#he hangs around one house in particular and they always keep their garage cracked (i assume for him)...

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Hypothetically, let's say there's a "stray" cat in one of the neighborhoods on my primary route. And, hypothetically, let's say the cat has a habit of climbing in the underside of the truck to be warm and time I stop while on that street. Now. Hypothetically. Let's say I bring a can of cat food and a carrier with me next time I'm on this route, and, HYPOTHETICALLY!!!, take the cat home with me. What then?

[gureishi]

#6 Saeyoung / fm. Can it be kind of angsty with a good amount of nsfw please thank you

Your wish is my command! But for real though, I got a little carried away with this one because I just loved the scenario too much. Don’t raise the bar for me, y’all—these won’t all be this long! (Maybe. Unless they are. Who knows.)

six: just cause you don’t know what to say

SaeyoungXReader, M (sex!), words: 2846

Warning: this is NSFW! Don’t proceed if you don’t wanna read smut, pls~

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

He’s hurt again.

Why is he always…

You thought you’d never have to see it again: Vanderwood delivering him to you unceremoniously, his shoulder bandaged; him limping toward you, holding out his good arm hopefully as if expecting you to run to him.

But here you are again. You stand in the garage, arms crossed over your chest. His expression falters as he takes in your posture—you’re certainly not leaping into his arms.

“H-hi babe!” He plays dumb, tries a big smile. You can see cuts and bruises on his face, and you don’t miss the way he winces as he gives you what he clearly thinks is an enthusiastic wave. You don’t move. He says your name, a little more quietly, a little more tentatively.

You force yourself to take a deep breath—in and out. You want to yell, to launch yourself at him and hit his stupid, beautiful face and make him swear never to leave you again.

“Where were you?” you ask instead, keeping your voice as level as you can. You don’t do a great job—he visibly recoils and you see Vanderwood already trying to slink off into the shadows.

Saeyoung takes another step toward you and you hold up a hand to stop him. There’s a pained look in his eyes, and you don’t think it’s from the injuries.

“You told me you were going to look at some files,” you say, hearing how cold your voice sounds, seeing the way it wounds him. “Did the files bite you?”

He tries to laugh and winces again and you almost take pity on him. He’s shivering a little—it’s cold in the garage, colder outside, and he’s in a t-shirt. Someone (presumably Vanderwood) has ripped off one of the sleeves to bandage up his shoulder.

Vanderwood has almost disappeared at this point—they’ve made it to the garage door, clearly hoping to dodge your wrath.

“Hey!” You point at them they jump, standing up stick straight. It would be almost comical, if not for the situation. “So what was the plan, then? Bring him along on some stupid half-baked money-grabbing mission and just hope I’d be able to track your bodies down if you got killed?”

Vanderwood’s expression softens, just a little. You realize there are tears in your eyes and you wipe them away furiously.

“I swear to god I thought it was going to be an easy one or I wouldn’t have brought him,” Vanderwood says in their calmest, most placating voice.

“Did you know he lied to me?”

Vanderwood slowly shakes their head. “To be fair, I didn’t ask.”

“Fine.” Clearly taking this as a dismissal, they duck their head and slip into the front seat of the car they’ve left running in the driveway. You hesitate, then: “Vanderwood?” They freeze again, turn to face you. “Are you hurt?”

Again, you see warmth in their eyes—just for a moment, and then it’s gone. They look between you and Saeyoung, who’s still standing stock-still in the middle of the garage as if waiting for instructions.

“I’m fine,” Vanderwood says. 

“And does he need to go to the hospital?” You’re not messing around; if it were up to Saeyoung, he’d try and mend a broken bone himself.

“No,” Vanderwood says firmly. “Flesh wounds.” You raise your eyebrows as if to say really? and they nod. “This is nothing for him. Give him a day, maybe, and he’ll be back to normal.”

Without giving you the chance to ask anything else, Vanderwood gives you a little salute and revs the engine. You look down at the pavement, pushing back your tears by sheer force of will. You wail till their car is out of sight before addressing Saeyoung again.

“If they say you’re fine, then fine,” you say, and you turn on your heel and stalk back to the bunker—you’ve left the door hanging open, and the cold air is getting in.

Saeyoung still doesn’t move.

“A-are you going to let me inside?” he asks in a small voice. For a moment, you want to tell him no. You want to lock yourself up in his huge empty house (Saeran is out, at a doctor’s appointment, so you really would be alone), leave him there, make him wait until you’re ready to forgive him.

But you don’t do this—of course you don’t.

“Come in, then.”

You leave the door open for him and slip out of your shoes, kicking them against the wall with perhaps slightly too much fervor. He follows you, so slowly, so quietly, like he’s afraid to make a sound. Again, you feel a twinge of guilt. You wonder if it’s too late to go back, to forget it all, to wrap him up in your arms and kiss his bruises and reassure him that he’s safe.

Not yet.

He follows you, silently, down the hall and into the living room. You cross your arms again and face him. He looks so pitiful. Don’t give in.

“Saeyoung, tell me why you lied to me.”

He fidgets, like he always does when he’s nervous. He taps out a pattern on his leg with one hand; his injured arm hangs limply at his other side.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, almost inaudibly. There’s a dark, hollow look in his eyes, like he’s receding into himself.

“Hey.” Finally—finally—you move closer, and he flinches when you reach for him. You run a gentle finger along a new cut on his cheek, which intersects with an old scar. “You put me through about eight hours of torture, wondering where you were and if you were even alive, after I finally figured out you weren’t just ‘looking at files’ at Vanderwood’s house. You owe me an explanation.”

He swallows; his throat is dry. “It’s the only thing I know how to do,” he says in that same toneless voice. You sigh loudly. There are a million emotions battling inside you: you want to scold him; you want to check his wounds and re-dress them; you want to scream at him; you want to hold him.

“Sit,” you say. He sits on the couch, a little stiffly, and you go to the kitchen, get him a glass of water. You know enough about the kinds of missions he used to go on for the agency to understand more or less what he’s been doing for the last day. “I thought the agency didn’t exist anymore,” you say, returning to him; he takes the water gratefully and drinks it all, a little too fast.

“It doesn’t,” he says. “This was, um. Somebody Vanderwood owed a favor to. I think they just want…a clean slate.”

“And?” You perch on your knees beside him. You don’t have to forgive him, but you do have to see what’s going on with his shoulder. He flinches, inhaling sharply, as your fingers graze the bandage.

“It’s done,” he says hoarsely. He hesitantly takes your hand off his arm and clutches it tightly in his own. “I’m—I’m really sorry I lied to you,” he stammers. “I shouldn’t’ve done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You slip your hand out of his grasp, return to the bandages. He tries his best to sit still as you unwrap them. Vanderwood was right—the wound is already healing. You’ve seen him with much, much worse. 

You leave him again, gather the supples you need. When you’d first moved into the bunker, it was bare—he had no food to speak of, minimal personal possessions. Even then, though, he had first aid supplies: enough to stock several small hospitals.

You sit cross-legged on the couch, and he’s quiet as you clean the deep cuts in his shoulder and arm, as you wrap them with fresh bandages. You don’t ask how he got these particular injuries, and he doesn’t volunteer the information.

Finally, you stand, eyeing your work. You’ve done a pretty good job.

“Now take off your clothes.”

His eyes, which had been half-lidded as you worked—he’s exhausted, you can see it written in every line on his face—shoot open. Wide open. He laughs nervously.

“Umm, d-does that mean you forgive me?”

He’s blushing. Oh god.

“Of course not,” you say, too loudly. The back of your neck feels hot. “I need to see where else you’re hurt, idiot.”

“R-right.” He looks crestfallen and you almost laugh, almost bend down and press a searing kiss to his cute lips, dry and cracked as they are. But you don’t.

“I’m serious.”

He gulps and tugs off his shirt. It gets stuck on his head due to a combination of his bandaged shoulder and the one roughly torn-off sleeve. He struggles a little and it’s so adorable and sad that you can’t stand it, so you help him.

“Thanks,” he says in a low voice. The shirt is off.

“Shit, Saeyoung…”

His shoulder is the worst of it, but there are little cuts and bruises everywhere. A dark bruise, already purpling, runs up his side. You touch it as gently as you can and he shivers.

“Does it hurt?”

“N-not exactly…”

You feel his eyes boring into you and when you look up you can’t help but shudder—there’s a very familiar dazed, needy look on his face.

“Babe, not right now…!” The pet name slips out before you can stop yourself. You feel yourself melting a little, scorched by his gaze.

“I’m so sorry I lied,” he whispers and he makes his voice sound husky in a way he knows always sends a shiver up your spine. “I won’t do it again.”

Oh god.

Tentatively, he runs one hand down your side, skating over your hip. Fuck.

“Will you promise me never to do that again?” you ask him, trying to keep your voice stern—but it still comes out breathy and desperate. 

“I swear,” he says. He’s getting more confident, bolstered by the yearning you can’t keep out of your voice. God, how you’d missed him. His slips his hand under your shirt, skating up your ribcage. You let him.

“What do you swear?” you ask. He takes your hips in both hands then and tugs you roughly onto his lap. You wriggle, straddling him, and he gasps, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

“T-to never lie to you again,” he says. His hips are shaking. “To not do stuff that might get me killed anymore.”

“Even if Vanderwood asks you to?” He moans softly as you grind your hips against him; realizing you have all the power, you fumble with the button of his pants—unhook it, undo the zipper.

“No matter who asks m-me—ahhhh.”

You palm him through his boxers and he moans, wriggling beneath you. You take his good hand in yours and guide it to your leg, up your thigh, under your skirt, around your hip. You brush a hand over him again, feeling the way he’s straining against his underwear.

“And you’re really, really, really sorry?” you ask. You grind your hips against his erection and he mumbles something incoherent. He’s got a death grip on your thigh.

“What was that?”

“I-I…yeah, I…d-don’t know what else to say…” he mutters. You flutter your hips back and forth and feel his legs shuddering beneath you.

“Then don’t,” you say firmly. “Just touch me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hand springs to action, trailing up your inner thigh and ghosting over your already-wet underwear.

“Don’t tease me right now,” you say. He audibly gulps and then moves one calloused finger over your clit, through your underwear. You see sparks and your vision goes blurry. There’s a burning heat inside of you now—you feel swollen and needy.

He flicks his finger over you again, falling into a rhythm. He’s gentle yet persistent. You scrunch your eyes shut and fireworks burst behind your closed eyelids and you have to grab the couch for purchase, avoiding his hurt shoulder. Your toes curl.

“Goddammit, Saeyoung…!” you whimper, and he moves faster, stirring the burning, blinding feeling inside you. You can’t help the way your hips are shaking and you can tell it’s driving him mad, too; he moans, deep and low, as you brush against his trapped erection again, and the sweet sound tears you open.

It’s as if you’re floating just above your body, watching from outside yourself. You feel the warm ocean of sensations cascading around you; you see yourself from above as your eyes fly open, your arms trembling, barely holding you up as you crest into him.

The feeling recedes in bits and pieces, trickling away, and you pant as you come down.

“Th-that was so hot,” he whispers. His eyes are dark, his pupils huge; through both of your underwear, you feel him twitch.

“I’ve never come quite like that before,” you murmur, inches from his lips; and then you kiss him, searing hot like the longing you felt when he was gone, hard like the way you wanted to hit him when you saw he’d gotten himself hurt again.

There’s a moment—a brief, flickering moment—when you think about sliding off his lap and walking away, leaving him trembling and desperate. You could.

But you want to feel him inside you too badly—want to see the look of utter relief and release on his sweet, bruised face.

You slip from his lap and tear your underwear off, not bothering with the rest of your clothes. He gazes up at you, adoringly, as if waiting for confirmation that you’re going to allow him the satisfaction he so desperately craves.

You bend over him and slip his boxers down; he sighs with relief as he springs free of the constraining fabric.

“Stay still.”

You straddle him again and brush against his tip, just barely touching. Another little spark bursts behind your eyes.

“P-please…” he whispers, and you see he’s long gone already; he looks almost drunk, his eyes unfocused.

So you oblige him. You slide onto him, sinking him deep into you, and moans a string of incoherent syllables. You lift up your hips, using the couch for support, avoiding his hurt arm, the cuts on his chest.

He’s unraveling before your eyes and it’s beautiful to watch. You slide your hips up and back, down and forward, slowly and then faster, faster, and he whimpers, and you feel a little shudder deep inside you as he thrusts back against, pushing himself deeper. He’s gasping for air and you clench your thighs around his hips and take control again, moving in a figure-eight, excruciatingly slow. 

He groans and suddenly his arm is around your waist and, in an instant, you’re on your back on the couch, his face hovering over yours. Then he’s inside you again and the thrill of the moment gets to you and you moan along with him, clutching desperately at the fabric of the couch.

“S-Saeyoung, your arm—” you gasp. He holds up his injured arm and wiggles it in the air, showing you that it’s safe, and you laugh, clenching as he thrusts into you, and he’s completely undone.

He closes his eyes as he comes, head thrown back, and you skate your fingers over the exposed skin of his neck.

Eventually, he stills, panting—he lowers himself, collapsing against your chest. You wrap your arms all the way around him and nuzzle your face into his hair.

“So,” you say softly. “Was that your way of distracting me from scolding you?” He opens one golden eye and peers up at you.

“Did it work?”

“Saeyoung!”

“Ahhh! Sorry!”

You playfully bat at him and he rolls off of you, pulling himself up, running a hand through his sweaty, messy hair. His eyes are clear now.

“You can’t use sex to get me to forgive you whenever you do something bad, you know,” you tell him.

He waggles his eyebrows at you. “Can’t I?” 

“No!”

“I know.” He sounds serious now, and he carefully knees beside you, taking your hand. “I am genuinely sorry I lied to you,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I am sorry I got myself in another dangerous situation and made you worry. I promise not to do it again.”

“Good,” you say. You press little kisses to each of his calloused fingertips. “Now go change and get emotionally prepared because Saeran’s going to be home soon and he’ll be even madder at you than I was.”

Saeyoung yelps, shoots up from the couch, winces, and stumbles to the bedroom, pants still bunched around his thighs.

You’re serious about the promise—you mean to hold him to it. But it’s so hard to stay mad at him, you think, stretching and collecting your underwear from where it’s gotten wedged between two couch cushions. He’s just too easy to forgive.

[wiypt-writes]

Riding High

Ch 4: Skating The Issue

Chapter Summary: It’s Fliss’ turn to host Frank and Mary and both adults seem to be skating round a particular issue…

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 3

"Hey Cowgirl, how do you cook a skate?"

Fliss had to read the message twice "I'm assuming you’re talking about the fish..."

"No an ice skate..." the sarcasm dripped of his reply and she could just imagine him rolling his eyes.

"Where the fuck did u get an ice skate in South Pass?" she giggled to herself as she typed her response.

"R u deliberately being an ass?"

"Why did u get a skate when u don’t know how to cook one?"

"I don't know how to cook a lot of things. And there was a guy at the harbour giving them away. Extra catch he said. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth etc…"

Fliss pondered something for a moment before she leaned back in her chair and continued the conversation "Well why don't u bring them round tonight and I'll do them. I still haven't cooked for you after the BBQ the other week"

"Don’t worry, I haven't taken it to heart that every time we've tried to arrange it you've cancelled"

"Piss off!" She laughed to herself as she replied  "It’s this weather man, it's so hot... not my fault I've had to rejig all my lessons and exercise my own horses at 9pm... you've been busy too don't forget!"

"Busy time of year for Sailing, what can I say? As it happens I can do tonight but I'll have Mary. Is that ok?"

"No, Frank I expect you to leave her at home on her own... "

“Trust me if I could I would, she’s driving me insane at the moment.”

“Why?” Fliss frowned slightly as she hit send. Whilst she hadn’t really seen Frank other than the previous week for Mary’s riding lesson they talked often by text and he hadn’t mentioned she was playing up. And then she suddenly realised. It was the last Saturday of the Summer holidays. Mary started school on Monday. And she had already made her feelings about that very clear to Fliss, several times.

“I’ll explain later. What time?”

Fliss checked her watch. It was 4pm.

"Say 6 ish? I'll send you the post...I mean zip code...why the fuck do you lot call it a zip code anyway?"

"Stands for Zone Improvement Plan"

"That makes no sense"

"Course it does. Zip, its fast, as in the mail travels more efficiently, and more quickly when people use it"

"And you wonder why Mary is such a smart ass!"

"Whatever, see you at 6."

"Bye Sailor."

Standing up she slipped her phone into the back pocket of her riding breeches and headed out onto the main yard. It was empty. The weather had been scorching recently, so hot she had been forced to cancel a lot of lessons and offer something different to her students. She had been taking the younger kids on trail rides through the grounds that surrounded her yard and onto the waterside and then taught them basic horse care and grooming routines, whilst the older clients who wanted to continue their training had moved their sessions to earlier or later in the day. That said, she had no one left to teach today and she was giving her own 3 a rest so it was a case of making sure waters in the fields were topped up ready for evening turn out.

Thor was flopped in the shade of one of the stables, flat on his side. He cracked an eye open as she passed and his tail lazily thumped on the floor. “Oh boy…I know it’s hot…” she said with a chuckle, bending over to give him a scratch before she stood up and he did the same, trotting obediently at her heels as she headed through the gate and down the dirt tracks which led to the turn out paddock. Joanne, Ruby and Ellis her head groom and stable hands were busy with the water truck topping up the troughs in the bottom field.

“Hey guys.” she smiled “All ok?”

“Yeah,” Joanne nodded “We’ve topped all the others up, this is the last one.”  

“Great, ok well let’s get them fed and then we can get them turned out and have an early finish.” Fliss smiled. “Ruby, Ellis, keep an eye on the water.”

The girl and boy nodded and then Fliss and Joanne headed back towards the yard.

“So, you doing anything tonight?” Joanne asked.

“Oh, erm, Mary and Frank are coming over for dinner.” Fliss said

“As in Mary and Frank Adler?” Joanne looked at Fliss.“God he is dreamy. Total fuck boy though.”

Fliss laughed, “So you told me. He’s a nice guy though, I enjoy talking to him.”

“Talking?” Joanne deadpanned “Seriously, you’ve got a sure thing there and you’re talking?”

Fliss snorted “Trust me I’m not looking for anything else, certainly not at the moment.”

“Yeah well, you never find anything when you’re looking for it do you?” Joanne said lightly as they walked into the feed store. “It’s always when you’re not that you come across it.”

Fliss looked at her for a moment. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to Frank, she’d have to be blind not to be. But she wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t feel ready for a relationship just yet and it would have to take someone very special to change her mind. With a sigh she jerked her head in the direction of the containers which held the horse feed.

“Start scooping that lot out.”

Joanne did as she was told and a little over an hour later everything was turned out, fed and she made sure the staff knew who was on duty in the morning. With that she dismissed them early and set off to the store grabbing the ingredients she needed.

***** “Woah!” Mary said as Frank pulled up outside the gates “Does Fliss live here?”

“According to the directions…” Frank raised his eyebrows. He pulled out his phone and gave her a call.

“Hi, you at the gates?” she asked.

“I think so…”

“Ok hang on…” she instructed and Frank waited. A few seconds later the iron gates swung inwards. “Drive past the main house on your right and keep coming until the drive bends round. The annex is to the left behind the garage. Door’s open, just come on in.”

Frank took a deep breath and headed through the gate. Mary was looking out of the window at the large villa style house as they passed, her mouth hanging open. Bill emerged from the double garage to the left and Frank smiled at him, halting the truck.

“Alright lad?” Bill said, leaning on the top of the truck, talking through the open window. “Hey kid.”

“Hi Mr Gallagher.” Mary beamed. “We’re off to Fliss’ for dinner.”

“It’s Bill, Mary, my dad was Mr Gallagher. And you’re a lucky girl, Fliss’ cooking is superb!”

“Anything is better than Frank’s.” she informed him and Frank rolled his eyes.

“Mine too. I burn water.” Bill chuckled.

“You can’t do that.” Mary frowned, “It just evaporates.”

“It’s a figure of speech Mary, you know, a joke…” Frank looked at her shaking his head as Bill laughed.

“Well I’ll let you go.” he smiled, “Straight down the drive. Have a good evening.”

He straightened up and whistled, calling a small terrier to his heels before he headed over to a gate at the side. As he opened it, Frank just caught a glimpse of a spacious back yard and a pool before the gate snapped closed. Setting the truck forward again, he followed the drive and it turned left just before the fence, opening up into a space behind the garage where the small annex was set. It was a little detached, 2 storey building that was a similar style to the villa with a wooden door and a large bay window. The door was open and as Frank climbed out of the truck, the wrapped paper package of skate in his hand, Thor came bounding outside barking excitedly.

“Hey boy.” he said, giving the dog a pat before Thor turned his attention to Mary.

“Found it ok then?”

Frank looked up to see Fliss in the doorway. She was dressed in a pair of denim shorts that finished halfway up her toned thighs and a tight grey T-shirt which was distressed around the sleeves. Her hair was fastened back in a loose braid and she was barefoot. Frank felt a certain, and very unwelcome, pooling of arousal in the base of his stomach. Swallowing slightly he composed himself and smiled at her.

“Nice place.”

“Well the rents got a fair whack when they sold up in the UK so…” she shrugged “Sadly it’s not mine!”

He smiled, “This doesn’t look so bad.”

“Suits me, for the time being anyway until I can get my own place.” she smiled “We’re in the middle of re-decorating it so there’s stuff all over the dining room. We’ll eat outside if that’s ok?”

“Sure.” Frank smiled.

Fliss gave a sharp whistle and Thor immediately headed back towards her and into the house as Mary followed, pausing to give Fliss a hug. She led them inside and Frank looked around, the small porch area led into a square living room with a wooden floor which sported a large, light blue fluffy rug and a coffee table in the middle. There was a grey and black L-shaped sofa which ran along one wall and jutted out slightly around the edge of the coffee table and a huge flat screen TV and entertainment system nestled in the other corner which was surrounded by a huge rack of DVDs. On the wall above the sofa was a large framed photograph of Fliss with a chestnut horse, giving it a kiss on the nose, smiling as she did so, sunglasses covering her eyes. There were various other family shots in frames on other walls too. Taking it all in, Frank followed Fliss through an archway into the tiled dining room, which held a table against one wall and a display cabinet against the other which was full of trophies and rosettes. The walls were stripped bare and just as Fliss said there was a pile of decorating equipment sat in the corner. To the right a staircase headed upstairs and in front of them were double butler doors which led into the small country style kitchen. The rear doors were open onto a small flagged yard which sported a decking area upon which sat a table and some chairs. Various pot plants were scattered around the yard area and there was a wicker sofa and chair set with a smaller table and a hot tub nestled into the corner of the fence and the wall, under the kitchen windows.

“This is an annex?” Frank deadpanned looking around. Fliss turned to him, blushing slightly.

“I know, I’m very lucky.” she shrugged. “It’s as good as having my own place.”

“It’s really cool” Mary hummed “Can I go outside?”

“Knock yourself out.” Fliss said as Mary disappeared into the yard, Thor following. “So, where’s this fish?”

Frank dropped the package onto the side and Fliss peeled the paper open.

“Oooh they look great!” She grinned. “So I’m gonna pan fry them with some lemon, garlic and then I’ve done some potatoes and salad…nothing fancy but…”

“Sounds good.” Frank nodded.

“Is there anything Mary doesn’t like?”

“Tomatoes.” Frank said “I mean if they’re in a sauce of pasta she’s fine but…”

“Devil veg.” Fliss wrinkled her nose.

“Actually they’re a fruit.” Frank teased as she looked at him.

“You ever seen a tomato in a fruit salad?” she shot back, reaching around him to open the large fridge.

He laughed and moved out of her way “That’s exactly the reply Mary gives me.”

“Like I said, smart kid.” Fliss grabbed two beers before bumping the fridge door shut with her hip. She opened a drawer and grabbed a bottle opener, flipping off the cap before handing one to Frank.

“Thanks. So, is there anything I can do to help or…”

“No, everything’s done bar the fish so…” she shook her head “Stand and watch Sailor, you might learn something.”

He stood leaning against the counter as she worked, settling into comfortable chat, watching as she cleaned, skinned and filleted the fish before squeezing fresh lemon over it and tossing it into a hot pan with a few cloves of garlic.

“It doesn’t take long” she said, “Do you wanna grab me a few plates?”

“Sure.” he nodded, “err…”

“Cupboard behind you, to the right.” she said over her shoulder as she pulled a salad out of the fridge and drizzled it lightly with a mixture of balsamic, oil and lemon. She did the same with the cold potatoes before she turned the heat off the stove and divided the fish up into 2 larger pieces and a smaller one for Mary.

She gently slid the slices onto the plates and then she nodded. “All done.”

“Well that looked easy.” Frank said

“You can try it yourself next time.” she looked at him, handing him the two bowls “Can you take those out the table?”

He picked them up easily and carried them outside, Mary instantly scrambling up from where she had been sat on the outside sofa with Thor and following him.

Fliss walked out with the plates which contained the fish and they all settled down, Frank placing some potatoes and salad onto Mary’s plate before doing the same for Fliss as she headed back inside for 2 more beers and an apple juice for Mary.

“This is really good!” the seven year old enthused.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful.” Frank looked at her and she gave him a filthy scowl which made Fliss laugh.

“She looks a bit like you when she does that.”

“I do not.” Mary replied indignantly.

Fliss merely smiled as she stabbed another potato and popped it into her mouth “Whatever you say.”

Mary shot her another look which earned her one back from Frank. She met his eyes with her own and gave a shrug, diving back into her food.

“Fred would like this.” she said, looking at her fish.

“Good job because I saved him the scraps.” Fliss said.

“Did you?” Mary looked at her, smiling. Fliss nodded.

Frank watched the easy exchange between the two, smiling softly. Mary had been in a foul mood all afternoon after he had taken her shopping for a few outfits for School. She had been kicking off about the fact she had to go on Monday, but he was sticking to his decision. She needed to go, be a kid, have a normal life.

“You alright?” Fliss looked at him and he nodded

“Yeah, just thinking that’s all.” he said, “Nothing serious.”

Fliss accepted his answer, even though she didn’t believe him and she changed the subject, telling Mary about a few of the things she had planned for her next riding lesson which wasn’t for another 10 days seeing as she had been for one the Saturday before.

“Can I come this Saturday?” she pleaded.

“Mary…” Frank sighed “We discussed this, once a fortnight…”

Mary scowled again and Frank let out a groan.

“Well, if it’s okay with Frank you could come up later in the day and help me with my three.” Fliss said, looking at him. “You can help Joanne with the poles on the jumps and the feeds.”

“Oh, please Frank can I?”

Frank looked at Mary then to Fliss “You sure?”

Fliss nodded “Course”

“Alright.” Frank nodded “But one more tantrum about school between then and now and you’re not going understood?”

Mary pouted a little, clearly considering this bargain before she sighed “Okay.”

When they had finished eating Frank helped Fliss clear down the table. She told him to drop the dished into the sink whilst she placed the left over salad into tubs and back in the fridge.

“So School still a sore subject?” She queried.

“Oh fuck me…” Frank sighed “Sore?” he rubbed at his temple “Monday is gonna be a nightmare.”

“She’ll get used to it.” Fliss said “She’s bound to feel a little put out a first but she’ll settle.”

“I just hope I’m doing the right thing” Frank let out a deep breath.

“You can’t do anything but your best, Frank. That’s all any of us can do.”

“Yeah, suppose.” he shrugged. “Anyway, enough about that…been meaning to ask, how’s it been with shuffling all the lessons around?”

“We’ve managed.” Fliss shrugged, heading back outside “takings are down but…well, you always get peaks and troughs.”

“Tell me about it. Boat work slows up a lot November through January.” Frank shrugged.

“You should branch out into tractor fixing.” Fliss said, settling onto the sofa next to Mary who was busy flicking through a book she had brought. Fliss glanced down and grinned “Moby Dick?”

