#he mistakes lowe for moody at the end and it somehow breaks my heart a little x(

[phoenixkadeu]

After your fights with the Clubs who came for your mother, you begin to feel your mana channels constrict. At first you think it’s just an effect from the amount of foes you faced and took down but then when the heightened emotions of the fight fall away, the pain that had felt like a small tingle within you now feels like a searing blaze, what fire elementalists imagine their victims to feel. You remember a lesson from the Academy on the functions of mana circuits and how overuse can cause them to become constricted, blocking the flow of mana. In best case scenarios, time and proper meditation alleviates the issue. But as your manacore is not fully developed, and the use of your mana was extensive, meditation alone will not recover the damage done. You are now without the use of your abilities. Your mana channels are locked and any activation of your abilities will bring you severe pain.

Asra was back, the news of his return had travelled fast, mouths quick to spread the word, brains already making their own assumptions about where he had gone to, why he had decided to disappear and what he had been doing during all of this time away.

None of it was answered by the man himself, the sole center of gossip amongst the various elementalist who shared the same corridors with him. No matter how annoyed he was by it all, the truth was he had a lot more things that were worth his concern than repeatedly trying to make someone believe that he was not dirtying the sheets of the duelling instructor.

It would all be over soon, he thought with a cigarette between his lips, hoped that everything would be back to how it was. And for a fleeting moment it almost felt like it had, when he heard his name being called in an enthusiastic tone, his head turning to look over his shoulder on instinct as he watched his two friends approach him.

They had all been called again, summoned by their superior to once again play safety guards to The Palace, something that Asra had always found foolish, he was never the one who would break fights he was the one that started them, but still here he was proudly presenting himself dressed in red, the shiny gold insignia of The Academy attached near his beating heart.

He turned his head back again to watch nothing more than the wall in front of him, the footsteps of the actors could be hear above them on the stage, every time there was a particularly loud round of applause or laughter Asra could hear it too, even though he had yet to care about discovering what the whole play was about and what exactly was so funny about it.

“Mate” he felt a slap to his shoulder, before looking at the man who had just sat on one of the beams, an unlit cigarette between his fingers before he asked “care to share a bit of that fire of yours?”

“Light it yourself, I’m not your servant” and the fire elementalist sounded as annoyed as he looked, which of course was no one else’s fault but his. He truly liked them, they were part of the small group of friends Asra had been able to make during his time at The Academy, they were more than used to him, his actions, the way he behaved, but unfortunately there would always be things none of them were willing to share, things that separated them.

“A bit moody today, yes?” the question was not worthy of any response, Asra simply followed the movements of the other man as he leaned forward, his cigarette now between his lips as the girl that had accompanied him down here, to the empty area below the large stage, extended a small flame lit on top of a match, “look” the man spoke, paused to take a long drag from his cigarette before continuing “I now that this type of work is not fun for any of us, but we were thinking that” and as Asra took his time to look over at the smiling girl, the offer came “maybe we could cause a little fight in a few minutes, the play is almost ending and we could just blame whoever we want, have a few laughs and then go home, just like we used to do”

“I pass” it was almost an instant reply, even though slightly out of character, which meant, of course, a few laughs coming from the unwanted company.

“Fuck, for real?” the earth elementalist stood up, looked pointedly at the other girl who just laughed along, before he was once again near Asra, near enough so that he could pull on the piercings attached to his ear cartilage, making a hiss leave Asra’s lips as his head followed the direction of the pull “did you finally learn something?”

“And what exactly do you think I’ve learned?” the look on Asra’s eyes was dangerous, threatening even in the low light that surrounded them, it was clear that this conversation had taken a direction which was on the verge of becoming unpleasant to all three involved.

But then again, no one knew, because Asra was not willing to tell. The desperation he felt ripping his chest apart as he saw the state his father had been in after the fight, the look on his mother’s eyes as they took her away from her family, the feeling of not being able to save them and then the pain he had to endure afterwards.

At first it had felt like nothing but a small tingle, until it all became much worse after he had arrived at his parents’ home and unfortunately he understood exactly what that pain meant.

Asra had never lost his powers, not once had he been able to fuck shit up so bad that his mana channels got blocked and yet somehow the kind of pain he experienced was not new. It unlocked some memories buried deep inside of him, had him screaming and sweating as he rolled around on the floor, tears falling down his cheeks as he remembered.

It felt like someone had cursed him back then and it felt like a curse to have that kind of power now. To be able to burn but to also be prone to being burnt right back.

Asra was not a small child anymore, but it had hurt just as much as it had back then when he found himself trapped in a room full of flames.

So what exactly had he learned from professor Parker’s lessons on meditation, what had he learned from Fallon when she explained to him her own way of meditating, what had he learned from his time away with other elementalists. Had he learned something? Had he learned enough?

He had his powers back, but the scars would always be there.

“How to become a stick-in-the-mud apparently” a small scoff of laughter was the last glimmer of happiness that would ever spark between the trio that evening, the words of encouragement for them to cause chaos died on his throat due to one simple mistake. His hand had reached out, aimed to grab Asra’s face in order to make him look at him, but the real problem was that now Asra was really looking, a firm grip on the other man’s wrist.

“Don’t fucking touch my face unless you are willing to learn the pain behind it” Asra released his wrist, before giving him a forceful push, enough to have the other stagger backwards, “now fuck off”

Fortunately the girl was fast enough to stop the other man from reaching Asra again. She knew that one punch from the earth elementalist would be enough to break more than a few bones on Asra’s face but she also knew something else, something a bit more concerning: Asra did not make threats, he was too impulsive for that, he acted on whatever he was thinking with complete disregard for its consequences and somehow this Asra that was standing here now, seemed a lot more scary than the one that had left Kadeu a month ago.

A sudden sound of applause and a round of cheers could be heard from below the stage, but Asra showed no intentions of moving even when the girl started to push the earth elementalist to the exit “the play has ended, we should go back to our positions before someone comes looking for us because we don’t want to cause any problems do we?” and that was the closest to an apology than any of them would get.

Asra heard his name being called again by the girl, the seething man no doubt beside her, it almost sounded like she was pleading for him to go back with them, but the fire elementalist stayed put, finishing up his cigarette while the other two simply left and moved on.

He knew he also needed to move on from his pain, but not today. Today was just another day like all others and if he could not move on he would simply force his way through. 

[marvelslut16]

Closure

Pairing(s): Steve x reader, Steve x OC!Ana, Reader x OC!Mike

Synopsis: (Y/N) and Steve are paired up as partners for a year. The problem is she hates the golden boy. Quickly she learns that he isn’t as horrid as she once imagined and they become best friends. Will (Y/N) realize before it’s too late that she’s madly and deeply in love with one Steven Grant Rogers?

Word count: 5,100 whoops

Warnings: Some fluff, some angst. Swearing. Mentions of stitches, but now graphic descriptions of gore. A super clueless reader. Bucky is a bitch in this. Jealousy. 

A/n: I should have been writing my Stan Uris request (which I’m more than have done with) or my next chapter of can’t fight this feeling (it’s getting there you guys!) but I wrote this bad boy instead. I hope you guys enjoy it and are staying safe and healthy during these crazy times. 

Steve was never the man you planned to fall for. Hell, you hated the man for three years. You thought he was pretentious and full of himself when he snootily corrected you on a mistake only he noticed. Everyone praised him, said he was so fantastic; he could do no wrong, he’s America’s golden boy after all.

A few years had passed since the incident where he corrected you on an almost nonexistent mistake in the middle of a mission. You two were suddenly paired up by Fury to be partners on any future missions. Bucky was still recovering from all the pain Hydra caused so he couldn’t be Steve’s partner, but you had been hoping to get either Nat or Tony as yours. But life never works out how you want. 

Being partners also meant you two had to train together too, help you bond and become a stronger pair on missions. Blah blah blah. You had a sprained wrist from a mission you had just been on, it was supposed to be a simple in and out until the shield agent helping you made a mistake. The worst part is that you happen to be dating that shield agent, Mike can’t go thirty minutes without apologizing. The more he does it the more it gets on your nerves, so you always try to take hold of the conversation and steer it away from that topic. 

So as you're in the gym for your first training session, sitting on a bench board out of your mind watching America’s golden boy workout his already perfect body, you text Mike and complain about being stuck with the blonde soldier. Steve breaks the tense and awkward silence randomly, causing you to put your phone down for the first time since entering the gym. 

“Do you know how to work this thing?” his thumb is pointing over his shoulder at one of the many treadmills, he’s giving you a sheepish smile.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you smile softly, quickly getting up and pressing the buttons, setting it up for him. “There ya go.”

“Thanks,” he lets out a sigh, running a hand through his slightly sweaty blonde locks. “I’m still new to all of this technology stuff.” You don’t respond, not verbally at least. You give him a warm smile and small nod, his grin seems to grow at your first real interaction. 

As your time with him in the gym becomes more frequent when you're healed, you notice that he doesn’t actually need your help setting up the machines. He even sets them up for you if he beats you to the gym that day. You realize that it was really just an icebreaker, this way it wouldn’t be as awkward and you would finally talk to him. It turns out he doesn’t even remember correcting you all those years ago, so maybe he isn’t as bad as you’ve always made him out to be. 

--

To nobody's surprise, but your own, you and Steve become fast friends. You didn’t think much of it, he’s your partner and you two are supposed to get along. So the friendship was a good thing, right? Steve soon became your confidant, the one you would seek out if the mission was hard or if you and Mike were in yet another fight. Besides that, Steve was just a great person who was fun to be with.

He was surprisingly political for a man that was frozen in ice for seventy years, so he’ll talk your ear off about what’s going on in the world. It’s not too surprising, you suppose, he was political propaganda and has an unwavering moral compass, so it’s to be expected. He keeps you educated and up to date, something that amuses your teammates when they see you guys hang out. You and Steve will have animated conversations about World War II, comparing the political climate and leaders back then to now over lunch. What really amused everyone was how quickly those serious conversations could flip and turn into pop culture talk. If one of you says a reference from a show in your conversation, it immediately switches to that show or ones like it.

You had introduced Steve to friends, and he had come running to you as soon as Ross and Rachel had their we were on a break fight. He was so distraught over the show, he wanted Ross and Rachel to just talk out their problems. You thought his reaction was adorable, and so did Nat who was quietly laughing to herself in a corner. 

There were days where you didn’t even have to talk, content with sitting in silence and filling out mission reports. Typically spent listening to songs from the forties, or you trying to get him into modern music. Everyone was shocked, especially Bucky who is now back from Wakanda good as new apparently, that you got Steve to get a cellphone. The super soldier frequently texts you with questions or to complain that he misses you if you’re too injured or sick to make it to training. 

--

Very rarely was Steve moody, one reason you were glad when you got him and not Tony, but when he was it was unbearable. He had gotten in a fight with Bucky and ignored you in training. No setting up the machine for you, even though he was already running on his treadmill when you got to the gym. No offering you water after a tough set, or apologizing if he thought he pinned you to the mat too hard, which he always did. 

“Stevie, what’s wrong?” you finally broke the silence.

“It’s nothing (Y/N)!” there’s a flash of anger towards you in his icy blue eyes. “I’m done training for the day.”

“But we still have another hour!” you holler at his toned back, white shirt clinging to the sweat, as he walks away from you. 

“I don’t really care, I don’t want to talk,” Steve doesn’t turn to face you. His voice drops so low he thinks you won’t hear him, but you do, “I don’t want to be around you right now.”

Your heart squeezes at his words. Was Mike right when he called you too much the other night? Were you so annoying that both your boyfriend and your best friend didn’t want to be around you?

Steve’s blue eyes softened as he apologized for his actions the next morning. He didn’t know you heard his last bit, but you weren’t gonna tell him you did. So you just dealt with the little bit of your self esteem chip away, but that was nothing new. 

--

You’re knocking on his door in the middle of the night, instantly regretting it when you see the dark bags under his sparkling blue eyes. His arm flexes as he rubs a hand over his face, gray sweatpants hang low on his waist, and his navy blue shirt is slightly twisted from tossing and turning.

“Sorry,” you sniffle and quickly apologize. You start to walk away but Steve’s thick fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you towards him. 

“What's wrong?” the sleep gone from his eyes, replaced with worry at the sight of your tear stained cheeks. 

“It’s nothing,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair. “It was stupid.”

“Is it nothing or is it stupid? ‘Cause it can’t be both Doll,” his voice is soft and inviting, it makes you start crying all over again.

“Mike and I got into such a bad fight,” you cry, he immediately pulls you into a hug and into his apartment. He ushers you over to a stool in the kitchen, grabbing you both a beer, claiming that you look like you could really use one. “He threatened to break up with me, he just kept saying that I have too much baggage from before. Telling me that I’m too annoying, too clingy, too much.”

The super soldier stayed up with you all night, letting you cry and vent about your relationship troubles. Again. He even took you out for breakfast when morning rolled around, you two laughing over what seemed like a gallon of coffee. While you had never woken him up before, you two had talked for hours if Mike had done something stupid or hurt you. 

Steve and Mike had been sort of friends before this, having worked with each other on missions before your partnership. But the words that Mike had been spewing at you hours earlier made it so that Steve could never look at him the same way again. Who could be that cruel to you on purpose?

--

The Avengers were going to a local hospital to surprise the sick children in the cancer ward. You’re paired up with Bucky much to your disappointment, everyone wanted Captain America and Black Widow together, they were well known. You don’t dislike the ex assassin, but he’s practically Steve’s brother which makes you infinitely more nervous around him. 

As you're waiting for the all clear from one of the oncologists you get a text from Tony with an updated schedule, one child was able to go home a day early so they were no longer there so a new room with a new kid was added. You briefly smile down at your lock screen, a picture of you and Steve making stupid faces in your uniforms- he even let you hold his shield. 

“Is that you and Steve?” Bucky’s long strands of hair hit the side of your face as he leans down to get a better look of the picture. 

“Uh- yeah,” you turn to look at his face, a small frown of confusion graces your features. His gaze goes from curious to a large frown, confusing you to no end. 

“Why did you guys take it?” he asks, crossing his thick arms across his chest, making sure to flex them.

“Uh, we had just gotten back from a long mission and we needed to decompress,” you smile fondly at the memory of the bleach blonde man making you laugh when you didn’t think you could even smile. He somehow managed to take your stress away, he always knew how to make it better; you’re convinced it was a power that came with the serum. “We were just goofing around and having fun, Steve suggested we take a picture to remember it.”

“You’re so annoying,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, brown locks creating a curtain around his face. Your jaw momentarily drops open in shock, but you quickly close it as the oncologist comes back to the two of you. You put on your well practiced mask, cheering up the kids was far more important than your measly little feelings.

For some unknown reason Bucky told Steve about the interaction. Steve immediately apologized the next day for Bucky’s actions, but it meant next to nothing coming from him and not the man with the vibranium arm. Steve just kept going on about how Bucky’s brain still wasn’t back to  hundred percent yet, but you knew Bucky had meant what he said.

--

“Are you sleeping with him?” Mike storms into your apartment that Tony gave you in Avengers tower, perks of the job. 

“What?” your eyebrows furrow, you aren’t a cheater. “Who?”

“Steve,” his name comes out of Mike’s mouth like it burned him, but you can see the sadness in his eyes. 

“Of course not!” anger starts to fuel you, how dare he make these accusations about you and your friend! 

“Sharon came up to me at work today and said she wouldn’t be surprised if you two were sleeping with each other behind my back!” he defends. Of course it was Sharon, you restrain yourself from aggressively rolling your eyes at the annoying woman's antics.

“Steve and I would never do that! And you know that. You also know that Sharon is obsessively in love with Steve and is most likely jealous of my friendship with him.” 

The conversation ended there that night, but you knew it wasn’t over yet. Mike left shortly after to go to his apartment twenty minutes away from the tower, and you were left to wonder why the hell Sharon would ever suggest a thing. Steve was just a friend! Right? 

The next day during training you were complaining to him about Sharon and Mike as you were punching one of the many bags filled with sand. Knuckles bruising and bleeding, but you don’t notice. Far too occupied with everyone sticking their noses where they don’t belong, just looking to start drama within the Avengers.

--

You and Mike had gotten into yet another fight about Steve a month later. This time you didn’t want to go to the man at the center of your problems, so you went to two of your friends Marie and Trisha. They’re both Shield agents that work with Mike, so they know the both of you enough to give you good advice. 

“He just keeps getting so mad at me for being friends with Steve!” you complain to the two girls, who roll their eyes at the words they’ve heard come from your mouth a thousand times before. 

“So break up with him,” Marie shrugs like it’s no big deal, checking her nails. 

“But I love him,” you blanch.

“Do you though?” Trisha asks with a judgmental eyebrow raised. 

“Of course I do! We’ve been together for two years, I see a future with him,” you furrow your brows at how rude they seem. “But do you think he’s right? Do you think Steve likes me?”

“Not even close!” Trisha laughs. “(Y/N), he would never go for someone like you, he could have any woman- or man- that he wants.”

“Dump Mike and forget Steve, they aren’t worth your time,” Marie looks up from her nails to give you an annoyed look.

So much for friends, huh. But Trisha was right about one thing, Steve would never go for someone like me. I’m not special, I’m not beautiful; I’m just annoying and I carry too much emotional baggage for anyone to deal with. You walked out of shield headquarters that day feeling worse than you did when you came, and no closer to solving this whole Steve Mike business. 

--

Steve was reading the briefing for your next mission when you entered the common room in the tower. You plopped down right next to him, swinging your legs over his lap and resting your head on his shoulder to read it too. He threw the arm that you’re leaning on across your shoulders to make it more comfortable for the two of you. You and Steve would sit like this all the time; during movies, reading up on missions, while talking about anything and everything. 

It made Mike uncomfortable, and maybe you were naive because you never understood why. Steve was your friend, and friends cuddle. Plus it was extremely comfortable and some days you just needed it. The first time you did it you did as a joke, trying to make Steve uncomfortable, it was a game you two play. But you both quickly found how much you both liked it and you do it without giving it a second thought now. Plus, it’s a nice added bonus when Sharon sees it and gets upset. 

