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laurensprentiss · 3 years ago

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Games We Play [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 10:

A/N: hello, I’m back he he he he. So sorry about the wait AGAIN, but this chapter was so hard to write, you guys have no idea but I wanted to put something out for the festive period so I hope this pleases.

Warnings: mentions of male anatomy at the end, reader just flipping the script, a lot of swearing, tension, bickering, Hotch surprising us all, he may be nicer than he lets on. Dog puns and holiday themed tension. Close proximity and Hotch may have a thing for for degradation.

———

November:

Hotch arrives at your place early on a Saturday when you’re still half asleep, ostensibly to help you move. A throwaway comment he’d heard JJ make a few nights ago over your cameras about a fake passport and escaping to Prague sets his alarm bells off. Your skittish behaviour notwithstanding, in the interests of making sure his new fiancée doesn’t run away to Europe, he hand delivers you to the chauffeured car out front with your day bag in his hands.

“Here.” He tosses you an iPad once you're inside. The screen shows a tabloid cover with a posed picture of the two of you, JJ and Rossi from the retreat last weekend.

‘DC’s most eligible bachelor off the market?

Notorious playboy and Virginan Senator, Aaron Hotchner was spotted in the Hamptons last weekend with his rumored long-term, and intensely private attorney girlfriend.

Speculations as to the couple’s status and how long their relationship has been official have been swirling, but they may be put to bed soon. Following last weekend’s sighting, the DC attorney was spotted with a sleek emerald cut diamond on her ring finger and sources close to the couple reveal that the pair are indeed recently engaged and plan to wed soon in an intimate and private affair.

The Senator has a long-standing history as a charmer and playboy, his past conquests including socialites and actresses but according to these pictures, he appears enamoured with his current lady. Capitol Hill’s most eligible playboy may just become a one-woman-man.’

A shiver runs up your spine.

“Good job. You managed to sell it.” He murmurs.

You’re both uncharacteristically silent the rest of the way to Hotch’s estate, each of you staring out of your respective windows, inner conflict causing you to retreat. It dawned on you last night that your life would be changing forever today. No matter if Hotch were to win or lose the election, no matter that you’ll get an annulment; the next six years would be spent with a man you despise, who despises you back.

You’d never given much thought to marriage but you’d always assumed that if you did move in with a man, it wouldn’t be under the guise of a politically beneficial marriage.

Today would be the first time in four years that you’d be in Hotch’s home, and unlike the events of four years ago, you’re not nearly inebriated enough to handle it.

Hotch on the other hand, had spent the night wrangling with his own guilt towards Haley. The prospect of another woman moving into the sacred space he once shared with her, the space where the walls still whisper her name - fills him with anxiety. He’s not one to dwell, had always been good at compartmentalising, some may say to his own detriment; after all, it’s what landed him strung out and almost OD’d on coke a few years ago. The only physical reminders he has of Haley are a picture each, one in his office, one in his room. Both of them placed gently under the wooden boards of the drawers in his desk and nightstand.

Today, he realises that the first big, real step to his future as President is being taken.

You’re snapped out of your stupour when the car is buzzed in at the gate by two security guards, both of you inhaling sharply and donning your public masks again. He’s first to step out, walking around to open your door and when you hesitate, he stares at you expectantly.

“I’m not going to roll out a red carpet for you, your majesty. Welcome to your new home. Get out.”

You swat his hand away. “Relax. I reserve the rights to Friday nights and weekends away from torment. Move.”

“Gladly. As we’ve already established, I find your presence bothersome, I’d rather you put yourself somewhere out of my sight but my signature’s on a piece of paper.” He bites as you make the walk from the car to the doors.

You spot JJ and Garcia at the entrance who offer you bright smiles that quickly fall when they see you arguing with Hotch.

“Let’s not pretend like you’re the one who got swindled in this arrangement, big guy. I have to spend the next six years of my life with you.”

“Six years that I’m paying close to a million for, Sparky. Remind me, how’s that new purse treating you?”