“Yeah…” Mary looked at her “You read it?”

“A while back. I used to read a lot.”

“What’s your favourite book?” Mary asked.

“Honestly?” Fliss smiled “It’s Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire.”

“Isn’t that for kids?”

“Mary…” Frank groaned “You are a kid.”

“Fliss isn’t” Mary shot back.

“No but I was when those books were released. The first one came out in 1997, I was only 13. I grew up reading them.”

Mary contemplated this. “And they’re good?”

“Yeah.” Fliss smiled “I love Harry Potter. That’s what this is…”

She pointed to the tattoo which circled her left ankle Frank glanced down at the writing, which curved around and then formed into the outline of a stag’s head on her Achilles tendon. It was quite a delicate design. Mary studied it carefully.

“Expecto Patronum…” she said, reading it out “What does that mean?”

“It’s a spell.” Fliss told her, “So in one of the books Harry has to cast it to protect himself from these creatures…and his Patonus, the thing the spell conjures, takes the form of a stag. The writing, see…” Fliss traced it with her finger “That’s the author, JK Rowling’s handwriting. I had it done a year ago, kind of a reminder to me that no matter how bad things get there’s always a way to make it better.”

Mary nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll read them then.”

“Do you want to borrow the first one?” Fliss asked “And then once you’ve done maybe one night we can watch the movie.”

“Please.” Mary nodded.

Fliss stood up and nodded for Mary to follow so she did. “be right back.”

Frank waved them away and Fliss led Mary upstairs into the spare room. It was still full of boxes, some which littered the bottom of the bunk beds. She dug into a box, found the book, and handed it to Mary. Mary took it gently and examined the cover.

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of it I promise.” Mary nodded “Can I see your bedroom?”

Fliss laughed and nodded “Sure.”  she led her across the hall into the larger bedroom and let Mary walk in and look round at the airy room, glancing at the bed which was made and adorned with a light blue and yellow bed spread and a few cushions.

“It’s tidier than Franks.” Mary mused and Fliss laughed.

“I’m a girl.” she shrugged. “We’re always tidier than men.”

“Is that you?” Mary asked, striding over to a photo that was on the bedside table.

Fliss nodded as Mary looked at the frame, which contained a shot of her and her parents with her brother.

“That’s my brother Steeb…I mean Steve.”

“Steeb?” Mary looked up.

“When I was a little girl I couldn’t pronounce his name properly.” Fliss explained “I called him Steeb, or Steeby…it just kinda stuck.”

Mary gave a snort of laughter as she placed the frame down and Fliss waited until she finished looking around before she headed for the door. They made their way back down the stairs and outside, where Frank was looking at something on his phone. He looked up at them as they walked back through the bi-folding doors.

“Did you say thanks?”

“She did.” Fliss nodded.

“Good.” Frank nodded. He took a sigh and looked at Fliss “I don’t wanna rush out but it is getting kinda late and someone will be a crank if they don’t get to bed soon.”

“Yeah he’s always grumpy if he doesn’t get enough sleep.” Mary quipped and Frank shook his head with a huff of laughter as Fliss giggled.

They all made their way inside and Fliss retrieved the wrapped up fish scraps for Fred which Frank took, his fingers gently brushing against hers which again sparked that damned fire in his belly. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Fliss merely smiled at the contact and turned to Mary “So remember, no being a pain in the bum about school or…”

“Yeah yeah I know…” she shrugged.

“Something tells me she isn’t gonna pay a blind bit of notice.” Fliss said, watching as she bounded to the truck.

“Nope.” Frank agreed, shaking his head. “Thanks for dinner Fliss, it was great.”

“Not a problem, if you’re happy to play hunter gatherer I’m always happy to cook.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” he smiled at her, and after a seconds hesitation he leaned down and pecked her on the cheek. “See you Saturday.”

She smiled and watched him head down to his truck where he paused and looked back at her, giving her another smile which spread across his handsome face and Fliss felt the butterflies in her stomach stirring in the way they always seemed to do whenever he looked at her. Tossing him a wave she watched them go before she shut the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath.

“Stop chasing rainbows Lissy…” she muttered to herself, before she headed for a glass of wine and her latest book before retreating outside for the rest of her evening.

******

Surprisingly Mary kept most of her vitriol about going to school at bay, something Frank knew was down to the promise of visiting the yard. There was the odd grumble, which he shut down fairly easily. He had no illusions about the fact it would no doubt start in earnest on Sunday but for now he was simply happy to have a reprieve from the subject she had been complaining about for the past few weeks.

Seeing as she kept up her side of the bargain, he kept his. Fliss was more than happy to see them, and if he was completely honest, Frank was happy to see her as well. They talked to each other by text every single night now, it had just become a habit more than anything. And a habit he was happy to indulge.

They arrived at the yard a little after 5pm and Fliss was already on board a large, black horse with 4 white socks and a white blaze. She waved in acknowledgement but as they made their way to the paddock to watch, the horse gave a sudden sharp kick with its back left before stopping dead and launching its ass into the air. For a moment he thought Fliss was going to come unseated but she merely smirked and sat back, giving the horse a quick kick on. It moved a few steps and repeated the move.

"Give up you little shit..." he heard Fliss mumble and he bit back a snort as there was nothing little about the brute she was on.

She kicked again, but this time nothing, and the horse threw both its front legs up in a rear. Frank swallowed, as Fliss stood up in her stirrups throwing her reins forward before the animal landed down and she gave it a sharp tap with her stick. At that it moved forward a few steps and Fliss gently encouraged it to continue with a little squeeze of her legs.

"No worse than normal..." she said to Joanne who was grinning at the horse’s antics.

"He’s an ass..." Joanne laughed "you would think he'd learn he never gets away with it..."

"That's...that's normal?" Frank sputtered out and Fliss who had just struck the horse up into trot laughed.

"Yip" she called out, moving the horse on down the long side of the arena "He likes to fart about does Bronson"

Fliss warmed the horse in and then gestured to Mary to come into the paddock. She climbed the fence and sprinted over to where Joanne was.

“Ok so Joanne is now going to put out some poles…see.” Fliss looked down at her from her vantage point aboard the tall, black gelding. “The ones before and after the jump wings are take-off and landing poles. They are to help him and me figure out where he needs to be taking off and landing.”

Mary nodded eagerly

“Not all horses need them, but Bronson is still learning so it helps him to understand.”

Frank simply stood watching as Joanne directed Mary to help her set out the lightweight, brightly coloured pole before Joanne looked at Fliss and asked her something. Fliss nodded and Joanne set up a small cross-pole. Fliss circled the horse and sent it at the fence, Bronson hardly leaving the ground the fence was that low.

“Stick it up a foot!” Fliss called as she circled.

The fence was put up and Frank noticed Mary was watching every movement with utter rapt attention. She tugged on Joanne’s sleeve who turned to her and she pointed at the jump and Joanne nodded. Fliss sailed the horse over the next one and it was put up again.

This practice continued until one time the horse slammed on at the fence and skidded to a halt. Fliss fell onto the horse’s neck and Frank felt his heart stop but she didn’t fall. Instead she shuffled back onto the saddle, turned him and sent him straight back at the jump. This time he didn’t stop.

“So do you know what happened there?” he heard Fliss ask. Mary shook her head. “So his striding was off. He was trying to rush and I asked him to sit up and pay attention, because of that he got confused so he wasn’t right to take off when I needed him to. That’s why he stopped.” “So he wasn’t being naughty?” Mary asked.

“Nope.” Fliss shook her head. “Genuine mistake. See he’s only five so he’s a baby really, not like Cap who could jump a course with his eyes closed.”

“Cap?” Frank looked at her, and she turned to him. “Seriously, you have a dog called Thor and a horse called Cap?”

Fliss grinned “His full name is Captain Chaos…he was already named that when I got him but it fits my Marvel obsession perfectly.”

He shook his head with a smile and watched as this time the jump was higher again. Joanne moved Mary to stand under it, to show her how high it was and Mary’s eyes grew wide and she looked at Frank. He gave her a thumbs up and she moved out of the way as Fliss brought Bronson down again. The horse took off but clipped the pole with his front legs, knocking it down.

“That was because he didn’t pick his feet up enough…” Fliss called as she circled back round, coming again. “He’ll do it this time, watch…”

And he did. Fliss repeated the jump 3 times and Frank couldn’t help but marvel at how in tune with the animal she was. It was like they were working as a unit, she made it look effortlessly graceful, her hands and legs moving in coordination as she folded with the horse, as if jumping over a meter off the floor on the back of a half-tonne animal was the most natural thing in the world to do. The mere thought of it scared the crap out of Frank.

After the third clear jump, Fliss nodded to Joanne and slowed the horse down, letting him stretch.

“Always end on a good note” she grinned at Mary as she patted the horse. Frank could see Mary was thinking something and with that she nodded to Mary and rode the horse over to Frank.

“She wants to sit on him…” She looked at Frank “Is that ok?”

Frank swallowed “Isn’t he a bit…big?” he asked.

“Yeah but he’ll behave now…he’s knackered…tired…” she corrected her English slang. “She can sit up here with me if you’re comfortable with it?”

Frank bit his lip. “Are you sure he will be ok?”

“Trust me Sailor, I wouldn’t let her up here if I wasn’t convinced I could keep her safe…” Fliss said, removing her hat. She passed it down to Mary “Put that on and I don’t EVER want to see you on a horse without one, ok…do as I say not as I do.”

“Frank says that to me all the time…” Mary took Fliss hat and clipped it on. It was a little big but would do the trick.

“Sound advice…” Fliss grinned. “You wanna lift her up?”

Frank nodded and scaled over the fence, lifting Mary easily by the waist. He passed her up and she swung one leg either side of the saddle and gave a gasp.

“I’m so high!”

“Yup!” Fliss grinned, shifting back so Mary could settle in front of her  “Ok, hands on this strap…” she indicate to the leather line around the horses neck “I call this my Oh sh-I mean, Oh No Strap…” she said “If anything goes wrong I can grab it and hold on.”

“You can say the word…” Mary looked up at her “Frank does.”

“Stop tattle telling.” Frank sighed.

Fliss laughed and gently nudged the horse on and walked it around a few laps before changing direction and repeating. Frank spotted Joanne was putting the jump wings away so he went to help and the girl beamed at him as she directed him to where they were stored by the hay barn. By the time they had finished Fliss and Mary were stood by the gate.

“You ready to get down?” Frank asked. Mary nodded so he reached up and gently aided her off the horse before Fliss dismounted.

“Wanna lead him in?” she looked at Mary, taking the horse’s reins and moving them over his head. Mary nodded and Fliss let her lead, all the time remaining nearby. This time they didn’t head into the main barn they walked further round to a smaller private block of 4 stables.

“So these are mine.” Fliss said. “That’s Cap…” she pointed to a large black and white horse, “And this is Heidi…”

Frank stopped in front of the large chestnut mare who looked at him before snorting. He jumped back and Mary laughed as Joanne took Bronson off Mary and led him into one of the stables.

“Yeah she’s a bit particular…” Fliss teased “But she’s my pride and joy. Had her since I was 16.”

“Is she the one you did the Olympics on?”

“No.” Fliss said, “That wasn’t my horse. It was a sponsor’s. Heidi was my competition horse before I started training for the Olympics but I couldn’t part with her. I’ve had her since she was 4 and she’ll be 21 this year.”

“Do you still ride her?” Mary asked, reaching up to stroke the mare’s head.

“Yeah.” Fliss said “She can still jump and work…not as hard but it’s important to keep them going. She’s my baby…”

The mare leaned over to nuzzle at Fliss and almost as if he could sense it, Thor appeared and walked into the middle of them, sitting down, nudging Fliss with his nose.

“And you of course…” Fliss grinned, patting the dog.

They headed back out into the yard and Joanne took Mary to the feed room so she could help whilst Fliss carried the tack back to the room.

“Here…” Frank offered as she was juggling the saddle around so she could tap in the code. She handed it over with a smile before opening the door and directing him to the racks. “Thanks.”

“Least I can do.” Frank smiled, dusting his hands down on his jeans “Thanks for this.”

“For what?”

“Letting Mary come tonight.”

“It’s no problem, she’s never any trouble.”

“No, she just asks a lot of questions…” Frank snorted as they walked out to see Mary was now carrying buckets to the horses to feed them.

“I don’t mind. Questions are great, shows they care and want to learn…” Fliss spoke over her shoulder as she moved to take 3 buckets into the barn for her own horses.

“Still it takes a lot of patience.” Frank smiled.

Fliss scoffed “Mary is nothing, you ain’t met my brother’s kids.”

“I’d like to meet them.” Mary chipped up and Frank looked at her, holding his hands out in a ‘what?’ gesture.

“You want to meet other kids?” he looked at her “You spent half the last fortnight ranting about not wanting to go to school!”

Mary scowled in response, giving him a filthy look.

“You two really need to work on your communication.” Fliss looked between the pair of them as they stood facing off in the yard.

“We do communicate.” Mary shot back, and Fliss gave a hmmm as the girl continued “He just doesn’t listen.”

“Well I’ve decided to ignore dumb remarks.” Frank shot back, adjusting his shades

“Passive aggression is just childish, Frank.” Mary shrugged and he shook his head, looking at Fliss.

“I literally…” he trailed off with a sigh “See what I mean?”

Fliss chuckled as she watched Mary moving over to speak to Joanne about something. “She makes me laugh.”

“Glad she amuses you.” Frank arched an eyebrow.

“Well it’s funny watching you get out smarted by a 7 year old, what can I say?” Fliss smirked.

“You know I really wish I could deny that, but…” Frank sighed as he walked towards Mary, dropping a hand on her shoulder “Right, time to go short stack…”

“Oh, oh one more question?” Mary looked up at Fliss.

“Ask and walk…” Frank instructed her, giving her a gentle push “What do you say to Joanne?”

“Thank you!” Mary looked at her.

“Any time kid!” Joanne said as the 3 of them made their way to the parking lot.

“So what was the question?” Fliss said as they walked.

“Oh, right so I was watching a video…and they were doing side saddle…have you ever done that?”

“Yeah.” Fliss nodded, stopping by Frank’s truck “I did it on Heidi when I was a lot younger. Didn’t like it though. I prefer a leg on each side…”

There was a pause as she realised what she had said and flashed bright red as Frank let out a huge bellow of a laugh, as she gave an adorably embarrassed groan and hid her face in her hands.

“Oh god…” she groaned out “That…I didn’t mean…”

“Course you didn’t” Frank teased between his laughs and she punched him lightly on the arm.

“I don’t…I don’t get it?” Mary asked, looking up.

“Tell you when you’re older.” Frank said, “In…” he pointed to the truck.

Mary gave an exasperated groan “You always say that. You know I AM Seven!”

“Going on seventy…” Frank grumbled as she opened the door to the truck. He looked at Fliss and pushed his glasses up on top of his head so could see her properly. “Thank you, again.”

“Like I said, any time…” Fliss nodded, before a wicked smirk crossed her face “Next time she can sit on and jump with me.”

“Over my dead body.” Frank levelled her with a look, making her grin even more.

“Not even a little one?”

Frank rolled his eyes “Now I know why you two get on so well. Both a pain in my ass.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it Sailor!” She teased and he grinned.

“Well it kinda lightens up my day a little so…”

He trailed off and looked at her, and she blushed a little, tucking a stray strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. He couldn’t help but feel a little pleased at her bashful reaction. “Anyway I better…”

“Yeah, sure…” she nodded, “I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah, you will.” he said “I’ll probably fire out an SOS tomorrow night when she’s kicking off about school.”

“Well you know where I am.” Fliss said, genuinely “And I mean that. If you wanna talk or anything just…”

“I will, thanks Lissy.”

There was a moment’s pause and Fliss could tell Frank was inwardly cursing himself for the slip of his tongue, using the nickname her dad had for her. But instead of correcting him she simply smiled, because, if she was honest, she kinda liked hearing it from him.

“Anytime, have a good evening.”

“You too.”

He climbed into his truck and watched as she headed back to the yard, looking back once with a smile.

“Roberta says you and Fliss would make great babies.” Mary said and Frank jolted slightly and looked at her.

“What?” he spluttered “Why would…”

“Good genes she says.” Mary shrugged and sat back in the seat.

“Roberta needs to shut up.” Frank shook his head as he put the truck into gear “Jesus Christ.”

**** Chapter 5

[withoneheadlight]

| a house (is a home) | (i). the keys | (ii). memories&herons | (iii). old dogs&inheritances | (iv). memorabilia | tinyplaylist |

~

The kitchen’s Steve’s favorite part of the house.

It has this odd shape. Trapezoid. “Fuck, Stevie, so goddamn weird”. Doesn’t make sense in a, on the other hand, perfectly rectangular house (or, well, it does but, they’ll only find out about that later). The cabinets are ceiling-high. The tiles of the wall white and cracked under the repeating pattern of light mint-green-stemmed, yellow-petaled lilies. The whole backdoor is painted on that same shade Billy calls Ripe banana dreams, both so terribly old-fashioned and fiercely cute none of them says a word about repainting it. There’s a wooden piece, built into the farthest end of the counter. It looks disgustingly juicy and mercilessly stabbed when they move in, but Billy insists on keeping it, and sanding, and treating, and varnishing it. Manages to get it back up on shape because “Better than anyone, darling you should know what a little touch of class can make”. And for more than two weeks straight the only goal of his life is to learn to cut vegetables at high speed because “I have to live up to this level of professionalism. Impress our most un-impressionable guests”

(And, to Steve’s surprise –and probably hers– when she finally deigns to pay them a visit, his mom is, in fact, pretty much impressed.)

He learns how to make good casserole. Tries his luck with Mexican and Italian. Fails miserably with Japanese. Will never-ever admit it but, he loves it when flour ends up staining every single surface, making the biggest mess around himself when he bakes. Steve knows why it is. It’s a shared feeling. Floats up till it reaches the ceiling and bounces back down to them, heavy with the warm smell of cooking pie and cinnamon. Tastes docile and tamed like “Maybe not so much vanilla next time. Whaddaya think, babe?.” Tastes savage and daring, like the overwhelming tang of freshly squeezed lemon lingering on Billy’s tongue, when he crowds Steve against the fridge and kisses him, nibbles a shuddering laugh out of him “How the fuck are you able to even think about putting your mouth near that thing, Hargrove?. That was––ugh. That was disgusting”, “Well you know me, whatever it takes to make you squirm” leaving Steve with absolutely no option but lick the sugary dough stain over his cheek to “Cover up that foul flavor” and maybe because he wants to make Billy squirm a little too. 

It’s a heart-warming, welcoming feeling. Like the vivid smells of green tomatoes and parsley and mustard sauce. Like the taste of love on Billy’s lips. The way he loses his breath when Steve kisses the sugary flavor into Billy’s mouth with his:

This place smells like home, tastes like home. Like finally, finally. Home.

It’s Billy’s favorite place, too. But Steve doesn’t think it’s just because of that. But also because maybe,

maybe.

He has also noticed that–

There’s this particular, particular moment. It happens around seven on autumns, right when the day starts to fade. It happens between six and six past twenty-eight on winters, and holds the sleepy cheeks of the newborn tulips on Steve’s garden till they fall asleep on springs, sun already sinking behind the horizon by the time both hands of the clock meet over the spiral of the eight, pointing towards infinity. And then grows bigger and bigger and bigger from there, flooding into summer: the golden sunlight seeping through the wide, double-paned window facing the backyard in an oblique angle, making the yellow flowers of the tiles look like they’re re-blooming in gold. 

It’s the moment the day turns into a fire. 

It’s their favorite moment in time. And in this particular, particular day of July, it happens at ten past nine.

Billy is making Spaghetti Carbonara. The kitchen is damp with the rich smells coming out of the boiling water. Mushrooms and oregano, black pepper and lime. A song is cooing at them from the radio, the beat of the drums a boneless memory of that one echoing around the quarry on faraway almost-night on a faraway July. Water rippling under the quiet sigh of the breeze. Trees cutting the liquid rays in asymmetric halves. 

Billy takes off the apron. Turns the stove down.

Reaches out to Steve, fingers wavering come, come, come.

To me. Come to me. “C’mon, Harrington. Do I scare you or what?“

He has this way of looking at Steve that makes the space between them narrow, narrow: the whole unknown world. And aseptic, non-lived-in flat in downtown Florida. This tiny, tiny town. A mysteriously-shaped kitchen––

“¿Can I have this dance?” 

Steve walks to him, takes his hand. 

––Their bodies, pressed flush. 

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart is running. 

(“Can I at least have this dance, before we say goodbye?”

Mazzy Star was playing. The corner of Billy’s eye felt wet where his skin brushed against the corner of Steve’s mouth. They danced till the daylight faded, till there were teardrops falling from the night sky.

“Billy, I don’t have to––” 

“Don’t, pretty boy. Don’t say it. I’ll make you stay if you do. And I can’t do that”)

They made lovelovelove on the back of Billy’s car.)

In this light, they fell in love, they fell apart. Ran away. Ran back. 

Steve nudges at Billy’s chest, makes him move backward till he’s far enough to tug, draw him in between their tangled arms, hands intertwined. Steve curls himself around Billy’s back, noses at the warmth trapped between his curls. He smells like BillyandSteve, like this home, like past, like future. Like us.

Steve whispers in his ear. Three words. Billy’s neck curves towards him. An instinct. Tickled by their warmth. Steve kisses the curve of his ear. Tugs the collar of his shirt aside, bites where shoulder meets neck and up, up.

“Easy, Prom King” Billy teases, grins at him tender and wild. Knows when to use the one that gets Steve every time “Or you’re gonna make me think we’ll become picture-perfect from this magical moment onwards. A bunch of kids. White fences. You know, the whole shebang” 

(Billy crashed the Camaro into a tree in the winter of two thousand and fourteen. Had left the house in a frenzy. Something happened Max wouldn’t talk about. But she was scared, so she had called,

“Find him. Please.. Make sure he’s alright”

When Steve found him, Billy was in the middle of the Brookville road, feet stumbling on the twin yellow lines, following them nowhere. So weary, so impossibly small like this: head hanging, arms wrapped around himself. A crooked shape, carrying the weight of the shadows the tall pine trees cast on his back.  

So unlike him. 

Steve stopped the car at his side, engine oozing steam, shaking in the icy mid-May air “Billy” he said. Low. Careful. Careful. Billy’s eyes looked wet in the moon-silver night, pupils blown, deceivingly calm, “What are you doing? This is dangerous” And Billy’s spine had bent even lower, forearms finding rest on the window frame. Leveling with Steve. Looking wasted, looking tired, but still, he flashed a grin at him, teeth-shark white, never going down if he wasn’t going down swinging. And Steve–– hadn’t known at the moment, but the blood staining his cheek, the screaming-purple mark around his eye.

Those weren’t from the crash.

 “I was sleepwalking, Harrington” he said, voice dry, laugh harsh. Shrugged “Waiting for a lucky strike”)

“What does it make you think that’s not what I’m aiming for?”

(When he took Billy to his house Max was already there. Had sneaked out. “Neil will kill you if he finds out,” Billy said and she nodded, white knuckles peaking red with how hard she was gripping the handler of her bike, and Steve hadn’t seen her cry before, not ever, but her eyes were swollen and wet and,

“Are you––”

“I’m alright, kiddo. You know me. I’m always alright”

And the lie sat heavy, between them. Two lies, covering the truth. Poorly stitched. But Max had called Steve for help, so that’s what he did. Help. Sent her back home. Took care of Billy’s face. Billy’s hands. Nodded at those same lies, let them do their work while taking care of wounds he didn’t know, back then, couldn't have been for a crash. Made him spend the night. 

Billy still hadn't woken up when Steve left the next day, leaving food and a note on the nightstand ‘I’ll be back soon. Stay’. 

Retraced Billy’s steps down the yellow lines splitting the forest in half. To find it.

The Camaro wasn’t done yet. Howled like a wounded beast under Steve’s touch, but stayed together all the way to Donny’s garage. And Steve paid for the repairs. Covered it all up. Max has said “His dad can’t know, Steve. Can’t know. If he finds out he will--” and steve was starting to put two and two together. To realize some billy was, maybe, running away from something. Someone. When he crashed his car.

Woke Billy up when the hands of the clock met over the spiraling infinity of the eight. Seventeen hours straight of sleep and still looking like he could use a lifetime. Told him “The car will be ready in two or three days. ‘Til then, you stay'' covered his mouth with his hand. Didn't let him complain “And If whatever happened last night happens again, you take it and you run. Back here. And you stay again, ok?”

Two weeks later, Billy showed up at his door. Lit him a cigarette. Offered to teach him how to fight.

“I cannot give you back your money, but I know you don’t need that”

Made him laugh.

They spent almost the whole summer together, after that. Some days. Most nights.

Wasting time. Fighting. Joking. Driving.

Falling.

No ‘what ifs’. No promises. Just,

“Leave the light on if you can’t sleep, pretty boy. If I manage to sneak out of the Old fuck, I’ll pick you up. Promise I won’t stop kissing you until dawn. Gotta make up for what you paid for that ca, uh?”

Because Steve was gonna leave. Wasn’t gonna throw a single glance behind his back.

That was the plan.

And he did. He did. But––)

He spins Billy out. Tugs him back. When their chests bump, his laugh bursts, bubbles up. Weightless. Happy. Because all that matters to him, to them, it’s between these four irregular walls now.

And God this, this, is Steve’s favorite part. 

(–ended up coming back running, hoping the love would re-stitch itself as he followed the road’s yellow lines. 

Hoping Billy was the one letting his light on this time.)

Because the sun’s gonna keep on shining. They can keep on dancing in here, in their weird trapezoidal kitchen (in their house, in their home), for as long as they want. Hearts touching. Lips brushing. Bodies swaying, spinning, cutting through the golden light. 

~

[claybefree]

A Letter to Josh Poteat

To be honest, I don’t know why I’m writing you this. It should have been the art I made for my ex-wife Mary in 1995, that she gave back to me in 2008 after I left her, that I later put in the trash. The art you told me recently got you working with shellac. It should be that I’m giving you, instead of this depressing thing about how I haven’t spoken with the oldest of my children in almost nine months, and the younger not since two Christmases ago. 

I guess because when we talked about it before, I can’t remember exactly, maybe you asked in passing, “How’s the kids?” and I didn’t have an answer at the time. Maybe because I think you’ll understand me, like you always did. I haven’t been sleeping again lately, and this is when my mind wanders to the man I read about who died, trapped in a cave, but I don’t want to tell you about him. It’s too awful. If I find my mind lingering on him, I get seized by a whole body panic and I have to get up.

When I first got sober and couldn’t sleep, I went to war nightly with God. My mind was a scorched battlefield, blackened, shelled earth churned from trenches to craters. These days it resembles Zone Rogue in France, given back to nature and forbidden, saturated with ordnance, hundred year old arsenic lingering in craters. The toxic woods, wild and hoary, haunted now by deer and wild boar, trenches filled in with vines.

There is this vision I carry, not quite of myself- An old man alone in a mouldering trailer in the woods, bitter, childless and insane. No doubt, you have known such men. When I first got sober, he figured heavily in my mind- I considered this an alcoholic death even if I managed to stay clean. 

It’s cold mornings like these- when I’m up early to feed the yowling cats, but again not quite early enough to manage to write, I wonder if perhaps he’s already arrived. I get on my worn out coat hanging by the leaky back door I haven’t fixed yet and head out into the frozen mud to free the chickens from their coop. The cracked tile floating underfoot like a shit-covered mosaic, and I remember to grab the screwdriver. I’m not using it to kill anyone, it’s to prize the eight little half-domes of ice from cups of their watering bucket. You know how this works. I always figured that, being a country-boy, you grew up with the same tales of horrors perpetrated against these birds, or else, like me, witnessed them firsthand. 

Summer gets up and I finish my coffee with her as she tapes up my sprained hand. I try to get out the door before her kids wake. To facilitate quiet conversations that have a better chance of happening if I’m not around.