--

Before you and Steve knew it a whole year of partnership passed, and Fury decided to change partners around. Steve obviously got Bucky and you got Nat. While she was your original first choice, now all you wanted was for Steve to have your six. There wouldn’t be anymore inside jokes, long talks, or silly photos to take. You would miss the way his nose crinkled when he would laugh at one of your stupid jokes, or how his face would scrunch up and the tip of his tongue would peak out from between his lips when would sketch you during your free time. 

If losing him as your partner weren’t enough, he was moving out of the tower. He found a cute little brownstone to move into, him and Bucky were going to be roommates. You believed Steve when he told you he would come visit you all the time, but it was just an empty promise. You felt like you were losing a piece of your heart and soul. Steve had become your best friend and you weren’t sure when you would be able to see him again. He left the tower one night, never telling you goodbye first. 

If anything good came out of Steve’s move, it was that you and Mike weren’t as rocky as you once were. You were crushed that you didn’t have Steve by your side anymore, but you would never tell Mike that. He’d never understand how you missed the super soldier as a friend. He and I would still text occasionally, or talk briefly if we ran into each other in the halls, but it was never the same. And it never would be.

The next time you saw Sharon she was smug, as if she were gloating because you weren’t close to him anymore either. But that all changed when Steve entered the tower with a shorter woman with long black hair on his arm named Ana. She was a nurse for shield, apparently they had met when she insisted he get a cut stitched after a bad mission, even if he would be healed within a few hours. You used to make Steve get checked out after every mission, made sure he took care of himself, but you were useless now. 

“She’s cheated on every guy she’s been with,” Sharon whispered to you as Ana swung her own legs over Steve’s lap and curled into his side. The smile on his face was so wide and loving, it was honestly revolting. Nat, Tony, and Sam all turned to watch your face at the interaction, you masked any possible emotion. But Tony saw the hurt in your eyes, you had officially lost Steve. But he was never yours to lose. 

You pushed off Sharon’s words, why would she tell you the truth when she hated you so much. But when Trisha and Marie texted you out of nowhere freaking out about her being a cheater you knew it was the ugly truth. Steven Grant Rogers, the love of your life as you always jokingly called him, was going to get his pure heart broken by someone who would never love as much as he loved her. 

-- 

Mike caught you one night, when he came over to surprise you with dinner, looking at the drawings of you that Steve had done while swiping through the pictures you had taken with the blonde. Mike, seeing that you were grieving the loss of such an important friendship didn’t say anything about it. Instead you guys ate your food and talked about your future together. He kept repeating that he wanted to marry you one day soon. 

While the prospect of spending the rest of your life with Mike was exciting and inviting; it was a nice safe choice. You couldn’t help but wonder, would Steve go to your wedding? Would he be your man of honor like you two joked he would be? Or did he not care about you now that you weren’t partners anymore? Because your life would be gray without him in it. 

--

Tony threw his yearly charity gala. You were dressed in an ombre blue dress that made you feel like Cinderella. Mike had surprised you and paid for you to go all out and get your hair and nails done. What you didn’t know was that Mike was trying to spoil you so you would be happy again and maybe fix your crumbling relationship. While your relationship was fine, better even, when Steve had moved, it was falling apart now as you wallowed in self pity over the fact that you lost your best friend. 

You had begged Mike for hours to go dance with you, but he wouldn’t. He just told you he didn’t want to and sat at your table sipping his drink. Steve and Ana were spinning around the dance floor, they looked so happy it hurt. You couldn’t help but stare, that could have been you. What did you have to sell to get Mike to seem like he cared about you and to dance with you? A kidney? An arm or a leg? Your soul? Because you would do it. 

Nat and Wanda saw how depressed you looked, so they pulled you onto the floor with them. And for a few minutes everything felt right in the world, you were finally happy. But that ended as soon as it began when Ana bumped into you while she was dancing, you would have fallen if it weren’t for Wanda and her powers. She giggled out a fake sorry before pulling Steve in the opposite direction.

When you sat back down next to Mike again you couldn’t tear your eyes off of Steve. Who had he become? He was so enraptured by Ana that he didn’t even try to talk to you like he always did at big events like this. What you didn’t know was that while you were holding back tears Mike was trying to talk himself into breaking up with you. He knew you weren’t happy anymore, that you would much rather be with Steve. Even if you didn’t know that yet. 

--

After a long talk with Fury it was decided that it would be better for everyone if you went back to being a normal shield agent instead of a part of the Avengers. While it stung a little and felt like a downgrade, it was what you wanted as well. To make things even better, you were now paired up with Sharon. Your long hours together proved she wasn’t as horrible as you once thought, but she was definitely not your favorite person. 

Mike started working in a new sector where he was partnered up with a new agent named Jana. He spent more time with her than with, you so you started hanging out with Trisha and Marie regularly again. The two girls tried to get you to shit talk Ana with them, but you wouldn’t. Steve was happy and that’s all that mattered to you. 

Mike broke up with you. He sent you a text at three in the morning telling you it wasn’t working. You wholeheartedly agreed, nothing felt right anymore, but you would have preferred the break up in person. That was the decent thing to do.he started dating Jana, and you were happy for him too. Just like Steve, you wanted him happy.

--

Months passed after the break up and you were still friends with Mike. He was your partner and your friend before the relationship, so you were sure as hell going to be his friend after the end of your three year relationship. Your break up wasn’t a secret, it seemed like everyone at shield knew the details of it. 

Mike, Jana, Maria Hill, and you were all eating lunch together when a familiar blonde haired blue eyed man walked through the cafeteria. Your heart started to pound, you hadn’t talked to Steve in almost a year and hadn’t seen him in even longer. Mike gave your arm a quick squeeze as Maria was getting ready to go talk to him. But Ana locked eyes with you as soon as Steve waved at you, and pulled him away from you. Mike pulled you into his side and Jana gently rubbed your hand that was sitting on the tabletop. 

Maria runs away from you and Sharon and up to talk to Steve when she sees him in the hall later that day. You and Sharon share an unsure glance before following Fury's right hand woman. Steve has a long talk with Maria about an upcoming mission she is accompanying him and Bucky on. He even talks with Sharon about a new technique Nat taught her when the redhead visited a few weeks prior.

“Hey Rogers,” you give him a small smile when his eyes finally land on you.

He opens his mouth, ready to speak to you for the first time in ages. But before he could get any words out Ana let out an annoyed sound, sent Steve a look, and stormed off. Steve gave you an apologetic smile before running after his girlfriend.

Your mouth opens as you let out what would have a mix between a sob and a scoff if it hadn’t come out silent. It felt like something was wrapping around your heart, giving it a painful squeeze. That feeling snaked up and constricted your throat, momentarily causing you to forget to breathe. Maria is looking at you with soft confused eyes while Sharon is glaring at Steve’s back as he runs after Ana. 

Ironically, you ran crying to Mike. It was a sick twist of fate, after a year of running to Steve when things went wrong with Mike, he was now the one helping you when it came to the hurt America’s golden boy caused. He took you out for dinner that night and spent hours comforting you. Because after all this time you finally realized it. You’re in love with Steve, you have been for years. But now you’ve lost him for good. 

-- 

“Are Steve and Ana still together?” Wanda asks when you visit her and Nat at the tower. 

“I think, why?” you glance between the two redheads confused why they would be asking you this and not Steve.

“Well her and this other shield agent came with us on a mission,” Nat admits. “And the entire quinjet ride she was hanging all over him.”

“We had to spend the night there,” Wanda says slowly, like the next words out of her mouth could change everything. And they do. “I caught her sneaking into his room.”

The world around you seems to slow and your fragile heart seems to crack even more. You knew it. You knew that bitch would hurt your Stevie. 

After leaving the tower for the night you immediately message both Marie and Trisha because they were right. At the office the next day you join in on the shit talking for the first time. Nobody hurts your Stevie. 

--

Tony invited you to the charity gala again, he kept whining that he missed your annoying ass. So you're put on a gorgeous deep red dress with a slightly bedazzled bodice. You're at the bar with Tony, Nat, and Wanda when Sharon comes running over; her dress, Trisha, and Marie trailing behind her. 

“Is Steve still with Ana?” Sharon asks, slightly out of breath.

“Why do people keep asking me this?” not only are you confused, but you're angry that it keeps coming up. “How am I supposed to know? Steve and I don’t talk anymore.”

“Ana came with the guy who’s room she snuck into,” Marie eyes you nervously as she speaks. 

“That's her ex,” Jana adds as her and Mike join the group forming at the bar. 

“Check their socials!” Trisha hollers unhelpfully. But you do anyway, and what you see breaks your heart.

You check Ana first, but after typing her name into the search bar nothing comes up. Mike quickly looks her up and shows that she still pops up on his phone, she obviously blocked you. Ana and Steve were still her profile picture, but you weren’t satisfied with that.

Your fingers fly as you type in Steve’s name. He pops up, but you suddenly aren’t friends with him anymore and the option to send a friend request isn’t there. Your cracked heart shatters. Everyone around you seems to fade and all you hear is white noise, you never meant anything to him. You don’t realize you're crying until your tears hit the picture of him and Ana laughing which is his new profile picture. 

Tony makes you another rum and coke, which you chug. Screw Ana. Screw Steve Rogers. And fuck feelings. You spend the night dancing with Nat and Wanda when they aren’t with Clint and Vision. Mike, who refused to dance with you a year ago, even took you for a spin around the dance floor. 

--

You eventually cut Trisha and Marie out of your life, they were nothing but trouble. They were bad influences, trying to get you to be a meaner person than you were. And it worked for a while, you had let them manipulate your hurt into anger since that was an easier emotion to process. Shortly after the gala you got transferred to a shield base in Sokovia, Wanda and Pietro excitedly showed you around their home. Sharon texted you a year after you left that Steve had apparently broken up with Ana.

It has been almost three years since the day of that gala and about two since Steve and Ana had broken up. Mike is still your best friend, he’s planning on proposing to Jana soon. He’ll occasionally see Steve and tell you how he is. Recently you decided to look him up on Facebook again to see how he was doing; he looks good, happy. You had the option to send him a friend request again, so you did. And within ten minutes he said yes. 

It has been about a month since that happened, you haven’t messaged him and he hasn’t messaged you. You’ll react to some of the old photos from the forties that he’ll post, or the memes he posts about Stranger Things, another show you had gotten him into. Facebook friends doesn’t seem like too much, but for you when it comes to Steve it means the world. 

While you don’t have that connection you had with Steve once, him accepting is like he’s accepting your apology for how poorly you acted when it came to Ana. You finally got your closure. 

And with that you put down your pen and close your composition notebook. The one you're shield appointed therapist, you had to talk to her for your yearly eval, had suggested. She thought it might make you feel better to have all of the words written down, all of the truths and emotions out in the open. You realized far too late how you really felt, and the notebook was the only way to fully process everything that had happened these past four years.

Forever tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​

[some-mad-lunge]

What Might Have Been - Malex Fic

Alex leaves Roswell the day after his and Michael’s almost kiss. He comes back for his high school reunion and realizes some things never change, like the way a certain curly haired boy makes him feel. (Malex AU)

This is for @fraudulentzodiacs​ to make her smile. You are loved darling.

***************************

You can’t go home again, isn’t that what they say? What they should say is don’t go home again. Alex Manes had made that vital mistake, gone home and he regretted it. Why? Because he was sitting in a rented luxury SUV, AC running as he tried to pump himself up enough to get out of the damn car.

He’d had his reasons for wanting to show up his 10 year high school reunion but he couldn’t remember them right now.

Well two reasons actually, only two and he did remember them.

First, to throw a John Hughes style middle finger to the four years of hell he’d had within those walls and the people who’d made it that way.

The second? To lay eyes one more time on the boy that was the only reason those same years were even slightly bearable.

Alex wasn’t usually nostalgic, which was ironic given that he was a songwriter. He was paid large amounts of money to make melodies and prose into art, to make people feel something. It didn’t mean he always saw the beauty in the sunset or in the healing of a broken heart. It didn’t mean he looked backwards at all. He normally avoided it at all costs.

It just happened that his invitation to the reunion had arrived less than 48 hours after his interview with Rolling Stone. He’d been picked, along with nine other songwriters, to be a part of their “Voices Of A Generation” issue. It was a tremendous honour and a validation he’d never known he’d needed until he had it.

It didn’t matter that he had two Grammy’s, countless other awards and chart topping hits. It didn’t matter that he had Beyoncé’s and Taylor Swift’s personal numbers saved in his cell phone. It didn’t matter that he had a house in Malibu and an apartment in Manhattan. It didn’t matter what anyone in Roswell thought about him then or what they thought now, especially not Alex’s father.

No, what mattered was that he'd been chosen by Rolling Stone to represent the voice of the very people who had shunned him back in the day. They had tried to make him hate who he was and had failed miserably in their attempts.

Now they listened to his message, they sang along to his lyrics and that was a fuck you very much he wasn’t going to turn down delivering.

But none of it, not one single bit of it, would have been possible without Michael Guerin.

Alex could still remember it like it was yesterday, Michael’s lips, Michael’s eyes. Warm breath on Alex’s face and the moment of finally before it was gone and the soul crushing love of his life had pulled away before it could even begin. Instead it ended and so did any reason to hang on.

If that hadn’t happened Alex wouldn’t have packed his bags that night. He wouldn't have taken out all his savings, bought a bus ticket and gotten out of New Mexico before anyone knew he was gone. He wouldn’t have sat staring out the window as the dessert went by, not bothering to hide his tears as he wrote “Cosmic Love” in his spiral notebook.

It was a song about a love that you can run from but never leave behind. The kind of love that is everywhere and in everything, that sustains you just as much as it makes you bleed. A love that only two people could understand. The love Alex had always felt for Michael.

The lyrics had flowed out of him in one go, the notes he played the first time at a rest stop under a flickering light at 2:00am.

A song that less than a year later made the gay teenage outcast of Roswell a force to be reckoned with.

If Michael hadn’t taken away Alex’s only reason to stay, he never would have left. Alex felt like he owed Michael somehow for crushing his heart.

It hadn’t been that easy of course, but for once luck had been on Alex’s side. Los Angeles had been the escape he’d always dreamed of. He met people like himself, the outcasts, the freaks and the artists. He’d met boys, and men, unashamed to look him up and down, desire him. He’d been allowed to kiss in coffee shops and hold someone’s hand at the beach. He’d sat in the sand and played his guitar in between shifts at the souvenir kiosk where he’d gotten a job.

He’d been in LA six months when he’d met Jason. Alex strummed his guitar, black polish chipping off his nails, hard cement of the boardwalk under him. Jason, who had a voice like honey, sat beside him out of the blue one day and started singing along. Jason, who instantly became his best friend, and then shortly after became Jason Rast.

Cosmic Love had been Jason’s first single off his debut album, and it changed both of their lives.

Alex Manes might write the voice of a generation but Jason Rast sang it, gave it life. He was the epitome of a rock star with a heart of gold. Fame hadn’t changed him, or their friendship. Or how much he liked to text.

Jason - Have you seen him yet? Did he get fat? I bet he got fat.

Alex - I’m hiding in the parking lot.

Jason - You know you have two Grammy’s right? Fuck those people.

Alex - Why did I want to do this again?

Jason- Do you want me to send a jet to come get you? We could go to Vegas. Adam Levine is there, he always throws a good bender.

Alex - You hate Levine.

Jason - Everyone hates him. It’s like a rule.

Alex - No. I’m going to do this. I can do this.

Jason - MY MAN!

Jason - Let me know if he got fat.

Alex pulled himself out of the car, smoothed the front of his button down shirt. He could have gone full celebrity and worn something designer. That was probably what everyone was expecting of him but it didn’t mean that’s who Alex was. Sure his jeans were probably too expensive by most people’s standards but they made his ass look amazing. He did have to face the unrequited love of his life after all.

He walked through the parking lot filled with cars but void of people. He could hear the music coming from the open gym doors, the muffled voices of his past. The sun was starting to set, casting everything in moody pinks and reds.

For some reason he headed towards the football field. Not that Alex had ever played the sport or even gone to a game unless dragged there. No, he’d spent his time under the bleachers playing his guitar or smoking a cigarette when he should have been in class pretending anyone at home gave a shit about him.

Alex had perfected being moody and pissed about the unfairness of life as a teenager. It had been warranted but it was still a damn cliche.

He finally stopped with his hands in his pockets, took in the spot he’d sat with Maria or Liz, sometimes even Michael, but mostly alone. Just him and his guitar. This place seemed bigger back then, the whole world had.

“Looks exactly the same doesn’t it?” The voice from behind Alex didn’t make him jump, it never had. Instead it slide over him like a caress, heat and smoke, easy to fall into if he wanted. He took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder.

Time had been good to Michael Guerin. Correction, time had been sucking Michael Guerin’s dick and thanking him for the pleasure. He looked like sex personified, low slung jeans and curls that Alex still wished he had felt against his fingers just one time.

Michael was a little older, a little rougher around the edges but he still made a shiver go up Alex’s spine. It was like being 18 all over again.

“Of all the things I expect to change in this world Roswell isn’t one of them.” Alex smiled through the words. It was Michael and even when breaking Alex’s heart he was still the best thing about this God awful town.

He got a grin back, Michael walking forward so Alex can meet him in the handshake/half hug that seems to be the straight man staple. He felt breath on his cheek for a second so it was worth it.

“I can’t believe you came.” Michael seemed genuinely happy to see Alex, which he had to admit surprised him.

“Me neither.” He’s a liar but no one needs to know that.

“FYI, Isobel has your Rolling Stones cover up on the “Alumni Wall Of Fame.” It’s right next to Marcus Boyle’s USDGC gold medal.”

“USDGC?”

“United States Disc Golf Championship.”

Alex can’t stop the punch of laughter that escapes. Michael always did that to him, made him feel without fear. Alex could laugh or he could cry but it was easy, and it was safe.

“Is the medal in the shape of a frisbee?” Alex can’t help but meet Michael’s eyes, fascinated that they are exactly the same as he remembers them. Exactly like he still dreamed about most nights.

