be a gut feeling gone awry. It has to be...that guy.

Think, man, think!! You've gotten *this* far without any problems...

He hates the feeling of eyes on him, and there's four of them beaming in his direction.

One day, Ted catches his would-be killer mess up. Ted spots him getting out of his car and heading into the V.A.J Finance building. Good looking guy, tall, glasses, suspenders? What the hell... no matter, Ted's gets a visual, a location...time to work the charm, and fast.

"Well if this big goon is swayed by money, I can do one better." Ted thinks as he picks out a Rolex at the Vice Point jewelers.

One day, and one day soon, Ted will pay that overgrown accountant a visit and place that Rolex on his desk. If he thinks that Ted scares easily, the expensive watch says otherwise. That accountant will either have to kill him or serve him by the end of the week...

Fingers crossed for the latter...