Pointing the truck toward Southside, it’s crossing the Powhite bridge where it really starts to bother me. Likely because it’s this point on the other side of the bridge, I’m only a mile away from their house. I ignore the river, bloated and steel grey,  I’m looking for the nameless creek that empties into it there. I’m sure you know it, completely fabricated, it passes under Forest Hill and the train tracks. It’s cold outside the cab of my truck, but I’m not fooled by the last groan of winter. Studying the woods alongside the road, accessible as they aren’t yet burdened but the weight of all that green, I’m not sure what I'm looking for. Lost children perhaps. The sandy stretch where it emerges from snaking around behind the toll station is lined there with birches, flaking and slender, and shouldered with granite as it runs fast from a glut of late March thaw.

I’ve been going this way for a little over a month, filling a friend’s garage with sawdust from fabricating casework for bookshelves, paying particular attention to whatever happens to be going on with the creek as it seems to determine the flavor of grief for that week. Throughout the winter It’s been ever present, with me to the point I feel like there's something wrong, like a vitamin supplement I'm not taking. 

Even though it’s been a string of bad days, the garage is warm enough, and I’ve been doing this work long enough I can rip down material on the table saw letting sadness wash over me without worry of losing a finger. I pay special attention to the music I listen to, so that I don’t have to take time and fall apart. At the end of the day I’ll sweep the dust-pile under the saw into a bucket for the chickens. There’s a ruined tire from the Harley I keep filled for them to bathe in. Which reminds me I haven’t told you about Greg the Bastard.

 When Summer brought them home a year ago as chicks, they were unsexed, and as they grew, we inadvertently wound up with two roosters. Even though Greg is much bigger, he’s still number two and it’s made him skittish and unpredictable. Fierce Greg the Magnificent, Hen Raping Greg. He charges the dog as well as the kids now, and he’s even started to buck up on me. He stalks the yard like boys and men you and I have both known all our lives- insecure, large and dangerous. He doesn’t scare me, I’m more afraid the day will come when I will have to kill this animal. 

In my twenties, Liz King, who you might know, got me a job after school let out with a woman I won’t name here. Another artist, she lived in an old farmhouse down Jeff Davis Highway and had been sexually assaulted by a man there. My job was to help powder and paint the place in order to put it on the market as she didn’t feel safe there anymore. We painted the whole inside. Flying the back roads in her pick-up to some Paint store way out Hull street, she told me how the man had befriended her dogs beforehand and how he threatened to kill her if she looked at him. I don’t remember asking her about it, just the image of her long legs in cut-off shorts clutching and shifting the small truck all over Southside. I made it most mornings, except after getting home late from a Rancid show in Hampton, I was too hungover and didn’t get to her place til well after noon. She was gone, but had worked the whole morning by herself. Later that day, when I called Liz to tell her how I fucked up, she fired me over the phone. 

I bring all this up because she owned a lone rooster named Ajax, who hated me. Specializing in ambush tactics, I wasn’t safe anywhere in the yard from Ajax. The lady usually escorted me in from the gate, but heading out to the shed was dangerous. I can still feel him on the backs of my bare legs. Once, while rolling the living room ceiling and overwhelmed by the fumes of oil based primer, I stepped out on the front porch to dry heave a minute and catch my breath. Ajax heard and came stalking around the corner. Incapacitated, I cussed him, but head lowered, he came for me, creeping up the steps one terrible talon at time. 

Later I made a six foot tall portrait of Ajax as best I could remember him. Crimson comb like a child’s depiction of fire out of control, waddles surrounding the beak blazing and reckless. The emerald of the sickle feathers a cyclone of green. Hock, shank and spur a series of harsh, black lines. Very Twombly-esque, it’s still hanging in my dad’s office. Based on this one hangover, I went on to make work for the next ten years depicting the Battle of Troy as a series of cock-fights. Achilles the Terrible dragging Man-killing Hector through the streets of Troy. That sort of thing. The drawing I made Mary came from that run. 

I go home by way of the Huguenot bridge, because the Nickel bridge takes me directly in front of the house where my children live, which no matter how I’m doing, always threatens to cave my head in. If I go that way, I always think about stopping, and kneeling outside in the cold, perfect grass, with the thought if I wait long enough they might come out to see me.

I know it’s merely grief, the same garden variety of depression, that Chris Cornell said in an interview once was no less dangerous and could just as easily land a man on the end of a rope. 

But that is not my way. I’ll drive home to Summer and her kids, help with dinner, watch TV and bed by ten thirty. Regardless. And if I find myself lying awake and the void comes, I won’t scream into it like the old days, I’ll sing to it. I don’t know why, maybe it’s a lament. Maybe I think my children will walk out of the darkness and into my arms.   

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - The Ladies of the Air Transport Auxiliary 

Charlie,

You worry as much as your father, honestly! I am doing just fine here! Holding down the fort bravely in constant preparation for you to return to us and peace to fall once again. We’ve been following the RAF’s plans on promotional posters that the government has put up around town and I always feel a sense of pride when I see the crowd gathered to read – my son is part of all those exciting plans to help save Britain! Evelyn’s working so hard too and she’s been bragging to everyone at the factory that you’re going to be flying the planes they’re all building. I guess you can say we’re all one big ball of pride in our house! Your father too, of course, although he doesn’t show it as easily, I know he’s proud of you. I hope you know it too!

Love always

Mum

March 3, 1941

“New shipment of planes in from London factories today.” one of the other pilots said as the young men sat around at lunch. Charlie smiled to himself into his mess tin as he stirred his food around, thinking of his sister and her constant letters of excitement when it comes to building those same planes he would be receiving that day.

“How are they being delivered?” Richard asked.

“Air Transport Auxiliary.” the pilot answered. “Only the finest women in all of London to fly us our planes.”

“Finest women?” another questioned, his eyes wide.

“Not the finest women.” a third smacked his shoulder, “Just women volunteers with experience in flying so we don’t have to go fetch the planes ourselves.”

“After two years with you lot, any woman will be a fine woman.”

“I forget what a woman looks like.”

“What about the ones in the control room?”

“Nah. They’re all subpar or married.”

“Married? That certainly didn’t stop me.”

Then young men burst into laughter, all talking over each other with their own stories of women, but Charlie and Richard sat quietly together while they ate side by side. The best friends shared little shy smiles amidst the all too experienced men around them who found more pride in hook-ups rather than love. Must have been raised differently.

Soon, the sound of planes overhead got everyone’s attention as the shipment arrived, plane after plane landed carefully on the tarmac. Moments later, all heads in the mess hall turned to watch a group of young women dressed in dark royal blue uniforms encrusted with gold epaulets and a pair of gold wings sewn into the breast saunter inside. There was a pause from the men, all in shock at the beautiful clean kept women in stunning blue uniforms entered the mess hall. A few men jumped up to greet them eagerly and Richard and Charlie just chuckled and turned back to their lunches.

“Some of these men are so desperate.” Richard whispered.

Charlie glanced behind them again to the group of women that was dispersing as they headed to gather their own lunch servings from the canteen, a few held back by some of the pilots or ground crew who were trying to chat them up with flattery. His eyes found the source of a soft laugh that seemed to echo through the hall: a thin framed brunette girl with her hair in tight ringlets that sat messy over her head from her flying helmet that was dangling from her fingers.

Richard followed his best friend’s gaze across the hall when he realized his attempt at conversation was falling upon deaf ears, a small smirk playing at his lips when he saw what Charlie was staring at. He turned back to his best friend and nudged his shoulder, “Go talk to her.”

“What? No.” Charles said quickly and turned back to his lunch. “Everyone else already is. I won’t make any difference.

Richard frowned and looked back towards the crowd by the entrance to the mess hall, watching as the girl politely declined the advances of the man speaking to her and she headed their way towards the canteen.

Charles tried not to stare but the guys weren’t wrong – it had been a while since they had seen any sort of woman and this one in particular really seemed to catch his eye – and he watched discreetly as she walked past their table, her messy curls bouncing, and she pulled her leather gloves off with her teeth and tucked them in the pocket of her royal blue uniform jacket. She approached the canteen to get a serving of lunch with a few of the other girls from the Air Transport Auxiliary.

“Go say hi.” Richard pressed.

“No.” Charlie said under his breath, ducking his head back to his lunch. “She won’t want me anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Of course, she will.” Richard scoffed.

Charlie just shrugged, scrapping the bottom of his tin with his fork anxiously. His best friend sighed and turned back to the women again. Richard was always the shyer of the two but when it came to Charlie, he did get a little bolder. Bold enough to stand up and raise his hand to the group of three women searching for a spot to sit.

“We have empty seats here.” Richard offered sweetly, his youthful face and wide smile making the girls smile with relief as to not have to sit with some strange desperate older men and suffer through flirtatious and borderline risqué comments. Charlie smacked his best friend in annoyance as he sat back down. Richard only smiled at him innocently.

“Hello.” the young woman smiled at them, sitting herself down right across from Charlie.

“Hi.” he replied softly, ducking his shy smile back to his obviously empty lunch but still scraped his fork along the side regardless.

She unbuttoned her jacket and draped it over the metal table with her helmet and gloves, leaving her in her white button-up and black tie. She held out her hand to Charlie, “I’m Mary.”

He glanced up at her and then took her handshake, “Charlie.”

The other two girls busied themselves talking with Richard while Mary’s eyes dropped to the name tag sewn into Charlie’s breast of his jacket reading his surname.

“Seavey. You aren’t Evelyn’s brother by chance?” Mary asked.

Charlie’s entire face rose into a grinning smile at the mention of his sister, “Yeah. I am.”

“Oh, that’s marvelous. She was going around telling all of us this morning to keep an eye out for you. I’m sure a few more girls are going to come over to pass on the message before we head back.” Mary chuckled.

“How is she? Does she look okay?” Charlie questioned without thinking; it was habit.

“I mean I just met the girl today but I think she looked just fine. Quite chipper despite the raging war we’re facing.”

“That’s Ev for you.” Charlie said, his sad but loving smile not faltering from his face.

One of the girls butted in, “Mary, have you seen Ellie since we landed?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Oh goodness. I hope she didn’t hit a balloon.”

Richard and Charlie’s eyes went wide at the casual suspicion of the girls’ teammate blowing herself up mid-flight. It was nothing they themselves weren’t unfamiliar with but they didn’t expect the women to be familiar with it.

“Do you…see casualties often?” Richard asked.

“Not too often but it’s inevitable. It’s a warzone after all so we’re never safe in the skies…you two certainly understand that.” Mary said as she took a bite of her lukewarm lunch. “But it’s terribly exciting to fly.”

“Isn’t it?” Richard grinned. “I love it.”

“There’s something so peaceful about being up there even if it’s also incredibly dangerous.”

“It’s like you’re the kings of the clouds.” Charlie said.

“And we’ll be the queens of the clouds.” Mary winked sweetly at him.

Richard smirked at his best friend’s blushing cheeks.

When lunch was finished, the girls had to start to head to the trucks that would drive them back to the city and Richard and Charlie walked out with their small group of new friends. There was still some time before they had to leave so they chatted on the tarmac for a bit, Richard seeming to make the other two girls laugh easily which surprised the usually shy boy but he basked in it. He cracked a few jokes and told a few stories and the girls were hanging onto his every word – but mostly just staring at him and his messy brown hair and sparkling grey eyes, the proud spitting image of his father.

“Come with me.” Mary grabbed Charlie’s arm and led him towards the lineup of planes that were resting outside the garage and they passed a few before she took him up to a specific one she seemed to have in mind.

She let go of his arm to climb up onto the wing and Charlie watched with awe as she so easily opened the cockpit and hopped in. He stepped closer to lean over the edge of the plane to see what she was trying to show him: a little scratch mark on the window ledge. At nearly 6’ tall, Charlie only had to raise onto his tiptoes to get a clear view of the initials etched messily into the metal.

MLT – ATA

“What’s that?” Charlie asked.

“’Mary Lois Thompson, Air Transport Auxiliary’. I flew this one over today and thought I’d brand it a little.” she giggled.

“So you’re showing me your crime?” Charlie raised an eyebrow at her.

Mary smiled over at him, “No, I’m showing you because I want you to have my lucky plane.”

“Your lucky plane? You flew it for one afternoon.”

“Oh my goodness, you are seriously no fun at banter.” Mary tisked as she climbed out of the cockpit and jumped right back onto the tarmac. She was much shorter compared to him and Charlie had to nearly look down at her when she stood in front of him. “It flies marvellously well and it has something none of the others do.”

“Or you could be tricking me into flying the worst plane just so I crash.”

“Why would I want the RAF’s most handsome pilot to crash?” she tisked, an innocent little smirk on her face that only grew when his eyes went wide and his cheeks flushed pink and he turned to the ground shyly.

“Mary! It’s time to go!” one of her friends called across the base.

“That’s my cue.” Mary took a step back to head after her group.

Charlie grabbed her hand to stop her, “W-Will I ever see you again?”

Mary smiled at him and leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m sure you will. Write to the factory and address it to me,” she nodded towards the plane, “you know my name.”

Charlie nodded and let her hand slip out of his as he watched her walk away. He stepped out from behind the row of planes to follow her all the way down the tarmac and to the trucks that were waiting with the rest of the women to head back towards the city. Richard was still standing at the end of the row of planes and he looked back to his best friend with a smile and rushed over to him.

“Did you kiss her?” he asked quickly.

Charlie shook his head, biting back his bashful grin, “No.”

“Why not?!” Richard smacked his shoulder. “She was obviously interested in you.”

“I’m going to write her first.” Charlie smiled lightly and then turned to his best friend, “Besides, even if I did kiss her, why would I tell you?”

“I’m your best friend! Known you our whole lives! You best be telling me, you bastard!” Richard gasped and gave him a shove, just making Charles laugh.

Taglist: @randomlimelightxxx​ @hopinglimelight​ @jonahlovescoffee​ @hiya-its-amber​ @chanelwonders​

[coffeesuperhero]

fic: you can’t go home again

2900 words, somewhere on a continuum between Gen and pre-OT3, rating: Mature. Eliot-POV, set immediately after Low Low Price, but like, in the correct universe, where Low Low Price Job came before the Rundown Job instead of after. 

I wrote this because it bugs the heck out of me that afaik there’s no in-canon answer to why Eliot cut his hair, so I wrote 2900 words of post-Low Low Price blathering to explain it to myself...and actually addressed that in like one sentence, lol. I am who I am. 

It's an hour from the house that used to be Eliot's home back to Oklahoma City, or at least, it's an hour if you care about speed limits. On this particular occasion, Eliot makes it in a little more than half that. He spends the time he made up driving aimlessly around, looking at all the shit that's here now that wasn't here when he left. What his hometown lost, this place has found. He doesn't really know how to feel about that. Good? Bad? Vindicated? He left home behind the first time for a long list of reasons, but one at the top of the list was that he didn't see a future where he was, not for himself, not for anybody else, and what do you fucking know. He wasn't wrong.

Even so, maybe he could have called at least once in the last decade.  For all the good it would have done. At least he could say he tried. But he didn't, and now there's so much water under the bridge there's an ocean where there used to be a river.

There's a parking garage entrance on his right, one of the ones downtown connected to one of the big old hotels, and he pulls into it and just sits there for a bit. Looks at the empty space on the passenger seat where the six pack of beer was sitting. Looks at the signs on the wall of the garage directing him to the hotel's entrance. Thinks about staying the night. Thinks about how he's supposed to be back in Portland in a couple of days, because he asked that nice lady from the last job on a date, a real one, because he was suffering under some kind of delusion that he could be a normal guy instead of a miserable fucking bastard whose longest relationship to date is, ha, probably the one he doesn't actually have with Parker and Hardison.  

"Fuck," he says, staring at himself in the rearview mirror.

Whatever he decides to do tonight, he's pretty sure at this moment that all attempts at normalcy are a no-go, so he pulls out his phone, finds Tabitha's number, and cancels all of that bullshit with what he hopes is an appropriately apologetic note. He doesn't type You reminded me of home and that was nice but you know what, I tried and it turns out they're right, and you can't go home again, and trust me on this one, you're better off without me, because he may be miserable but he knows full well that misery doesn't actually love company, misery doesn't love anything, and he's not passing that on to a nice lady who's just trying to run her business and go about her day.

He hits send, and then he turns off his phone and leans against the headrest.

"Fuck," he says again. Now what?

He assesses the situation. Plays out his options. So, this fucking hurts, first of all. But that's fine. Eliot's no stranger to injuries. Getting them, fighting through them, healing up after. First rule of injuries: don't fucking lie to yourself about how bad it is. Well, the first rule is probably, get yourself the hell away from whoever did that shit to you, but the second one is definitely some variation on be honest about how much it sucks. And this shit may be an emotional fucking injury but that doesn't mean it doesn't fucking suck. Hell, it's his own goddamn dad, and that bridge isn't just burned, it's in little pieces floating downriver. It'll keep hurting tomorrow, regardless of what he does tonight. It'll probably hurt for a while.

How do you treat any of that? If this was just a broken bone or a concussion or some shit he'd know what to do, but he's kind of at a loss, right now. After all, the last time he went through this particular kind of injury the way he treated it was to fuck off and join the army, and none of that is an option anymore for any number of reasons.

He looks at the hotel sign again. What the fuck is he gonna do here tonight, anyway? He's close enough to Bricktown, which has really fucking taken off since he left here, so he could probably wander into some bar, pick somebody up, bring them back to a hotel room-- and then what? Fuck them and hope in the morning it doesn't sting as much?

Maybe it wouldn't be the worst way to spend an evening but it also just doesn't hit right, tonight. He's not good company right now. Doesn't want to fake being charming or happy or whatever for somebody for a night so he can feel just a little less miserable for a few hours before he leaves this place and never comes back. He came all the way out here for a real conversation that he's never really going to have, and now he has a very real ache in his chest from years and years of regret, and whatever he does after this he just wants it to be real, too, even if it's just wallowing in real misery for a while.

That does sound more like what Nate would do, though, and that isn't particularly interesting to him. He knows where that road goes and it's not anyplace he wants to be, because if it was Nate in this situation there's a good chance he'd crawl right into a bottle and never come out. And there's Sophie, who would paint on a convincing smile while she quietly bottled up all the pain and the hurt to use later for motivation, like it was some magic potion she could drink later to fuel a con, and who knows, maybe she could, but he doesn't think he can. And what would Hardison do? Eliot snorts. Like he even has to ask. Stay, definitely. Drive back down there right now and try again. And again, and again, patiently offering his heart to people whether they deserve it or not. That's Hardison all over. And Parker-- Parker would cut and run and you'd never know she'd been there.

Except no, that's not right. That's Eliot's play, or it used to be. Parker would never have come back in the first fucking place. Parker would have known better.

If he had known better, he'd still be in Portland, probably cooking the two of them dinner, because that's how he spends more evenings than he'd like to admit, lately. That, or re-planning the menu for the brewpub, because someone has to, and it looks like that someone has to be him, because if he leaves it up to Hardison the pizza will have anchovies and pineapple and the beer really will live up to Parker's promise of mouth crimes. They need him. And-- well-- okay, he needs them, too, probably. If he wants something real, they are definitely that. Sometimes they're just real weird, but even on their worst days hanging out with them is better than sitting here alone. They're his; he’s theirs. They're family. The only one he's got.

So he starts the truck and drives straight to the airport and asks the ticket agent if there's any way in hell he can get back to Portland tonight.

But there's nothing direct from here to Portland left going out today on any airline, and no matter how much he sweet talks the nice lady behind the counter, that ain't changing. She kinda reminds of his grandmother, which honestly is just not helping his emotional state, and is probably the reason why, when he opens his mouth to plead his case to this lady what comes out is, "I just really need to be with my family," instead of literally anything else.

"Bless your heart," she says, reaching across the counter to gently pat his hand, and fuck, isn't that just the worst thing she could've said. People from other places tend to assume that phrase only means one thing, but the actual truth is that it can mean anything from boy, are you a dumbass to I see your pain and I want you to know that you are not alone in this cold dark world and I don't rightly know how but trust me, it is going to be okay, and this is the latter one, for sure. And he has held up under torture, under hours and hours and days and days of physical pain, without cracking, but this sweet lady and her voice and her eyes that crinkle up like his grandma's and her bless your heart kindness are going to be the death of him, probably. He gives her a very watery smile in response, and she pats his hand again and says, "Let's find you a flight."

It takes four connections and an overnight flight to do it, but eventually, Eliot and his newfound best friend, Miss Roxanna, queen of the American check-in counter at the Will Rogers World Airport, work this shit out.

"Listen, honey," she says, as she hands him his tickets, "I don't know what you've got going on and I don't need to, but it's gonna be all right."

"Thank you, ma'am," he manages to say, and he's glad he has to run to make it through security and find his gate because he can't stand here and do this shit much longer without spilling his guts to a total stranger.

He doesn't sleep on the plane to L.A.. He does try, he just can't get there. Every time he closes his eyes he just sees his dad's stupid hardware store. So he stays awake. He even does the crossword, or most of it. He eats the plane snacks when the flight attendant comes around with the basket of slightly fancier shit that they serve in first-class. Maybe he flirts with her a little, but only out of habit. Mostly he just stares out the window and wonders what Parker and Hardison are doing right now and why he thought he needed to leave in the first place, and then he thinks about that last job and that old guy, Martin, and realizes that he was always going to try to go home again, so maybe he can at least stop beating himself up for that.

He cuts his hair in the bathroom of the American Airlines Admirals Club Lounge in terminal four of LAX at one in the goddamn morning, because he's tired and plane-sweaty and even though they have showers here his hair just won't stop sticking to his damn neck and he's got two more flights before he's back in Oregon and he's about over it. So he palms some scissors from the lady at the lounge desk when she's not looking, hits the bathroom, and hacks it all off. It ain't clean or neat and honestly he doesn't give a fuck. It suits his mood. And when he looks at his reflection and feels a little pang that it's gone, that's even better. What does it matter? It's just hair. He's not Samson; his hometown wasn't Delilah. He doesn't get his power from it or some bullshit like that.

Because airlines are bullshit, from L.A. he actually has to go all the way back to Dallas before he can get to Seattle and his last flight, but at least after all of that the flight from SeaTac to Portland is over almost before it starts, and he shuffles off the plane and out of the airport like a zombie coming back to life. Eliot never thought he could be so goddamn grateful for Portland, so different from the home he left behind and still carries around in his heart. Portland, with all its rain and tall cedars and the looming specter of Mount Hood in the distance, is nothing like the place he left, but god, he could almost fall to his knees at the sight of all of it now.

What he means to do, when he gets in his car, is go to his place and pass out for a few hours before he inevitably finds his way to the brewpub. The drive is so easy and there's so little traffic this early that he just sort of autopilots himself around, and he doesn't even register that he's not at his own place until he's putting in the alarm code on Parker and Hardison's apartment door, muscle memory piloting his fingers through the sequence when his tired brain can't be bothered with the recall. The code's keyed specifically to him, he knows, so if anyone up there is awake and cares to see it, they'll know he's here and probably go right back to sleep, because it is early the fuck o'clock and he knows it.

He's exhausted and he feels like he's been on twice as many planes as it took him to get here, but he walks in, closes the door quietly behind him, and tosses his keys on the table by the door where he always leaves them when he's here. And it's just right. This, right here, this specific place, is just where he needed to be. He sinks onto the couch in the living room, too tired to haul himself any further, to the spare room that stays spare, just in case. Just in case of Eliot. He knows that. They've never told him it's his space. They also never told him he couldn't leave his shit there. So he's got clothes in the closet and maybe a few other things besides, a little home away from home, for the nights when he's here too late or has an extra beer or just plain does not want to go home to an empty apartment when his heart is here.

He's trying to will himself to get up when he hears the door to their bedroom open, catches a few lines of whispered conversation, first Hardison, then Parker. There's noise in the kitchen-- the soft beeps of the coffee pot, the click-hiss of the gas stove, the sizzle of bacon-- and then there they both are, right beside him.

Nobody looks at him funny. Nobody even says a word. Hardison sets a steaming cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of him; Parker follows it up with a plate of toast and bacon and eggs. A few minutes later they curl up, one of them on either side of him, holding their own plates, and nobody tells him to eat or drink, they just leave him be. But that midnight meal in the American lounge was hours ago, now, and he should eat before he passes out, probably, so he reaches for his plate and digs in, grateful that someone around here who isn't him has apparently figured out that you can have something besides hot pockets or cereal for breakfast.

The silence is comforting for a while, until it isn't, with neither of them saying a damn word, and what are they waiting for, anyway? He's never here this early unless it's for a reason, even if the reason is just that there wasn't anyplace else he wanted to be.

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing here?" he asks finally, when it seems like they're just going to keep on waiting until he says something.

"Why would you need a reason to be here?" Parker asks, and Hardison just looks up from his phone and says, "Yeah man, you're home," and shrugs, like of course there's nowhere else he would be, and god, if he's home, then no, there really isn't anywhere else. It’s funny, because up until this moment, at least in his head, home has still been a tiny town two-thousand miles east of here, but that’s not right, not anymore, and now he knows it, for sure. Looks like the lady at the ticket counter was right after all. It was gonna be okay.  

"Yeah," he says, with a grateful smile. "Yeah, okay. I'm home."

He's so tired he can't even clock who moves first, maybe Hardison, maybe Parker, hell, maybe it was him or even all of them together, but the end result is, there are two sets of arms wrapped around him and two sleep-warm people pressed against his ribs on both sides. And it's been a long day and a long year and a long life, to be honest, and he may be tired but he's not alone and he's home, so he just lets them hold onto him for a while, and he holds on right back. Maybe you can't go home again, but you sure as hell can make a new one. This one, at least, he is going to do his goddamn best not to burn to the ground.

[oreobunny1]

Chapter 2: The Other Side of Hollywood

(AO3: Oreobunny1)

The sun shone brightly on the roof of the Molina household that morning. Julie and Carlos were at school, and Ray was on his way to work. The house was peaceful and empty.

Well, all except for the three teenage ghost himbos messing around in their garage.

“All I’m saying is they shouldn’t have killed off Han Solo and Luke Skywalker! It’s just too much.” Reggie exclaimed from the second floor of the huge garage, bouncing around as he got dressed for the day.

“I know,” Alex answered from beneath him. “And why was Luke on fat bird island anyway, shouldn’t he be doing more, y’know… Jediy things?”

“Pfffft-” Reggie laughed, “Fat bird island. Honestly though! He-”

His rant was interrupted by Luke banging on the garage door from outside.

“You guys are SLOW! Sloooooooowwwwwwww-” Luke whined. Reggie didn’t need to see Alex to know that he was rolling his eyes at their friend. Luke couldn't even talk. He had only teleported out there a second ago himself!

“We’ll be out in a minute!” Reggie yelled out to him. It wasn’t like they could be late. They didn’t even have tickets!

“ImPATIENT!” Alex gasped, mock-offended. Reggie snickered, and they heard muffled laughter from outside too, followed by Luke starting another round of “slooow...”.

Alex sighed and muttered, “If only our Luke was the one on that island, huh?” Reggie was just about dying of laughter at this point, but he tried to be as quiet as he could so their Luke couldn’t hear them.

Today, the local movie theater was showing a marathon of the new Star Wars trilogy. All of them were big Star Wars fans, and ever since seeing the premiere on the website they had been looking forward to this particular Wednesday. Reggie couldn’t sit still. He was so excited! They had been anticipating this for a week now, and he was looking forward to a fun, geeky day with his best friends. And, to top it all off, Julie and the Phantoms had a gig later that night! It was shaping up to be a pretty great day.

They were all a little bummed Julie couldn't come to the movies with them, but being alive and still having to go to school made her unavailable at the time. It’s fine though, they would be done with the movies before she got out of school anyway. They could all hang out then!

“But Finn and Poe though...” Alex started, moving into Reggie's view as he waited for him.