“No, but now that I think about it that is clearly a gross oversight.”

They stand side by side, their snorts of laughter fading into comfortable silence. Their kind of comfortable, with a pop of electricity that snapped between them. Alex would never forget how devastated he’d been when he realized he was the only one that had ever felt it.

He kind of wants to go back in time and give 18 year old Alex a hug. At 28 he’s unsure how to handle this feeling, 10 years ago must have been terrifying. He doesn’t remember it that way. Michael had never scared him, Michael had fascinated him.

“Should we head in?” Alex turned to the gym, as ready as he’d ever be to face the masses, but a hand on his arm stopped him. The fingers are so hot Alex wasn’t sure how he didn’t catch on fire. He had to fight the part of him that just wanted to press those hands to his bare skin and burn alive.

“Or we could hide under the bleachers with the cooler of beer I put there just in case.” Michael’s smile is small, and if Alex has read it right, a little bit unsure. A peace offering? Which was ridiculous, it wasn’t Michael’s fault that he hadn’t felt the way Alex always did.

No, it wasn’t anyone’s fault that Alex had spent most of his life continuously falling for Michael Guerin.

Alex had been so heartbroken he hadn’t realized when he’d run away he wasn’t the only one who had lost something. Michael had been Alex’s ideal, but Alex had been Michael’s friend. One of the choice few. For a moment he was ashamed of himself. But Alex had done what he needed to do for his own survival back then. He shouldn’t regret it now, but seeing Michael’s face, a part of him did. Alex owed him, even if it would probably smash his heart all over again.

“Lead the way cowboy.”

They ducked under metal bars and squeezed through small openings to get to Alex’s favourite hideaway. It was perfectly hidden, right where two sets of bleachers met in a corner. There were two blankets and cooler with a black cowboy hat perched on top. As Michael sat Alex pulled out his phone, took a picture of the initials he’d scrawled in black sharpie back in the day.

AM WAS HERE/QUEER.

There’s other initials now, some with the same message as his. It makes him feel connected to the kids who came after. The ones who hid here just like he had. He wonders if he’d helped anyone feel less alone.

Alex suddenly feels suffocated by Michael’s gaze, like it’s running the length of him in a slow trail. He’s imagining it, he knows he is, but he lets himself.

Finally he sits across from Michael, his legs tucked as comfortably as he can on the blanket left for him. He gladly takes the beer bottle handed his way, sighs after a long sip.

“So Guerin, do anything interesting in the last 10 years?”

And yeah, Michael’s laugh still sends Alex’s stomach into somersaults. Some things just never changed.

*********

They’re three beers in, the initial awkwardness gone. Their legs are spread out in front of them, Alex is mesmerized by the warmth of Michael’s thigh against his calf. It makes him want what he can’t have, but it’s a feeling he’s used to.

Alex is surprised that Michael never left Roswell, never went to university like he planned. He’s cagey on the details so Alex doesn’t push. Guerin doesn’t seem unhappy but he’s also not content. There’s something missing in his life. Alex can tell. They were always the same, the two of them.

They keep it light and easy. Alex shares stories of LA and the lack of glamor. How he enjoys fame without actually being famous enough to be recognized on the street. He’ll be the first to admit his life isn’t as exciting as people think.

Michael catches him up on Roswell and how much everything is basically exactly the same.

“I was sad to find out the museum closed, I thought I would check and see if they had any new displays.” Alex meant it as a joke but he watches something akin to pain flash in Michael’s eyes. Maybe it’s the shadows from the flood lights, or maybe…

“Michael?!” Alex would know that voice anywhere, Isobel Evans on the warpath. The beer had made him loose, or maybe it’s the insanity of the situation but he can’t help himself. He starts to giggle.

Michael shushes him but it’s no use, Alex can hear the click of Isobel’s heels as they come closer. He can’t stop, he just keeps imaging the blonde princess’s face if she discovers them. That is until Michael reaches forward, one hand to the back of Alex neck and the other to cover his giggling mouth.

He freezes, because suddenly he’s overcome with the warmth surrounding him. The fizz in his stomach now a full blown tornado and the sensation of fingers softly digging into his skin. Michael’s eyes are locked with his, and the world just melts away. He doesn’t know if Isobel has left. He doesn’t know if he’s dreaming but he can’t help himself. That was always his problem. His heart has a mind of its own and it’s always said one thing over and over again.

Michael.

He does the most insane and yet natural thing before he can think better of it, and presses his lips to Michael’s palm in a soft kiss. He does it selfishly, for himself. So Alex can say once, just once, that he got to.

Michael’s eyes soften, his hand gone from Alex’s mouth. Instead it palms Alex’s cheek, a calloused thumb ghosting against his mouth. The moan it brings out of him, Alex would be ashamed of it wasn’t the most honest sound he’s ever made.

It’s there, that flash of heat in Michael’s eyes. The one Alex always thought he’d imagined. It’s real this time and it’s everything he remembers.

They meet in the middle, wet and open from the start. Michael’s tongue a direct shock to his dick, already hard and wanting. Alex wants to weep when he finally gets to slide his fingers into that hair, feel the curls catch and release. He tastes like beer and every good memory Alex ever had.

Michael’s hands are greedy and they’re everywhere. Alex feels the imprint of them long after they slide from his shoulders to his waist, a hard tug as they fist into his shirt. Somehow he’s dragged into Michael’s lap, the earth hard on his knees as he grinds down. It makes Alex whimper, he has to lose those lips to gasp for breath and hold on.

Michael’s arms are holding him so tight, a hand sliding up under his shirt, teeth scraping against his neck. It makes his hips move faster, chasing something he can’t even name. They’re rhythm and Michael’s quick movements are going to end him.

Warm lips drag a path to his ear, breath heavy and wanton. “Always knew it would be like this.”

It sends shockwaves through Alex, digs in deep, the reality that he hadn’t been the only one all those years ago. That he isn’t the only one currently drowning now.

“Michael…”

He’s grasped tighter, held fast and whatever he was about to say disappears. They’re lined up perfectly and Alex has never hated denim more in his life. He wants to slow this down, take his time. He wants to imprint everything to memory, horde it for the lonely nights that are sure to follow. Michael won’t let him, maybe he can’t. It doesn’t matter, not anymore.

Alex needs to kiss him again, so he does. They’re too out of breath, too keyed up. They’re just panting into each other’s mouths and lighting the world on fire. It’s all happening so fast, years of feeling focused into right here and right now.

He’s so close, he’s so fucking close to dying and he can’t get their soon enough. Michael bites Alex’s bottom lip, pain and pleasure and everything in between. He forces his gaze to stay on Michael’s face, that fierce look of possession mixed with awe. Every dream Alex ever had paled in comparison to the real thing.

“Come on baby. I’ve waited a decade for this, don’t deny me now.”

That’s all it takes, the demand in Michael’s words and what they really mean. It’s pulled out of Alex, like a gut punch of galaxies, the burn of the sun. He’s not alone, he feels all of it. Michael’s pleasure, his own eternity and bliss, quakes with it in every nerve ending.

Finally he floats back down, weightless and perfect. His arms still wrapped around Michael, his face pressed into soft flannel. He never wants to let go. Hands are still clutched into his skin. Unheard words are whispered into his shoulder. Alex just tries to relearn how to breathe.

It’s fingers on his face that finally has him moving again, their foreheads pressed together.

“What the fuck was that?” Alex kisses it into Michael’s mouth, in awe of how much he still wants him. How much he always has, how much he always will.

Michael pulls back, runs his thumbs over Alex’s cheeks. His eyes are bright and brilliant, his voice clearer than it has any right to be.

“Cosmic Love.”

Alex stills for a second, has to close his own eyes from what it makes him feel. He never thought Michael would know the song was about him. He should of, of course he should have, who else could it have ever been?

“I went looking for you the next day. Searched everywhere. If I could go back...” Michael’s looking at him like he used to, another thing Alex hadn’t imagined after all. “I knew you’d leave Alex, but you were always supposed to take me with you.”

Alex sees it all in Michael's eyes, all the loneliness and pain of the past reflected back at him. So much regret it breaks his heart all over again. Only this time, this time Alex gets to do it right.

“How quickly can you pack?” He means it, God does Alex mean it. Presses his lips all over Michael’s face, soft and sweet. Years of love he finally gets to show, to give to the boy who helped Alex survive. Now the man he still feels every bit of it for.

Michael stops his caresses, something shutters in his eyes and it hurts. Alex feels the world start to cave in. He tries to pull away, because he can’t lose this again. Not after what they just shared, he won’t survive it.

“No, don’t.” Michael holds fast, searches Alex’s face. “I just need to tell you something first. It might...it could change things.”

“It won’t.” Alex knows it couldn’t.

“Alex…”

He runs his fingers through curls, revels in finally being allowed to.

“I promise you, it won’t.”

They’re still pressed together under the bleachers when Alex learns the truth. It should shock him, it should scare him. It doesn’t, not even a little. He just listens and he believes and none of it matters.

It’s Michael and him, it’s them and what they’ve always been. It’s cosmic, and now Alex knows why.

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard - Chapter Fifty “Black Holes and Revelations”

Hello everybody, how are you? Here is chapter Fifty of my Story Bodyguard. I hope you will like this chapter. I’m truly sorry for not posting a lot but this semester is crazy, I have so many things to do...

I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

                      –––––––––––––––––––––––

- A drink, Mister Hunt?

Eyes into space, installed at the counter, I raise my head detaching myself from the observation absent from the hotel bar.

I stayed for two days in this establishment which was my favorite address in Seattle, in Downtown: I had spent many stays there in the past between two planes or two missions.

My gaze rests on Roberto, the barman of the hotel and I offer him a slight smile.

- Yes, thank you, Roberto.

- What would you like? And don’t limit yourself, it’s offered by the house, he specifies with a wink.

I smile a little more, touched by his attention, to believe that my absent and distant attitude had not gone unnoticed.

- A glass of Bordeaux please and that’s nice for your offer, but I don’t want you to be in trouble for me.

- Don’t worry. A glass of Saint-Emilion then, he continues, dexterously serving me a glass of particularly prized wine. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate, he said.

- Thank you very much, Roberto, I conclude while letting him go away and take care of the other customers present in the bar.

My mind escapes again after this interruption, stopping on the last two days that I have just spent.

Two days of emptiness, boredom, and worry.

I was more distraught than anticipated in this situation: without a mission, dismissed as a beginner.

Until then, I have always been master of my professional context: my contract ends were well thought out or prepared.

After a sense of duty accomplished.

Or a jointly agreed departure when my weariness was too big.

But there, none of that: an unpleasant feeling of unfinished business, a sum of tensions whereas unlike Amelia, I am convinced that the threat still lurks.

And here I am: I’ve been going in circles for two days in this hotel.

Like a caged lion.

I stayed cloistered, to avoid approaching her neighborhood, to watch her apartment, a strong drive to silence my discomfort and reassure myself.

I feel a coward at the same time because I didn't dare to inform Jackson or Nathan of the situation. I didn’t see how I could justify Amelia’s decision to them without revealing my weakness. This episode of bewilderment of which I am still so ashamed and even more today after all the consequences which ensue from it.

.

“That’s not your problem, anymore.” she told me.

But it’s stronger than me, I can’t turn the page as easily and no longer worry about her fate overnight… after having lived with her for long months and having shared moments that still resonate unexpectedly in me.

It was no longer tenable and I had made the best decision the day before.

I just had to wait a bit…

- Good evening, can I sit next to you?

An unexpected presence is revealed on my right with a soft and singing voice.

I turn my head and discover a young woman with long brown hair, dressed in a tight-fitting, low-cut white dress: she stares at me, waiting for my answer.

- Uh… yes, of course… please, I end up telling her.

She immediately sits on the stool by my side, placing her stilettos against the metal ledge to stand up straight.

- What are you drinking?

- A glass of Bordeaux, I answer a little absent.

- It’s a good vintage, you advise me?

I can see a light accent in her sentences, a touch of melody that reminds me of a Latin country.

- It’s a Saint-Emilion, among the best wines of France.

- I’m going to take the same thing then, I don’t know much about wine… I don’t have your intuition…

- On the other hand, it is not necessarily very cheap…

- It’s not a problem, she replies without particular emotions.

She beckons to Roberto and actually orders him a glass similar to mine. I observe her out of the corner of my eye during this conversation: she had a very fine face, almost perfect skin texture, and her equally flawless, slender and feminizer silhouette.

The style of woman we turn to on the street.

And yet, would I have turned on her?

I’m not even sure I would have noticed her in the bar.

- Hum, it’s a delight this wine, she reacts suddenly after a sip. I’m jealous of not being French in these kinds of moments…

- Where are you from? I asked a little surprised to start the discussion again, but the question had been burning my lips for a few seconds.

- I’m Italien, my name is Monica, she says with a smile.

She scrutinizes me intensely as if she is waiting for something. But I remain disconnected from the moment and the conversation before she speaks to me again.

- And you?

- Owen.

- Nice to meet you, Owen, she repeats with a smile.

I do not answer her, contenting myself with a slight movement of the head.

I look back into my glass, I didn’t want to be rude but I also did not want to have a conversation of convenience.

A silence of a few minutes settles in, but I still perceive this presence by my side and like the weight of a look that studies me.

- What’s her name?

- Excuse me?

I redirect my attention to this young woman by my side, taken aback by her question.

- That pensive and melancholy air. I only know one reason to see it settle so firmly on a man’s face. And in general, there is always a woman behind… Am I wrong?

- Not completely, but it’s not for the reasons you assume.

- I don’t suppose anything, but she obviously occupies your mind largely, she continues while taking a sip of her glass. I’ve been watching you for a few minutes, you have to be blind not to notice yourself in a room, she concludes with a smile.

I look away, uncomfortable with the turn of the exchange.

- Were you expecting someone? I asked her as a signal to dismiss her politely.

- Not anymore. I am delivered from my evening commitments.

Her expression intrigues me as if she were there for obligation and not to spend the evening with a husband, a fiancé or a lover.

- You might be better off finding him…

- I was not there for personal convenience, you know…

- Sorry, but seeing you in a hotel at 9pm and dressed like that, I thought you had a date…

- Somehow, I had to find a photographer to prepare a shoot.

So she was a model, nothing surprising considering her physique.

- But I am very relieved that it is no longer relevant. Maybe I can help you spend a less moody evening.

- I’m only here for a few minutes, I’m going to leave soon.

- A few minutes are enough if they are well used, you know, she argues with a piercing and intense look.

I had the impression to discern strong innuendo in her words and at the same time, I thought of interpreting things, we only spoke for a few minutes after all.

- She left you?

- Excuse me?

- The woman who haunts your thoughts, she left you?

- Yes…well, no… it’s complicated…

- It’s always complicated, she resumes with a slight smile. But things always get better, over time. Love makes us suffer, but it also makes us stronger. Without it, we would only live half…

I had drawn a line of love for several years.

I had painfully and laboriously patched up my heart, but I had taken care to protect it, to surround it with a fortress, of which I threw the key.

Have I been living half since?

Maybe, but living fully with an open wound that bleeds daily was worse than anything…

- She will understand, she will forgive you.

- How do you know I have something to make me forgive?

- I didn’t know it, but you just confirmed it to me. But you shouldn’t be moping like that, loneliness is worse than anything…

I observe her and notice her eyes for the first time.

Two blue pupils with sparkling reflections.

A certain melancholy and sadness are revealed as if she spoke a little about herself through her remark.

A look that destabilizes me… because it looks so much like hers…

- You look like her… I whispered. You have the same…

The sentence escapes me despite me and I can see the young woman’s eyes getting a little bigger and a smile settling on her face.

- You don’t have to call me Monica, you know, she whispers in my ear while letting her hand rest on my forearm.

I stay motionless, my gaze fixed on her hand.

- You are very attractive and mysterious… I’m not used to saying that to a man I met for only a few minutes, but I like you a lot…

I fix her gaze a little more intensely and I look for something in it… something that I cannot identify or define but that I cannot find…

- I have a suite upstairs, I’m as alone as you are this evening, she continues in the hollow of my ear.

Her proximity makes me feel the warmth of her presence while her scent also invades my nostrils.

An olfactory stimulus that breaks the charm and illusion that insidiously settled.

No vanilla and coconut notes.

There are fresh and flowery touches that awaken me bringing me back to this reality: she is a stranger in front of me and not Amelia.

Amelia who should no longer be the center of my concerns…

- I wish you a good evening, Monica, I answer weakly as she detaches from me.

I read surprise and a barely concealed hint of irritation in her eyes.

Clearly, she was not used to being send-off like this by a man.

- Do you often refuse propositions like mine? She challenges me with a piercing look.

- When I’m not tempted, yes…

She laughs suddenly after my answer, then speaks again.

- Not tempted by a lay without commitment? Are you sure you are a male?

- I may not be like all men, so.

- Not like all men, that’s for sure… she is very lucky, she said before getting up and leaving the bar, leaving her glass half full.

.

Silence and emptiness reign around me again.

This interlude leaves me perplexed and disconcerted despite myself.

In the past, I would not have refused an invitation of this kind, from such a beautiful woman and in a context completely free of all constraints.

It was exactly what I was looking for: no attachment, no commitment.

Feelingless relationships.

Episodes to satisfy my body without endangering my heart.

So why did I refuse her advances?

Why did I think of Amelia at the time?

Why did I push this woman away when I realized that she was different?

Without that familiar, comforting scent of coconut… which I miss.

My reactions seem incomprehensible to me, my thoughts unfathomable.

I don’t understand what’s going on, or rather yes, I’m starting to understand, but I don’t want to admit it. The revelation that strikes me is almost too destabilizing.

It would be to recognize that I lost a battle that I thought behind me for a long time.

A revelation as a vivid and frank signal of my failure.

- Mister Hunt?

Roberto’s intervention takes me out of my thoughts and I find the image of the young man in front of me, rebind the counter.

- Your taxi is waiting for you, he says, catching my eyes.

- Thank you, Roberto, I answer offering him a smile.

- I hope you had a good stay with us and that we will see you again very soon.

- Probably, thank you for everything, I said shaking his hand to support my words.