Reggie pulled on his flannel. “YES I love them already, I honestly can’t wait to watch these movies just because of the newer characters.” He had only heard spoilers for these movies, and he didn’t really like what he heard. But he was optimistic, especially about the new characters Julie had told them about.

“Okay. I’m ready!” he said finally after grabbing his bracelet, smiling as he prepared to jump down to Alex. “By the wa- WHAT?!”

Reggie yelped as he was suddenly pulled harshly away from where he sat on the ledge in the middle of his sentence. There was a bright flash before his eyes as he was unwillingly teleported… somewhere else.

His blood froze as another flash dropped him onto hard, cold ground. He didn’t move. He couldn’t see anything! Did I go blind or something?!

Don't panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

The first thing he noticed was the cold. He drew his flannel tighter around him, but the frigid air seemed to go directly though it and he started shivering almost immediately. Reggie hadn't thought that, as a ghost, he would be able to feel pain, discomfort, or cold. But that was before they were all almost electrocuted out of existence. Yup. He could definitely feel cold.

The second thing he noticed was that he was, indeed, panicking.

His breath came in short gasps. He didn’t understand what was happening! Where was he? Why was he there? Neither Alex nor Luke had been close enough to touch him and teleport him, besides, they wouldn’t scare him like that! The only person(or ghost) he knew that could teleport people without touching them was Caleb Covington. The last person he wanted to see.

Reggie finally took a slow breath, counting to ten in his mind. That’s what Alex always did. It was fine. They would get out. We will get out. He looked at his new surroundings, or rather, tried to look. All he could “see” was darkness. It surrounded him.

“Alex? Luke?” He called, reaching out in the dark. Caleb had only ever teleported them altogether. He was positive that any second now, his hand would land on one of them, proving to him he wasn’t alone.

“Luke! Alex!”

“Okay s-stop it guys, this isn’t funny!” If they were trying to prank him or something, they were going to be in so much trouble.

“Guys?” Reggie whispered into the darkness. But silence was his only answer. His breathing picked up again. Where are they? I need them here!

He needed to find the light switch.

“Jeez, why is it so cold in h-here?” He thought out loud with chattering teeth as he found the icy wall with his hands. He traced his fingers along it, ignoring the dull pain. The cold made his fingers feel like they were slowly turning to ice.

“C’mon, where is it… Oh!” His hand found a switch of some kind and he immediately flipped it up. Light flooded through the small room and Reggie blinked furiously as his eyes adjusted.

“Uhhh...”

The first thing he noticed was that Alex and Luke were not there. He was alone in a musty room. The walls were a faded yellowish color. Cracked frames held declining pictures of…old Hollywood stars? Oh no...

There was movement, and Reggie jumped, but it was only his reflection. There was a mirror and a worn wooden desk in one corner of the room. The mirror was old-fashioned, the ones with the large light bulbs around the sides of it. This is a dressing room.

Or was. Cobwebs covered the ceiling and the dusty crystal chandelier. Everything looked breakable, and the makeup on the desk looked like it hadn’t been used since he was alive. Yikes. Besides, the temperature in this “dressing room” had to be below freezing, definitely too cold for any alive human to stay in for a long period of time.

It was confirmed. This room failed the vibe check.

“Okaaay… Sorry c-creepy room! It’s been fun-” Not. He needed to get out of there and find his friends. Reggie picutured their studio in his mind, easily his favorite place and the main place they teleported to, and willed himself to appear there.

Instead, he ran into a wall.

“Ugh..” Reggie groaned. He was still there! He had only teleported to the other side of the dressing room! No. He tried again. Again. This has to work! It has to!

But he was trapped.

Before he had time to have a panic attack, there was a sudden pop from behind him. Reggie spun around. Maybe it’s Luke or Ale-

It wasn't.

“Good morning Reginald!”

“C-Caleb,” Reggie gasped, his worst fears confirmed.

This was the ghost that stalked his nightmares. This was the ghost who had tried to take everything away from him. Reggie immediately clutched his wrists. Caleb had never gone so far as direct physical aggression, it was always a stamp. As long as I keep my wrists completely covered, everything will be fine. He can’t hurt any of us if he can’t get a stamp on us.

Luke promised that he would never see him again. On a particularly bad day, when a stamp that was long gone felt like it was still there and the memories of a performance they would never be able to tell Julie about haunted all three of them, he had sworn that they would never go near that club again. That they would never have to face this villain again.

Yet there he was. There was no way Luke could have known. No way they could have prepared for this.

Caleb smiled his huge fake grin that now sent a shiver down his spine. “Reggie, why aren't you dressed? You have a show in ten minutes!”

He probably looked so dumb, standing there like a deer in headlights, but he didn't care. There was only one thing on his mind.

“W-where are Luke a-and Alex.” Reggie stammered, his teeth chattering as he tried to speak.

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Why, in their own dressing rooms of course. They have to get ready too, you know.”

Reggie gave a small sigh of relief. At least they aren't being forced to perform. “We d-don’t want to join your b-band. Let us go.” He wasn’t in the mood for his usual jokes. Not without his friends.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that Reginald.” Caleb replied simply.

What do you mean “I can’t do that”?! Of course you can! Reggie definitely wasn’t the one that got angry easily. He would much rather just joke around, be the fun one. Be cool in the moment, and deal with the consequences later. But Luke wasn’t there to take charge. Julie and Alex weren’t there, supporting him, bringing him comfort. He didn’t even know where his friends were! All he wanted was for them to be there so they could escape this situation! But he was facing Caleb alone. Everything about this situation was scaring him to death. The fear and anger came spilling out of him, and suddenly he was screaming.

“YES YOU CAN! Caleb, none of us will ever join your band! We already have one! Nothing you say or do will ever change that! Now LET US G-GO!”

Breathing heavily, Reggie glanced at the man with wide eyes, but his mouth was set in determination. He wasn’t sure how Caleb would react to that.

He didn’t look scared, as Reggie had silently hoped, or even surprised. He didn’t look mad either. He was just staring at him. Studying him, with a small smile on his face, as if he was but a clue to be cracked. An interesting equation to be solved. Reggie took another step backward. That was not what he had been expecting.

“Your costume is over there.” Caleb said happily, pointing at something shiny draped on the clothing rack as he turned and walked away from him. “See you on the stage!” He exclaimed.

Is he actually going to ignore everything I just said? Reggie opened his mouth defiantly and followed him, desperate to say whatever he needed to to get him and his friends out of this place. But the man kept talking...

“Oh, and I almost forgot-”

Caleb spun around and slapped him viciously across the face.

Reggie was thrown backward and hit the cold floor, hard. He froze in shock, a hand clutched to his cheek as his attacker towered over him.

He should have anticipated it. He should have at least flinched away when the hand came down on him, but he didn't! It had just been so long, so long since someone had hit him like that. So long since he had been in danger of being struck for speaking out of turn. So long since he didn’t have his friends to go to for protection. He had finally lost the reflex.

Sharp pain radiated from where he had been hit, and black spots clouded his vision. His eyes watered as he looked up at Caleb, his entire body trembling. He was terrified.

“Like my new stamp design? I just finished it!”

No, Reggie thought, his heart dropping inside his chest. No, no NO!

It was true. Keeping both eyes on Caleb he moved a shaking hand over his cheek. Sure enough, he could feel the raised outline of a dreaded stamp there. Caleb stalked towards him, his voice growing dangerous as he leaned closer. Reggie scrambled backward, trying to keep a few feet between himself and this monster.

“You will do exactly as I say, when I say it,” Caleb hissed, his smile growing wider. Distorted. Demented. “If you ever disrespect me like that ever again, I will show your friends the true meaning of pain. Would you like an example?”

Reggie didn’t even have time to answer. Caleb whipped something small and gold out of his suit pocket before clicking it.

Then Reggie knew only pain.

“Ahh!” He cried out, clutching his chest. He thought that nothing would ever be more painful than their final jolts on the night of the Orpheum performance, but boy, was he wrong. Reggie keeled over as every part of his body was electrocuted by a massive jolt from the stamp. The burning, excruciating pain lingered in his chest and cheek and tears sprang to his eyes.

Reggie had always handled physical pain the worst out of all his friends. The tears threatened to fall, just as they had on that fateful night when Julie found them in the garage, but Reggie quickly wiped his eyes.

He would never give Caleb the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

Caleb opened his mouth to say something, but instead his eyes fell to something on the ground in front of him. Reggie hesitantly followed his gaze.

My bracelet!

Reggie’s arm shot out, pain ignored as he snatched the little woven thing into his hands. He must have forgotten to put energy into it while he was reeling in pain.

I won’t let that happen again.

Last week, after watching the new Mandolorian episode with Julie, they were all bored. They followed her upstairs, where she went into her closet and got out this old case. She blew off the dust and inside… was a whole bunch of colored string! She patiently showed them how to weave simple bracelets. It was fairly easy. All they had to do was make sure they focused a little bit of energy into their hands, and they could hold the string! They sat there for a good hour, making bracelets and talking quietly.

As expected, the peace didn’t last long.

All he did was make fun of Alex’s knotted-up “bracelet”. Once! Before Reggie knew it, the various colors of the rainbow came flying at his head. Soon enough it was a free for all. They grabbed the bundles and chucked them at one another. There was string everywhere. They had a complete friendship-bracelet string war, laughing wildly as pillows and string flew through the air. At one point, him and Alex tackled Luke to the ground and held him there so Julie could braid string into his hair. In the end, each of them had string tangled in their hair, Julie’s room was absolutely trashed, and they were all exhausted. They crashed immediately afterward, covered with string and cuddled up on Julie’s bed.

Also, each of them had 4 or 5 woven bracelets that they made themselves. His were obviously the best, but Julie’s were pretty good too. They traded them around, and now they each had one from everyone else. They even had some for Willie and Flynn!

The one he picked to wear today was the one Jules made him, and in order for the ghosts to wear them they continually focused a tiny bit of energy to keep it on their wrists. It was so simple that he hardly ever thought about it.

Until now.

Caleb’s voice yanked him from his thoughts.

“Stings more than the worst of the other ones, doesn't it?” He gloated as Reggie coughed. If he wasn’t already dead, Reggie was sure he’d be coughing blood into his hands. But Caleb didn’t care. “Yes. And they will only get more painful. Unlike those other stamps, this-”

Caleb bent down and reached for Reggie’s face, but he was ready this time. He flinched so hard that he dodged Caleb’s hand altogether. Yes! The horrendous smile faltered and Reggie thought he just might leave him alone. Nope. The rough hand made contact a second time and Reggie’s chin was jerked upward.

“This will give you only a few more days to live!” The excitement in his voice was sickening.

“Reginald, the only escape from nonexistence is to join my band.” Caleb sobered. He had the nerve to look sympathetic. As if he wasn’t the one doing this to them.

“Never.” Reggie spat, the fury and pain fueling his confidence once again, if only for a moment. He shoved the hand away and struggled to his feet. There was a flash of something unusual in Caleb’s dark eyes. Surprise? Fear? It was gone as fast as it came.

If Caleb thought he was just going to give up that quickly, he had another thing coming. As long as his friends were in danger, Reggie Peters would fight.

“Hm. We’ll see.” He messed with the little gold device in his hands as Reggie sat there, still trying to catch his breath after the jolt, before suddenly barking orders. “Now get up! Get ready. And keep quiet. We wouldn't want Luke and Alex feeling like this now would we!”

No! Never! That was the absolute last thing he wanted. Reggie glared at him, some choice words ready to leave his mouth.

Click.

Another purple flash and Reggie doubled over, unable to speak. His clenched teeth were the only thing keeping him from screaming in agony. The bracelet, the bracelet, remember the bracelet!

“Would we?”

“N-no!” He choked out.

“That's better.” The button was slipped back into the pocket, and Caleb turned. He’s gonna teleport away!

“Wait!” Reggie blurted. He couldn't let this happen to his friends too. “D-don’t put a stamp on them. Please. Just don’t put a s-stamp on Luke or Alex.” He would do anything if it meant Alex and Luke didn’t have to go through this. They didn’t deserve that. Not that he thought he did, but he would much rather it be him than them. His bandmates, plus Julie now, meant everything to him. He could do this for them. He just hoped it would be enough for Caleb.

“That’s entirely up to you.” Caleb concluded, not even looking at him.“ I hope you will consider my offer.” With a flash he was gone, leaving Reggie alone in the small, freezing room, the threats and orders echoing in his head. Reggie waited before taking a breath. He’s gone.

Darn. We're so gonna miss those movies.

Reggie was certain of one thing. He was not going to put on that costume. Caleb could poof him into whatever atrocious, uncomfortable clothes he wanted, and he could pry the red flannel from Reggie’s cold, dead hands(literally).

He looked into the icy mirror at his already swelling face, the bold purple stamp standing out against his pale features. His immediate reaction was to claw at it, get it off his skin, but he knew it wouldn't do any good.

He tried to poof out approximately 7 more times before slumping against the desk, shivering and sore. The ground swayed under his feet, and his head pounded. He just sat down on the freezing ground. Reggie didn’t feel like he could do anything in 10 minutes, especially not be forced to perform. But no matter how much he hated it, he knew he didn’t have a choice.

Great. The tears were back. No. No crying. Not here. He shoved all his feelings of dread and fear away. He had to be confident, no matter how fake it was. He could not show weakness to Caleb. In his mind he heard Luke, telling him off for suppressing feelings again. “That will only make it worse Reg. You know that.” He did! But this time it was necessary. His friends could help him deal with the feelings later, once they got out.

He was going to work on an escape plan, he just needed a minute of rest first. He was so tired(yes, ghosts can get tired too). Just...one minute...

Reggie closed his eyes, imagining he was back in the garage, still joking around with his best friends. Pretending he still felt safe. Pretending, just for a second, that he was home.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Riding High Ch 4: Skating The Issue

Chapter Summary: It’s Fliss’ turn to host Frank and Mary and both adults seem to be skating round a particular issue…

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. 

Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher 

A/N: I know I said we would be diving into the Gifted story line in this Chapter but, well, I lied…next chapter we start! As always I’m a ho for a REBLOG and COMMENT! 

Chapter Song: Chasing Rainbows by Shed Seven

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

“Hey Cowgirl, how do you cook a skate?" 

Fliss had to read the message twice "I’m assuming you’re talking about the fish…”

“No an ice skate…” the sarcasm dripped of his reply and she could just imagine him rolling his eyes.

“Where the fuck did u get an ice skate in South Pass?” she giggled to herself as she typed her response.

“U deliberately being an ass?" 

"Why did u get a skate when u don’t know how to cook one?”

“I don’t know how to cook a lot of things. And there was a guy at the harbour giving them away. Extra catch he said. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth etc…”

Fliss pondered something for a moment before she leaned back in her chair and continued the conversation “Well why don’t u bring them round tonight and I’ll do them. I still haven’t cooked for you after the BBQ the other week”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t taken it to heart that every time we’ve tried to arrange it you’ve cancelled”

“Piss off!” She laughed to herself as she replied

“It’s this weather man, it’s so hot… not my fault I’ve had to rejig all my lessons and exercise my own horses at 9pm… you’ve been busy too don’t forget!”

“Busy time of year for Sailing, what can I say? As it happens I can do tonight but I’ll have Mary. Is that ok?”

“No, Frank I expect you to leave her at home on her own… ”

“Trust me if I could I would, she’s driving me insane at the moment.” “Why?” Fliss frowned slightly. Whilst she hadn’t really seen Frank other than the previous week for Mary’s riding lesson they talked often by text and he hadn’t mentioned she was playing up.

And then she suddenly realised. It was the last week of the Summer holidays.  Mary started school on Monday. And she had already made her feelings about that very clear to Fliss, several times.

“I’ll explain later. What time?”

Fliss checked her watch. It was 4pm.

“Say 6 ish? I’ll send you the post…I mean zip code…why the fuck do you lot call it a zip code anyway?”

“Stands for Zone Improvement Plan” 

“That makes no sense" 

"Course it does. Zip, its fast, as in the mail travels more efficiently, and more quickly when people use it”

“And you wonder why Mary is such a smart ass!" 

"Whatever, see you at 6.”

“Bye Sailor.”

Standing up she slipped her phone into the back pocket of her riding breeches and headed out onto the main yard. It was empty. The weather had been scorching recently, so hot she had been forced to cancel a lot of lessons and offer something different to her students. She had been taking the younger kids on trail rides through the grounds that surrounded her yard and onto the waterside and then taught them basic horse care and grooming routines, whilst the older clients who wanted to continue their training had moved their sessions to earlier or later in the day. That said, she had no one left to teach today and she was giving her own 3 a rest so it was a case of making sure waters in the fields were topped up ready for evening turn out.

Thor was flopped in the shade of one of the stables, flat on his side. He cracked an eye open as she passed and his tail lazily thumped on the floor. “Oh boy…I know it’s hot…” she said with a chuckle, bending over to give him a scratch before she stood up and he did the same, trotting obediently at her heels as she headed through the gate and down the dirt tracks which led to the turn out paddock. Joanne, Ruby and Ellis her head groom and stable hands were busy with the water truck topping up the troughs in the bottom field.

“Hey guys.” she smiled “All ok?”

“Yeah…” Joanne nodded “We’ve topped all the others up, this is the last one.”  

“Great, ok well let’s get them fed and then we can get them turned out and have an early finish.” Fliss smiled. “Ruby, Ellis, keep an eye on the water.”

The girl and boy nodded and then Katie and Joanne headed back towards the yard.

“So, you doing anything tonight?” Joanne asked.

“Oh, erm, Mary and Frank are coming over for dinner.” Fliss said

“As in Mary and Frank Adler?” Joanne looked at Fliss. Fliss nodded.

“God he is dreamy.” Joanne groaned “Total fuck boy though.” Fliss laughed, “So you told me. He’s a nice guy though, I enjoy talking to him.”

“Talking?” Joanne deadpanned “Seriously, you’ve got a sure thing there and you’re talking?”

Fliss snorted “Trust me I’m not looking for anything else, certainly not at the moment.”

“Yeah well, you never find anything when you’re looking for it do you?” Joanne said lightly as they walked into the feed store. “It’s always when you’re not looking that you come across it.” Fliss looked at her for a moment. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to Frank, she’d have to be blind not to be. But she wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t feel ready for a relationship just yet and it would have to take someone very special to change her mind. With a sigh she jerked her head in the direction of the containers which held the horse feed.

“Start scooping that lot out.”

Joanne did as she was told and a little over an hour later everything was turned out, fed and she made sure the staff knew who was on duty in the morning. With that she dismissed them early and set off to the store grabbing the ingredients she needed.

***** “Woah!” Mary said as Frank pulled up outside the gates “Does Fliss live here?” “According to the directions…” Frank said. He pulled out his phone and gave her a call.

“Hi, you at the gates?” she asked.

“I think so…” Frank said.

“Ok hang on…” she instructed and Frank waited. A few seconds later the iron gates swung inwards. “Drive past the main house on your right and keep coming until the drive bends round. The annex is to the left behind the garage. Door’s open, just come on in.”

Frank took a deep breath and headed through the gate. Mary was looking out of the window at the large villa style house as they passed, her mouth hanging open. Bill emerged from the double garage to the left and Frank smiled at him, halting the truck.

“Alright lad?” Bill said, leaning on the top of the truck, talking through the open window. “Hey kid.” “Hi Mr Gallagher.” Mary said, smiling “We’re off to Fliss’ for dinner.” “It’s Bill, Mary, my dad was Mr Gallagher.” he smiled “And you’re a lucky girl, Lissy’s cooking is superb!”

“Anything is better than Frank’s…” she said and Frank rolled his eyes.

“Mine too. I burn water.” Bill chuckled. “You can’t do that.” Mary frowned, “It just evaporates.”

“It’s a figure of speech Mary, you know, a joke…” Frank looked at her shaking his head as Bill laughed.

“Well I’ll let you go.” he smiled, “Straight down the drive. Have a good evening.”

He straightened up and whistled, calling a small terrier to his heels before he headed over to a gate at the side. As he opened it, Frank just caught a glimpse of a spacious back yard and a pool before the gate snapped closed. Setting the truck forward again, he followed the drive and it turned left just before the fence, opening up into a space behind the garage where the small annex was set. It was a little detached, 2 storey building that was a similar style to the villa with a wooden door and a large bay window. The door was open and as Frank climbed out of the truck, the wrapped paper package of skate in his hand, Thor came bounding outside barking excitedly.

“Hey boy.” he said, giving the dog a pat before Thor turned his attention to Mary.

“Found it ok then?”

Frank looked up to see Fliss in the doorway. She was dressed in a pair of denim shorts that finished halfway up her toned thighs and a tight grey T-shirt which was distressed around the sleeves. Her hair was fastened back in a loose braid and she was barefoot. Frank felt a certain, and very unwelcome, pooling of arousal in the base of his stomach. Swallowing slightly he pushed it down and smiled at her.

“Nice place.”

“Well the rents got a fair whack when they sold up in the UK so…” she shrugged “Sadly it’s not mine!”

He smiled, “This doesn’t look so bad.”

“Suits me, for the time being anyway until I can get my own place.” she smiled “We’re in the middle of re-decorating it so there’s stuff all over the dining room. We’ll eat outside if that’s ok?”

“Sure.” Frank smiled.

Fliss gave a sharp whistle and Thor immediately headed back towards her and into the house as Mary followed, pausing to give Katie a hug. She led them inside and Frank looked around, the small porch area led into a square living room with a wooden floor which sported a large, light blue fluffy rug and a coffee table in the middle. There was a grey and black L-shaped sofa which ran along one wall and jutted out slightly around the edge of the coffee table and a huge flat screen TV and entertainment system nestled in the other corner which was surrounded by a huge rack of DVDs. On the wall above the sofa was a large framed photograph of Fliss with a chestnut horse, giving it a kiss on the nose, smiling as she did so, sunglasses covering her eyes. There were various other family shots in frames on other walls too. Taking it all in, Frank followed Fliss through an archway into the tiled dining room, which held a table against one wall and a display cabinet against the other which was full of trophies and rosettes. The walls were stripped bare and just as Fliss said there was a pile of decorating equipment sat in the corner. To the right a staircase headed upstairs and in front of them were double butler doors which led into the small country style kitchen. The rear doors were open onto a small flagged yard which sported a decking area upon which sat a table and some chairs. Various pot plants were scattered around the yard area and there was a wicker sofa and chair set with a smaller table and a hot tub nestled into the corner of the fence and the wall, under the kitchen windows.

“This is an annex?” Frank deadpanned looking around. Fliss turned to him, blushing slightly.

“I know, I’m very lucky.” she shrugged. “It’s as good as having my own place.”

“It’s really cool” Mary said “Can I go outside?” “Knock yourself out.” Fliss said as Mary disappeared into the yard, Thor following. “So, where’s this fish?”

Frank dropped the package onto the side and Fliss peeled the paper open.

“Oooh they look great!” She grinned. “So I’m gonna pan fry them with some lemon, garlic and then I’ve done some potatoes and salad…nothing fancy but…” “It sounds great.” Frank said.

“Is there anything Mary doesn’t like?”

“Tomatoes.” Frank said “I mean if they’re in a sauce of pasta she’s fine but…”

“Devil veg.” Fliss wrinkled her nose.

“Actually they’re a fruit…” Frank teased as she looked at him.

“You ever seen a tomato in a fruit salad?” she shot back, reaching around him to open the large fridge.

He laughed and moved out of her way “That’s exactly the reply Mary gives me.” “Like I said, smart kid.” she said, grabbing 2 beers before bumping the fridge door shut with her hip. She opened a door and grabbed a bottle opener, flipping off the cap before handing one to Frank.

“Thanks.” he said. “So, is there anything I can do to help or…” “No, everything’s done bar the fish so…” she shook her head “Stand and watch Sailor, you might learn something.”

He stood leaning against the counter as she worked, settling into comfortable chat, watching as she cleaned, skinned and filleted the fish before squeezing fresh lemon over it and tossing it into a hot pan with a few cloves of garlic.

“It doesn’t take long” she said, “Do you wanna grab me a few plates?”

“Sure.” he nodded, “err…” “Cupboard behind you, to the right.” she said over her shoulder as she pulled a salad out of the fridge and drizzled it lightly with a mixture of balsamic, oil and lemon. She did the same with the cold potatoes before she turned the heat off the stove and divided the fish up into 2 larger pieces and a smaller one for Mary. 

She gently slid the slices onto the plates and then she nodded. “All done.” “Well that looked easy.” Frank said

“You can try it yourself next time.” she looked at him, handing him the two bowls “Can you take those out the table?”

He picked them up easily and carried them outside, Mary instantly scrambling up from where she had been sat on the outside sofa with Thor and following him.

Fliss walked out with the plates which contained the fish and they all settled down, Frank placing some potatoes and salad onto Mary’s plate before doing the same for Fliss as she headed back inside for 2 more beers and an apple juice for Mary.

“This is really good!” the 7 year old enthused.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful.” Frank looked at her and she gave him a filthy scowl which made Fliss laugh.

“She looks a bit like you when she does that.” “I do not.” Mary replied indignantly.

Fliss merely smiled as she stabbed another potato and popped it into her mouth “Whatever you say.” Mary shot her another look which earned her one back from Frank. She met his eyes with her own and gave a shrug, diving back into her food.

“Fred would like this.” she said, looking at her fish.

“Good job because I saved him the scraps.” Fliss said.

“Did you?” Mary looked at her, smiling. Fliss nodded.

Frank watched the easy exchange between the two, smiling softly. Mary had been in a foul mood all afternoon after he had taken her shopping for a few outfits for School. She had been kicking off about the fact she had to go on Monday, but he was sticking to his decision. She needed to go, be a kid, have a normal life.

“You alright?” Fliss looked at him and he nodded

“Yeah, just thinking that’s all.” he said, “Nothing serious.” Fliss accepted his answer, even though she didn’t believe him and she changed the subject, telling Mary about a few of the things she had planned for her next riding lesson which wasn’t for another 10 days seeing as she had been for one the Saturday before.

“Can I not come this Saturday?” she pleaded.

“Mary…” Frank sighed, rubbing at the buttons on the top of his t-shirt collar line “We discussed this, once a fortnight…” Mary scowled again and Frank let out a groan.

“Well, if it’s ok with Frank you could come up later in the day and help me with my 3.” Fliss said, looking at him. “You can help Joanne with the poles on the jumps and the feeds.” “Oh, please Frank can I?”

Frank looked at Mary then to Fliss “You sure that’s ok?”

Fliss nodded “Course” “Alright.” Frank nodded “But one more tantrum about school between then and now and you’re not going understood?”

Mary pouted a little, clearly considering this bargain before she sighed “Ok.” When they had finished eating Frank helped Fliss clear down the table. She told him to drop the dished into the sink whilst she placed the left over salad into tubs and back in the fridge.

“So School still a sore subject?” She queried.

“Oh fuck me…” Frank sighed “Sore?” he rubbed at his temple “Monday is gonna be a nightmare.” “She’ll get used to it.” Fliss said “She’s bound to feel a little put out a first but she’ll settle.” “I just hope I’m doing the right thing” Frank said.

“You can’t do anything but your best Frank.” Fliss said softly “That’s all any of us can do.” “Yeah, suppose.” he shrugged. “Anyway, enough about that…been meaning to ask, how’s it been with shuffling all the lessons around?” “We’ve managed.” Fliss said, heading back outside “takings are down but…well, you always get peaks and troughs.” “Tell me about it. Boat work slows up a lot November through January.” Frank shrugged.

“You should branch out into tractor fixing.” Fliss said, settling onto the sofa next to Mary who was busy flicking through a book she had brought. Fliss glanced down and grinned “Moby Dick?” “Yeah…” Mary looked at her “You read it?”

“A while back. I used to read a lot.”

“What’s your favourite book?” Mary asked.

“Honestly?” Fliss smiled “It’s Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire.” “Isn’t that for kids?” “Mary…” Frank groaned “You are a kid.”