So I leave the bar and join the hotel entrance.

A first doorman opens the doors to the building and a second presents the open door of the taxi.

- Your luggage is in the trunk, Sir.

- Thank you very much, I answer while getting into the car.

- Where should I take you? Immediately asks the driver.

- Seattle Tacoma Airport, please.

.

The car starts slowly and my gaze captures a silhouette outside the hotel.

A gorgeous young woman in a tight white dress smoking a cigarette.

Monica, my temptation for an evening: the Owen of six months ago could not resist.

But today everything is different: I see her go away as the car picks up speed, without any regrets.

No frustration, just calm in me.

.

The decorations parade through the window: Seattle streets, myriad of cars and the concrete landscape of the ring road.

I take this ride to print in my mind these images and this atmosphere of Seattle.

In a few hours, it will only be a memory, when kilometers and an ocean will separate me from my country… and from her.

With the distance, I will be able to more easily forger this unfinished mission, to ignore this paralyzing fear that something will happen to her.

In any case, that’s all I hope: to change the environment to stifle this haunting worry and this drive to find her because it is only with her that I would feel useful.

.

- We arrived, Sir.

The driver turns to me and I realize that we have been stopped for a good minute while « Terminal 2E » covers the entrance of the swing doors visible outside.

I get my wallet in my jacket pocket and pay the driver.

He gets out of the car and I imitate him, finding him near the trunk as he hands me my luggage, a simple little cabin suitcase.

- I wish you a good trip.

- Thank you, I answer while feeling a vibration in my jacket pocket.

I take a few steps towards the entrance to the terminal to get away from the noise caused by the ballet of taxis and buses accessing the airport.

I get my cellphone and answer immediately by reading the name that lights up the screen… my heart misses a beat and my throat tightens… in amazement.

- Amelia?

A breath resounds in the handset for a few seconds, then a weak but familiar voice finally answers me.

- Owen…. I need you…

                      –––––––––––––––––––––––

Thank you for reading. I’ll try to post a chapter Friday or Sunday. Have a great week 💛

[kassandra-lorelei]

I know you're on holiday (so, whenever you get back and can get to it), but wondered if you could write a N/CC fic where they get married by accident? Like, maybe after spending the night hanging out together on one of the sheffield family vacations or something. Whatever you decide. Ha ha Just thought it sounded like it could be hysterical and don't remember reading one like it before. Have you? Thanks! Love your stories!

Hey there, Anon! I apologise that this took so long. I have actually written another story like this before (I adore the premise), that’s probably been lost somewhere in my tags, but I felt like writing another one in a similar vein, so here we are. :-) Enjoy!

@missbabcocks1 @holomoriarty

“God, what does a woman have to do to get a drink aroundhere?!”

“You mean you’ve run out of your usual methods?”

She should’ve known it’d be him she was carping off aboutthe lack of a bartender to – the biggest carp of them all. But in the dim lightof the place C.C. hadn’t noticed who she was sitting next to, and quite franklyshe hadn’t cared. Why Nanny Fine had insisted on a long weekend break in Vegasshe’d never know, and why Maxwell had agreed was an even bigger mystery – thekids were too young for anything in the city, so they were practically confinedto the hotel room at night, and somehow that only increased their capacity tobe annoying during the day.

Luckily the whole family going meant that Niles had had togo along as well, so she’d been able to get that one over on him. That was,until he’d reminded her that it was his job to be there, and she’d come alongof her own free will.

Remembering that little titbit of information only made herwant a drink more, which it seemed she was, ironically, about to get from thebutler, as he waved his hand and immediately caught the attention of thebartender.

But, whatever; it was strong, and it came in a glass. Andshe had time to get her own back as the barman poured it.

“At least my methods are legitimate,” she countered. “Idon’t go filling up from Maxwell’s liquor cabinet when I think no one’slooking.”

Niles’ eyebrows raised as he picked up his drink to take asip, “No need – we could wring you out and fill up all the bottles.”

C.C. had been frowning deeper in preparation to retort thathe knew something about filling up the bottles (with water), when the butlersuddenly spoke again.

“Truth be told, after this week so far, I can understandyour need for a little release.”

It caught her off-guard – both the sudden change fromzingers when he could’ve had her on the ropes, and the claim that he understoodhow she was feeling.

Well, maybe not that last one entirely. She at least had herown home to go to, he had to be around the Sheffields all the time. They wereprobably getting on his last nerve as well.

And for some reason, that made C.C. want to share more.

“That’s putting it mildly,” she told him, getting irritablejust thinking about it. “If I have to hear one more time about how the boytried to sneak into the casino with a fake ID, I think I might drown myself inthe pool.”

Niles joined in, “Or about how Mr Sheffield is bored ofhaving to sit around the pool all the time because there’s “nothing going on”during the day.”

The producer groaned and nodded in agreement.

“Unless you want to gamble,” Niles then added bitterly,before taking another sip of his drink.

C.C. could tell what that tone meant. She’d heard it before,when they’d been in Atlanta that time.

Of course, she wasn’t going to make the same mistake she hadthe last time.

She took a gulp of her drink, “They took your wallet again,didn’t they?”

The butler turned a low scowl towards the bar, “They’ve beengiving me an allowance for drinks and the buffet.”

It was funny, but something about that made it hard for C.C.to want to laugh at him. She eventually managed a half-assed one, but it onlyhelped to fuel his next insult when he accused her of getting soft.

Then they were back in familiar territory, and theyrefreshed their drinks to keep on talking and laughing (together and at eachother) well into the evening.

That was, until Niles downed the rest of one last drink, andtossed the last note he had down onto the bar.

“Well, that’s all my money spent for one evening,” hedeclared, slipping out of his seat. “I think I should probably go up.Goodnight, Miss Babcock.”

He turned away, and something struck C.C.. She knew whyshe’d found it hard to laugh at Niles just then – whether it was the alcohol,or the heat, or something else entirely, she didn’t know.

But she felt sorry for him. And they’d been having such agood time without the Sheffields, she didn’t want to call it a night just yet. Theyalways ended up having fun when they were out like this, and just because hedidn’t have money didn’t mean he had to go.

She slipped off her stool after him, “Niles, wait.”

Luckily, the butler turned around. He seemed to wonder whatshe could possibly be wanting to say to him.

C.C. undid her purse, and took out her credit card to showhim with a smile.

“Next ones are on me.”

………………………………………………………

“Oh, God…”

Between the blinding headache, the overall sense of weightedfuzziness going on all over her body, and a dryness in her mouth that could putDeath Valley to shame, C.C. thought that hangovers could kiss her ass.

Shifting a little in the bed but without opening her eyes,she tried to reach up and wipe at her face. But she found it…difficult. Therewas a warm, heavy something pinning it down. And she couldn’t move it.

It felt…like another arm?

She opened her eyes, and even without being able to seeherself, she knew that all the colour had drained from her face.

The other arm (as indeed it was) belonged to Niles, and itwas…holding her naked body against his naked body! Her leg was snugly securedover his hip, and…well, there was certainly now an explanation for why she feltso strangely warm down there…

It was all coming back to her.

The smatterings of laughter echoed down the corridor as theymade their way towards her room – hers was safer, it was further away from the family’sthan Niles’. And they couldn’t keep their hands off each other the whole way.

They barely made it through the door before her dress wasunzipped and pooled at her feet. She kicked it away somewhere and got straightback to business ripping open his shirt.

She’d already decided that night was going to be special,and it was going to be fun…

C.C. tried to swallow, “Oh, God…!”

Her words, as short and quiet as they were, were stillenough to rouse the butler. He shifted, as much as he was able to, and startedto wipe his own face.

“Hm?” he wiped his eyes, blinking them open. And that wasthen he saw C.C. staring back at him. “Oh, God.”

C.C. had a feeling that those words had been said a lot overthe course of the last eight or so hours.

But she didn’t stop to think about it for too long, beforethey both simultaneously sprang apart and flew out of opposite sides of the bed,each trying to grab a sheet to cover themselves.

“We slept together?!” C.C. scrambled to pull her bedsheetaround herself.

Niles had nearly given up trying to cover himself with hisown grabbed sheet – he was busy staring at his hand.

“I’ve got news for you,” he eventually said, apparently inshock. “I think we did a bit more than just that.”

Shakily, he lifted his left hand to show her.

A gold band encircled his ring finger, and C.C. felt herheart leap into her mouth.

They…they couldn’t have gotten…

But it had to be true. When she looked down at her own lefthand, an identical ring glittered in the light coming through the window.

The producer nearly dropped her sheet, “M-Married?!”

Niles could only stare at his ring, “It would appear so…”

It was so. The longer C.C. looked at her own ring, the moreit all came back…

The chapel was small, and ridiculously tacky. But to them,it felt just perfect. Just the two of them, finally about to get hitched afterhaving convinced the registrar that they were sober enough to know what theywere doing.

They might have put on a little bit of a show during theceremony – all beaming smiles and giggles, cuddles and holding hands.

It had clearly been enough, and had probably made theregistrar want to get them the hell out of there as soon as possible…

Niles certainly was a great actor when it came to feelings. C.C.felt that she was better at it when she was sober.

She’d been thinking about him far too much in that light inthe past few years. Her fearing for his life after his heart attack, and therelief at him waking up. Attending his friend’s wedding together, and dancingthe night away as they talked smack about the other guests. Even the kiss inthe Sheffields’ living room, which had sent her back home with a vague smirk onher lips and a more than pleasant shiver creeping up and down her spine.

Her resolve was weakening, and she couldn’t let it. She wasa Babcock, for crying out loud! Her family had never mixed with servants!

Especially not servants who had always been their enemy, andhad hated them for the past twenty years that they’d known each other.

Not that part of her particularly blamed him, though. Sheknew how she was – a moody, selfish, stuck-up rich girl who didn’t know how toappreciate a good thing when she saw it. Of course, that didn’t mean she alwaysdeserved the things that he did, but the self-deprecating side to herpersonality could see where he was coming from.

Of course, to preserve her dignity and retain her pride, shehad to get angry about it.

“I can’t believe this!” she started to snatch her clothes upfrom the floor, hastily trying to slip them back onto whichever body partthey’d been slipped off. “As soon as we get back to New York, we’re going to mylawyer and we’re getting this thing annulled.”

Niles, who had been grabbing his things as well, stopped andlooked at her.

“As…soon as we go back?”

He’d looked so happy at the wedding. His eyes had shone, andthat lopsided grin had never once left his face as she’d stumbled and giggled herway through the pre-set vows the chapel had let them pick out just before.

It was a very different picture now. When he knew what hewas doing, the resentment was back.

“Well, yeah!” she told him, knowing it was the better option.“We can’t stay married!”

There was a deathly silence, and the butler glowered.

“I see,” he said sharply, throwing on his shirt and roughlystraightening it out. He couldn’t button it up. “Of course we can’t. That wouldbe ridiculous.”

Why did he sound so angry? He of all people knew that thiswas the way things had to be! They might’ve thought they’d known what they weredoing (agreeing to get married because screw it, they were there and lookingfor fun, so why not, her brain oh-so helpfully reminded her), but it wasobvious they hadn’t!

“Jeez, what’s got your panties in a knot?” she asked. “Ithought you’d’ve been the first out of the two of us to suggest a get outclause!”

“And why the hell would you think that?!” Niles snapped.

That astounded C.C. to the point where she dropped theclothes she’d still been carrying.

“It’s me, Niles! C.C. Babcock, your archnemesis, remember?!”she gestured to herself. “You don’t want to be attached to that for the rest ofyour life!”

“Who says that I don’t?!”

What was he saying?!

C.C. could feel her pulse and breathing speeding up, but shekept them under control enough to continue the argument, “Now just what thehell is that supposed to mean?!”

Niles threw down his gathered clothes, and stepped towardsher, “It means that I love you, God damn it!”

He dropped his bedsheet in the process, and so did she. Butneither one of them noticed.

The producer stepped backwards, stunned, “Woah, I’m sorry –you what now?!”

Niles glared, “You heard me.”

C.C. let out one single, humourless laugh.

“Heard, but didn’t understand!” she cried.

“What’s there to understand about the phrase “I love you?”��Niles shouted. “It can’t be put in any simpler terms than that!”

“Try, because I’m failing to see how you can claim to loveme!” C.C. folded her arms over her chest. “You haven’t acted like it, or even saida word about it, in the last two decades of us knowing each other!”

Niles marched towards her, a stormy look on his face.

“Would you haveaccepted it if I’d just opened up and told you, rather than played those pranksto get your attention?!” he asked. “Would you have even spoken to me if I hadn’tinsulted you first?! Would you have given me a chance if I hadn’t?! And behonest with yourself when you answer that last one.”

She was brutally honest with herself as she thought. Andwhat she found was so sobering, it cured the rest of the hangover she’d beendistracted from.

She would have laughed in his face if he’d told her. Shewouldn’t have spoken to him before, or after, and would’ve expected him to geton with his job, no matter what had been said. She wouldn’t have considered hisfeelings, or what he was like as a person…

But because of their pranks and insults, she’d had to payattention. And when she did…well, that had started off something ratherspecial, if she really thought about it. Far more special than anything she’dever tried to have with Maxwell. With Niles, it wasn’t all just about wit and fun,even though they had those by the bucketload. There was also a sense of quiet camaraderiewhen they weren’t arguing, and they shared more than a few interests.

And he was a good man. Talented, and polite (when he wantedto be), and he cared about people deeply.

She would’ve let go of all that, all of the good things about him, because she was rich, andhe wasn’t.

Struck by the thought, C.C. sank back down onto the bed.

“No. I wouldn’t have given you a chance,” she said, shakingher head sadly. A few tears were starting to mist up her eyes.

“So it’s just as I thought, then,” Niles grumbled irritably.“I’m a servant, and I’m not good enough for you.”

She wanted to yell at him that that was a lie, but she suddenly didn’thave the strength. So instead, when he tried to turn away from her (and possiblyleave the room entirely) she grabbed him by the wrist.

She still had enough energy to speak.

“All my life, my mother told me never to mix with servants. Shetold me all I had to do was find a rich man and bring him home, and then livemy life however it played out after that,” she started to explain. “And theworst part of all that is that I believed her! But…she was wrong. I was wrong. What’sthe point of going after money and power if you already have it? What’s thepoint of looking for someone your parents accept if they don’t make you happy?What’s the point of going out somewhere to look for someone who is wealthy,good looking, and has superficial charm when you already know a kind, witty,genuine man right where you are?”

She looked up at him, holding his gaze when he blinked downat her. Was he shocked? In awe? She didn’t know, but she had to finish what shewas saying, no matter how much pain it was causing in her chest.

“It’s not you who’s not good enough for me, Niles. I’m the onewho’s not good enough for you,” her lip began to wobble, and she started tocry. “I’m sorry I treated you how I did, and I know it’s all too late! But Iwas born a snob! I was raised a snob! And now…now, I’ll die a lonely snob!”

The very words broke her own heart, because she knew how truethey were. Who’d want an old, bad tempered witch like her?

She buried her face in her hands, imagining going throughthe rest of her life alone. Getting up to live only for her work (somewhereelse, there was no way she could work at the mansion after this!), going throughher day not letting her mind wander to what she couldn’t have, and coming home toan empty penthouse. No dinner waiting on the table, already prepared. Nofriendly conversation to while away the hours. Just a frozen microwavable meal,a television, and a bed that she’d later have to warm up by herself.

She was wallowing so deeply in her misery that she didn’t noticeNiles moving to kneel on the floor in front of her. The first she realised ofit was when she felt her hands being taken away from her eyes, and her (watery)sapphire ones met his bright blue pair.

“Not if I have anything to say on the matter,” he saidgently. “You know, it would take the both of us to sign those papers, Babs. AndI’m not planning on putting my name to anything that says you’re not goodenough for me, when I still believe exactly the opposite.”

That caused C.C.’s heart to lift, and she sniffed as sheblinked away some of the tears.

“You…you really mean that?” she asked hopefully.

She didn’t understand how she could still have a chanceafter all this, but Niles was starting to grin at her.

It was that special lopsided grin, too.

“For better or worse,” he told her, bringing a hand up totenderly cup her cheek. “And I’m sorry I insulted you for so long, and that I playedso many childish pranks on you.”

C.C. managed to choke out a small laugh.

“Some of them were funny. Some of the time,” she told him,hesitating only a little before reaching her own hand up to take his. “Sorry Itried to get a divorce as soon as I found out we were married.”

Niles let out a chuckle at that.

“As long as it doesn’t happen again, I think I can forgive,”he told her, stroking her cheek with his thumb, which made C.C. relax into his palm.“Besides, I’d quite like to see about taking you out on our first proper date.”

A proper date. He’d probably do all the little things tomake it special, too – flowers, maybe candlelight and a romantic walk…

It was so much like something out of a storybook, C.C. couldalmost feel her eyes shining.

But for once, she didn’t care. This was the end of the story– the time when dragons and monsters had all been beaten or banished orwhatever, and the prince and the princess got married and lived happily everafter in their castle.

And who cared that her prince wasn’t rich? He made up for itin love, and companionship, and all the witty zingers that they could now teamup and use against other people.

She nodded, “I’d like that very much, Butler Boy.”

They both sat there for a moment, just relishing in thehappiness that was blooming between them, before they both ended up leaning in.

C.C. couldn’t currently remember their first kiss as husbandand wife, but the one they shared then had the same meaning. It was a promiseof love and togetherness, and it came with the added benefit of them both beingsober.

She knew they’d definitely have more like it in the future.

When the need for air eventually took over, she ran one handthrough his hair, ruffling it.

“Breakfast is probably being served by now,” she said. “Maybewe should go down?”

Smirking, her husband raised a cheeky eyebrow, “Hm. Well, ifyou lie back, I can-”

She shoved him playfully in the chest, “Niles!”

But after a moment of playful laughter shared between them, shedid end up lying back.

And before she could suggest that they renewed their hasty,accidental vows somewhere more tasteful, she was lost in a blissful haze.

[mortallykeenwombat]

The Watson’s and the Beanstalk

My submission for @hiatustory June Challenge: MAGICAL REALISM ELEMENTAL MAGIC

Rating: G, Words: 16,443

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11269320

A simple retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk. It has a bit of a twist, written for H.I.A.T.U.Story over on Tumblr. This story was a bit out of my element, hope you like it anyways. Maybe riddled with mistakes due to my rush to get it submitted in time, I apologize about that in advance.

Rosie knew if her dada ever found out where she had been sneaking off to this summer she’d be in deep trouble. But even worst, if the giant who lived here ever found her out she might never see her dada again. But her young mind thought the risk was worth it. Her new friend was teaching her how to play the violin.

Rosie lay on her stomach as she watched the fire dance along the stone tabletop. It was two small flames, one taller than the other. Her new friend Sherlock had told her he was the taller one naturally and she the smaller. The flames appeared to be doing the Waltz of some sort. The young girl giggled as the flame went out. “Again!”

“How about your lesson now Rosie? You will never be as good as me without practice.”

“But I have a long time before I become a big person.”

Sherlock looked down at the small girl before him she was cute he supposed. He really wasn’t sure. But she had certainly grown on him over the past couple of months. He had begun to become fearful of his master finding the little person and eating her whole. He wasn’t even sure how she had found this place. But since she continued to show up he decided to teach her something useful.

Sitting down in front of the small child he held out a small violin made of ice. He watched as the child hopped excitedly from foot to foot as she reached for the instrument. “Did you forget something?”

Rosie smiled and ran over to a plant where she had hid her bag, out of it she pulled out a pair of gloves and a towel. She draped the towel over her shoulder and pulled on the gloves. She was so excited, she liked Sherlock and their lessons. Running back over she stood in front of Sherlock and held out her hands for the violin. He had told her she was getting much better. She wished she could show her dada.

Sherlock handed the girl the violin and watched as she got her instrument in position and waited for him to start. He wasn’t sure how old she was, just that she was small. She was an exceptional study and he was proud of what he had taught her thus far.

Several hours must have gone by, Sherlock lost track of time so wrapped in the music he was. The little girl's stomach growled loudly alerting him to the fact that they had been at it quite awhile and the little girl hadn’t complained once. Sherlock placed his violin in his case and stood up. “Are you hungry?” This seemed to upset the little girl, she looked out the window her eyes going wide she thrust her violin into Sherlock's hands.

“I have to go! I’ve stayed too long my dada will be so angry!”

Rosie ran to the edge of the table and slid down the rope hanging there just like Sherlock had shown her. Sherlock walked to the edge to watch her go. He always made sure she got out safely. “Rosie!” Came a loud hiss. Sherlock looked around trying to spot the source of the angry sounding voice. He saw the man a moment later as he ran from behind the broom leant by the door. Sherlock was momentarily shocked. The man was unlike any he had ever seen before. He must be Rosie’s father because he could see the small child in him. Snapping out of it he shushed them. It was too close to the time that his master would be waking up. John heard someone shush him but he didn’t heed them he was so relieved to see Rosie was okay. And like every worried parent who suddenly found out their child was safe and sound he was fussing at her. “Rosamund Wilhelmina Watson! You have scared ten years off of me! You know better than to run away while I’m working! And you could have hurt yourself, climbing all the way up this beanstalk! And where are we? You-” THUMP! THUMP! “Quick up here!” Came a loud whisper. Rosie turned and ran back to table climbing quickly back up the rope. John started after her. He couldn’t see who had yelled for them to come up but it didn’t take a genius to figure out somehow he had ended up in the home of a giant. As John was climbing over the side of the tabletop he came face to face with the owner of the voice. He was offering John a hand up. John was frozen to the spot as he looked the men in the eyes. Beautiful, bright blue eyes. “Hurry! I must hide you and your child before he makes it in here!” John took the man’s hand and swung up onto the tabletop, scooping up Rosie and darted after the man. He led them over to a potted plant that was sitting on the table. “In there.” John placed Rosie in the pot and then climbed in after her. He didn’t know what good it would do. The plant wasn’t much of a hiding place. John pulled Rosie in front of him and tried to shield her small body with his, and then something peculiar happened, the man started playing on his violin, a fast jovial beat. The soil in the pot started to open up causing John and Rosie to sink down further. And then the vines of the plants started growing and twisting becoming thicker so thick John couldn’t see out. “What is that racket?” A loud piercing voice boomed, it was the giant. “If you’re going to play something chipper why not Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries?” “Sorry daddy,” John could hear the disgust and derision in the man’s voice, although he was beating this giant was no relation to the man. “Do I smell a man? A delicious sun-baked man?” “No one is here but me, like always.” “Are you sure? You know how much I like surprises.” “Course I’m sure, why wouldn’t I be sure?” “Very wellllll. I’m off to fetch my own dinner then.” Sherlock bowed his head to his master. “I shall be waiting with baited breath and the kettle on.” “Someone’s feeling sassy today.” Sherlock started playing again, nothing classical simply a piece of music that came to him in that moment. It was low, ominous that was slowly building to a swell. “A bit of music for effect? You are feeling sassy today Sherlock.” After about 15 minutes Sherlock changed the music back to a lively piece, it wasn’t the same piece as before but no less lively. John watched in amazement as the plant untangled itself from the mess it had become when the giant had entered the room. After the plant had cleared enough of the way, John climbed out and reached for his daughter. As soon as Rosie’s feet touched the ground she raced over to Sherlock throwing her arms around his legs. “Thank you, Sherlock!” Sherlock was at a lost for words, he’d never experienced a hug before and such an exuberant one at that. He held his hands out to his sides, the violin dangling dangerously from his thumb and forefinger. John saw the way the man reacted, his eyes going wide at the contact, he mistakenly thought it was because Rosie was filthy and was getting dirt wall over his nice clothing. Gathering Rosie to him he admonished her gently, “Come now Rosie, we mustn’t dirty the nice man’s clothes.” “Oh. Uh- I don’t mind. I- it was just unexpected. I’ve never had a hug before.” John gaped at Sherlock. Seeing the unasked question in the other man’s eyes Sherlock elaborated, “I was raised in this house and the only other people I have ever met were the giant’s meals and your little girl.” John’s heart went out to the stranger, to never know human kindness or love. “Thank you for keeping my Rosie safe. I am assuming this is where she has been running off to when I’m working on the farm. I’m John.” John held out his hand to the other man. When Sherlock took his hand in his he was struck by how soft his hands were. Looking at the man John was overcome with the desire to get to know this man. Sherlock realised he was still holding the man's hand, John, he had said. Sherlock liked the feel of the man’s hand in his own. He’d also liked the huge, but they both gave him different feelings. Clearing his throat Sherlock dropped the man's hand. “I guess you two should be going before my master comes back.” “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Thank you for helping us.”

John descended down the rope first, feeling the weight of the stranger’s eyes on him. Rosie started to descend above him. He’d gone first so in case she fell he could catch her or break her fall, but as he watched her he was struck by how deftly she moved. At the age of 6, she moved with the ease and confidence of someone who had been climbing all their life. That, however, did not stop John from taking the same precautions as they went down the beanstalk.

Sherlock sat nestled into the folds of the potted plant as he strummed absently on his violin. It was a song full of melancholy. It had been several days since John had whisked Rosie away. And Sherlock couldn’t blame him, it was his job to keep Rosie safe. But Sherlock hadn’t anticipated this feeling of loneliness. He missed his lessons with the little girl. “Ooooh whaaaat is wrong with you?! You have been moody and playing awful music for the past couple of days. You would think you were in love. Stop it with the music already, I’m tired of the rain.”

Sherlock stared at the giant wishing he could make his head explode with the power of his thoughts. Shaking his head at the fanciful thinking he sighed and picked up his bow and played something cheerful as his master wished it. “Aaah. Much better. Now that the rain has stopped I have business to tend to. No more of that gloomy woe is me music. I need good weather for the duration of my visit.” Sherlock mimicked the giant silently as he left the house. And just because he couldn’t help himself he played out a quick sharp tune and thunder sounded in the distance. From somewhere below he heard “Sheeeeeerlock!” A warning from the giant. Sherlock smiled. It made him feel better to test the giant on occasion.

Sherlock had dozed off at some point and the sound of running feet woke him up. Looking over the edge of the pot he saw Rosie running towards him with her arms outstretched. “Sherlock! Sherlock!” Something inside him tightened at the sight of the little girl obviously happy to see him. Acting on pure instinct he jumped down and scooped the small girl into his arms. “Rosie! I’m so happy to see you!” Opening his eyes he saw John walking towards him with a gentle smile on his face. Sherlock felt something else inside him tighten something low and he felt like field mice were running in circles in his stomach. Letting Rosie go he addressed John, “You allowed her to come back, thank you.” John blushed under the intensity of Sherlock’s blue gaze. “You’re all Rosie has talked about, you and her lessons.” After a brief awkward silence John thought to add, “We would’ve come sooner but with the heavy rain I didn’t think it wise.” “Oh. Sorry bout that.” “Sorry? Why would you apologise for the weather?” John smiled at Sherlock, he looked so embarrassed. “Had it occurred to me I would have stopped the rain sooner.” “Sorry I still don’t understand. How could you stop the rain?” Sherlock looked at John, head cocked to the side, clearly confused. “The same way other people do.” John shook his head the man must be mad after all. “What lessons was Rosie yammering on about?” “Violin lessons.” “She’s much too young for lessons. What if she breaks it?” “Nonsense. She is doing a fine job of it. And if she breaks it, I’ll make her another one.” Again John shook his head. Yup, the man was mad, beautiful but mad. His thoughts gave him pause. When had he decided the man was beautiful? Shrugging it off he turned to Rosie, “Well, madam, let me hear it.” Rosie looked to Sherlock. “Oh. I didn’t know you were coming and the other one melted. I’ll have to make you a new one.” Sherlock started for the far side of the table. “You said it took you hours last time.” “You’re right. You can use mine as I start on your new one.” Sherlock ruffled her blonde curls before he retrieved his violin and passed it on to her.

John watched with pride as his little girl held took the violin with confidence. Sherlock helped her adjust the bigger violin. And then Rosie was playing. Really playing, none of that sawing at the strings that he had witnessed in other players. She went off key a couple of times but it was beautiful nonetheless. He turned to thank Sherlock but saw the man was off little ways gathering water from a small teapot. He saw that the pot had a human sized hand crank that allowed him to fill a human-sized bucket with water. John rushed over and took the bucket from Sherlock who smiled his appreciation. John followed Sherlock over to the same potted plant that he and Rosie had hidden in before. There Sherlock held his hand over the pot and closed his eyes. John was so focused on the classical lines of Sherlock’s face he missed the hair thin vines that wrapped themselves around Sherlock’s forearm. When Sherlock started to move again John fell into step, they stopped in front of Rosie who was studiously practising with her eyes closed. Her little face scrunched up in concentration.

“You can sit the bucket down here, thank you.” John did as told and sat down beside it, half facing Rosie and half facing Sherlock. He was curious what the man was up to. As if reading his mind his daughter answered him. “He’s getting ready to make my violin!” John looked up at Rosie prepared to say something but stopped when he saw the way she was looking at Sherlock. There were so much trust and love in her eyes he couldn’t break her heart by telling her that it wasn't possible for Sherlock to make a violin out of a bucket of water. John’s eyes got big when he turned and looked at Sherlock. He had both hands over the bucket, but it was what was in the bucket that had caught John’s eye. In the bucket the water was suspended in the middle, touching none of the sides and it roughly held the shape of a small violin. The water was slowly taking shape and this baffled John for many different reasons. He could still see ripples flowing through the water so how can it look like it was solidifying? And then there was the matter of how it was suspended in the bucket; how it was being moulded; and how it appeared that Sherlock was the culprit.

Sherlock dared a look in John’s direction, he looked confused and slightly scared. He checked back on his creation and then looked up to Rosie, she was still playing the song he taught her. She was a remarkable study. He gave her a smile of encouragement. John saw the smile Sherlock offered Rosie and his heart constricted. This man loved his little girl. How long had Rosie been coming up here? “How long has Rosie been sneaking up here?” “All Summer long. We’re just about to Fall right?” John nodded yes. “So, yes several months now. She is a bright young pupil, but how did you not know she was sneaking off?” John continued to watch Sherlock and what he was doing inside the bucket, it was fascinating. “Well, unfortunately, I am a single father, her mother died shortly after she was born. And I am a farmer by profession. It’s hard work. The ground has been unforgiving as of late and hasn’t produced much. While I am out working the fields Rosie is supposed to be inside not up here learning the violin.” “If I might be so bold, I am glad she snuck away, it has been a delight to get to know her. Also, why don’t you just get Rosie to help you?” “Working the ground is hard work, no place for a little girl.” “Maybe so, but Rosie can make the plants grow and not only cut your time in half but help it to be more fruitful.” John was just about to call the man mad to his face when he thought about the night he’d found Rosie up here, the plant had grown around them. And then there was also what he was witnessing Sherlock doing with the water, no one should be able to control water or even the earth. “How are you doing that?” Sherlock looked up, it had started to occur to him that John was unable to do what he could. And maybe, just maybe no one down there could. Except for little Rosie, but she was just beginning. This would explain why the giant hoarded him and wouldn’t let him leave, he was the only one who could do this. He suspected that Rosie could too, just a gut feeling. “Um, well, I have always been able to control the elements. I had thought all people could. Until I met you.” “Okay, but how?” “I just think what I want the water to do and it does it.” “And that’s what you did with the plant?” “Yes.” “Fascinating.” John watched as the violin took shape beneath Sherlock’s obviously skilled hands. “Tell me more.”

The next couple of hours flew by with Sherlock explaining how he worked with the elements. John was fascinated with the whole process and ability. When Sherlock finally finished the violin Rosie had eaten a sandwich that John had brought along with them and she was sleeping soundly in his lap. John marvelled at the ice violin. It looked like it had been carved from glass or even diamond. “That is beautiful Sherlock. You are truly gifted.” Sherlock blushed at the compliment, he never got compliments from the giant, unless they were backhanded compliments that were actually meant to insult. “How did you become a slave to the giant?” “Moriarty. He doesn’t allow me to use his name. I am only allowed to call him daddy or your highness. He is obviously neither. But he told me my mother gave me to him to spare her own life. I took her place as his servant.” “He seems pretty nice.” “He is wretched. It’s true that he doesn’t bother me directly and he leaves my area to me, but I have witnessed the things he does to his food before eating them. And he has a nasty penchant for getting rid of anything I become attached to, be it an animal or object. This is why I took great care in keeping Rosie-” THUMP! THUMP! Sherlock jumped to his feet, running to the end of the table he motioned for John to follow him. John ran after Sherlock cradling a confused Rosie. “You are going to have to stay in my room for the night. There is no way you’ll get past him tonight. I’m sorry.” John started down the rope first and Rosie right behind him and then Sherlock. The sound of the giant’s footfalls was getting closer. Sherlock was afraid they wouldn't make it. On the ground Sherlock took lead. They would have to run across the open floor of the kitchen and if the giant happened upon them in that moment there would be no hiding. “You see that plant right across the room? There is a whole behind it, that is where I sleep. You will have to run as fast as you can.” Sherlock looked down at Rosie and ruffled her hair. “You can run fast right?” Her eyes were already big with fear. “I’ll carry her. It’ll be faster.” Sherlock gave John one long look and then he took off. With every THUMP from the giant John and Sherlock had to fight to keep their balance. Just as John was sitting Rosie down to help Sherlock move the plant the door opened. “Sherlock, daddy’s home.” John shoved Rosie through the small hole, they hadn’t moved the plant enough for him to squeeze through yet. Sherlock motioned for John to go ahead and he started back towards the table by a different route, a route that would take the giant's attention from the corner where John and Rosie were hiding.

John used all his strength to push the pot out enough so he could squeeze through. He worked the ground every day and he knew he was pretty strong, Sherlock looked slim and slowly in comparison, how on earth did he move the pot by himself? John slipped through the hole and was immediately thrown off balance by Rosie hugging him. He motioned for her to stay quiet. Taking her hand he stepped further into the room away from the hole and the threat of the giant. John turned in a circle, awed and slightly in shock. There were pictures of Sherlock, pictures of John and pictures of Sherlock and John with Rosie in the middle. They were all drawn by Rosie and covered almost every wall. There were other pictures of course, some of flowers some of plants, even one of fire. All drawn by his Rosie. It shocked John that Sherlock would keep them all, he didn’t seem the type to be sentimental.

John stood in the middle of the room waiting to see if Sherlock would be along. After about 15 minutes he took Rosie over to the makeshift bed and placed her on the end. He didn’t want her to take up too much of Sherlock’s bed. The bed was about the size a full sized bed but I looked to be made of some kind of spongy plant. There was cloth on it that was serving as sheets. It was clean and dry, he couldn't ask for anything more for his daughter.

Roughly two hours after sending John and Rosie to safety, Sherlock stumbled wearily into his living quarters fully expecting both John and Rosie to be asleep. What he found instead was the small girl curled up asleep and her father sitting at the foot of the bed as if waiting for something. Sherlock wondered what it would be like to go to bed with someone. To have that person wait up for him just so they could fall asleep together. “Is everything all right?” John nodded his head, “I was waiting for you. Is everything okay with you? We didn’t cause you any trouble did we?” “No, none that I'm not used to.” Sherlock stood there awkwardly looking down at John and his bed. John noticed and jumped up. “Please, lay down. Get some rest you look extremely tired.” Sherlock just stood there looking at him. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll sleep on the floor.” “No! You are a guest, there is room enough for all of us. Please, I insist.” John smiled, “Okay. Thank you, for everything.” “Course.” John climbed on the bed and laid on his side facing Rosie. He felt the bed dip down as Sherlock got in the bed beside him. His pulse quickened and he had a desire to turn and face the other man, wrap his arms around his middle and look into his eyes. John shook his head what on earth had gotten into him? The men lay in silence for several strained minutes. Finally, John turned to face Sherlock before he could think himself out of it. “What are we laying on?” “Fungi.” “Mushrooms don’t grow this big.” Sherlock smiled. “They do with help.” He was laying on his back and wanted to turn and look at John as they spoke. He was very tired but wanted to stay up and talk. He had never had another adult human to speak to. Let alone an attractive one. “You said earlier I should have Rosie help me grow food on the farm.” “Yes.” “You think she can do what you do?” “At one point I thought everyone could but I still believe she can. Even if it isn’t a common skill.” John reached out and placed a hand on Sherlock's arm. “Why?” Sherlock turned to face the other man, “Because of the beanstalk. It wasn’t there. It had been destroyed when I was a little boy. I told the giant I couldn’t make another beanstalk grow this tall to try and keep him from going down and taking more people. And then one day Rosie walks in while the giant was out and she has returned every day for the past couple of months. When I asked her how she got here she said the plant rope. I got rid of the beanstalk several times, but once the giant saw it I couldn’t get rid of it without him becoming suspicious.”