“Fliss isn’t” Mary shot back.

“No but I was when those books were released. The first one came out in 1997, I was only 13. I grew up reading them.” Mary contemplated this. “And they’re good?”

“Yeah.” Fliss smiled “I love Harry Potter. That’s what this is…” She pointed to the tattoo which circled her left ankle Frank glanced down at the writing, which curved around and then formed into the outline of a stag’s head on her Achilles tendon. It was quite a delicate design. Mary studied it carefully.

“Expecto Patronum…” she said, reading it out “What does that mean?”

“It’s a spell.” she said, “So in one of the books Harry has to cast it to protect himself from these creatures…and his Patonus, the thing the spell conjures, takes the form of a stag. The writing, see…” Fliss traced it with her finger “That’s the author, JK Rowling’s handwriting. I had it done a year ago, kind of a reminder to me that no matter how bad things get there’s always a way to make it better.” Mary nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll read them then.” “Do you want to borrow the first one?” Fliss asked “And then once you’ve done maybe one night we can watch the movie.”

“Please.” Mary nodded.

Fliss stood up and nodded for Mary to follow so she did. “be right back.”

Frank waved them away and Fliss led Mary upstairs into the spare room. It was still full of boxes, some which littered the bottom of the bunk beds. She dug into a box, found the book, and handed it to Mary. Mary took it gently and examined the cover.

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of it I promise.” Mary nodded “Can I see your bedroom?”

Fliss laughed and nodded “Sure.”  she led her across the hall into the larger bedroom and let Mary walk in and look round at the airy room, glancing at the bed which was made and adorned with a light blue and yellow bed spread and a few cushions.

“It’s tidier than Franks.” she mused and Fliss laughed.

“I’m a girl.” she shrugged. “We’re always tidier than men.” “Is that you?” Mary asked, striding over to a photo that was on the bedside table.

Fliss nodded as Mary looked at the frame, which contained a shot of her and her parents with her brother.

“That’s my brother Steeb…I mean Steve.” “Steeb?” Mary looked up.

“When I was a little girl I couldn’t pronounce his name properly.” Fliss explained “I called him Steeb, or Steeby…it just kinda stuck.”

Mary gave a snort of laughter as she placed the frame down and Fliss waited until she finished looking around before she headed for the door. They made their way back down the stairs and outside, where Frank was looking at something on his phone. He looked up at them as they walked back through the bi-folding doors.

“Did you say thanks?”

“She did.” Fliss nodded.

“Good.” Frank nodded. He took a sigh and looked at Fliss “I don’t wanna rush out but it is getting kinda late and someone will be a crank if they don’t get to bed soon.” “Yeah he’s always grumpy if he doesn’t get enough sleep.” Mary quipped and Frank shook his head with a huff of laughter as Fliss giggled.

They all made their way inside and Fliss retrieved the wrapped up fish scraps for Fred which Frank took, his fingers gently brushing against hers which again sparked that damned fire in his belly. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Fliss merely smiled at the contact and turned to Mary “So remember, no being a pain in the bum about school or…” “Yeah yeah I know…” she shrugged.

“Something tells me she isn’t gonna pay a blind bit of notice.” Fliss said, watching as she bounded to the truck.

“Nope.” Frank agreed, shaking his head. “Thanks for dinner Fliss, it was great.” “Not a problem, if you’re happy to play hunter gatherer I’m always happy to cook.” “I’ll hold you to that.” he smiled at her, and after a seconds hesitation he leaned down and pecked her on the cheek. “See you Saturday.” She smiled and watched him head down to his truck where he paused and looked back at her, giving her another smile which spread across his handsome face and Fliss felt the butterflies in her stomach stirring in the way they always seemed to do whenever he looked at her. Tossing him a wave she watched them go before she shut the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath.

“Stop chasing rainbows Lissy…” she muttered to herself, before she headed for a glass of wine and her latest book before retreating outside for the rest of her evening.

******

Surprisingly Mary kept most of her vitriol about going to school at bay, something Frank knew was down to the promise of visiting the yard. There was the odd grumble, which he shut down fairly easily. He had no illusions about the fact it would no doubt start in earnest on Sunday but for now he was simply happy to have a reprieve from the subject she had been complaining about for the past few weeks.

Seeing as she kept up her side of the bargain, he kept his. Fliss was more than happy to see them, and if he was completely honest, Frank was happy to see her as well. They talked to each other by text every single night now, it had just become a habit more than anything. And a habit he was happy to indulge.

They arrived at the yard a little after 5pm and Fliss was already on board a large, black horse with 4 white socks and a white blaze. She waved in acknowledgement but as they made their way to the paddock to watch, the horse gave a sudden sharp kick with its back left before stopping dead and launching its ass into the air. For a moment he thought Fliss was going to come unseated but she merely smirked and sat back, giving the horse a quick kick on. It moved a few steps and repeated the move. “Give up you little shit…” he heard Fliss mumble and he bit back a snort as there was nothing little about the brute she was on. She kicked again, but this time nothing, and the horse threw both its front legs up in a rear. Frank swallowed, as Fliss stood up in her stirrups throwing her reins forward before the animal landed down and she gave it a sharp tap with her stick. At that it moved forward a few steps and Fliss gently encouraged it to continue with a little squeeze of her legs. “No worse than normal…” she said to Joanne who was grinning at the horse’s antics. “He’s an ass…” Joanne laughed “you would think he’d learn he never gets away with it…” “That’s…that’s normal?” Frank sputtered out and Fliss who had just struck the horse up into trot laughed. “Yip” she called out, moving the horse on down the long side of the arena “He likes to fart about does Bronson”

Fliss warmed the horse in and then gestured to Mary to come into the paddock. She climbed the fence and sprinted over to where Joanne was.

“Ok so Joanne is now going to put out some poles…see.” Fliss looked down at her from her vantage point aboard the tall, black gelding. “The ones before and after the jump wings are take-off and landing poles. They are to help him and me figure out where he needs to be taking off and landing.”

Mary nodded eagerly

“Not all horses need them, but Bronson is still learning so it helps him to understand.”

Frank simply stood watching as Joanne directed Mary to help her set out the lightweight, brightly coloured pole before Joanne looked at Fliss and asked her something. Fliss nodded and Joanne set up a small cross-pole. Fliss circled the horse and sent it at the fence, Bronson hardly leaving the ground the fence was that low.

“Stick it up a foot!” Fliss called as she circled.

The fence was put up and Frank noticed Mary was watching every movement with utter rapt attention. She tugged on Joanne’s sleeve who turned to her and she pointed at the jump and Joanne nodded. Fliss sailed the horse over the next one and it was put up again.

This practice continued until one time the horse slammed on at the fence and skidded to a halt. Fliss fell onto the horse’s neck and Frank felt his heart stop but she didn’t fall. Instead she shuffled back onto the saddle, turned him and sent him straight. This time he didn’t stop.

“So do you know what happened there?” he heard Fliss ask. Mary shook her head. “So his striding was off. He was trying to rush and I asked him to sit up and pay attention, because of that he got his striding confused so he wasn’t right to take off when I needed him to. That’s why he stopped.” “So he wasn’t being naughty?” Mary asked.

“Nope.” Fliss shook her head. “Genuine mistake. See he’s only 6 so he’s a baby really, not like Cap who could jump a course with his eyes closed.” “Cap?” Frank looked at her, and she turned to him. “Seriously, you have a dog called Thor and a horse called Cap?” Fliss grinned “His full name is Captain Chaos…he was already named that when I got him but it fits my Marvel obsession perfectly.” He shook his head with a smile and watched as this time the jump was higher again. Joanne moved Mary to stand under it, to show her how high it was and Mary’s eyes grew wide and she looked at Frank. He gave her a thumbs up and she moved out of the way as Fliss brought Bronson down again. The horse took off but clipped the pole with his front legs, knocking it down.

“That was because he didn’t pick his feet up enough…” Fliss called as she circled back round, coming again. “He’ll do it this time, watch…” And he did. Fliss repeated the jump 3 times and Frank couldn’t help but marvel at how in tune with the animal she was. It was like they were working as a unit, she made it look effortlessly graceful, her hands and legs moving in coordination as she folded with the horse, as if jumping over a meter off the floor on the back of a half-tonne animal was the most natural thing in the world to do. The mere thought of it scared the crap out of Frank.

After the 3rd time, Fliss nodded to Joanne and slowed the horse down, letting him stretch.

“Always end on a good note” she grinned at Mary as she patted the horse. Frank could see Mary was thinking something and with that she nodded to Mary and rode the horse over to Frank.

“She wants to sit on him…” She looked at Frank “Is that ok?” Frank swallowed “Isn’t he a bit…big?” he asked.

“Yeah but he’ll behave now…he’s knackered…tired…” she corrected her English slang. “She can sit up here with me if you’re comfortable with it?”

Frank bit his lip. “Are you sure he will be ok?” “Trust me Sailor, I wouldn’t let her up here if I wasn’t convinced I could keep her safe…” Fliss said, removing her hat. She passed it down to Mary “Put that on and I don’t EVER want to see you on a horse without one, ok…do as I say not as I do.”

“Frank says that to me all the time…” Mary took Fliss’ hat and clipped it on. It was a little big but would do the trick.

“Sound advice…” Fliss grinned. “You wanna lift her up?”

Frank nodded and scaled over the fence, lifting Mary easily by the waist. He passed her up and she swung one leg either side of the saddle and gave a gasp.

“I’m so high!”

“Yup!” Fliss grinned, shifting back so Mary could settle in front of her  “Ok, hands on this strap…” she indicate to the leather line around the horses neck “I call this my Oh sh-I mean, Oh No Strap…” she said “If anything goes wrong I can grab it and hold on.” “You can say the word…” Mary looked up at her “Frank does.” “Stop tattle telling.” Frank sighed.

Fliss laughed and gently nudged the horse on and walked it around a few laps before changing direction and repeating. Frank spotted Joanne was putting the jump wings away so he went to help and the girl beamed at him as she directed him to where they were stored by the hay barn. By the time they had finished Fliss and Mary were stood by the gate.

“You ready to get down?” Frank asked. Mary nodded so he reached up and gently aided her off the horse before Fliss dismounted.

“Wanna lead him in?” she looked at Mary, taking the horse’s reins and moving them over his head. Mary nodded and Fliss let her lead, all the time remaining nearby. This time they didn’t head into the main barn they walked further round to a smaller private block of 4 stables.

“So these are mine.” Fliss said. “That’s Cap…” she pointed to a large black and white horse, “And this is Heidi…”

Frank stopped in front of the large chestnut mare who looked at him before snorting. He jumped back and Mary laughed as Joanne took Bronson off Mary and led him into one of the stables.

“Yeah she’s a bit particular…” Fliss teased “But she’s my pride and joy. Had her since I was 16.”

“Is she the one you did the Olympics on?”

“No.” Fliss said, “That wasn’t my horse. It was a sponsor’s. Heidi was my competition horse before I started training for the Olympics but I couldn’t part with her. I’ve had her since she was 4 and she’ll be 21 this year.” “Do you still ride her?” Mary asked, reaching up to stroke the mare’s head.

“Yeah.” Fliss said “She can still jump and work…not as hard but it’s important to keep them going. She’s my baby…”

The mare leaned over to nuzzle at Fliss and almost as if he could sense it, Thor appeared and walked into the middle of them, sitting down, nudging Fliss with his nose.

“And you of course…” Fliss grinned, patting the dog.

They headed back out into the yard and Joanne took Mary to the feed room so she could help whilst Fliss carried the tack back to the room.

“Here…” Frank offered as she was juggling the saddle around so she could tap in the code. She handed it over with a smile before opening the door and directing him to the racks. “Thanks.”

“Least I can do.” Frank smiled, dusting his hands down on his jeans “Thanks for this.” “For what?”

“Letting Mary come tonight.” “It’s no problem, she’s never any trouble.”

“No, she just asks a lot of questions…” Frank snorted as they walked out to see Mary was now carrying buckets to the horses to feed them.

“I don’t mind. Questions are great, shows they care and want to learn…” Fliss spoke over her shoulder as she moved to take 3 buckets into the barn for her own horses.

“Still it takes a lot of patience.” Frank smiled.

Fliss scoffed “Mary is nothing, you ain’t met my brother’s kids.”

“I’d like to meet them.” Mary chipped up and Frank looked at her, holding his hands out in a ‘what?’ gesture.

“You want to meet other kids?” he looked at her “You spent half the last fortnight ranting about not wanting to go to school!”

Mary scowled in response, giving him a filthy look.

“You two really need to work on your communication.” Fliss looked between the pair of them as they stood facing off in the yard.

“We do communicate.” Mary shot back, and Fliss gave a hmmm as the girl continued “He just doesn’t listen.” “Well I’ve decided to ignore dumb remarks.” Frank shot back, adjusting his shades

“Passive aggression is just childish, Frank.” Mary shrugged and he shook his head, looking at Fliss.

“I literally…” he trailed off with a sigh “See what I mean?” Fliss chuckled as she watched Mary moving over to speak to Joanne about something.

“She makes me laugh.” “Glad she amuses you.” Frank arched an eyebrow.

“Well it’s funny watching you get out smarted by a 7 year old, what can I say?” Fliss smirked.

“You know I really wish I could deny that, but…” Frank sighed as he walked towards Mary, dropping a hand on her shoulder “Right, time to go short stack…”

“Oh, oh one more question?” Mary looked up at Fliss.

“Ask and walk…” Frank instructed her, giving her a gentle push “What do you say to Joanne.” “Thank you!” Mary looked at her.

“Any time kid!” Joanne said as the 3 of them made their way to the parking lot.

“So what was the question?” Fliss said as they walked.

“Oh, right so I was watching a video…and they were doing side saddle…have you ever done that?” “Yeah.” Fliss nodded, stopping by Frank’s truck “I did it on Heidi when I was a lot younger. Didn’t like it though. I prefer a leg on each side…” There was a pause as she realised what she had said and flashed bright red as Frank let out a huge below of a laugh, as she gave an adorably embarrassed groan and hid her face in her hands.

“Oh god…” she groaned out “That…I didn’t mean…”

“Course you didn’t” Frank teased between his laughs and she punched him lightly on the arm.

“I don’t…I don’t get it?” Mary asked, looking up.

“Tell you when you’re older.” Frank said, “In…” he pointed to the truck.

Mary gave an exasperated groan “You always say that. You know I AM Seven!”

“Going on seventy…” Frank grumbled as she opened the door to the truck. He looked at Fliss and pushed his glasses up on top of his head so could see her properly. “Thank you, again.”

“Like I said, any time…” Fliss nodded, before a wicked smirk crossed her face “Next time she can sit on and jump with me.” “Over my dead body.” Frank levelled her with a look, making her grin even more.

“Not even a little one?”

Frank rolled his eyes “Now I know why you two get on so well. Both a pain in my ass.” “Don’t pretend you don’t love it Sailor!” She teased and he grinned.

“Well it kinda lightens up my day a little so…”

He trailed off and looked at her, and she blushed a little, tucking a stray strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. He couldn’t help but feel a little pleased at her bashful reaction. “Anyway I better…” “Yeah, sure…” she nodded, “I’ll catch you later.” “Yeah, you will.” he said “I’ll probably fire out an SOS tomorrow night when she’s kicking off about school.”

“Well you know where I am.” Fliss said, genuinely “And I mean that. If you wanna talk or anything just…” “I will, thanks Lissy.”

There was a moment’s pause and Fliss could tell Frank was inwardly cursing himself for the slip of his tongue, using the nickname her dad had for her. But instead of correcting him she simply smiled, because, if she was honest, she kinda liked hearing it from him.

“Anytime, have a good evening.” “You too.”

He climbed into his truck and watched as she headed back to the yard, looking back once with a smile.

“Roberta says you and Fliss would make a great couple.” Mary said and Frank jolted slightly and looked at her.

“What?” he spluttered “Why would…”

“She says you just need to grow up and see what’s in front of you.” Mary shrugged and sat back in the seat.

“Well I say Roberta just needs to shut up.” Frank shook his head as he put the truck into gear “Jesus Christ.”

@the-omni-princess  @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld  @cobalt-gear  @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13  @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie  @navispalace @patzammit  @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @djeniiscorner  @ayamenimthiriel  @coldmuffinbanditshoe  @disneylovingal @madzmilllz  @sgtjaamesbaarnes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @official-and-unstable-satan​ @icanfeelastormbrewing 

[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 2

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Other than worrying about being killed, not much. Word count: 3,566. Chapter Summary: You never know where those pesky boys will show up. A/N: Sometimes I put things in that I think no one will ever notice. This chapter has one.

Ao3 if you prefer

“My imminent…?” You're stuck at your desk whispering to yourself.  Every inch of you frozen in place so completely that you can’t do anything except stare at the cream folder in your hands like it might be a bomb. As if the last five seconds have started ticking away and you have to choose which wire to cut.

It must have been a mistake. There was no way you were going to… die. Soon anyway. You couldn’t be… how could a folder kill you? Forget about the voice in your head that knew your secrets, how could this card and paper in your hands kill you?

This whole thing. This day. It must be a fever dream or a very vivid daydream. Of course, the voice knew your secrets because it was all a figment of your own imagination.

Imagination or not suddenly you were hoping to hear anything, answers to any of the questions buzzing about your head. It would be so much easier if you could hear the answers. The voice, that stupid godforsaken voice, it had done this to you, so it could fix it. But now that your fate had apparently been sealed everything was achingly silent.

“Answer me.” You finally move, leaning into the folder with a stern command but your voice cracks before you start.

Silence, except the normal office din. Phones ringing and fingers tapping away on keyboards but the voice stayed quiet.

You drop the file on your desk, not out of choice but because your hands start shaking if you get close to opening it. Though you are loath to admit it, the voice was right. Something about today and this file, in particular, feels different. Could different be enough to make everything true? If it's true can you stop it? You don’t know the impossible danger you’re trying to avoid.  Although yesterday you'd have said a voice in your head was impossible, let alone dying tomorrow.

You wouldn’t open it then. How could something hurt you if you didn’t engage? You could put the folder in the back of a filing cabinet somewhere and never look at it again. Or you could shred the thing. Coerce Laura into shredding it for you? You could convince her she’s not doing anything wrong.  This could be one case that got lost in processing—the client will get paid out because the company failed to investigate and you’ll go on breathing. Everyone’s a winner.

“Oh good, you got twenty-four zero one.” Your manager appears, hovering over you, coffee in one hand as he reads out the files’ label number.

“What?”

He takes an exaggerated sip, like a bad Folgers commercial, before explaining himself. “I thought you could use a little treat is all.”

“Treat? A treat?” You splutter; exasperated and unbelieving. The file might be your end and he thought this was a treat? “I’m sorry, why is this a treat?”

Your office was not normally a place for dramatics. You yourself were not normally one for dramatics.  It was only of the many reasons your boss liked you so today he ignores your sarcastic, borderline angry tone. He doesn’t make assumptions about your attitude, he simply chooses not to hear your tone at all.

He winks, “it’s right up your street.”

You almost dry heave,  barely choking it back. “I’ve got to go.”

“What?” He parrots, glancing at the clock on the wall reading 9:15 before turning back to you, your laptop not even switched on for the day.

“I’m sorry Mark,  really  I am.” You hastily stuff your laptop into your bag. Followed by your phone.  Pausing only a second after throwing the bag on your shoulder to decide if you should take the case file, before finally hugging it to your chest. Losing the file would be worse than taking it with you. “I’m feeling under the weather. I-I thought I would be ok but  I think  I should have stayed home this morning.”

There’s an air of patronizing manly-ness in the way he looks at you, “o-oh well. I appreciate you trying to make the effort.”

There’s no time to argue against Mark’s casual sexism, you have to get out of here,  quickly. “I’ll work from home for today. Sorry, again.”

He doesn't get a chance to say anything as you make your way erratically to the exit. Some desks you clip the corners of as you swerve to avoid people, plants, even the printer finds itself in your way.

Laura gets out a questioning, “Y/N?” before you’re back in the elevator you’d only recently vacated. The doors close behind you while you try to calm your racing heartbeat.

No getting rid of the evidence then. Mark knows you have the file now. Even if you hadn’t taken it with you he’d seen it at your desk, in your hands, he chose to give this to you.  Obviously  Mark has no idea he’s signed your death warrant with whatever was inside. It’s not even the first time he’s given you that dumb wink and treated you to cases he thought you’d enjoy. Like the time he had you go investigate the fire at that bakery because, quote, ‘you love pastries’.

The drive home is as silent as the rest of your life had been yesterday. You turn off the radio in case the voice cames back with more information but it doesn't. Which means the soundtrack to your journey is the clunky engine sound, again.  You absolutely needed to take your car to the garage, but who has the time with imminent death hanging over their head?

It’s 9:45 when you scuttle back into your house, bag in hand, and still clinging to the file like hiding it in your chest will make it disappear. You’ve only been out of the house for an hour but there’s something eerie about being back so soon. It’s almost like you’re interrupting your house’s private time. You’re not supposed to be here now and the dust bunnies hanging in the air seem disturbed by your presence.

There’s no time to dwell on the eerie presence of your usually comforting home. You put everything on your table and look around. Half hoping some insane stalker comes out of the woodwork with the exact voice you’ve been hearing. Unfortunately, that’s too easy.

Then you go back to the sofa. Yes, that’s where it had started. Your half-drunk tea is still on the coffee table where you’d been rushing to get to work. Instead of taking the mug into the kitchen you fall into the seat and pick up the cold cup. You have no intention of drinking it but you’re hoping for a miracle. If you do the mundane things she had taken so much pleasure in narrating earlier then can you force her to come back?

Although you sit there for a few minutes it’s painfully obvious after a few seconds that nothing is going to happen.

And then you remember the folder. The new bane of your existence. What if the only way out of this is to keep going? One step forwards, two steps back.

Maybe you have to open the folder that your narrator—there isn’t another name for them at this point—seemed so interested in earlier.  Maybe rushing out of the office hadn’t been what she wanted, so she had nothing to say.

You were going to open it eventually anyway. It’s your job and you couldn’t live with not knowing.

There's a glimpse of Manilla on the table in front of you, trapped under your purse. The voice had called it innocuous earlier and the description is apt. It is the next folder of thousands that you will ever hold. Unless, of course, it’s your last. If it’s your last then that explains why this one feels heavier than it looks as you slide it free.

Once it’s in your lap you frown at it. Mentally preparing yourself. For the voice or the contents, it doesn’t matter, either way, you try your best to steady your breathing.  Despite your reverence, as you flip the cover open, the first page is exactly what you expect to find: a summary of the claim, dollar amounts, and beneficiary details. And your head still stays silent.

You could get angry. You could shout and plead to whatever cruel twist of fate decided today was the day that you'd go insane. Anger won't change anything though. Screaming won't get your answers. But, your work is something you know how to do. It's always been a safety net, if not a little dull.

Yes, you could get angry, but there’s a file in your lap that needs investigation. The same as all the other claims you've ever closed.  And now that you’re in this ridiculous situation, caught between crazy and scared, you only had two options.  The first was to ignore the situation—return to bed with that half bottle of wine in your fridge and wait for something to break down your door and kill you. The second was to continue to do your job and ignore that everything in your life is absurd right now.

Those two options aren't options at all because you're not quite ready to start drinking before noon. Which leaves carrying on with your life. Mark was right about one thing anyway, it is right up your street. Well, a couple of streets over anyway.

You knock on the door and wait. The red paint is curling and peeling at the edges. The ‘5’ in ‘75’ is slightly askew, but nothing else is out of place. Even those small things you only notice because you’re waiting on the doorstep staring at them.  There’s sound inside the house, like muffled voices and then footsteps before the door bursts open.

“Hello?” The woman seems agitated already, which usually doesn’t happen until after you introduce yourself.

“Hello. My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I’m here on behalf of First National insurance. Are you Margret Hall?”

“Call me Maggie. Yes but…”

“I understand that you recently filed a claim with us for….”

“For my dead husband, yes, but what about the two guys who are already here?”

You can’t help your flinch at ‘dead husband’. In life insurance cases you always try to use tactful language even if it's the spouses or family who cut to the chase. Still, that’s not the part of what she said that’s worrying.

“Excuse me? There’s somebody already here?” Hope surges through you at the prospect of being mistaken. You have the wrong case, the wrong file, you’re not going to die. She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Yeah, I have two guys here now.”

Two guys? The company never sends two men to do one woman’s job. Especially not on a run of the mill claim like this. You slump your shoulders a little, deflated. It's your own fault for hoping.

“They’re still here?”

The woman grimaces in a way that tells you she wants to roll her eyes but she’s resisting. Instead, she purses her lips before she looks back into her home to confirm. Her answer is dripping with sarcasm, “still at the table where I left them.”

You’ve had worse from a widow—you’ve had screeching and accusations—and you let all that go because it’s a difficult time. So, when Maggie Hall twists her face and offers you her bored cynicism it's easy to not see it. You are more focused on the suspicious situation instead.

“Can I meet them?” You lower your voice because you don’t know how close they are to where you’re standing. “I, eh,  just  want to make sure they have all the correct information if they’re taking over.”

That's a lie. You don’t want to scare the poor woman by telling her she has a couple of strangers in her house but she definitely has. The claim file is reassuringly tucked under your arm. It is your proof, it’s your shield against their criminal behavior, their lies.

You’re so distracted by the drama of the situation that you seem to have forgotten,   momentarily, that you’d be more than happy to be wrong  . Overjoyed even. You’d quite like Harry and David from the office to be sitting there with an identical file offering you an escape. Yet you know they won’t be, because this has never happened before. There’s never a duplicate file. There’s never more than one adjuster accidentally sent. Until the voice in your head offers more information there’s no getting out of this.

Then you allow yourself to be distracted. You treat the situation seriously because it is serious.  While you can’t imagine why anyone would want to pretend to be an insurance adjuster, for some reason these two men are. The best you can hope for is that the strangers are as dull and harmless as the men who genuinely  work in your office.

Maggie, who is only a decade older than you to have lost her husband, steps back and finally ushers you inside with a tight-lipped smile.

Two men are sitting at her round kitchen table with their backs to you as she shows you in. They’re whispering and leaning into each other for their secret conversation.  If you didn’t know any better you’d swear you hear the words ‘silver knife’, which only perpetuates the criminal label you’ve already assigned them.

“Hello.”

They both turn their heads to look at you, startled by a new voice. Then they stand up in unison causing their chairs to scrap against the kitchen floor. They are definitely not the soft, unassuming men that you hoped to find.

You want to stand your ground and keep your body language confident but your hand still creeps into your purse as you puff out your chest  . Fingers searching blindly  for your phone while you speak. “I’m from First National insurance. I’m here to investigate Mrs. Hall's claim but she said someone was already here.”

They have excellent poker faces, you’ll give them that at least.  If you had to read anything it’d be a small hint of panic from the taller one and a flash of anger from the shorter one, like an animal backed into a corner  .  But their reactions are instantly hidden under steeled expressions so you can’t be sure if your elevated heart rate is making you see things  . It dawns on you then how stupid a plan it was to try and seem imposing to these two behemoth men who fill up the entire room. Would you even be able to dial 911 without taking your phone out? There’s a pause before the taller guy runs his hand through his hair  nervously , “that’s a crazy mix up, huh?”

His attempt at friendly casualness bolsters the last shred of confidence you are clinging to  . He’s nervous because he knows he’s been caught, which means that you are right.

“It would be if I had ever seen you two around the office.” You narrow your eyes at them and open your mouth, ready to unmask them for the imposters they are.

Mrs. Hall chooses this moment to decide that three uninvited insurance adjusters are two too many .

“Can someone explain what the hell is going on?”

Tall guy is quick on the draw and jumps on the opportunity to run. “I’m very sorry Mrs. Hall it looks like there was a mix up at the office. We’re going to head back now and straighten this out but we’ll leave you in the capable hands of… um… our colleague here.”

They’re already walking. Taking big strides with their long legs and your widow is glad to guide them out. Your fingers finally wrap around your phone  securely  and you protest as best you can. “You don’t even know my name. Why were you…?”

A deep and unsettling emotion brewed within Y/N as she watched them leave, one she didn’t ever remember feeling ever before. She might not have a name for it but knew that this was one of those important moments. The ones that stories are written for, that songs are created about, the kind of moment that changes a life.

“Oh for the love of God, not now.”

She was, of course,  absolutely right. Her life had changed as soon as she’d opened her eyes that morning. Knocking on this particular door was not a choice made for her by her boss or even herself, it was destiny. She could never go back to a time before she crossed this threshold and in time she wouldn’t want to.  Although at this moment—trying to stop these strangers from leaving like she’s a detective in one of her mystery novels—she doesn’t realize what’s happening. All Y/N knows is that feeling in her stomach. The glaring klaxon sound echoing in her head. The icy determination that has locked her chin into an unwavering line. All Y/N knows is that these men broke the rules that dictate her life.  If they could so effortlessly disrespect her tenuous sense of self, then there was no limit to the heinous crimes these madmen might commit. She had to stop them.

You’re only dazed for a second by the implication that you might, at some point, not regret any of this, or them. It's enough time for them both to make it to the door. The taller one is quick to open it, ready to make his escape. “Wait! What were you doing here?”

It’s the shorter one, although shorter is all relative when he still towers over you, who spares you a frustrated glance before he leaves. “Above your pay grade, sweetheart.”

And then the door closes. Maggie finally rolls her eyes as if she’s been waiting a lifetime to do it, except the action is not at you, it’s with you. Their rude and haste exit has catapulted her firmly onto your team.

The door tried it's very best to separate her from the strangers she’d just met. It stood as opaquely as it could in the hopes that, without the visual aid, she might forget they had existed.  It tried, oh, how the door tried to divert her attention from the unknown men who could be terrible, rule-breaking influences on her.  However the door was only wood and she was a stubborn woman made of free will and limbs—a woman who refused to be deceived.

Your hand is on the doorknob before the mention of your limbs has finished rattling around your head.  Realistically you don’t want to encourage the voice by doing what it says. After all, the voice's ultimate goal seems to be killing you. It’s just  your need to open the door goes deeper than your fear of the voice. The voice isn’t proven yet. It could still be a psychosis or a brain tumor. Those men are concrete. Real dangers that you can chase down and confront. Or at the very least you can see what direction they head off into. That would be good information for the police.

The doors of a black muscle car slam at the same moment that you step outside again, phone in hand. The engine revs loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood of their exit. The police will never get here on time so you do the next best thing. You snap a picture of their big, noisy car and make a mental note of the license plate in case the picture’s blurred.

Watching the unknown car hurtle into the dusky, afternoon daylight felt like an ending. The proverbial full stop in a sentence she hadn't been finished with. Were it any other day, any other encounter, then Y/N might be right about this ending.  Perhaps this might have been an intriguing story to recount to her coworkers in the office. A fable to paint herself as the insurance adjusting sheriff around these parts. She scared off the bad guys. However, this was not any other day and those were not any other bad guys. In fact, one of them would change her life.

It was hard enough typing the license plate into your notes app while the voice distracted you.  Impossibly  you manage to note down the Ohio plate to go with your hasty picture.

Googling that would be something for later, for now, you had a whole other job to do. Something simple and easy. Something you knew how to do in your sleep.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Hall, I mean Maggie, let’s get these questions answered so First National can stop sending people around . Huh?”

Contine to Chapter 3.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278​ @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson

[acoupleofbravedorks]

Through Thick and Thin

Hey yall!  Heard about @shipmistress9‘s Hiccstrid week 2020 celebration, and I wanted to take part in it.  I’m writing up a few things I hope will be done in the next couple days, buuuut I had this rather fluffy commission laying about involving a set up I haven’t seen played around with much in the fandom.  

I will note that this is not my work, and that the author is fine with this being released, but wishes to remain anonymous.  I hope yall like it as much as I did! 

Hiccup meandered along the street, heading nowhere in particular but feeling the need to get out of the house. Typical, his first proper day off work in weeks and he'd woken up too damn early, and then got bored trying to stay indoors and relax. Still, at least it was a nice day out, sun shining but just enough breeze to stop it being sweaty and stifling.

He was just debating heading to the shop for nothing in particular other than a distraction from boredom, when a big shadow fell across his path.

"Hiccup Haddock, is that you?"

Confused, Hiccup looked up from the ground to the source of the voice. His eyes found a very curvy lady, with round cheeks and thick thighs and a soft, round belly resting beneath an ample chest. Realising he was probably staring a bit too low, he lifted his eyes up to her face.

There was something familiar in the blonde hair, the round freckled cheeks and blue eyes...

"Astrid?!"

She'd been his best friend when they were kids, spending endless hours together talking about dragons. Astrid used to chase him with an axe if he bugged her, but it always ended in forgiving cuddles and childish giggles. Then her parents had a very, very messy divorce, and Astrid was whisked away to live with her grandmother to keep her out of it. They'd meant to stay in touch, but they were only kids and it wasn't easy. He lost her grandmothers address when his own parents split, the bit of paper with it written down obviously stolen by mountain trolls when packing up to move out.

Of course, Astrid had been a lanky, skinny child back then, shooting up in height before most of their classmates and charging around so much she obviously burned off a lot of energy.

Now, lanky and skinny were definitely not words he could use to describe her. She seemed to follow his thoughts despite him not voicing them, reaching up to pat her big belly with a laugh. Her smile hadn't changed, completely and utterly her.

"Yeah, I gained quite a few pounds over the years. Grandma's cooking and a lot of lazy food in college, yanno?"

He shrugged, smiling, awash with fond nostalgia for his oldest friend.

"No, no, you look great. It's so good to see you!"

They hugged, her body soft against his but the strength she held him with was surprising, reminding him of how she could easily crush him when they were kids with her super-strength.

"Great to see you too. I barely recognised you, you actually learned to do your hair. And you're so tall!"

"Yeah, puberty hit me like a ton of bricks, as I've been told. And I had to learn to do my hair, else I get awful helmet hair when I'm out on my bike."

"Finally got your wheels?"

She obviously remembered him fawning over motorcycles in his dads mechanic-themed magazines as a kid, always insisting he'd be riding one as soon as possible.

"Yep! So... what are you doing here? Are you around for long? Want to go somewhere and catch up?"

He realised he was talking kind of quickly, still buzzing with the pleasant surprise of seeing her again. Astrid nodded, beaming.

"Sounds good!"

As they walked, Astrid informed him she'd just moved back to the area when her job got transferred there.

"What do you do?"

"Just some machine assembly work. Not exciting, but pays the bills and it fit around classes when I was at uni. And, to everyones surprise, I'm not phased by trudging around on my feet all day on the factory floor. What about you?"

"Garage, obviously. Up to my elbows in grease and metal all day every day."

Astrid smiled.

"You must be thrilled!"

Hiccup nodded, grinning.

"Yeah. So, where are we going again?"

"Little place I like. Good food and sturdy furniture."

She wasn't kidding - Hiccup didn't actually fill the chair, and it definitely felt strong under him as he perched, watching Astrid scour the menu and exchanging friendly greetings with the staff.

"You brought a date! Sarah, come see this!"

"He's not my date, you mad woman. Just a friend. Hiccup, please ignore her."

Feeling his cheeks flush slightly, he laughed it off.

"Oooh, with a smile like that he'll be snapped up if you won't have him Astrid!"

Blinking in surprise, Hiccup watched as Astrid shooed off the waitress with demands for chocolate milkshake while they looked at the food options.

"Sorry. They're a little too friendly sometimes. I think I keep them afloat with how much I eat here."

She giggled as she said it, humming before smiling over the top of the little paper foldout at Hiccup. He smiled back.

"It's fine. So, what's good here then, if you know them so well?"

"Oh, everything. But if I remember rightly, you like your food meaty, so I'd go with the steak burger. And if you ask nicely, they put a scoop of ice cream in your milkshake."

Trusting Astrid's judgement - and it did sound delicious - Hiccup ordered what she recommended, and was very pleased by how tasty it was. Astrid had the same, plus some kind of cheese-fries mountain on the side. They chatted between bites, catching up on all the years gone by since they lost touch, whiling away well over an hour there before Astrid frowned at her phone, then looked up at him.

"Sorry, I gotta go, work needs me in. We should do this again soon, now I'm back down here."

"Yeah, sounds great."

They traded numbers, paid and tipped the servers and hugged goodbye outside. Hiccup found himself smiling, warmed and happy about Astrid being back in his life already. He continued on to the shop, pleasantly full of food as he pottered about the aisles, picking up a few things and heading home afterwards.

Astrid texted him that evening when she got off work, and the two quickly compared schedules so they could hang out again soon by phone call.

"If you tell me what you like eating, I'll cook you dinner one of the days."

Hiccup offered, hearing the smile in her voice when he offered.

"Ah, you already know the way to my heart!"

"Well, you said you ate a lot of 'lazy food', I thought home cooked might be a nice change for you."

"Hey, I'm not complaining!"

After forgetting to give her his address on the phone and hastily texting it to her the next day, Hiccup got to planning and prepping, ready to cook. Her hearty appetite was a bonus to him - he loved cooking, and was pretty used to cooking for his dad and uncle Gobber, so big portions came rather naturally. When he visited his mom, she often reminded him neither of them could put away as much food, and there were always leftovers.

He opened the door at her punctual knock, Astrid beaming as she stood in his doorway.

"Come on in."

"Ooooh, your place smells amazing!"

"That'll be dinner. Unless it's me. I did shower today."

She snorted, shaking her head at his feigned bragging.

"Oh, you haven't changed."

It was like no time at all had passed, the two reconnecting easily, having each other in fits of laughter. Astrid still shoved him playfully, though it had a bit more force to it now than when they were kids. They reminisced over childhood TV favourites, and got a little tipsy on the wine Astrid brought over to accompany dinner.

"Ah, I missed you so much!"

Astrid threw her thick arm around him, squeezing Hiccup to her side. Chuckling, he hugged her back.

"I missed you too!"

He offered to let Astrid stay the night (platonically!), but she declined and so he saw her in to a taxi that evening after plates were clean and they'd arranged another meet-up. She pecked a kiss on his cheek with a smile before climbing in to the car, Hiccup watching her go and feeling genuinely sad to see her go. Their friendship had awakened effortlessly, and there were years to catch up on.

It was a couple of days before they got to see each other again, but they chatted over the phone and put on the same terrible TV shows so they could rag on them together, which Hiccup found absolutely hilarious.

At first, Astrid's weight gain didn't really... come up. She was still Astrid. There was just... more Astrid.

But when they were both off work and the weather was nice, Hiccup suggested a picnic. Others obviously had the same idea, so there were quite a few people out in the field. Hiccup put an old throw down for them to sit on, Astrid joking she'd need help getting back up as she sat down, mid-thigh shorts straining slightly as she got comfortable.

Some rude passerby made a rude comment about her size, and Hiccup found himself incredibly annoyed. Astrid barely seemed to notice, at least until she looked up with a glare that could curdle milk.

"I can lose weight. You'll always be an asshole, and I don't remember asking for your opinion. Now go away."

The guy recoiled, then looked over at Hiccup. Hiccup was, incidentally, holding a knife. It was for cheese, but it seemed to look threatening enough that the rude stranger decided not to continue digging themselves into a hole and left.

"Are you ok?"

"Me? I'm fine. It happens, and hey, they can go home to a salad while I have a heaping pile of lasagna. Guess which of us is happier for dinner?"

She was smiling, but Hiccup still shuffled over and gave her a hug. Astrid let him, then nudged him and nodded at his bag.

"Food?"

"Sure."

They ate and chatted and lounged in the sun, Astrid looking pretty and at ease as she laid back on the throw and closed her eyes, soaking up the sunshine that hit her skin. After a little while, she cracked an eye open, peering up at him.

"Are you watching me?"

"Not intentionally. I'm debating if it's too bright to get my sketchpad out, and your top is white so it's a good point of reference."

She rolled her eyes, then went back to sunbathing. Hiccup did get the sketchpad out, doodling the nearby scenery - there was a river a little ways away, with some rocks and trees littering the banks.

"You were always scribbling when we were little too."

"I like drawing. It was something me and mom did together a lot, so I guess it's a lot of happy memories. Oh, by the way, mom wants to see you soon!"

"She does?"

Hiccup nodded.

"Yeah. I mentioned you'd moved back down this way and she was thrilled, asked when I was bringing you over."

Astrid smiled.

"I did always like Valka. How is she doing?"

"See for yourself, next time you're free I can invite her over to come for dinner?"

For a minute, Astrid looked oddly... nervous.

"Is that wise?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is she gonna go all 'should you be eating that' or sly digs about my weight?"

Hiccup raised an eyebrow, bemused.

"You do remember the size of my dad, right? Mom's not gonna care in the slightest. She'll probably laugh and say I found someone who's appetite matches my cooking portions."

Finally, Astrid smiled again. Eventually, they agreed to go, and Hiccup managed to help Astrid back to her feet, taking a leisurely walk along the path to get out of the park before school let out and the place was flooded with children itching for freedom.

The only flaw in the walk was the rather aggressive wasp that chased Hiccup, but he managed to lose it eventually while Astrid very unhelpfully roared with laughter.

"I think he liked you."

"I think he wanted the leftover juice in my bag."

Feeling that usual contentment that spending time with Astrid gave him, Hiccup was sad to see her go, but she did agree to the dinner with his mom. Hiccup relayed that information to Valka, who was thrilled and giddy about it. He did give her advance information that there was quite a bit more of Astrid than before, so that she was prepared and wouldn't make Astrid feel uncomfortable. His mother, as Hiccup predicted, was not phased in the slightest.

Valka arrived first, hugging Hiccup tightly and ruffling his hair as she asked about the minute amount of things that had happened since they last saw each other and he shooed her away from the kitchen side.

"You're a hazard!"

She tsked, then leapt excitedly when the door knocked again.

"Astrid!"

"Oh my gods, Valka! I swear, you haven't aged a day!"

Well, those two were getting on like a house on fire in seconds, Hiccup smiling to himself all the while as Astrid headed over to hug him in greeting. She looked very nice that day - not that she didn't always, really - in a brown skirt and blue shirt, placing a bottle of wine to contribute to dinner on the side before she went back to chatting with Hiccup's mother.

The evening went absolutely wonderfully, conversation flowing easily. Of course, his mother did her best to fill Astrid in on all the embarrassing moments that happened while she was away, Hiccup's awkward teen years out in the open and Astrid fell about laughing while Hiccup pouted. He couldn't stay mad about how happy the atmosphere was though, and after walking Astrid down to her taxi, he returned to his mother who was loading the dishwasher for him (one of his little weaknesses, because he cooked so much).

"Did you have fun tonight mom?"

"It was wonderful! And I'm so happy you two reconnected, that you've found someone t-"

Wait, wait. Hiccup realised his mother had gotten the wrong idea somewhere along the lines.

"Whoa, mom. Slow down. It's not like that."

She stopped, blinking.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, Astrid's great and it's amazing having her around again, but we're just friends."

Somehow, she did not look convinced.

"Really?"

"What do you mean, really?"

His mother shrugged, knowing look on her face as she checked the side and closed the dishwasher.

"Nothing, nothing. I just... you seem very cosy, that's all. And I see the way you smile at her. I just thought you seemed rather smitten."

Now it was Hiccup's turn to blink, confused.

"I... what? No. I'm not smitten."

"If you say so son. I should get going, I have work tomorrow."

She hugged her son and kissed his hair, all while Hiccup was still sorting through his thoughts somewhat. He hadn't really thought about whether or not he was attracted to Astrid. She was Astrid. They were childhood best friends, and he'd assumed they'd just reverted to the same sort of relationship now. Simple, right?

And his mother thought they were actually dating. So... did that mean Astrid was giving off some kind of signal only moms could notice too?

No, that was ridiculous...

Right?

He scrubbed a hand across his face, drained the last bit of wine into a glass rather than bother storing what was barely a single serving. Then he sat down on the sofa and sighed, sipping slowly at the wine and absently picking at leftover dessert.

Hiccup was no closer to clarity the next day, a mild headache from either the wine or the constant thinking nagging him when he woke up. A couple of painkillers washed down with his morning coffee took that away though, leaving him to text Astrid and invite her over for movie night sometime soon. Plenty confused by his mothers words, Hiccup figured the best chance of clearing it all up in his head was to actually talk to Astrid.

They sat on his bed, a huge bowl of popcorn between them, and pizza delivery called for and due thirty minutes from then. Hiccup fiddled with a few bits of popcorn until they were crumbs, knowing he'd regret it later when he had to get all the crumbs out of his bed.

"Want to hear something funny?"

Astrid glanced over, raising popcorn to her mouth.

"Sure?"

Hiccup drank some water for his suddenly dry mouth.

"My mom thought I was introducing you to her as my girlfriend."

He watched for her response. Astrid crunched her popcorn a little more slowly, using her drink to clear the remnants from her mouth before she answered.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Started gushing about how happy she was I'd 'found someone'."

Astrid tsked, rolling her eyes.

"Like that's ever gonna happen."

Hiccup, still unsure until just then, realised he was disappointed by her dismissal.

"Wow, you are really rough on my ego."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"I didn't mean cus of anything about you! I just meant... come on, it's not like you're gonna be interested in me like that."

Hiccup frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She gave him an exasperated look.

"It means... I'm fine with how I look and all that, I could change it but yanno, I'm healthy enough and I can move around. But it's not... pretty."

Hiccup shook his head.

"That's really what you think?"

Astrid nodded, gave a non-commital shrug.

"It's the truth."

She reached for more popcorn. Hiccup moved the bowl, placing it aside so he could kneel up next to her without sending the kernels cascading everywhere. Astrid frowned.

"What?"

"I just... I don't like you putting yourself down. And... well... I think you're beautiful."

Astrid, normally so forward and confident, dropped her gaze from his, freckled cheeks flushing.

"Yeah. Sure."

"I'm serious!"

She turned back to look at him, expression unreadable.

Then she kissed him.

Hiccup wasn't expecting it, but it didn't take much time for his brain to catch up and respond in kind. They found themselves horizontal sooner rather than later, hands roaming and touching exploring over clothes. There was so much of Astrid to feel, after all, thick thighs he squeezed at gently, enthralled by the way Astrid gasped against his mouth.

She was soft and pliant everywhere his hands landed, from her plush hips to her juicy backside. Her hands made short work of him, sliding under his shirt to roam his bare skin beneath. Hiccup felt himself harden against her stomach, prominent and soft and warm as it pressed against him. He kept his own hands above clothes for the moment, though he let his hands roam a little over her chest, pleased when he was not rebuffed.

Surprising even himself a little bit, Hiccup let his hands wander down to her belly, rather transfixed by it now he had the free reign to be. He rubbed it, felt Astrid tense up slightly at his touch.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just... big."

"So?"

Hiccup continued to rub her belly, fingers finding bare skin where her shirt had rucked up with their squirming on his bed. There were bumps and ripples of stretch marks that he couldn't quite resist tracing, Astrid letting out a sound halfway to a giggle. He wriggled down, wanting Astrid to feel reassured, safe, desirable. Kisses dropped over the soft bump of her belly, and she actually giggled at the tickling of his hair when Hiccup wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her tummy properly.

"What are you doing?"

"Proving to you that you have nothing to worry about. Plus... I like it."

"Seriously?"

He nodded, smiling when Astrid relaxed. She urged him back up, but their kisses grew a little lazier, more relaxed when he moved, hands staying above the waist. Astrid played idly with his hair, which he found sweet enough that he smiled in to their kiss, Astrid returning it before they both dissolved in to giggles, breaking apart to catch their breath.

The timing was good, as the door knocked just then to announce the arrival of their pizza.

"Back in a minute. You want a plate or shall we eat out the box?"

"Well, there's fries and garlic bread too, so yeah, plates might be a good idea."

Hiccup nodded, pecking a kiss on Astrid's lips that brought another adorable smile to her face before he climbed off the bed reluctantly, exchanging money for tasty food. The delivery guy definitely gave Hiccup a "no way you'll eat all this" look, not matching the volume of food to Hiccup's narrow frame.

Stacking plates on the top of the pizza box, Hiccup headed back to where Astrid awaited him, cheeks still pink, eyes bright, clothes rumpled and he felt a little breathless for how gorgeous she really was.

"Can I interest you in dinner, milady?"

"Absolutely. Although, garlic bread seemed a better idea before there was kissing."

He chuckled.

"We'll both have bad breath. Alternatively, I have a spare toothbrush you can use."

They plated up, and after a little adjusting, Astrid leant herself against Hiccup with a soft sigh. He could only eat one handed, but that was a small price to pay. He rather liked the weight of her there. Astrid was harder to convince, eventually suggesting they swap places. Perching himself on her lap did have it's perks, like the feel of her soft thighs under him, her round belly against him, and he could feed her until she let out the sweetest little giggles.

"So..." Hiccup dared to venture the question when they'd finished eating, having lost all track of whatever film he'd put on earlier "what is this? What are we?"

Astrid hummed, wrapping a thick arm around him and Hiccup thrilled in the reassuring grip.

"Well... much as you will surely hate to admit it, I'd say you can tell your mom she was right after all."

As she kissed him again, both paying no mind to garlic breath, Hiccup found the prospect of having to tell his mother that wasn't so bad, since it meant Astrid was now his girlfriend.

[harrisongslimited]

An Impossible Task - A John Wick Fanfic

A/N - Moving the story along and starting to bring it to the end. It’s hard to think of ending it because I like the characters! Thanks to everyone for reading it. Your comments and thoughts mean a lot! Thanks so much!

T/W - violence, angst, swearing

Chapter 10

Cassie was an hour late getting to the emergency room at Braxton Community Medical Center. She ran to the physician locker room without her usual wave to staff, where she hung up her coat, grabbed a cup of coffee and was out on the floor in minutes. There were only a chest pain, a minor car accident, a rotovirus sufferer and a woman who cut herself at home with a kitchen knife in the ER.

“Nobody missed me,” she said to herself. She didn’t even see Edwin Baker. “Made it under the radar,” she said proudly.

She took a sip of her coffee as Edwin approached her. “In my office Dr. O’Hara.”

“Oh shit,” she said to herself and followed him down the hallway.

John was feeling something not quite right in the pit of his stomach as he approached the Braxton Police Department. After parking, he exited his car and headed for the front entrance. There was no one at the front desk, which being a smaller town, didn’t surprise him.

He wanted to settle this for Cassie or he would have let it go, so he took a seat in the front lobby. He waited about 10 minutes before an officer came to the front.

“Can I help you?”

Before John could speak, 4 men dressed in black came running at him from behind the desk.  He suddenly felt trapped, but realized because of the small lobby, they could only get to him one or at most two at a time and he stood braced for the first attack. He bent his knees, one foot in front of the other and balled his hands into fists.

“Why?” flashed into his mind and concern for Cassie followed as John deflected a punch and felt his fist connect with the first man’s chin with the sound of a crack.  John grabbed the assailant’s gun from his holster as the man went down with a solid thud.

Armed now, John threw his back against a wall, aimed and fired.  It was like shooting bugs in a barrel.  “How could they be so stupid? “ he asked  himself as he shot the second and third man coming at him. The fourth man smartened up and turned back. John didn’t want to stick around to see if he was getting reinforcements or just running away. He shot the first man in the head before exiting.

John ran to his car, jumped in and fled away at high speed.  The Braxton Police Department?  What or who was in Braxton? The whole situation was unnerving and wasn’t logical. What he thought now was to get Cassie, get the dog and get to the Continental.

 John headed to Braxton Community Medical Center, his tires squeeling with every stop and turn. Driving into the ER parking lot, he slammed on his brakes, threw the car into park and jumped out.  Running past where Cassie found him, he rounded a corner and went through the double doors of the front entrance. The triage nurse greeted him immediately and he took a breath to settle himself down, asking, “Could I see Dr. Cassie O’Hara please?”

This began a 15 minute discourse on why he wanted to see Dr. O’Hara and if he was ill or injured. John tried to keep his temper in check as he explained he was a friend and needed to speak to her; it was urgent.

She took his name and went back into the ER, appearing a short time later to announce Cassie hadn’t come into the hospital yet.

“That’s impossible,” he answered her, evenly. “She was  running late, but she definitely left the house for work.”

The nurse eyed him suspiciously with a raised eyebrow.  Was this Cassie’s partner? She was always so private about that. “Well,” she thought. “She has good taste.”

“Look,” she answered him. “Go through the door to the main ER unit secretary. She’s right inside the door. You can check, but I’m telling you, she’s not here.”

“Thanks,” John said to her and walked quickly through the door.

He continued forward until he came to another desk with whom he assumed was the unit secretary. The woman was on the phone and John shifted from one foot to the other waiting for her to hang up.

“Can I help you?” she finally looked up at him.

“I’m a friend of Dr. Cassie O’Hara. Is she here?”

The woman took a deep breath and began typing on her computer. “No,” she said. “She’s not signed in nor has taken care of any patients.”

“Thank you,” he responded over his shoulder as he flew out of the ER.

John went through the back door which led to the ramp where Cassie had found him 3 days ago. He stood at the end of the incline and looked out into the parking lot, where he spotted Cassie’s car.  He turned from there and walked over to the main entrance of the hospital around the corner. As he stood there, thinking of his next move, the sun came out from behind thick, white, heavy clouds and near his foot, something shiny caught his attention. He reached down and picked it up, rolling it in his hand…an earring with a blue stone.

“What are you doing, John?” Cassie asked him, sweetly. He was watching her in the mirror as she put make-up on her face.

“Watching you,” he answered softly, walking up behind her and putting his hands around her waist. His lips kissed her at the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“I’m not doing anything exciting,” she smiled at him, leaning into his kiss as she closed her eyes momentarily.

“I don’t care. I just want to look at you,” he replied, putting his chin on her shoulder and watching her in the mirror.

Cassie playfully puckered her lips and blew him a kiss. John continued to watch her as she finished her make-up and reached into a box on her dresser to pull out a pair of earrings --  ones with a shiny blue stone that she slipped into her pierced earlobes.

It was Cassie’s earring in his hand, one she had put on that morning as she got dressed for work. She had been there…at least as far as the main entrance of the hospital.

Anger filled him as he got back into his car, still clutching Cassie’s earring, and headed for her house.  How he would get inside was another problem and he decided if he had to break a window, he would.

As he drove around the corner of Cassie’s neighborhood, he spotted Deloris White standing out in Cassie’s driveway. John carefully drove around her and parked in the open garage.

Deloris walked towards him slowly, but her face registered worry.  “Cassie never leaves her garage open,” Deloris began to tell him, reaching for his arm. “I called her cell phone, but she didn’t answer. Should I call the police?”

John touched her arm and smiled warmly. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. She’s very busy at the hospital. She’s so busy she forgot to give me a key to the house….”

“Oh, use mine,” Deloris offered, reaching into her coat pocket and producing a huge, puffy cat key ring.

“Thank you,” John responded gently. He opened the door from the garage into the mud room and returned the key to Deloris as the dog took a run around the front yard. “I’ll let Cassie know you are worried about her and have her call you, okay?”

Deloris nodded and turned to walk back down the driveway. “You’ll tell her?”

John nodded. “Yes, I promise I’ll tell her.”

He watched her walk across the street and back into her front door, called the dog and went into the house.  Within minutes, he heard the back door open and slam shut.  Standing in the living room he braced himself for another fight.

A short man in a charcoal suit walked through the house and approached John with his hands open in front of him. John took a step towards him.

“Whoa, Mr. Wick,” he smiled, his hands held up. “Peace, man. Peace.”

John just stared at him, his body still taught.