The two men were quiet for several minutes, Sherlock’s eyes drifting close. John thought he was asleep until he blurted out sleepily,”What happened to Rosie’s mother?” “She, um, she left.” Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. “Left? What do you mean left?” Sherlock regretted asking the question when he saw the anger and pain in John’s eyes. He just could fathom a mother leaving her child, especially one as precious as Rosie. And John. Why would she leave a man like him? Sherlock didn’t know much about him but he could see he was a good man. Provided for his daughter, a hard worker and kind. Attractive, compassionate. John spoke snapping Sherlock out of his thoughts. “After Rosie was born, and she was well enough, she packed up her things and left. She said she didn’t want her life to be reduced to that of a farmer's wife, and a mother. She wanted more out of life and Rosie and I wasn't it. I told Rosie she passed to save her the pain of knowing her mother didn't want her. Mary was not a kind woman.” Without thinking, or rather only thinking of comforting John Sherlock reached out a hand, resting it on the side of John’s face. His fingertips burrowed shallowly in John’s short blonde hair while his thumb lightly caressed his cheek. “I am so sorry John. She was a fool. If she couldn’t see how special you and Rosie are it is her lost and I hope she lives long enough to realise the error of her ways.” John was slightly taken aback by Sherlock’s actions and words, it touched him that a man who had just only met him and had only known Rosie for a brief few months would care enough to try and comfort him. He covered Sherlock’s hand with his own. “Thank you, Sherlock. I-” “Could you say my name again? Please.” “Um, Sherlock?” “Once more.” John relaxed a bit when Sherlock closed his eyes. This was odd. Lying in the bed with another man, said man caressing his face while John, in turn, caressed his hand and said his name. “Sherlock.” “Mmm. Thank you. I have never heard my name sound so- I don’t know. The words escape me, I’m so tired.” “Then sleep, Sherlock.” “But I want to stay up and talk. I may never get this opportunity again.” Sherlock’s words were mumbled low but John just made them out. “I will be here in the morning and we can talk more than, go to sleep.” John lay awake for a while longer staring at the man before him. He held Sherlock’s hand between them on the sheets. He was beautiful. Like this he looked so at peace and just beautiful. It was hard for John to think of any other words to describe this man. Having just met him he was sure there were things about him that he would not like, but the core of this man was beautiful. He put others before him rather he realised it or not. He had taken Rosie under his wing and kept her safe like a surrogate dad. He had risked himself to keep them safe when it would have been so much easier to let the giant have them. John’s heart bled for Sherlock, a man who had never known a simple kindness but offered it without expectations. The man so unaccustomed to kindness and friendship and hugs that he not only craved it, it scared him. But he faced his fears and asked what he wanted, said what he wanted. He was like a child in ways. When Sherlock had asked him to say his name it nearly broke his heart, knowing the reason for it had to be because he’d never heard his name spoken by someone who wanted nothing from him. Who didn’t hurt him. There was Rosie of course, but John knew first hand that children were in a different category than adults, then people you considered your peers. John wished he and Sherlock could have stayed awake talking too. It had been a long time since he had any adult conversation. John finally closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

Sherlock woke up an hour or so later cocooned in warmth. It took him several long moments to remember he had guests and it was the arms of one guest that held him tightly. It was nice; it made Sherlock feel safe, warm and cared for. He relaxed into John’s embrace, with his head tucked under John’s chin he wrapped his one free arm around John’s middle, his hand resting on Rosie’s arm he went back to sleep.

John woke up like he did every morning gradually, slowly becoming awake and mentally listing the things he needed to take care of on the farm. As he was mentally going through his list he became aware of the fact that he was holding someone. A full grown male someone. John then remembered he and Rosie had come back to visit Sherlock and had gotten stuck here overnight because the giant had returned. It was obviously Sherlock he held to his chest, which meant that had to be Rosie curled up against his back. John sighed. This felt good. It had been too long since he held someone while he slept, to feel their body fit along his. John stiffened. He just realised he had woken in his usual state. Hard. This was so wrong. He had his daughter curled up against his back and held a completely unsuspecting man in front of him, whom John realised he still hadn’t released. He shouldn't have a hard on while in the bed with his baby girl. And without consent from Sherlock. Sure he was only holding the man, and John recognised the fact that he didn’t want to let him go just yet. But needed to. If Sherlock woke up and found John in a state of arousal he could feel, offended or even violated. John started to lift his arm from around Sherlock, slowly, not wanting to wake the man up. But Sherlock snuggled in closer to him, rubbing his face against his chest, and bring his leg up between his two. This action brought the men even closer together and in a more intimate way. John’s erection was pressed firmly against Sherlock’s hip. And when Sherlock gave a soft moan in his sleep he felt himself jerk with interest. Mentally he berated his body. How in the hell was he going to explain this to Sherlock when he woke up? “Sorry mate, I just wake up aroused sometimes. Didn’t mean to grope you while I was at it.” John tried one more time to disengage from Sherlock’s grasp, the man only held on tighter. Well, since he was stuck he might as well sleep in and enjoy the comfort.

This time when Sherlock woke up he remembered where he was and with whom. He then immediately realised the intimate position they were now in. Sherlock had apparently latched on to John in his sleep bringing parts of their anatomy close. Sherlock could feel John’s manhood resting snugly against his hip. He swallowed against the dry lump that formed in his throat. Steeling himself for whatever he saw in John’s face he looked up at the blonde man. “Sorry about this,” he whispered. John smiled down at Sherlock, the man was obviously embarrassed but made no motion to move from John’s embrace. “No worries Sherlock. I don’t mind. We all need comfort from time to time.” Sherlock continued to stare up at John in amazement. He knew enough about the world to know John was being very gracious and seemed to be one of a kind. Acting before he lost his nerve. Sherlock moved quickly pressing his lips to John’s. He wanted to tell the other man thank you for his kindness, and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was also curious about kissing, what was the fuss about? But this was Sherlock’s first kiss and he had no clue if he was doing it right. Wasn’t John suppose go kiss him back? John didn’t move he was too shocked by the action. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to kiss him. Hugging and cuddling were quite different than kissing and snogging. Sherlock pulled away in a hurry, not making eye contact and trying to untangle himself from John. “I’m so sorry, I thought- I just wanted to thank you for being so kind to me.” John realised with a start that Sherlock thought he was mad about the kiss. It was just a kiss he supposed. “Sherlock, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. People usually say thank you though.” Sherlock still made his retreat. He felt he’d made a fool of himself. “Hey, it’s okay truly.” When Sherlock still didn’t speak, John thought it best to just treat it like it didn’t happen. “Where is your loo?” Sherlock turned and looked at John quickly and then pointed to the corner. There was a small curtained off section, John assumed this served as the bathroom. When he came out Sherlock wasn’t in sight and Rosie was sitting up on the bed rubbing her eyes. “Dada, I need to use the loo.” “Right over there Rosie.”

John sat on the bed waiting for Sherlock to return. Rosie was sitting next to him and they were discussing the terms of her continued lessons when Sherlock came back in. “The giant is asleep still. I wish I could offer you breakfast before you go, but I know you need to leave before he awakens.” John noticed Sherlock still wouldn’t meet his eyes and he appeared sad at their leaving. Rosie ran over to him hugging him again. “Don’t be sad. We’ll be back, Dada said.” Sherlock looked up from Rosie to John, looking for the truth in his eyes. John smiled and approached Sherlock placing one hand on the side of his face. “It’s true. But we need to figure out a schedule so we don’t get caught unawares again.” “You would really return?” “Course. Rosie loves her lessons.” Sherlock smiled tentatively, he wanted nothing more than to pull John into a hug, and even though John was touching him in a familiar way he didn’t want to scare him off. “Moriarty doesn’t let me out or leave the house at all. The only way I can think to send you any sort of signal letting you know the coast is clear is with the weather. But Moriarty is wicked smart, he is sure to catch on.” “True. You can't very well make it thunder twice once he leaves every day. Maybe we should limit our meetings down to once a week.” “No!” Both Rosie and Sherlock cried. “Okaaay. What does he do when he leaves here?” “I don’t know. Wreak havoc on nearby unsuspecting towns. Nothing close because he wouldn’t want the town's people coming after him. But I honestly feel like he is searching for something or someone.” “How about for today you do two cracks of thunder 13 seconds apart when it’s safe. And we will make up the signal each day that way there is no pattern.” Sherlock grinned. “Agreed. You’re coming back today?” “It’s a new day isn’t it?” Sherlock tapped little Rosie on the shoulder so she would let go of his leg, once done he made his way out of his room to check again that the giant was still sleeping, he hardly ever snored but it sure would have been helpful to Sherlock. He walked his guest to the door. “Wait 30 minutes after I do the signal just to be sure that he doesn’t turn back around after hearing the thunder.” John nodded, taking Rosie’s hand they made their way to the beanstalk and home just beyond.

The rest of the summer passed in much the same manner, John and Rosie coming up daily to visit Sherlock unless the giant didn’t leave for the day. John told Sherlock stories about his childhood and everyday life down where they lived and Sherlock continued to teach Rosie how to play the violin, he’d also made her one out of wood now so she had a much more rich and mature sound. Sherlock had also been teaching Rosie how to use her magic to control the elements. It turned out he had been correct and Rosie could control them, barely, but the potential was there. Sometimes the two of them slept over and on those nights Sherlock and John talked through the night. Adult to adult. They covered every subject their joint minds could think of, confiding in one another about secrets and fears. The two men had become very close and it was not uncommon for one or the other to wake up and find they had fallen asleep in the other’s arms. John chose not to study their budding relationship too closely, it was new and scary all on it’s own but once you factored in the fact that he had never had a same-sex relationship and Sherlock had never had any relationship, well then it just hit nightmare proportions. John enjoyed the intimacy of their relationship, having someone he could talk to and confide in, but he was taking it one day at a time.

They were now well on their way into the fall season, and the dropping temperatures were presenting problems not previously foreseen. “Sherlock, have you ever been out of this house? Ever visited down below?” “No, never even crossed my mind before, for what reason would I have wanted to visit?” John looked over to Rosie who was colouring down on the floor. “Just asking.” Sherlock gave him a knowing look and replied, “You never ask something simply for the sake of asking, what’s on your mind, John?” Sherlock placed a finger under John’s chin making him look at him. Gently John moved out of Sherlock’s grasp and looked away. How could he put this without making too big a deal out of it but at the same time not making light of the situation? Scratching his ear, something he often did when nervous or lying John looked at Sherlock finally. “Winter is upon us. Well, not yet, I know. But cold weather and icy conditions are. I- I can’t-” Sherlock scooted closer to Sherlock on the bed’s edge where they sat, their thighs brushing, knees bumping, Sherlock placed a comforting hand on John’s forearm. “What is it John? Just say it.” Looking Sherlock in the eyes he blurted out what he hadn’t wanted to say, what he had been putting off for weeks. “I can’t allow Rosie to make the climb up here in this type of weather, it’s too dangerous. And I can’t very well leave her down there by herself. We are going to have to stop visiting until after the winter thaw.” Sherlock could hear the regret in John’s voice, furthermore, he heard what he hadn’t said. He would miss him. John would miss Sherlock enough to contemplate visiting Sherlock without endangering Rosie. But in the end, John was a father and a good one at that so he couldn’t leave his young daughter alone while he was off- off what?” Sherlock had read enough books to know that they were at an impasse. They were friends with not so platonic interest in one another. Sherlock suspected it was not only new for him but also for John. John who had married and had a child with a woman. They were at the point in their relationship where you either crossed that line and became more than just friends or you built a wall to keep you just as friends. Sherlock got that funny feeling in his stomach every time John walked through the door. His heart clenched every time Rosie ran up and gave him a hug. He had never had friends or family or anyone before them but how was he supposed to go back to not having anyone after just becoming accustomed to having them? It was a question he wished he didn’t have to answer.

There was a tap on his shoulder and he looked up, Rosie was standing there and she was looking at both he and John. He had grown to know the little tyke as well and she was up to something. She had that gleam in her eye, the one she always had before trying something nefarious. Maybe nefarious was too strong a word but he knew his little Rosie was about to drop a bomb. His little Rosie? Who was he kidding? He cared for the little girl, probably even long before he realised she was a package deal with the man sitting beside him. He looked at John who was looking at Rosie with a quiet despair. He seemed oblivious to what was about to happen. Sherlock straightened up and looked little Rosie in the eye. How bad could it be? She was but a kid after all.

John looked at Rosie, he hadn’t yet told her they wouldn’t be able to visit for a while. He had been putting that off as well. Rosie smiled at him, that should have warned him, his little girl smiling and looking at him out of a face so similar to Mary’s. “Dada, can Sherlock come live with us? That way he could be my second dada, I could call him papa and we wouldn’t have to visit when it was cold and we could all be a family. Together. At home.” John felt like the floor had fallen from beneath him. His little girl couldn’t know what she asked. He looked to Sherlock to gauge the man’s reaction. Sherlock’s mouth was pinched closed in a thin line, but there was a hint of a smile there as he looked at Rosie, but John also thought he saw a sadness in the man’s eyes. “You little minx,” Sherlock said grabbing Rosie and tickling her before settling her on his knee. “As much as I would like to come stay with you and John I can’t just leave. The giant would come looking for me and that would put everyone in danger down where you live. It would put you in danger.” John watched as Ross’s lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She turned and wrapped one arm around his neck and the other around Sherlock's. “But winter is a long time and I won’t see you in forever and what if you forget about me and dada, and dada marries somebody else and then I can’t come back and visit.” Taking a deep breath before plunging on Rosie continued, “And who will teach me the violin and how to control the weather and I will have only one dada who loves me instead of two.” Sherlock looked at John over Rosie’s head. He had never had to deal with a panicked child, his eyes were big with fear of saying the wrong thing and making matters worst. “Rosie, Rosie. There, there love. I could never forget you, or your dada. Winter isn’t a very long time, especially not long enough for your dada to forget about me and marry someone else who won’t let you come visit and let me teach you. Don’t cry little bee.” Sherlock pulled her into a hug and rocked her gently until her tears subsided.

Over Rosie’s head, John mouthed the words thank you. She needed reassurance from Sherlock, not him. But her words haunted him “...and dada marries somebody else…” Sherlock’s words jogged him out of his introspection. “I will always love you, Rosie, no matter where you are or where I am. Love doesn’t stop because you aren’t with the person you love. Stop crying now. I will talk to your dada and the giant. If I find a way to come, I will come. Rain or none. Snowfall or sunshine. Okay?” Sherlock tipped little Rosie’s face up so he could look her in the eyes. Her young eyes held his, seeming to look into his soul and weigh it. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her because she gave him a watery smile and held up her tiny pinky. Sherlock smiled back and wrapped his finger around hers, silently agreeing to be held to his promise.

John watched Rosie walk back to her drawing with a smile on her face. He looked at Sherlock and his own tears threatened. This man was amazing. He treated his daughter as if she was his own. And John noticed he treated him as if he hung the moon. John wanted to chalk it up to the fact Sherlock hadn’t known anyone else, but he wouldn’t cheapen this. The feelings were mutual, deny it if they must but John could not would not ignore the small spurt of panic he had when Rosie suggested they might never see Sherlock again. He cared for this man, and the thought of being a proper family, the three of them filled him with a lightness of spirit and joy. But was it even possible?