“I’m Jeremy. Marcus’ nephew. My uncle saved your ass at least a couple times and gave his life for yours so back the hell up,” he grinned. “I’m here in peace. I saved your ass once already myself and before this is all over, I’m sure I’ll have to do it again. I’m the one who brought your broken ass from the Continental  to Braxton with Aurelio.”

“Why did you help me when you found me outside the Continental?”

“Eh, it must be in the DNA,” he said lightly. “Consider my uncle and me your guardian angels.”

John stared at him in disbelief.

“Look, we’re trained killers,” Jeremy began wistfully. “They say there’s no honor among thieves, but let’s have a little honor among assassins, shall we? The old ways are dead, Mr. Wick. There’s a whole new brand of killers who watch each others backs unless money is involved, of course. The problem nowadays is you can’t tell old school from new school so you still can’t trust anyone. I’m new school so just unfist your hands and sit the fuck down.”

John remained silent and watched Jeremy carefully as he sat down.

“Look, John, you’ve got problems. You fucked up. Your life was saved in order to serve and you haven’t fulfilled your part of the deal.  On top of that, you get involved with a civilian. That’s like handing them a gun and putting a bullseye in the middle of your forehead. A High Table goon is holding your lady friend until you finish your task. And they’re not holding her at a 5 star hotel.”

“And you know all this how?”

“You know how there is ‘under the Table’? Well, there’s a basement under that.”

“Where’s Cassie, then?”

Jeremy shrugged. “That I don’t know. And I can’t guarantee that they will let her live even if you do fulfill your task.  They have a bad attitude that way.”

John sat back on the sofa. “The High Table doesn’t involve civilians.”

“They do if it’s the only way to get what they want. C’mon John. Really,” he grinned at him. “And they want you back in service and Winston dead which are the tasks you need to fulfill if you ever want a chance of seeing that woman again.”

John leaned forward. “I’m not killing Winston.”

“Then she doesn’t have a chance in hell,” Jeremy said flippantly. “Which, if you don’t care, could be the end of that particular problem.”

John would not let him see his panic. He remained calm and unaffected. “And I should believe you because…?”

Jeremy scratched his head. “I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not. I’m passing on information. If you really want to verify everything, an adjudicator who’s searching for you as we speak can fill you in. I’m just a warning system and adding ‘insider’ information.”

“How did you find me?”

“I’m the one who dumped you in Braxton, thinking you were safe, remember? Sorry I fucked that up, by the way. Nowhere is safe anymore, I guess. Anyway, after seeing you with that doctor, it didn’t take a PhD. to figure out where you were,” Jeremy continued. “And she’s quite good looking, if you don’t mind me saying.”

John swallowed hard and remained outwardly calm. “And what is in this for you?”

“Literally nothing,” he answered, laughing. “I’m a magnanimous guy.” Jeremy saw the look on John’s face and acquiesced. “Okay, fine. I’m doing it because of my uncle. You did him a couple of good turns. I know he helped you too. I’m just keeping up a family tradition and maintaining a sense of good will.”

“Why doesn’t the High Table just put a contract out on me and eliminate the problem?”

“They want you back in service, not dead. Those idiots at the Braxton PD were supposed to capture you, not kill you. It’s Winston they want dead.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“John, I can’t tell you that the doctor is gonna survive this. She’s a pawn, a tool to get you to do what they want. For all I know, she could be dead already. I mean they have the threat, why deal with the extra aggravation?”

John tried to ignore Jeremy’s theory and extended a hand. “Thanks for the information and for the help. I won’t forget it.”

“Good luck, John. You’re gonna need it.”

[arcanesupern0va]

Rick In The Water; Ch1: Second Chance

Summary:  You're looking to spend time with Rick and he is seemingly avoiding you. Pretty rude broh. Oh, and shitty husband does shitty things so be warned.

A/N: I’m basically copying all of my summaries and Author’s notes from AO3 because they’re pretty concise and to the point. CW: Domestic abuse Pairing: Rick Sanchez/Reader Words: 4019

My ao3

Masterlist

|Prologue|

Life seemed to calm back down after Rick’s return. Ryan seemed to buy the fact that Rick was no real threat to our lives together and if I’m honest, I was starting to believe it as well. When he first returned, I would dream about him swooping in, saving me from my horrid life but he all but ignored me after I saw him. Regardless, I was constantly trying to find “reasons” to pop by Beth’s house, hoping to get a real chance to talk to him but to no avail.

Today, I was stopping by to ask Beth her opinion on a set of curtains for the family room but I was barely paying any attention to her as I watched the hallway to the garage, hoping Rick would pop out at any minute. Madison had joined me, but she and Summer quickly disappeared up to Summer’s room.

“These would accent your couches nicely,” Beth remarked, pointing to a particular set in the catalog. I glanced down halfheartedly to see a soft white set of curtains that, admittedly would look amazing but all I could do was shrug. “You okay Nova? You’re awfully distracted,” Beth asked, eyeing me carefully.

“I’m all here, I was just thinking about a new rug as well,” I lied casually, grabbing the book to flip to the section with rugs. Beth watched me intently as I hunted for the right section, but as I started voicing my opinions on the different patterns, she seemed to let the thought go. Once I lulled her back into a sense of complacency, I went back to watching the hallway, listening for any kind of movement. To say I was getting borderline obsessed with the thought of seeing him would be a little too on the nose.

Finally, as a brief reprieve, I saw the door swing open and heard Rick’s voice berating Morty. I tried to neutralize my facial expression to one of casual surprise, but judging by the smirk he wore when saw me staring up at him, it was still one of utter awe and happiness.

“Hey there Nova, I’m happy — it’s good to see you,” he said, his gruff voice giving me butterflies. I tried to ignore that it was music to my ears but I couldn’t hide the blush creeping onto my cheeks.

“Hey, Rick. How’ve you been lately?” my voice trembled with nerves as I spoke. I was trying to watch his face carefully while simultaneously trying to mind my own facial expressions. I received a shrug in response as he gestured around the house.

“I’m living the life here with my baby g-uuurrrp-irl,” he smiled at Beth who couldn’t stop herself from beaming at her father. “How’re you doing? Beth told me you’re a beautician or somethin’?” he asked lightly, peeking over his shoulder to look down the hallway to the garage. I started to answer but his eyes went wide and he started shouting for Morty. Beth and I exchanged glances as we watched him disappear down the hallway, both of us climbing out of our chairs to hurry after him. Morty appeared between us, a look of terror plastered over his features as he scurried past us and disappeared into the garage. When Beth’s hand tried to wiggle the doorknob, she looked up in dismay as she realized it was locked. Her dismay turned into irritation as she started banging on the door.

“Dad, what’s going on in there!? Are you okay? Is Morty okay?” she yelled as she rapped her fist against the door.

“Sweetie, I need you to take Nova and go back into the kitchen. It is not a good idea for you to be banging on that door right now,” Rick shouted, his voice laced with irritation and it was then that I realized there was more noise than just Beth’s fists against the door. At her father’s words, she stopped abruptly, looking to me for input. I couldn’t help but mimic her father’s shrug at her as we both returned to stare at the wooden door.

“Is Morty okay?” I squeaked, surprised at the sound. I heard a groan from the other side of the door.

“Nova, you and Beth go look at curtains some more,” he urged angrily. “This is a rather delicate procedure and I’ll be honest sweetie, you’re distracting me.” I couldn’t help but take it to a personal place as my heartbeat thudded with pride that I could even be a distraction to the great Rick Sanchez. If I was honest with myself, I was just desperate for his attention. I looked to Beth, extending my hand to her to lead her back into the kitchen.

She hesitated a moment, looking the door over once more. “Morty, can you just tell me you’re okay?” she asked, a maternal pleading in her voice.

“I’m okay Mom, Rick and I will be done soon,” he assured her, a confidence in his voice that didn’t reflect his earlier disposition in the slightest. Beth finally relented and allowed me to lead her back out into the kitchen. The catalog of home furnishings laid on the counter completely ignored as we watched the hallway, waiting.

A sharp knock on the front door broke us from our reverie. The noise from the garage had ceased but Rick and Morty hadn’t emerged yet. Beth quickly got up to answer the door, calling me with a groan when she pulled the door opened. It was her not so subtle way to try to prepare me for the fact that my husband had come looking for me. I sighed deeply, resigning myself to slapping a big smile over my face as I went to greet him.

“Hi, honey,” I said with a broad smile, kissing him quickly on the cheek. In the back of my mind, I could only think of how I’d hoped Rick wouldn’t see us right now. I shook my head at the thought, scoffing at how ridiculous it sounded. Like Rick would give a shit. Ryan gave a strained smile as he looked at me, his disapproval soaking in my skin.

“I got home and my wife and daughter had disappeared. What’s going on?” he asked, looking around curiously, daring me to reveal whatever transgression I was committing that would inconvenience him like this.

“I brought Maddy over to hang out with Summer while Beth helped me pick out curtains for the family room,” I told him truthfully, hoping it would keep me on his good side, at least for a little while.

“I just got home, and I was expecting dinner. I’m famished,” he said with a forced smile. Rick and Morty reappeared from the garage and I could only imagine the sight they found. Superficially, Ryan was the husband of the year. I was always provided for and taken care of. My job to him was more along the lines of a paid hobby that barely registered on his radar. That meant when I wasn’t working, it was expected for me have dinner waiting for him when he pulled up in the driveway. The seldom few times it wasn’t prepared, there had been hell to pay and I knew I was in trouble. Rick was watching Ryan and me closely, immediate distrust building on his face.

“Nova was going to make dinner, but I suggested we go out as a family for dinner,” he said, throwing me the life preserver I so desperately needed. “We were just waiting for you to get home. We haven’t gotten the chance to catch up much since I’ve been back.”

“Rick I thought-” Morty started before Rick subtly stepped on his foot, effectively silencing the boy with a whimper. Ryan’s eyes narrowed, obviously not buying it for a second before breaking out into a huge smile.

“That sounds great Rick,” he said, his agreeable tone only known to me to be as fake as they come. “I’ll run home and get changed, where did you have in mind?” He asked innocently, piquing an eyebrow at the blue-haired man. I don’t know who he thought he was trying to trick into playing his hand, but it was gonna take a lot more than that to catch Rick in a lie.

“Shoney’s,” Rick replied with a casual shrug. Ryan smiled again and nodded, chuckling softly before disappearing out of the front door to go change out of his suit. As the door closed behind him, I felt a huge sigh of relief and returned to my cold cup of coffee in the kitchen. Rick followed me, surprisingly silent in his observation. He seemed to be surveying my features carefully, trying to find a crack in my facade of a happy housewife.

“Need something, Rick?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the man across the counter from me. “I have to go get Madison and tell her we’re going to Shoney’s for dinner.” I sighed, “Shoney’s by the way? I didn’t even think they still had those around here.”

“Beth, can you get the girls real quick?” Rick asked his daughter gruffly. She nodded obediently and disappeared up the stairs to Summer’s room. He continued to look me over intently, so much so that I was starting to get uncomfortable until he finally spoke. “Nova, are you okay?” He asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“I’m fine, Rick,” I sighed, too tired to put in any of the effort required for such a heavy conversation. It was always the same questions. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Does he hurt you?’ ‘Do you need help?’ It was always the same questions, with almost always the same answers. My eyes pleaded with him to drop the subject for the time being. It had the intended effect as his gaze broke from mine and he stalked off to the garage without another word.

*+*

Dinner was uneventful for the most part. Rick regaled us with tales of his adventures with his portal gun through time and space. I caught him up on my life, how I’d be ‘happily’ married for over ten years and worked part-time at a salon. Had my overly jealous husband not been standing there watching over me at every second, I would’ve told Rick it had been watching over him mixing chemicals that had inspired me to do so, but a story for another time. The evening was unceremoniously ended when Jerry started talking about his advertising campaign at work and Rick cut him off to tell everyone how late it had gotten.

Rick had continued to watch Ryan for the whole night, and the growing look of disgust on his face told me very simply that he didn’t approve in the slightest. By the end of the night, he just looked irritated and when offering goodbyes, planted a gentle kiss on my forehead, my cheeks flushing. I’d never been so thankful for the inky darkness of the night. Madison begged for us to let her stay the night with Summer, and with a glance to Beth, I nodded and the girls squealed in excitement. In the parking lot, we finally separated, Beth, Jerry and the kids piling in the station wagon and Rick climbing into what looked like a pile of garbage made to look like a stereotypical UFO. I raised my eyebrow in disbelief at him.

“What in the hell is that?” I asked incredulously. He turned the key and I was surprised to hear an engine turn over from within.

“It’s my spaceship,” Rick shrugged. “I made it out of crap from the garage.” He observed my gaping expression. I couldn’t stop staring at the headlights made from two flashlights. I was torn between how innovative that truly was and wondering how in the hell he made it work,

“That’s incredible Rick,” I said breathlessly. I looked up at him mouth still agape, he looked down at me, prideful.

“Glad you like it, kiddo. I’ll have to take you for a spin in it some time,” he suggested as a smile formed on his face. I had to ignore the images that floated through my brain at the thought, each one more vulgar than the last. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible once I saw Ryan beginning to grow irritated with the conversation.

“Sweetheart,” he started, his anger leaking into his tone, “we have to get home. It’s already 8:45pm and some of us have very important meetings tomorrow morning.” He smiled shortly at Rick before grabbing me by the arm. I resisted the urge to yelp in pain, as he forced me over to the car. He released me by the passenger side door, leaving me to open the door and climb in. I smiled sadly at Rick and waved goodbye as he watched me, his face completely neutral. The ride home was silent despite a seething rage that was  building in the driver's seat. I just wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and avoid him, but when the car pulled into the garage and he didn’t immediately climb out, I knew this fight would start in the car.

“Are you trying to embarrass me?” he asked tone icy and calm. No matter how many times he used that tone on me, it always terrified me. “I don’t want you hanging around that Rick, (Y/N),” he scolded me.

“I haven’t been hanging around him, he’s Beth’s dad. He lives in her house,” I assured him.

“Then I guess you won’t be hanging around Beth’s anymore,” he shrugged coldly, opening the car door, seemingly happy with the outcome of our talk.

“Beth is my best friend!” I cried out, begging him to see reason.

“Look, I’ve tolerated Beth for this long because she’s our neighbor but she has always been rude to me and you just let her. You’re letting her ruin our marriage,” he spat.

“I’m sorry, please don’t take Beth from me,” I sobbed, completely falling apart. “W-what about Madi? She and Summer are close,” I pleaded. He paused for a moment, considering.

“Madi is free to see Summer. I’ll be fielding all interactions. You’re not to go over there without me,” he conceded. “You’ve done this to yourself. You will respect me and you will respect our marriage.” My sniffles subsided, happy to at least be able to still see my best friend even with his restrictions. I climbed out of the car to follow him inside, wiping my tears away and trying to steady my breathing.

“Psst.”

I whipped my head around, looking for the source of the sound, seeing nothing but stopping to listen for it again. Ryan paid no attention to me, going inside.

“Psssst.” The noise came again, seemingly from the small bush from the corner of the house. I walked over to investigate only to find Morty hiding in the bushes.

“What are you doing Morty?” I whispered, smiling through the dried tears on my cheeks.

“Aw, jeez, I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he admitted sheepishly. “I heard Mr. Dawes yelling at you. You shouldn’t put up with that you know.” He said sadly. “Did he say you’re not allowed at our house anymore?”

“It’s complicated Morty.” I sighed. “It’s something adults have to deal with sometimes, buddy. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I understand it well enough right now,” he asserted stubbornly, “My grandpa explained it to me.”

“What?” I hissed as confusion and embarrassing distorted my face. “What did he tell you?”

“He basically said he’s got you trapped in your marriage and he treats you like shit because he knows you won’t go anywhere because you have low self-esteem after what happened with your parents,” he said plainly. A look of horror crossed my face as he spoke, I wanted to be angry for being called out but instead, tears start falling down my cheeks, as Morty rested his hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay Aunt Nova. Rick said-”

“Look FUCK what Rick said,” I growled, anger finally seeping into my tone. “Rick left, he doesn’t know shit about me anymore. You tell him to keep his mouth shut about me and my marriage.”

“(Y/N), what the fuck are you doing? Get in here!” Ryan called from the front door, freezing me in my place.

“Look, Morty, go home. I’m fine,” I told him coldly, my heartbreaking as I watched his face fall as he remains rooted to the spot. “Morty, go the fuck home,” I hissed, trying to keep my tone as venomous as possible to not betray how much yelling at him was killing me. He narrowed his eyes but finally slipped from behind the bush, running to his backyard. I steadied myself, trying to prepare myself for my “loving husband’s” wrath.

“Seriously (Y/N), get your stupid ass in here,” he called from the porch again, almost looking angrier when he finally spotted me. He eyed the area I emerged from suspiciously as I walked up to the porch. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“I thought I heard an animal in the bushes,” I lied easily. “I didn’t want them to eat the roses we planted.” The appearance of the house was something he took very seriously, so it was no surprise when his suspicious look softened.

“Just get in the house,” he said coldly, pushing me through the threshold and flat on my face. I pick myself gingerly off the floor, opting not to look up at him as I did so. “You’re acting strange (Y/N). I don’t like it and I want it to stop,” he ordered. “Get upstairs and get ready for bed. I’ll be up in a minute.” I quickly made my way up the stairs, listening closely to hear the glass from his liquor cabinet clinking around. Great, he’ll be drunk by the time he comes up.

I took a deep breath, going into our bedroom to gather clothes for a shower, hoping he’d be asleep by the time I was done. I let the water fall around me, finally letting myself cry under the cascade. I knew Morty was right, but what good could that information do me? Just because Rick “understood” all the nuances of my marriage from one outing, doesn’t mean he knew how to fix it. I couldn’t leave, Ryan would find me and kill me. He had assured me of it.

Climbing out of the warm shower, the cool air of the rest of the bathroom swirled around me. I wiped the mirror clear, taking a moment to look at the bruise forming on my chin from where it came in contact with the floor. I sighed, moving to dry my hair completely before putting on my pajamas. I went back to the bedroom, finding my husband sitting facing away from me on the bed, holding a crystal glass in his hands, studying the brown liquid within intently. I approached him carefully, trying to gauge his level of intoxication.

“You know what I would do to you if you ever tried to leave right?” he asked coldly, keeping his gaze on the glass. “You’re mine, (Y/N). This house, this family, it’s all mine. You will never take that away from me.” I stood in silent terror as he spoke, trying to figure out how to handle the situation. “You think that Beth or Jerry or hell even Rick could protect you from me?” he asked, finally looking up at me. “You’re. Mine.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him, voice microscopic. “I love you-” A sharp blow to my cheek took my breath away and threw me to the ground.

“Don’t give me that shit. You married me for my money. That’s why you’re making eyes at that geriatric fuck. Do you think he would even want you? Fuck, I barely want you,” he spat at me from above. “I took vows though so I guess I’m stuck with you but I will be damned if you disrespect me the way you did tonight ever again.”

“I wasn’t disrespecting you-” I cried out as he picks me up off the floor and roughly threw me on the bed.

“The fuck you weren’t. Talking about how incredible his piece of shit ‘spaceship’ is.” Accusation dripped in every syllable. “Don’t think I saw the look of awe you had when he was telling us those stupid stories from his adventures. You realize it’s all a big ruse right? Or are you too stupid?”

“I don’t think so-” I countered, anger building despite myself earning me a shove into the dresser.

“Are you fucking kidding me? He left. Just like your parents did because you’re so hard to love. You told me all the stories about when you were kids, you really think it’s a coincidence that you moved into their house and suddenly he was gone?” he hissed at me as I picked myself up off the dresser, holding my arm against me and trying to fight the tears building.

“That had nothing to do with it,” I shot back at him. “He’d discovered his portal technology and started going on adventures.”

“Are you this fucking stupid (Y/N)?” he bellowed, looking at me incredulously. “You’re parents didn’t love you enough to even notice you moved out of your fucking house. You drive everyone around you away,” he screamed. “You are the worst kind of person. You act like this innocent little fucking victim and everyone should feel sorry for you but everything you get, you bring onto yourself.” He towered over me, shouting mere inches from my face. The floodgates broke and I slunk down against the wall, sobbing into my hands. He was angry, but he was right. My parents didn’t love me enough to notice I’d even left. Even his points about Rick stung after thinking about them long enough. There had truly only been one constant in my life, no matter what.

“Beth,” I croaked, “Beth has always loved me, no matter what.” An ugly snarl forms on his face, disgusted to even hear her name.

“Beth loves you because you’re constantly at her beck and call, no matter what. She needs something? You’re there like a damn puppy to take whatever you can off of her plate. It’s fucking pathetic,” he growled, squatting down next to me and grabbing my injured arm tightly causing me to wince in pain. “Now get off the fucking floor and get into bed. I don’t have time for this shit (Y/N). I have a meeting in the morning. I expect you to have breakfast ready before I leave so you need to go to sleep now,” he demanded, throwing me onto my side of the bed.

I laid there in terror as he moved around the bed and climbed under his blankets. I laid completely still, waiting until he started snoring to slip into the bathroom and clean myself up. Flicking on the light, I was greeted with a grisly sight, dried blood caked under my nose and a shiner developing under my eye. I wanted to cry at the sight of myself, but I couldn’t find any more tears to shed. Methodically I started gently wiping the blood off of my face and adjusting my arm to see if it was legitimately damaged or just sore. For now, it seemed like the latter, but I knew I would have to go easy on it if I wanted it to return to normal soon. I started applying makeup, anything to delay myself having to go back out there and lay in that bed next to him, convincing myself that if I start with the concealer now, it will be easy to just touch it up in the morning. When I had finally run out of things to distract myself, I sighed deeply to myself, preparing myself to reenter the bedroom. I gingerly climbed into the bed we shared, holding my breath so as not to disturb him and face his wrath again.

+Ch2: Snap Out Of It+

[djhinnwe]

Stranger Things: If Billy Ever Needs a Redemption Arc, This Is My Headcanon (WIP)

The void, the in between of worlds, is a place few know and even fewer visit. Darker than midnight beneath cloud cover, as dank as a swamp in spring, with static akin to changing stations on a radio. A shadowed figure strolls through the dank dark between rows of doors, the station changing between each one. One in particular catches the figure’s attention and they open it to the sounds of music from outside the year they know. With a slick smile, the figure opens the door and steps through to the sound of Pink’s “Secrets”.

    ---

    Pa’s Garage and Diner sits on the edge of Hawkins, Indiana, standing proud along the highway to serve its purpose as a refuel for truckers. Whether the trucker needs to eat, sleep, or simply pick up some gas, Paul Blacks built the Diner to serve the profession the accident of ‘69 had forced him out of. Up until her death Saundra, Paul’s wife, had run the diner end while Paul dealt with the mechanics and gas end of things. She is the one who insisted on taking in foster children, and for that Paul still finds himself grateful. From the system they had given a home to Saskia Dawn, a native teen they had managed to get their hands on after she was kicked out of her final residential school. Once Saundra passed, the torch passed from wife to husband, and father to daughter.

    Saskia Dawn sits in the open garage, her foot tapping to a beat only she can hear while she works on a 1949 Harley-Davidson WLA. She hums as she works, hopping off her stool and triple-stepped to change out her tools. When she finds what she is looking for, she twirls and taps back to her station.

    A bang of metal hitting concrete breaks her attention. “Fer the love o’ Gods,” she mutters as she grabs a pipe wrench and marches toward a shelf full of spare parts. “Can’t get one night o’ peace, can I?” Saskia Dawn demands of the invisible entity. She squats down to pick up the offending rim.

    A black and brown ophidian lunges toward her off the shelf. It opens its maw to reveal several rows of teeth. Saskia snatches the ophidian out of the air and slams it onto the ground. Her heavy boot stomps on its head. The satisfying crack of bone echos in the otherwise empty garage. She swings the pipe wrench down over and over until she severs the ophidian’s head from its body. She picks it up by the tail and scoffs. “Geese woulda been hard.”

    ---

    Fear breeds anger. Fear breeds resentment. Fear breeds hatred.

    Neil Hargrove slams his son into the bookcase his wife, Susan Hargrove, had just purchased a few days before. “I bring you here to start a new life, and this is how you repay me?” he yells, the quiet scream that sends shivers down Susan’s spine and makes Max Mayfield cover her ears even though she is in her bedroom. “By getting in trouble with the police?”

    Billy looks away from his father. For all his bravado, he can’t find the strength to stand up to his father. Nor can he find the words to speak. Fighting Steve Harrington is easy. Steve doesn’t know how to hold his ground.

    “Is jail what you want? Look at me.”

    He’s frozen.

    “I said, look at me.”

    Billy closes his eyes to steel himself. If Max hadn’t opened her damn mouth to her father, they would still be in California. If Susan hadn’t said yes to Neil, Billy would have left and not looked back. He would have been free. Neil grabs his face and forces Billy to look at him.

    “You will not make another mistake. Do you understand?”

    “Yes sir.”

    “Useless felon,” Neil snarls and gives in to the temptation of slapping his son again. “Pull this shit again, and you’ll be without a roof over your head.” He shoves Billy into the shelving unit one more time before taking a step back and turning his attention to Susan. “Go make dinner.”

    Billy takes just enough time to compose himself before he storms outside and throws himself into his car. He takes off, ignoring the sight of Max climbing onto Lucas Sinclair’s bike. He still remembers the thunk of the spiked bat landing between his legs like a guillotine. Fighting with her is not worth it, not that she deserves to suffer for her mother’s stupidity either. She could have chosen different losers to hang out with, though.

    The next time he slows down is in front of the Wheeler house. Karen Wheeler is home, but so is her ingrate of a husband, Ted. Billy hesitates and takes a drag of his cigarette. The thought of storming in and stealing Karen away on one of their rendezvous, Ted be damned. Bastard wouldn’t notice, but Holly needs her mother and as much as Billy doesn’t care, Karen does and he doesn’t want to lose such a nice piece of tail quite yet. She is fun, and free.

    And the knowledge. Oh man, the knowledge.

    The corner of his mouth twitches and he drives. Scenes fly by his window and he loses himself into the blaring radio and the empty asphalt. He could just keep going, not look back. Just like he’d intended in California before everything went to shit.

    Except he hasn’t topped up the gas, or grabbed the money from under his mattress, and the car is rolling to a stop. He hisses through his teeth as he stares at the gas gauge with its arrow pointing to the E. His fists smash against the steering wheel over and over, not quite enough to break the wheel the same way he had broken Steve Harrison’s face, but close. “SHIT!”

    Billy flings himself from the car and kicks the useless piece of junk, still swearing. The approaching truck, an ancient thing that look as though its lifespan should have ended more than a decade ago, does little to dissuade Billy’s abuse on his car.

    “You alright, boy-o?” the driver asks. Billy swings around, caught off guard by the good-natured voice. The stranger, a balding man whose hair must have migrated from his head to his arms, smiles with the patience of a saint. “What’s got your goat, aye?”

    Billy shoves his hands into his back pockets and holds his chin high to curb his embarrassment. “Ran out of gas.”

    “Aye. Cars’ll do that. Normally I got a jerry, but a sweet li’l lady needed a bit of a rescue out the way. Hop in, and I’ll get you taken care of.”

    Billy shifts his weight with indecision. The adults ignore him unless he does something worthy of their attention, and they’re all too happy to chastise him for it. The man seems harmless, but harmless is not always so.

    “Could walk, too,” the man says and gestures down the highway toward Hawkins. “Gas station’s ‘bout a mile back. You look fit, shouldn’t be an issue.”

    With one more curse, Billy storms around to the truck’s passenger side door and yanks it open. “I’ll take the ride, thank you,” he grumbles and pulls himself inside.

    The man’s smile turns into a grin and he holds out a wide, worn hand. “Name’s Paul. Nice to meet-ya.”

    Billy takes the hand, noting the calluses and burn marks between the mottling. “Billy,” he introduces himself. The man, Paul, radiates a steady warmth as he drives. He talks without expecting Billy to answer, and Billy is torn between annoyance and muddled gratitude.