Sherlock watched John. He was deep in thought. They needed to discuss this, he’d told Rosie they would, he would always keep his promise. “John.” “Hmm?” “If there was a way, a way to get away from the giant for food without causing mass hysteria when he came looking for me, would you mind terribly if I came to stay with you and Rosie?” “Are you mad?” Sherlock's face fell. How stupid could he be to think John- “Course you can!” Sherlock looked up sharply, “Really? I’ll help on the farm and teach Rosie and pull my weight, I promise!” “Do you think the giant would really come looking for you if you just left?” “Yes.” After a bit of silence, Sherlock spoke again. “John, I know kids can be fanciful if I do find a way to come live with you two I don’t expect or won’t hold you to Rosie expectations of us being a family. You are her father and if you remarry that...well, the woman you marry will be her mother then. I love Rosie and want only the best for her.” John wanted to ask, “What about me? Do you love me too?”, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he said. “Okay. Thank you.” Sherlock felt crushed. He had hoped John would be like no, we are already a family or I want us to be a real family or even I don’t want to remarry, I want you. He shouldn’t have allowed his hopes to get up because of a small child's words. Her words were her own and didn’t reflect the thinking of anyone but herself.” “Sherlock, will you really discuss this with the giant? Is there no other way? Maybe get rid of the beanstalk as you said you had done in the past?” “I have to try. It would be better to part with the giant on good terms than to try and trick him or run away.” “I suppose you’re right.” John stood up, they needed to be going, the days were shorter and a snowstorm was expected tonight.” John pulled Sherlock into a hug, “We must go. I’ll miss you, be careful. Please.” John held on a little longer than deemed necessary but he would miss Sherlock and the easy intimacy they had. They talked and argued like they had known each other for years. John didn’t want to leave. Part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind and not even return home to try and stay here with Sherlock instead. But, he had responsibilities back home. Finally letting Sherlock go he called Rosie over to say goodbye. Sherlock knelt so he could get a proper hug from Rosie. And when she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and whispered loudly, “Bye Papa Sherlock.” he almost lost it, shedding his cool facade. This little girl had come to mean the world to him. He knew he would easily give his slide to protect hers if it was ever needed. “Bye my little busy bee.” His voice caught on the words and he had to turn his face away quickly when he stood up. Taking Rosie’s hand he walked them to the door. As Rosie started for the beanstalk Sherlock spoke without looking at John, if I do not find a way to be with you two, I will look for you on Spring's first thaw. Go and be careful on the way down.” Sherlock turned and walked away before any more words could be spoken. He made his way quickly to his room. Once inside he picked up a book and threw it as hard as he could across the room. He tossed books and papers alike from his makeshift desk onto the floor. He felt lost. No, he felt like he had just lost everything. Sliding to the floor, all his rage spent Sherlock began to cry. Why hadn’t he just told John he loved him? That he would move Heaven and Hell to be with them. Instead, he allowed them to just walk away from him. Sherlock cried until he felt like he had no tears left. What had he done? Jumping up he ran from his room intending to follow behind John and Rosie but was stopped by the sight of the giant sitting at the table. Sherlock com to yes on to the door and leant against the frame, his back to the giant. “Why have you never allowed me to accompany you down below?” The giant had been eating, and Sherlock was grateful it was simply a salad and not a person, he didn’t think he could stomach that at the moment. Wiping his mouth the giant replied, “That’s no place for such a gentle person such as you. Why would you want to go down there? It’s far too boring and ordinary.” Sherlock sighed dramatically. “Despite the fact that you make me called you daddy, I am no child and I grow lonely up here. I would like to meet some possibly a companion, marry even.” “Marry? Perhaps you are reading too much fantasy. I should bring you more non-fiction selections. I am your companion, and you need not marry.” Whirling around, now feeling angry again Sherlock yelled up at the giant, “Why do you even keep me here? I am no use to you just a cheap parlour trick. Let me go and make my way in the world, I beseech you.” “Have you been crying, Sherlock? Perhaps I have kept you rather secluded. But I do need you, you are the only being I know that can control the weather.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I’m really only good in the summer and spring times. I don’t control the weather actually, I control the moisture in the air. I can call down the rain or stop it entirely but I can not control the temperature. Like now! It has started to snow. Sure I can stop the snow momentarily but it will still be cold. I’m just a cheap trick!” He ranted. “Sherlock, you help me pass unseen with the morning fog, you keep people indoors with torrential downpours. You help grow crops for my salads. You make me ice for my drinks in the summer. You are beneficial.” “But why? Why can you go out exploring, meeting people and live your life while I am forced to stay behind, both literally and figuratively?” “Oh don’t be so dramatic Sherlock. I keep you safe. I keep you fed. And I bring you back supplies all the time to keep you entertained and so you have items your size. I treat you well for you to be my slave.” “You’re right. I mustn’t forget I am but your indentured slave, here to only do your bidding. There is nothing to keep me from throwing myself from this land and greeting the ground like an old friend.” The giant stood up, dressed impeccably as always, he scooped Sherlock up. “You have forced my hand Sherlock, I haven’t used your cage in years but now I fear for your safety.” The giant Moriarty took Sherlock to a cage that hung from a hook near tHe kitchen window. He tossed Sherlock inside and locked the cage. I will bring you some blankets in a moment. But you will stay in there until I think you are no longer a threat.”

Down below John was pacing his bedroom wrestling with his feelings. Why hadn’t he just made Sherlock come with them? Why didn’t he stay? Why did it matter if they were just friends, winter wasn’t that long. John sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. Only several hours had passed and the snow was falling hard. Part of John wondered if Sherlock was making it snow harder simply so he didn’t have to come down or to keep John from coming up. If this was how it was now he couldn’t imagine how his sanity would hold up in the months to come. As he sat there a tear escaped and marched its way down his face. A small hand reached up and wiped it away. John looked down at his daughter, he hadn’t even noticed that she had come into the room. “Don’t worry dada, Sherlock loves us. And he promised, pinky promised.” When John didn’t respond Rosie looked at him with her head cocked to the side and a frown creasing her brow. “You love Sherlock don’t you dada?” John was taken aback by her question. He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on the implications of Sherlock’s words of comfort to Rosie. Or how they made him feel. He could admit that all of the emotional exchanges left him with a “what if” feeling. Looking at Rosie he admitted out loud and to himself for the first time, “Yeah princess, I love him.” Rosie smiled at him, hugged him quickly and ran off to finish her dinner.

Bloody hell, he loved Sherlock. He. Loved. Sherlock. The man made him laugh, made him want to choke him, made John inescapably happy. And he couldn’t, didn’t want to imagine life without Sherlock in it. He was like the glue that kept him and Rosie together. He and his daughter faired well before but Sherlock forced them to slow down and appreciate one another, take joy in the small things and to always learn something new. John stood up and started pacing in the small bedroom. After a while his pacing brought him to the window, it was snowing so hard he couldn’t see anything but a blanket of snow. He couldn’t go out in this weather. John was surprised to realise he had been contemplating going back up that beanstalk and dragging Sherlock down here. He hadn’t imagined the longing in Sherlock’s eyes, had he? Seen what he wanted to see?

Sherlock paced inside the small confines of his cage. He was furious, but he knew better than to let on to the nature of his thoughts. It had only been a couple of days since he was shoved in here and he had to convince Moriarty that he understood what he did and why. But the moment he was let out and an opportunity presented itself he would make a run for the beanstalk. It had been allowed to grow and take root and taking the beanstalk down would not be easy. In fact climbing down the beanstalk wouldn’t be easy and quite it would be downright treacherous. The beanstalk would be hard and frozen, the usual flexibility of the plant gone. Sherlock could control the wind and water, thus allowing him to create a storm. He could even stop one. Ice and snow weren't beyond his skill in making, but he could not stop a snow storm. He suspected that he could but it would take time because he would have to warm the very air before he could even hope to stop the snow. Maybe with the help of Rosie, he could warm the plant enough to climb down it, but how would he get word to her? He watched the snowfall thoughts window. No, he needed a plan that didn’t involve the small girl. It was freezing outside and she would need to get very close to the plant, maybe even delve her fingers in the ground. He wondered how John and Rosie were doing? John...he missed him terribly. He missed their talks once Rosie was asleep, he missed falling asleep together on the nights they slept over. He even missed the petty arguments they had. Sherlock had once read the book The Alchemist and there was a part when the main character was learning from an alchemist of the desert and that Alchemist had told the main character to get to know his heart, to always listen to it that way his heart could not betray him. And ever since he’d read that Sherlock made sure to listen to his heart so he couldn’t be caught unawares, so he was more than aware of the fact that he loved John, that he was in love with John. It had taken him a while to recognise this with Rosie because he had never experienced love, but once identifying it he was able to anticipate and identify it again with John but he also noticed the differences between his love for Rosie and for John. There were far more similarities than differences, but it was the differences that told him he was in love with John. The biggest and most alarming of these differences was the simple fact that the prospect of not seeing Rosie again made him very sad, but the thought of not seeing John again terrified him. It was a feeling that made him want to spring into action to ensure that he saw John again. Love. It was also a bit scary because what if John only loved him in the sense that Sherlock loved Rosie? He just knew it would destroy him. The thought made his heart stop and blood run cold. “But what about the kiss?” his mind questioned. There was that, he had kissed John and there were no adverse reactions. Maybe John thought of love in the same way as Fatima from The Alchemist, that it is enough to be loved no reason is needed. Sherlock had read a great many books, everything from romance to non-fiction and every book seemed to view love and relationships in a very different way. John would have taken his instruction on love from any of these books or any mother that Sherlock hadn’t read yet. Sitting down to think this over further, he had plenty of time to kill, Sherlock thought of all the things that made him believe John did love him. He continued to visit despite the danger to him; John often told him how brilliant he was; John tried to understand him, and he touched Sherlock kindly and often. Maybe John wasn’t accustomed to listening to his heart and wasn’t aware, but Sherlock was sure he loved him, just not sure in which way.

John was going stir crazy like he had predicted. 2 weeks! 2 weeks was all that had passed and the many more weeks to go. Rosie was faring better than he, in fact, she often gave him words of encouragement. Apparently, a pinkie promise was all she needed to keep her sane and hope up in seeing Sherlock. He should take a page from his daughter’s book. “Dada.” John jumped completely engrossed in his thoughts. “Yes, baby?” “It’s finally stopped snowing again. If it doesn’t snow again Papa Sherlock might be able to come down.” Rosie had taken to calling Sherlock, Papa Sherlock, John had tried to dissuade her from doing it but she was persistent. “That’s great Rosie, but the beanstalk is still frozen and the ground is covered in snow and ice.” “Can we send him a message telling him we miss him and can’t wait until he’s here?” John smiled at his little girl. “Of course we can but how will we get it to him?” “Fly it on the wind to him.” “Like a paper plane?” Rosie nodded her head enthusiastically and began hopping up and down. “Okay. We mustn’t put his name in case the giant gets it, then Sherlock can deny he knows us.” Rosie squealed and ran off to do her note. John walked over to his writing desk and sat down, he figured he could do the same thing. But when John picked up his pen to write the words wouldn’t come, his mind and heart kept screaming “I love you!”. John’s hand shook with the need to write it and confess it. So he did it. I love you. But John wasn’t sure what to say after that? Part of him wanted to tell Sherlock if he didn’t love him too it was fine. But it wasn’t fine, it was just something people said. John balled up the paper and threw it in the wastebasket. Taking out another piece of paper he started again. Hand poised over the sheet he tried again to think what to say, he wanted to be eloquent in his words like Sherlock often was. He started to write. I love you. Come home. John stared at what he wrote. It wasn’t eloquent. It was straight to the point. But his body insisted on telling Sherlock that he loved him so he left it. He went in search of Rosie so he could make their letters into paper aeroplanes. He found her in her bedroom on the floor with her crayons spread out around her. She had drawn a picture of the three of them, Rosie in the middle as always, and she placed a heart in between each person. It was sunny in the picture, their house drew in the background and they all had huge smiles. “Are you done, Rosie?” Rosie hopped up passing her picture to her dada. “Yes! I need to put on warm clothes, all the clothes so I can fly it up to Papa Sherlock. But you will have to hold me on your shoulders so I’m higher up.” John smiled at his little girl, “Yes Rosie, I will put you up on my shoulders.” He folded his letter and Rosie’s drawing into the shape of a paper aeroplane, put it kept unfolding. John reached out and plucked a hair pin from Rosie’s head and fastened it to the plane. “It’ll make the plane a little heavier but I trust you can do it.” Rosie squealed in delight and started running around picking up her crayons. John took warm clothes out for her along with a hat, gloves and scarf. “Alright princess, get dressed, I’m going to go put my warm clothes on too.”

John nervously got dressed. He was about to admit to Sherlock that he loved him. The man was so bloody brilliant, John was sure Sherlock already knew. Maybe Rosie wouldn’t be able to get the letter to him and John wouldn’t have to worry about Sherlock reaction. John found Rosie waiting patiently by the front door; he inhaled down and tightened her scarf about her neck and face and made sure her hat was snug. Even though she had her snow boots on he had no intentions of letting Rosie trek through the snow, the drifts were too high and her clothes would get wet quickly and she’d catch a cold. “Come along Rosie, climb on my back and we’ll go deliver the mail to Sherlock. Rosie giggled as she climbed aboard and then the duo were off.

Sherlock was fuming. The giant had left roughly an hour ago stating today was the first good day of weather and he wasn’t going to waste it inside with a moping Sherlock. Moriarty had even taken his silverware from breakfast. He didn’t trust him to try and break out. Which Sherlock guess he couldn’t really blame the giant because that was exactly what he had intended on doing except he had nothing to try and pick the lock with. Sherlock had even tried forming a pike out of ice but it was too thin and fragile to pick the lock and he couldn’t use it to lift the door off its hinges because it was enchanted with some sort of magic that made the cage seamless look as if it had been made from a single piece of metal. Sherlock was just sitting down on the floor of the cage feeling defeated when he saw what looked like a paper aeroplane land beside the door. It took him fifteen minutes of considerable concentration and sheer willpower to use the wind to get it over to him. It was no easy feat. Sitting down again heavily Sherlock opened the aeroplane, absently stashing the hairpin in his pocket. The first thing he saw was a beautiful picture that Rosie must’ve drawn of John, herself and him. They looked so happy. Next he looked at the second paper fully expecting it to be another picture from Rosie, instead, it was a brief, no-nonsense letter, no more like a note rather, from John. I love you. Come home. It was very like John, cutting through all the niceties and getting straight to the heart of the matter. It was one reason Sherlock felt they were so well suited for one another. John’s ability to cut to the chase also allowed him to fill in all the blanks that Sherlock often left in his stories and explanations. And if John didn’t understand, well then he would say so. John loved him and thought of Sherlock’s home as being with him and Rosie. That just solved it for him, he had to get out of here. Preferably right now while the giant was out. But how? Sherlock smiled and stuck his hand in his pocket. The hair pin! John was so clever. He folded the two pieces of paper carefully and placed them in his pocket. He would have like to retrieve the other pictures Rosie had drawn for him and their violins, but he suspected his time was limited and he would need to leave it all behind. Just as Sherlock was standing up to attempt his break out the giant walked through the door grinning. “Sherrrrrrlock! How nice of you to stand and greet daddy as he comes home. You’re in a better mood. Why?” the giant Moriarty asked suspiciously. “Oh, no reason really. While you were away a little blue bird flew inside and I realised I am going to die here. Possibly in this cage even.” “Don’t be so morose Sherlock. Why would such an awful thought like that make you happy?” “Not happy, I think you’ve finally broken me. I have reconciled myself to my situation.” “Oooooh stooooop being soooo dramatic Sherlock.” Sherlock watched in silence as the giant went in his room. He sighed. Who knew when his next chance would come. And what if John thought he didn’t want to live with him and Rosie? He had to get out of here.

Another week passed and John had all but given up on Sherlock. At first, he tried telling himself that John simply hadn’t gotten their plane, either the wind took it further away or the giant had intercepted it. But his heart was heavy and he just couldn’t believe that anymore. It hadn’t snowed anymore until today. The air was still cold so the snow hadn’t melted but there was no blinding snowfall. He’d come to a realisation in this past week, there was no question about it, he was in love with Sherlock. It was late, well past midnight and Rosie was already in bed, her spirit remained unbroken, her faith in Sherlock held steadfast. John wished he had Rosie’s optimism, but John knew people often let you down. He needed some air it was late but he felt trapped. Grabbing his thick winter coat John head outside. After several deep lungfuls of the crisp winter air, John felt better. He started walking, he felt drawn to the beanstalk, it was behind his farm and in the woods. It was a cold night and snow was falling slowly. Reaching into his pockets he pulled out his gloves, they were fur lined and extremely warm. Halfway to the beanstalk John stopped, there was a figure slowly making its way towards him. The person’s head was tucked in against their chest and John was sure the person hadn’t even seen him yet. As the person got closer John could tell it was a man and he had no coat on. Rushing over to the figure John’s heart stopped. It was Sherlock, he was shivering and in the light of the moon his skin, what he could see of it looked blue. John hurriedly stripped out of his coat and threw it over Sherlock’s shoulders, trying to coax his arm into the sleeves. But Sherlock was locked inside his own mind, probably trying to keep his mind off the freezing temperatures. “Sherlock,” John said quietly, his voice coming out hoarse. Clearing his throat he spoke louder, “Sherlock! Sherlock, we need to get you warmed up and inside. Sherlock, can you hear me?” Sherlock gave no indication that he did hear John. John looked around them they weren't too far from the house, and he was strong from the years working the farm.

John scooped Sherlock up in his arms and made for the house, moving as quickly as he could through the woods and in the dark. The cold was starting to make itself known to John. It was quickly nipping away at his adrenaline-fueled warmth. John was worried. How long had Sherlock been out here, wondering around in the dark, freezing? He could have hypothermia, frostbite or have just caught the death of him.

Several minutes later he was laying Sherlock down on his bed. Promptly removing his wet clothes. Sherlock still hadn’t come back to himself. John pulled the blankets over Sherlock’s still shivering form and went to fetch more. He piled 3 more of his warmest blankets atop the man. John stood for a moment watching Sherlock. The love that swelled in his heart left no room for debate, he was definitely in love with this brilliant, talented, reclusive and stubborn man. Smiling at the sheer thought that Sherlock was here with them John went to fetch some hot tea and broth so that when Sherlock snapped out of his reprieve he could get hot liquids in him. When John returned Sherlock still had a bluish tint to his skin, pulling back the covers he began massaging his fingers, hands and arms. After doing both arms he pulled the covers back up and repeated the action on his toes, feet and legs; he needed to help the circulation of blood through his body. John stripped off his clothes, body heat would be best in this situation he had read somewhere before. Climbing in behind him, John pulled Sherlock’s body flush against his own. He was freezing. After several minutes Sherlock’s shaking was less severe and his body relaxed against John’s just a little. Rosie walked in. Her little eyes lit up when she saw him. “I knew he’d come tonight!” “Yes baby, but right now Sherlock isn’t feeling well, he’s sick from being in the cold.” Rosie scrunched up her face in thought and then without warning stuck her hand under the cover and placed it over Sherlock's heart. Warmth spread from her hand to his body. Slowly John could see Sherlock colour improving. “Rose, what are you doing?” “Making Papa Sherlock warm again.” John smiled at his princess, she was the most perfect child that ever was.