    How he missed the turn-off to the garage was beyond him. The sign may as well be neon, with the chipping mint green paint with red lettering not needing help in standing out, and the structure is...obvious. Two pumps sit in front of a diner, with an extra door presumably leading into the attached garage. A woman around his age sits in front of the second door, one leg swung lazily over the other as she smokes a cigarette. Her dark eyes watch him beneath fringe bangs in a way that make his stomach flip. Instinctively he checks his hair. She ashes the cigarette against the side of her armrest.

    “Saskia Dawn’ll take care of ya, boy-o. Looks like the kitchens need me,” Paul says and hands Billy the large jerry can. Billy follows Paul’s gaze into the windows of the diner where something has caught fire.

    He huffs. “Okay.”

    “Come in when you get your car back. I got some pie for you.” The warmth surprises him. He nods to Paul’s back and straightens his jacket. He approaches the woman, Saskia Dawn by his guess, and gives her one of his most charming smiles. The same one that had Karen falling over herself when she had opened the door that fateful day.

    “What’s a pretty thing like you, doing in a place like this?” he asks with as much sincerity as he can muster as he props his foot onto a log being used as a side table and leans over her.

    Saskia Dawn blows smoke in his face with the most disinterested expression he has ever witnessed. She sees through me. A ripple of power emanates from her and he can’t hide the shiver. His smile only wavers when she asks, “Depends. What’s a donkey’s behind like you need?”

    He forces a laugh and she cocks a brow. Lifting the jerry can, he waves it in front of her. “What do you think?”

    “Haircut,” she quips dryly. She stabs the cigarette out in a crystal ashtray and pushes herself out of the chair. Billy frowns as he steps away to let her by. She snatches the jerry can out of his hand and walks to the pumps. “Pa say you were payin?”

    “He has pie,” Billy said, cursing himself as he follows her to the pump. She grunts and starts filling the jerry can. He pulls his cigarettes, placing one between his lips as he goes for his lighter.

    “No smokin around the pumps,” Saskia Dawn interjects. He flicks the lighter, it doesn’t light. “Don’t care if you want to blow yourself up, but I’m interested in dyin today.”

Billy purses his lips, but the quiet power reminds him of his father and he has quite enough confrontation for one night. He shoves the cigarette back into his jeans. “Happy now?” he snaps at her. This earns him a shrewd smile.

“It’ll do,” she says. It feels like praise.

“My money’s in my car,” he starts, leaning against the pump and shoving his hands in his pockets where he fiddled with the lighter. “I’ll-”

“Don’t worry about it. Pa’s got pie,” Saskia Dawn says, as though he is supposed to understand the damn pie reference. He balls his fists. “Means he don’t expect to be paid. Where you parked?”

    ---

    The drive with Saskia Dawn back to his car is different from the ride to the gas station with Paul. She is quiet, smoking a fresh cigarette and tapping the ash out the window, looking straight ahead. Billy wonders if her silence stems from her father’s ramblings. He watches her and realizes the quiet is just as peaceful and warm as Paul’s stories.

“If you don’t return the jerry can yourself, keep in mind that I’ll find ya.”

    Billy blinks and sits up as the truck coasts to a stop. “I’ll return it,” he says, hand on the door handle. Saskia Dawn starts to give him a nod, but something outside catches her attention. She grabs his arm. The grip is strong, but it doesn’t hurt. Billy can’t see what she’s looking at.

“Wait here,” she orders, her expression serious as she barrels out of the truck and grabs a pitchfork from the truck bed. Billy hops out and she twirls to face him as the night air fills with a rattling sound. “Back. Inside. Now.” The urgency in the order means squat.

“No one tells me what to do,” Billy growls, stepping toward her in a way that causes most people to change their pants. She stares at him as the rattling gets louder. It’s too dark to tell if she’s blinking, but she isn’t rising to the occasion. If he throws a punch, she won’t bother meeting it with anything except the pitchfork.

“Suit yourself.”   

A hiss catches Billy’s attention, just over the rattle. He can’t pinpoint the sound at first, not until the pitchfork lands next to his foot and he hops back to see her fighting a diamondback rattlesnake. At least that’s all he can assume it is in the dark, though it’s large and fat for a snake and unearthly wails fill the air, mixing together with Saskia Dawn’s angry breaths. “Stupid. Don’t learn. Motherf-...GAH!” The pounding of her pitchfork gets heavier as the creature writhes and stills. She brandishes the pitchfork at Billy. “Please, get the sack from the back of the truck. When we-”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Boy, do I sound like I’m tellin right now? Get the damn sack and enjoy the damn pie. I don’t have time for your shit right now.” The quiet power she wields roars over Billy like a tidal wave. His anger builds and he loses focus, the world fading to haze. When he comes to Saskia Dawn has him pinned to the side of her truck with more force than his father had mustered when throwing him into the bookcase. He struggles, but the grip is there and he feels her power and he wants it as much as he wants to hide from it. His breathing slows and he closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, because that is what is expected of him.

“I don’t want your apologies. I want the rucksack.”

He staggers when she releases him, knees quacky from the rush of adrenaline. Blood ran down his temple and he saw the broken bits of glass that should have been from her head going through the window, but somehow she had put his through instead. “I’m sorry,” he breathes again.

She grabs the rucksack from the back of the truck, along with a sharp metal stick and scoops the unidentifiable corpse into the sack. “I told you. I don’t want no apology. Should only say ‘em when you mean ‘em, and right now you’re in shock, not remorseful.” She ties the sack off and tosses into the bed in what can only be described as a single motion. “If you want some good pie, go back to the diner. And watch out for snakes.” --- TBC

[hannahindie]

Never sent a request to you but after reading some of your head canons, I’d love to get some on what you think would have happened if Jo hadn’t died? Also, since I’m greedy but let me know if you want this in a separate ask, what if Charlie hadn’t died? (I’m still pissed about that TBH) Thanks!

(This got out of control. Also, I have a lot of feelings and I feel like I condensed it, which is hilarious considering how long this is, so let me know if you’d like an elaboration on something. Also I answered both the Jo and Charlie in one thing. Hopefully it’s not too confusing. lol There’s probably going to be run on sentences and terrible grammar. Whoops.)

Oh, girl. You’ve opened a can of worms that may never close. Bless you. I hope you’ve got some time.

As far as Jo is concerned, I kind of cover my feelings in my Walking Dead/Supernatural crossover. If you’d like to check that out, it’s called At The End of All Things. I don’t currently have a separate master list for it, but it’s on my main one. If that’s not your jam, I will be more than happy to elaborate here. lol There are two variations we have to consider too; a universe in which Jo never died, and the one where she did, but is brought back. Though I think that the end result (in my opinion) would be the same, I think the road getting there would be slightly different. In this particular answer, I'll only go over one, but if you'd like to hear the other one, let me know! Because I'll talk about that too. lol

My scenario for Jo never dying...

The hellhound had come far too close for Dean’s liking during their failed mission to kill Lucifer. As it was, Jo was left with a huge gash in her leg, and though she could walk and she would be fine (other than a gnarly scar she’d have for the rest of her life), Dean realized that if anything truly happened to her...he would be left with a gaping hole in his chest. Their playful banter and his failed flirtations seemed like all fun and games, but in the moment...in the thick of things when he saw her go down and was positive she wasn’t getting back up, he realized it was far more than that. And sure, deep down he had probably known that for awhile. But being close to a Winchester is not something that typically ends well, case in point: being attacked by a gang of hellhounds while surrounded by invisible reapers, and Jo deserved better than that.

At least, that’s how he had felt.

Because when he ran back for her, when he was able to get his arms around her and feel how warm she was, and how strong she felt when her arms went around his neck as they ran to the hardware store...he didn’t care that she was too good for him anymore. No, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was alive, cracking jokes while Ellen and Sam patched her leg, and smiling like she knew a secret the rest of them didn’t. And when it was all said and done, when they were left alone for just the briefest of moments, Dean took his chance.

It was the best risk he’d ever taken.

When their lips met and she kissed him back, really kissed him...he felt like the world stopped. He was sure she could hear his heart racing, but he didn’t care, because he could hear hers just as well. Their hands were everywhere at once, tugging and grasping, nails grazing exposed skin, and Dean wondered why they hadn’t done this before. What had kept them from something so wonderful, so perfect? Somewhere in his subconscious he knew that they needed to stop, Sam and Ellen would be coming back and they didn’t need a show, but he didn’t care. Jo clearly didn’t either, because somehow in the kissing and groping and whispered confessions of feelings not talked about, they’d ended up wrapped around each other, as close as you could get without becoming the same person. The only thing that stopped them was Ellen clearing her throat when they’d come back and discovered the two. Sam grumbled but couldn’t stop the smile that crept across his face, and Ellen smacked him in the chest for encouraging this behavior in the middle of a job...but also with a smile on her face.

Dean often wished that he could give her something more than run down motels and long nights spent in the Impala, but that was the beauty of Jo; she understood. She knew what the hunting life brought, and though they all grumbled and complained on occasion, she never once held it against him. As a matter of fact, she had brought a light to those places that had seemed to be missing; a brightness that lit up the brothers’ even darkest moments. She wasn’t just there for Dean, she was there for Sam too, and Dean couldn’t have asked for more.

Ellen had found another bar, and it quickly turned into a home base of sorts, although it wasn’t quite the same as the Roadhouse. She hadn’t been too fond of Jo leaving to spend most of her time on the road, but despite her initial misgivings, she let it go. She knew that if Jo wasn’t with the Winchesters, she’d be on her own...and who better to watch her kid than two of the most dangerous hunters in the business? Jo would sometimes stay there, and though Dean knew that she needed to spend time with her mom, those hunts were always the hardest. He wasn’t sure when he was more distracted; when she was there, fighting next to him, or when she was gone.

Then they found the bunker. It had been so many blessing rolled into one. Not only did it house literally all of the most important information regarding the supernatural, it was a home. They had their own rooms, a kitchen (this was Dean’s most favorite part because after all the years he spent trying to feed Sam with nothing but a microwave, he was getting to actually cook), a gun range, and a fully stocked garage. Dean thought he’d actually died and gone to Heaven  with each room they discovered. And that’s when it hit him; he finally had something legitimate to offer Jo. No more hotel rooms unless they were on a case, no living out of the Impala.

Dean had never really given thought to having a home, much less a family, but now (aside from their dangerous lifestyle)...maybe it could happen. Maybe they could have something close to a normal life...as close to a normal life as a hunter could get, anyway.

He sat in his room for hours, spinning the ring that had been Mary’s between his thumb and forefinger as he thought about what to do. Traditional marriage seemed like such a normal thing, almost too normal and who wants that? But he wanted something. He wanted a symbol for them, a link. He didn't care about the paperwork. He just wanted something she could see, hold on to. Hell, he didn't care if she wore it around her neck. He just wanted to give her something.

He wondered how she'd react; she never proclaimed to be against marriage or the thought of being with just him forever. He was pretty sure that was just a given, but maybe he was assuming too much. Regardless, he needed her to understand, to know, that for him…there was nothing and no one else. So he'd thought and pondered and worried for days, until one day, he saw her in the kitchen.

She was doing the same thing she'd done for years since moving into the bunker. Hustling to and fro as she made them dinner, humming REO under her breath because she knew Dean would make fun of her.

He walked up behind her and spun her around. She laughed as she always did, admonishing him for interrupting her, and then...he slipped the ring on her finger. She never said a word; he'd known all along what she would do.

Now, to answer your second ask!

What do I think would happen if Charlie hadn’t died? I think this answer can also have to responses, depending upon if she never died at all versus if she’d died and been brought back instead of Mary (or just brought back I guess. Sorry, Mary. -shrug-)

Charlie loved the idea of being a Woman of Letters. Not only was the Bunker full of information to research and learn, exactly none of it was in an electronic database. She would spend hours upon hours scanning books into their electronic library, and she often joked about how it was like that episode of Buffy where Willow was scanning in things for Giles. You know, episode eight of season one? Moloch? No? Dean would laugh and disappear to his room, and Sam would give her the patented one eyebrow raised look that told her that although he might have been slightly amused, they had better things to do.

But she loved every bit of it. She loved Sam and Dean like the brothers she’d never had, Dean especially. Where Sam was nerdy with research and learning new languages, Dean spoke her own nerd language; movie references and television shows. He’d argue with her about who the best characters were, and he almost always laughed her corny, pop culture related jokes. Sam shared her love of organizing, and was almost as good at hacking systems as she was. Almost. She had a room between Sam and Dean’s, and often they’d meet in the middle and hang out with her to watch Game of Thrones.

Charlie, for the first time in a long time, was happy. And in the middle of all of it, the researching and the hunting and the saving the world, she looked for a way to get back to Oz. She missed Dorothy terribly, and though she was happy she was safe and in charge of keeping Oz in one piece, there was something missing. She also missed being Oz itself; the beautiful scenery, the freedom she’d had. If she was being honest with herself, she missed the fighting as well. Now that the war was over, she would have been happy to be there in peacetime.

Regardless of her location, she was thankful for the Winchesters. She wasn’t sure if they knew just how much they’d saved her, or if they understood what having them in her life meant, but the thought had crossed her mind multiple times that she may not have made it without them.

The one thing that never crossed her mind was how much she meant to them. Dean constantly checked on her, even if it didn’t seem like that’s what he was doing. Whenever she was around, he didn’t like not having her in his sight, unless they were safely tucked away at the bunker. The moment she returned from a job (of which she often did; hunters were choosing to use her computer abilities far more often, and as Charlie said, you can make some pretty nice cash from it...or favors to call in), he was in the war room, conveniently reading a book and facing the staircase. Sam was a little less obvious in his concern, but when she was gone he’d sit in the library and fiddle with books they’d already scanned in, or in the vaults cataloging things that had already been catalogued.

What none of them ever said was how whole their family felt now that they had each other.

[ancientfire]

soon to be titled swanqueen fic

Saturday mornings were Emma’s favorite part of the week. There had never been a particular reason; weekends were inherently good, but there was something magical and pure and wholesome to Emma about waking up late on a Saturday morning and realizing that it was, in fact, finally Saturday.

Green eyes slowly cracked open to bright early day sunshine that flooded in through the window shade that hadn’t gotten pulled down quite far enough the night before. Emma stretched and her back cracked deliciously as she made a sound low in the back of her throat that was something akin to pleasure. The floor was cold from the air conditioner running in the night but Emma didn’t mind as she got up and padded across the floor to her closet.

A racerback tank top and leggings were thrown on and socks were grabbed from the top of a laundry basket as Emma headed down the stairs.

“Good morning Emma!” Mary Margaret called over her shoulder from the kitchen.

“Morning Mom.” Blonde locks were gathered into a loose bun and secured with the hair tie that lived on Emma’s wrist as she bent down to kiss Neal’s forehead. “And good morning to you too.” David smiled at his daughter’s baby voice from the couch.

“Still don’t want anyone to join you on your run?”

“Like you could keep up.” Emma smirked. She plopped down on the floor next to the shoe rack that housed her dirty, worn running shoes.

“I think anyone could keep up if you’re wearing those.” Emma stuck out her tongue, then petted a sneaker.

“There there, don’t listen to him he’s just being a di-”

“Are you going to want pancakes when you get home sweetie?” Mary Margaret interrupted, turning around with a streak of flour across her forehead. Emma suppressed her snort and David managed a sneaky picture from behind Neal’s crib. “I want to know if I need to make any more batter.”

‘Nah, I should be good. If I’m hungry I’ll stop at Granny’s on the way back.”

“Alright dear, enjoy your run.”

“Thanks Mom.” Emma hopped up from the floor and cracked her neck as she popped her ear buds into her ears.

“Be back later!” She called as she closed the door behind her. She paused to start her music playing, only to be interrupted by a text from David.

I won’t tell her if you won’t

                                                 You better not! I wanna see her face when she realizes

I’ll keep her distracted as long as I can. Might wanna make it a fast one today

Emma smiled to herself as she hit shuffle on her workout playlist and headed out the door of the apartment building.

The sensation of her feet hitting the pavement that traveled up Emma’s spine was one of her favorites, one that she could never get enough of. And once she rounded the corner to head for the docks, sunshine began to beat down on her face and sweat to form on her forehead and the wind off the sea started to blow through the stands that had escaped her fingers and made Emma forget the sweat was even there; Emma Swan was in bliss.

Saturday mornings were Regina’s least favorite part of the week. There was never a real substantial reason; just the fact that in Regina’s mind, weekends were only full of idleness and mindless loads of laundry and Henry doing nothing but play video games and cesspools for bad decisions (like eating Chinese food with the Charmings), but there was something that was just terrible and boring and tedious to Regina about waking up on a Saturday morning and realizing that it was, in fact, Saturday once again.

Goosebumps appeared on Regina’s arms as she got out of bed, suddenly regretting that she had left her air conditioner on while she slept. But as she stepped into the hallway, she began to regret her decision less and less. It wasn’t even 9:00 am and the summer heat was already beginning to become unbearable. Regina took a few steps down the hall and knocked on Henry’s door.

“Henry? Are you awake?” No answer. “Henry?” Again no response. Regina sighed and opened the door, only to find her son still sound asleep and the room dark. “Henry you need wake up.”

“Ngh?” Henry started to roll over, then fell back on his stomach.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he groped for his phone, only to come up short.

“Ah dunno, early o’clock?”

“It is past 9:00 it is time for you to get up.”

“Mom,” He whined. “It’s Saturday.”  He pulled the covers up higher.

“You’ve slept in long enough.” Regina walked across the room and pulled her son’s

covers off his body, eliciting a screech and a mad dash to retrieve them. “Come on, you’ve got things you could be doing.” Regina dropped the blankets on the floor at the foot of the bed as she walked away. “And make your bed before you come downstairs.” She called over her shoulder as she headed out the door. Henry groaned, flopped back into the bed and covered his face with his hands as he grumbled after his mother.

“You’d think the freaking evil queen was back -”

“I heard that!” Regina called from the bottom of the stairs. Henry groaned again.

Saturdays, like like every other morning, started with coffee that filled the house with the intoxication aroma of Regina’s motivation to live. Soon, Regina had her hands wrapped around the largest mug she owned full of straight black coffee, which was the only real way to drink coffee in her mind, and was taking a seat in front of the bay window which overlooked the neighborhood.

The sidewalk was already full of children riding bikes and owners taking dogs out for walks. Regina took a long sip from her coffee as Henry came down the stairs dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, socks in hand. Regina raised an eyebrow and he froze. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Charlie and Matt invited me to go hang out with them and Marcia.”

“Marcia, huh?”

“God, Mom, it’s not like that!”

“Mhm.” Regina took another sip of her coffee.

“You are absolutely insufferable!” Henry stormed off to find his sneakers.

“They’re in the hall closet.”

“No they’re not! I left them over here!” There was a moment of silence before Henry emitted what was almost a scream and came storming back, now with his socks on, and stepped into his sneakers that were, in fact, sitting on the floor of the hall closet. “Hate it when you’re right…” Henry grumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” Regina tilted her ear towards him.

“Nothing.”

“Oh no, it was definitely something.”

“Mom, stop…” Regina rolled her eyes and smiled. “Oh, alright, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Ok... bye!” Henry grabbed his backpack off the floor and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Regina called. Henry deflated and turned back. “Where are you going?”

“I dunno.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Henry sighed.

“Probably Granny’s.”

“Do you have money?

“No.”

“How were you planning on paying for Granny’s?”

“I dunno.” Regina sighed, got up, and went into her purse that was hanging on the coat rack.

“Here’s $20, pay if someone forgot money, but I want change back.”

“Ok bye.” Henry disappeared out the door before Regina could fit another word in. She sighed and returned to her seat by the window as she listened to the garage door open then watched Henry take off down the street.

“He didn’t close the garage door…” She shook her head

Emma stood at the top of the slide on the playground, watching the water wash up against the sand. She smiled, the memory of her first time sitting in the same spot with Henry and his book making her nostalgic.

“Why’d you have to go and grow up, kid?” Emma spoke aloud to herself and let her head fall back against the wooden post she was leaning on. Her phone buzzed with a Words With Friends notification and saw that it was only 10:00 am. She sent Henry a text.

Hey kid, you up for donuts? She waited several minutes to give him a chance to reply, but he never did. She sent another text, but still got no response.

“Kid, I swear to god…” Emma pushed off the pole and jumped off the ladder. She took off running across the field towards 108 Mifflin to get her son out of bed.

Regina made toast for breakfast, and topped it with avocado that she had mashed with some lemon juice, salt, and pepper. She ate sitting in the window seat that overlooked the road. She had never called herself a stalker, but she supposed that’s what she was, always trying to spy on the neighbors from the front windows and inquiring about their lives. Her mind had just started to wander when she watched Emma running down the sidewalk past the house.

“Ooh…” Regina found herself saying aloud, her bottom lip disappearing between teeth as chocolate eyes drifted down Emma’s body. Emma paused and cocked her head at the open garage door, then up at Henry’s bedroom window. “Come on…” Emma checked her phone, then turned her back and started to jog away from the house. Regina frowned. “Well that’s not going to work.” With a turn of Regina’s hand, Emma had disappeared from the sidewalk and was appearing in front of Regina.

“What the hell?” Emma looked around disoriented before glaring at Regina.

“If you think you can come running by this house looking like that,” Regina gestured to Emma’s outfit. “and not stop by for the first time in over a week, then we’re going to have a problem.”

“What kind of -” Emma was stopped by Regina pressing her lips against Emma’s.

“You know exactly what kind of trouble I’m talking about.” Regina smiled devilishly against Emma’s lips and poofed them up the stairs and behind a locked bedroom door.

“We have to start being more careful about what we’re doing here. Anyone could see us,” Emma spoke softly and ran a hand through her hair as she stared at the ceiling.

“Well I would hope no one could casually see in through my second story window. I think we’re safe for the moment dear.” Regina slid over and rested her head on Emma’s chest.

“It’s the middle of the morning on a Saturday and you poofed me off the street, Regina. You know exactly what I meant.” A tanned leg slid between pale ones.

“We can stop if -”

“We both know that we wouldn’t stop even if I said I wanted to.” Regina smirked and began tracing light patterns over Emma’s bare chest with her fingernails.

“You’re not wrong…” Her fingers traced up to Emma’s jawline. “I certainly wouldn’t be too eager to give you up.” Regina pressed her lips again Emma’s neck and suddenly green eyes were fluttering shut and half a moan came from low in Emma’s throat. “You’ve been so much fun, and we’re just getting started.” The way the words slowly emerged from Regina’s throat in their low timbre did something to Emma she couldn’t explain, but she could have spent the rest of her life laying there, listening to Regina seduce her again.

“I’d just prefer crawling in the window when I know no one will -”

“Yes, we all know how daring and ninja - like you can be from your hardening days as a criminal; it’s quite impressive, but we’re all aware and right now you’re in my bed and that’s all that I care to be aware of at the moment.” Regina’s fingers trailed over a toned stomach, then back up, between pale, pert breasts longer than Emma’s brain could handle.

“Hook can’t -” Emma blurted out, but she was stopped by Regina kissing her full and hard as she rolled to straddle Emma’s hips. Regina pulled away and Emma couldn’t help but clench her legs as her eyes drifted up toned abs to full, pert breasts that bounced deliciously as Regina ground her hips into Emma’s thigh. Emma moaned and slid her hands up smooth thighs to curvy hips, biting her bottom lip as her arousal darkened eyes met with Regina’s even darker ones.

Suddenly, Emma was sitting up, gripping around Regina’s waist, and kissing her fiercely as a hand snuck between warm bodies for a single finger to paw at the abundant moisture Regina had that was dripping onto Emma’s leg.

“He won’t.” Regina’s eyes caught Emma’s with such ferocity, Emma found herself frozen, gazing into dark brown pools that only pulled her in deeper.

“Good.” Emma barely managed to choke out the word before Regina was grinding her hips down on Emma’s thigh and Emma’s brain nearly short circuited from another round so soon. Regina was intoxicatingly sexy and sometimes Emma found herself wondering why Regina didn’t throw herself at something infinitely sexier.

Regina let out a low moan and Emma flipped them over, and the bed moved a half foot against the floor.

“Mom, what was that?” Henry’s voice came from downstairs and had Emma flying off of Regina.

“What the fuck?” Emma whispered, panic evident in her voice. “When the fuck did he come home?”

“I don’t know, I never even heard the door close.” Regina whispered back as she scrambled to pull the bed covers over herself.

“Mom? Are you ok?” Henry called again from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m fine Henry.” Regina answered, her eyes never leaving Emma’s panicked ones.

“You sure?” The sound of footsteps headed up the stairs had Emma ducking behind the bed.

“I’m fine! There’s no reason to come up here!” Regina bit her lip and prayed to every god she knew.

“...You’re sure? It sounded like something big fell.” Henry stopped.

“Yes. I just kicked the bed and it moved.”

“Ok…” He sounded unconvinced, but headed back down the stairs anyways. Emma let out the breath she had been holding and face planted into the bed and Regina collapsed back into the pillows.

“Holy shit…” Emma spoke into the bed.

“In this instance, holy shit is quite correct.” There was a beat of silence before Emma’s head was flying up from the bed.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about Regina. Do you have any idea how close we both just were to being completely and utterly screwed?”

“Of course I’m aware, I’m not an idiot.” Emma got up and started to get dressed, angrily flipping her hair out of her face. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

“Why?”

“Because our son almost caught us having sex.”

“But he didn’t…”

“We’re getting careless Regina.”

“No we’re not we’re doing just fine.” Regina got up and walked across the room to Emma who was shimmying into her tank top. She wrapped tan arms around a pale waist, looking up into Emma’s eyes. “We’ve been safe up until now, and we won’t come that close again.” Emma looked down at Regina and found herself getting pulled into Regina’s eyes.

“But -”

“Shhhhhhh.” Regina leaned up on her tiptoes and pulled Emma closer. “Everything’s going to be ok.” Her voice got soft as she brought her face closer to Emma’s.

“How do you know?” Emma’s voice was barely above a whisper, her lips almost touching Regina’s. Regina tucked a rogue piece of blonde hair behind Emma’s ear, her brown eyes never leaving the green ones opposite her.

“Because you need me to.” Regina pressed her lips to Emma’s with the forceful gentleness that she always seemed to exist in. Emma found herself kissing back and her hands working themselves through Regina’s hair.

“I should get back… they’ll be wondering about me.” Emma pulled away from Regina and pressed their foreheads together. Regina nodded and took a step back. Emma grabbed her leggings off the floor and stepped into them.

“Can I expect you Monday?” Regina bit her lip, the fear of Emma’s instinct to run still in the air. There was silence as Emma put her hair back up in its ponytail.

“Yeah. Yeah you can.” Emma couldn’t help but smile when she saw the one break out on Regina’s face. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and stepped into her still laced sneakers before heading for the window.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving?” Emma stopped and looked back.

“You can’t just climb out the window.”

“Well I sure as hell can’t walk out the front door.” Regina rolled her eyes.

“Are you telling me that the world class criminal can’t figure out how to sneak her way out of a house without breaking a leg?” Emma feigned insult.

“I wouldn’t break my leg.”

“You can barely walk up the stairs, dear.” Emma rolled her eyes.

“You’re impossible.” Regina smirked.

“Perhaps…” Regina walked into the bathroom, retrieved her robe and wrapped it around herself. “Just wait a minute before coming downstairs. You’re dropping by to pick up some papers.” Emma raised a skeptical eyebrow and opened her mouth, but closed it again when Regina’s look told her to. Regina disappeared down the stairs and Emma could hear her talking to Henry through the floor. She found herself daydreaming about life living with Regina Mills but was interrupted by the realization that her two minutes were up. She crept down the stairs as quietly as she could, the knocked on the front door and made it sound like she let herself in.

“Hey Kid, you home?”