“Rosie Bee?” Sherlock must be dreaming, he was looking into the smiling face of his little Rosie Bumble Bee. He was sure he had passed out somewhere in the snow, his body shutting down to try to preserve its energy. But Rosie’s excited squeal assaulted his ears still and left him wondering if maybe he had made it to John's home. Or maybe he had died and this was his heaven, because now that he was focusing he felt the distinct feeling of John holding him from behind. But...they appeared to be nude. Dream or afterlife aside his chest was burning where Rosie's hand rested. “Rose, could you remove your hand now bee?” Rosie did as requested. “Rosie, step out of the room for a moment and pull the door closed with you please.” Again Rosie did as requested without a single argument or hesitation. John placed a quick kiss on the back of Sherlock's neck before even realised what he was doing climbing out of the bed he pulled his pants back on before going to Sherlock again. “Here, let me help you up, we need to get some tea and broth in you, it’ll help warm you up.” Sherlock allowed himself to be helped up into a sitting position. John was careful to tuck the blankets in around his waist and placed another around his shoulders. “You and Rosie already did a fine job of that.” As John was pulling away Sherlock placed a shaky hand on his forearm stalling him. “You look horrible John, are you okay?” Rosie burst into the room again jumping up on the side of the bed John had vacated. “Dada hasn’t been eating. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He goes out walking at night. But now that you’re here Papa Sherlock he’ll get better. You have to drink your soup to get better too.” John smiled at Rosie. “She’s right Sherlock, you need to drink this.” John sat on the side of The bed holding the bowl of broth. It was just warm enough like he would do for Rosie. Sherlock held out his shaking hands for the bowl. “Let me help you love.” John's eyes snapped quickly to Sherlock’s realising what he had just said. Sherlock smiled briefly, “Okay.” He allowed John to cover his hands around the bowl as he brought it up to his lips. They were chapped from the cold and the warm broth stung a little, but the cup felt great in his hands. Sherlock managed to drink all of the broth with John’s help. As he started drinking the tea he noticed Rosie had fallen asleep curled up against his side. John saw Sherlock looking down at Rosie. It was clear that Sherlock loved his child. “Sherlock,” “Hmm?” “Do you mind if Rosie drops Sherlock when she addresses you?” Sherlock swung his head around to meet John's eyes. “Really?” John smiled broadly, there was no mistaken the hope and love in that simple word. Yup, Rosie was their little girl. Regardless of any romantic feelings between them. “Yes.” “By all means, she can call me...Papa.” Sherlock smiled. The love he had for that little girl and the thought of being her papa made a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the warmth the blankets or liquids that John was giving him. “How did I get here John?” I was out walking and found you stumbling about in the snow. I carried you here. And why the hell wasn't you dressed properly? You could’ve died out there, Sherlock!” Sherlock averted his eyes. He was ashamed of his rash decision, “I had to leave quickly. The giant locked me in a cage after he returned. And your and Rosie’s letter with the hairpin enabled me to escape but I had to wait for him to leave again. I know it was stupid and a risk but-” Sherlock looked up staring defiantly into John’s eyes, “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” John smiled at Sherlock. Oh, he had no doubt he would too. “Why did he lock you up?” “Because I asked him about leaving. He said he didn’t trust me not to run away. Smart of you with the hairpin.” “Yeah, no, actually I only put it there to keep the papers together.” “And Rosie flew it up?” “Yup I put her on my shoulders and she did that thing that the two of you can do.” Sherlock relaxed against the headboard allowing his hand to remain on John’s forearm, stroking slowly with his thumb. “Unfortunately I will need our little Rosie’s help taking the beanstalk down. If we don’t the giant will come looking for me.” Sherlock was quiet for several minutes looking around the room. “This is your room. Your bed.” “Yes.” “Thank you, John. For- Why were you out in the dreadful snow?” “Couldn’t sleep.” “Why not?” John watched as Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed. “I was thinking about you. Rosie. Us.” “I love you too John.” Sherlock’s words were quiet, whispered. John noticed the hand holding the tea was going lax. He took the cup before it could spill all over the blankets. “I'm going to put Rosie back in her bed. I’ll be back.” After John tucked Rosie back in her beds he cleaned up the dishes from Sherlock.

Back in the bedroom John turned all the lights off and climbed into the bed pulling Sherlock in against his chest.

John was sure he’d had only a couple hours of sleep when he felt Sherlock stirring next to him. “Are you all right?” he mumbled. “Yes and no. I’ve never been happier but I’m afraid my rashness has put everyone in danger. The giant will come looking for me. When I left he had just fallen asleep. I’m not sure how much time passed as I made my way down the beanstalk and fumbling through the snow. We need to get the beanstalk down before he wakes up.” “How? I have an axe and a long saw but beanstalk is as thick as a tree, it would take hours to cut through. Not to mention it is frozen through and through.” “I took the beanstalk down several times before, each in a different way. The easiest by far was when heated the plant from the inside out. Basically rotting it on the inside and-” “Destroying its foundation. That’s brilliant.” The sleepy quality of John's voice was fading and Sherlock couldn’t help himself. Blindly he reached out and ran his fingers over John’s lips. “I like the way you sound when you first wake up.” “You don’t sound too bad yourself, and I have always like the way you looked when you woke up, curls all stuck to your head on one side and wild on the other. My hands always itched to run through them, to try and take them.” “By all means,” Sherlock said breathlessly. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair lightly, hesitantly. When he felt more than heard Sherlock's sigh as he carded his hand through the curls more surely. Sherlock was in heaven. He leant forward kissing John, but his mark was off a bit in the mark. He ended up kissing John on the nose instead. John simply guided his face down to meet his in a gentle kiss. Sherlock sighed again. John wanted to deepen the kiss but they had work to do. He pulled away slowly smiling in the dark. “So do you think you can rot the beanstalk from the inside out again?” “It will take time because it is frozen. I should start now. And when Rosie wakes up she should help me.” “I can provide you with warm clothes, but what will we do about your feet?” “I am not worried about that John, I am only worried about keeping you and Rosie safe. And any other people around here.” “Lucky for us there aren’t any other families close by. And as honourable as your intentions are, we must do something about your feet. If we don’t you won’t last an hour.” “Fine. But we must get moving. Do you have any old fur or leather? Some cording maybe.” John smiled. He felt like an idiot why hadn’t he thought about that. Jumping up from the bed he fished out of the room.

Sherlock sat up in the bed. He didn’t know if he could do this but he had to try. He ran a hand through his hair roughly. He needed help. He turned the light back on and waited for John to return. John came back with a huge blanket made of fur. And some shears. Sherlock watched as John set to work. He cut off a portion of the blanket and placed Sherlock’s foot on it. He measured out the right amount of fur for each foot and cut some cording he brought back as well. “When Mary was pregnant with Rosie, she had insisted on a blanket made of fur from a bear. She swore it was the warmest fur in these parts. Took me forever to save up for one. But at least it comes in handy now.” John got up and found some clothes he thought might work for Sherlock. They were too big for him and not long enough but the handmade boots would help to offset the length. He gave Sherlock his warmest coat, hat and gloves. “I can't wear the gloves, John. I need to physically touch the beanstalk.” “Oh yeah. But you can wear them on the walk over.”

John quickly dressed and gathered a couple of things in a bag. Grabbing a chair on the way out the door he motioned for Sherlock to follow him. “I’m going to get you set up at the beanstalk and come back with Rosie and some warm drink.” “John, don’t wake her.” “This needs to be done and I can’t help. It’ll be daylight in a couple hours.” Sherlock said nothing. He stared at John for a few heartbeats and then leant forward pressing a quick kiss to his lips. When he pulled away he was staring at John’s lips and smiling. “Let’s go.”

John travelled in silence, leading the way to the beanstalk. He marvelled at how easily and comfortably Sherlock transitioned from friend to lover. John was still trying to wrap his mind around it. But he guess it would be easier for Sherlock, he never second-guessed himself and he hadn’t grown up with the societal norms being pressed upon him. “John.” John turned and looked at Sherlock, he was beautiful with the moonlight dancing across his face. He smiled at the other man. “Did I do something wrong, when I kissed you?” “What? No, no. Why do you ask?” “You’ve been quiet.” “Oh. Sorry bout that. Just reflecting.” Sherlock gave a small strained smile. John continued to the beanstalk with Sherlock close behind. When they reached the beanstalk John set to work. He sat the chair down he had brought along with a bundle of kindling he grabbed out front of his house. Sherlock sat in the chair and watched as John cleared a patch of earth and set the kindling down. “Can you light it?” Sherlock obliged happily. Afterwards, he took off his gloves, placed his hands on the base of the beanstalk and began concentrating. John stood up and draped what remained of the fur blanket over Sherlock’s shoulders mindful of the fire next to him. He placed a quick kiss to the top of Sherlock's head, “I’ll be back.”

Sherlock was unsure of how much time had passed but when John returned he had Rosie on his back and was carrying more supplies in both hands. John set about putting up a tent around Sherlock and Rosie. He had scooted Rosie's chair closer to the beanstalk and had her wrapped in an alarming amount of blankets, you could barely see the child. After everything was set up around them to ensure a more comfortable endeavour John passed Sherlock a mug. “What is it?” “Coffee with a bit of whisky in it, it’ll help warm you up.” Sherlock took an obligatory sip and then passed it back. He had no time for drinking he needed to take the beanstalk down. John stalked back and forth anxious as Sherlock and Rosie worked before him. Rosie was in good spirits humming. While Sherlock’s face was screwed up in concentration. They had about an hour and a half left of the night, and after that who knew how long they had before the giant awoke and found his prized Sherlock gone. “Sherlock, one thing I don’t understand,” “Just one?” “Ha ha very funny. You said you have been with the giant as long as you can remember. And you said anything you noticed a beanstalk you got rid of it.” “Yes.” “So what use were you to a giant who could come down here? Your ability to control the elements didn’t matter.” “You’re so clever John.” “I am?” “Course you are when you put your mind to the task. Once this beanstalk sprouted my abilities were very useful. But prior to that, my task was two-fold. The giant wanted me to try and grow a beanstalk. And- I was the only person able to coax Molly to sing which in turn coaxed Greg to lay eggs.” “And the giant likes eggs?” John’s tone was incredulous. “He liked these eggs, they were made of pure gold.” John’s made a silent ‘Oh’ look. “And well I had to bring them with me or Molly would have woke him and told him where I went.” “So where are they?” I stashed them as soon as I came down.” “Out here in the cold?” “I could barely feel my fingers let alone hold on to sack with them.” Sherlock looked around, “There, you see that bush directly in front of me? Walk over to it and walk 10 paces into the wood and you should find them.” John shook his head and went searching for Sherlock’s bag. He followed the directions but found no bag, then he thought about the fact that Sherlock had longer legs and therefore his strides would be longer. John took 4 more steps and looked around, there pushed under a prickle bush. That had been smart of Sherlock, who ever tried getting the sack would get their hands all scratched up if they weren’t careful. John was careful and he had on his thick gloves, his hands were protected but the bush tore at the sack. When John finally got it free he was slightly out of breath. Not even bothering to look in the sack he gently picked it up and carried it back to the beanstalk. The bag was heavy and when he got close to the fire he sat the bag down and opened it. Inside was a small golden harp with the shape of a woman on it, and a small goose with some material tied around its beak. “Hi, John. I’m Molly.” The harp introduced herself. John almost back peddled into the fire. He hadn’t expected a talking harp. Looking over to the goose, John asked, “Does it talk too?” “Don’t be will John, it’s a bird.” Rosie giggled. John gaped at Sherlock. Don’t be silly? Did he not see all the nearly impossible things already happening? Swallowing down his annoyance. John was amused to see Sherlock had taken the time to insulate the bag, which helped to protect the occupants not only from the cold weather but the horns from the prickle bush. Sherlock hadn’t dressed accordingly but he had made sure the harp and goose would be okay. John packed the two back in the bag the way Sherlock had done, making sure they were completely covered. John walked over to Sherlock, topped his face up and kissed him. Taking the time to savour the kiss. He pressed his lips more firmly against Sherlock’s, he didn’t taste the man before him because he didn’t want to risk causing Sherlock's lips to chap any more than they already were. When he pulled away Sherlock’s eyes had gone soft and had a slightly unfocused look to them. “I wish I could help John said looking back to the beanstalk and then over to his daughter. “What was that for?” Sherlock asked staring at John’s back. John turned back to look at Sherlock, “For being you.” Sherlock accepted the answer even if it confused him a little. He went back to focusing his energy on the beanstalk and nearly jumped out of his seat when he felt John settle into the space behind him on the chair, his strong thighs cradling his. John felt Sherlock jump, maybe he was moving too fast, maybe he needed to take a step back. Sherlock leant back against John’s chest relaxing, feeling the heat from his body even through the many layers of their clothes and the blanket John had wrapped around them. They sat like that until the sun started to rise, streaks of orange and pink racing across the sky. John couldn’t help birthing how perfect this moment was, despite the circumstances that called for them to bed there. John got up and poured Rosie some still hot tea from a thermos and helped her drink it so her hands could remain on the beanstalk. He could see in the early morning light this was taking a toll on her and he might need to stop her from helping. John looked over to Sherlock and saw the same strain on his face. They couldn’t do this, maybe They should stop and try to reason with the giant if he ever came down. John placed a hand on the beanstalk, it was hot to the touch, even through his gloves. Maybe they would finish in time. John crossed to Sherlock picking up his mug and tossing the cold contents. He refilled his mug with the coffee cocktail and helped him drink so, making sure he drank more than last time. “You alright over their little bee?” Sherlock questioned. “Yes, Papa Sherlock.” “Just papa princess.” John corrected, the smile evident in his voice. The small girl whispered to herself, “Papa. I have two papas.” John heard her due to his close proximity. He fussed over her making sure every inch of her was covered except for the pair of fingerless gloves she was wearing. She appeared to be as warm as could be. “How much longer do you think?” “I can't be sure but I would. Say another two hours for sure.” John was nervous. The giant was big, it wouldn’t take him that long to descend the beanstalk. And his little girl was right here at ground zero. John touched the beanstalk again. It was hotter to the touch now and it felt soft, pliable. Maybe they would finish before the giant woke up.

After another 45 minutes or John stood up again, first checking on Rosie and then going to the pile of supplies he brought with him. He pulled free a cross saw and stand between Rosie and Sherlock he began to saw at beanstalk. There would have been more room had he stood on the other side of the stalk but he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on their hands. The beanstalk gave an ominous wobble with his first movements. He looked over to Sherlock, he didn’t like what he saw there, Sherlock was red in the face but around his eyes was drawn and hallowed. So instead of asking Sherlock if it was okay to keep cutting he just did. They needed to finish this now. “AAAARRRGGGGHHH!!! SHERRRRLOCK!” came the bellow from the giant up above them. “WHERE ARE YOU? WHEN I FIND YOU I WILL GRIND YOUR BONES TO BUTTER MY BREAD!” Rosie whimpered in fear. John used his words to try and console her, he couldn’t spare the time to actually hug. The beanstalk needed to come down now. This statement was accentuated by the distinct tremor of the beanstalk as the giant took hold of the beanstalk to descend. “WHAT’VE YOU DONE SHERLOCK? THE BEANSTALK IS HOT AND FEELS WEAK!” John was terrified. “Rosie, quick, your blankets and hide in the bushes.” Turning to address Sherlock John saw not only the strain the situation was putting on Sherlock but also the determination, so instead of telling Sherlock to go hide as well, he put as much force and speed behind him as he sawed at the beanstalk. The beanstalk felt gooey to the touch and it covered the saw with a fine sheen of juice like slime. “John the beanstalk won’t hold his weight much longer we need to move.” “Take the harp and goose over to the bushes along with the blanket you have to hide further in the woods and I will be along. A couple more strokes and I will be halfway through the stalk and it will definitely crash.” Sherlock hurriedly moved the bag with Molly and Greg to the trees where Rosie was hiding. “Do you know how to get home from here?” Rosie nodded with big eyes. “Course you do. Take this bag and run straight home, don’t stop no matter what you hear, understand?” Rosie nodded her understanding and threw her arms around Sherlock before grabbing the bag and taking off. Sherlock ran back over to where John was and grabbed more of their supplies taking them out of sight. And just as he was reaching for the chairs there was a booming yell as the giant came sliding down the stalk. Apparently, the giant lost his grip on the slippery beanstalk falling. John tossed the saw away as he turned catching Sherlock around the middle throwing him over his shoulder, running to the trees for cover. “Cover your face so the branches don’t scratch you!” When John felt he was far enough away he stopped, and a moment later the ground shook with the impact of the giant hitting the ground. John set Sherlock on his feet. Looking around, “You sent Rosie home didn’t you?” “Yes.” “Thank you. Stay here.” John started back towards the beanstalk and giant. John had gotten close enough that he could see the giant lying on the ground holding his head and moaning. Luckily John was still hidden from sight. The giant was hurt, blood was trickling from a wound on the back of his massive head. Sherlock sidled up next to John, not saying anything he pointed up. John looked to where Sherlock pointed. The beanstalk was wavering precariously. “Do you think-” There was a loud groan before the men saw the beanstalk start to fall. John didn’t think they had anything to worry about, he was sure they were out of the beanstalk’s projectory, the giant, on the other hand, was not. John watched as the realisation of the danger the giant was in washed over the giants face. He continued to watch as the beanstalk made a loud wet sound as it fell on the giant smashing him into the ground. John turned to look at Sherlock who was gripping his arm tightly, his eyes were closed tightly against the sight. John gently disengaged from Sherlock’s grip and took his hand. “Come on, let's go home and check on our little girl.”

Several weeks later John was sitting in his favourite chair in their sitting room when a high pitch squeal rent the air followed by hysterical giggling. John smiled. Sherlock must be tickling Rosie again. Smiling he got up to investigate. “All right you two, what’s going on in here?” John opened the door and was surprised to see Sherlock wasn’t tickling Rosie, she was simply sitting on their bed and Sherlock was sitting cross-legged in front of her. “Dada! Did you know Papa and I have the same name?” John looked at Sherlock amused, “What is she on about? I’m pretty sure her name isn’t Sherlock and it’s not even a girls name.” Sherlock smiled at John. He had never told him his full name because it had never come up. “My full name is, William Sherlock Scott Holmes.” John smiled realising his baby girl was right. “Rosamund Wilhelmina Watson,” Rosie said after Sherlock still grinning. “Wilhelmina is the fem-femin-feminine form of William.” The young child stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “So it is.” “Everyone will think I have my papa's name. Like yours, Watson.” John looked at a smug Sherlock, “How about I give Sherlock my name as well?” The smug smile dropped from Sherlock’s face, shocked to complete silence. Little Rosie’s squeals filled the air as John leant over and kissed Sherlock softly.