Your eyes widen. “Sparky? What-“

“Guys!” JJ interrupts, closing the distance between you. She realised long ago that waiting for the both of you to come to her is a futile exercise, so she stumbles on the gravel pathway in Louboutins that are too high and gives you a hug. “Hey, you doing okay?” She asks with a comforting smile.

“She’s fine.”

“I can speak for myself, weasel.” You turn back to JJ. “I’m fine.”

“Great.” She smiles awkwardly. “Movers will be here in an hour, Anderson and Gina will be here to direct the labelled boxes into the right rooms-“

“Rooms?” Hotch interrupts. “You told me you were only bringing stuff for your bedroom, what is this about rooms?”

You quirk your eyebrows and JJ laughs under her breaths. “Did you really think I’d bring a hairbrush and a few pairs of clothes and I’d be good? You expect me to live here, I’m going to make myself at home.”

“If there are candles, I swear to God...” He mutters under his breath.

You share a look with Garcia and JJ but a thought occurs to you briefly, that disappears as fast as it comes. There is no way for him to know you like candles.

“You sure you still want to unload them yourself?” Garcia asks.

“Yeah.” You sigh. “I want everything in its proper place.”

“Ah.” Hotch interrupts again, smoothing a hand over his tie. “Anally retentive lawyer. How refreshing.”

“Sleazy politician. How original.” You quip back.

You inwardly take immense glee in the fact that he doesn’t know you well enough yet to know that you think better in a mess. It’s something your mother has chided you for your entire life, but your argument is and always has been that your mess is organised; it may look like a heap of trash but if pressed, you can name the exact location of any given item in that heap of trash.

You look forward to seeing Hotch react to that fact.

“The Humane Rescue Alliance is expecting you in…” she checks her watch, “an hour, so we gotta go now.” She seeks out the telltale figure of a stressed young man drowning in a suit. “Anderson?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Take the bags in the trunk and place them into the bedroom next to the Senator’s, we’re going to leave for the shelter, I want you to call Tara and Emily and confirm the photographers, okay?”

“Right away, ma’am.”

———

Politicians make the best actors.

It’s true what they say. A harbinger for all things doom, grim and gray, it should come as no surprise that Hotch doesn’t like dogs. He shudders before he steps out of the car, muttering that he hates these places, but as soon as he’s in public, he’s full of almost-genuine smiles and a charming demeanour.

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, introducing you as his fiancée to the staff like it’s second nature. You stiffen at the contact and it takes your body a second to catch up with your brain, keenly aware of the photographers to your left.

He takes your arm in his, following the staff’s lead, placing his other hand over yours. “Loosen up, you’re like a dead body.” He mutters and when you look up at him, he’s still smiling, listening to the staff talk about the various charities they’re in partnership with and the work they do.

Add ventriloquism to his list of creepy talents.

“A dead body would be happier to have you next to them than I am.” You return with a laugh for the camera’s benefit.

“Careful. You keep insulting me, you’re going to start turning me on.”

“Do you?” Interrupts the soft-spoken, matronly woman who you can see is called Marley.

That gives you pause.

Marley? Working in a dog shelter? The jokes write themselves.

You cast Hotch a look who’s face mirrors your amusement and for a brief moment, the cameras actually capture the both of you working as a team. Marley watches the two of you expectantly for an answer but you’d been so caught up in throwing jabs that you’d completely missed her point.

“I do. I have these little guys here.” She shoves her too-bright phone in your faces, the lock screen picture showing you a beagle and a white maltese huddled together in a dog bed. You have to fight the urge to laugh at the yellow bow on the Maltese’s head but you answer her question, managing to put the dots together.

“Oh, no. No, we don’t, not yet at least!” You chuckle, forcibly placing your hand on Hotch’s forearm to get him to interact. He’s stiff as a board though, his facade cracking, belying instead an expression of distaste and an aversion to cute dogs.

“Oh?” Marley chimes in. “Perfect time for it, newly engaged couple becoming a family of three with one of these little guys? Wouldn’t that be so precious?” She clasps her hands together and sighs, staring at Hotch a little longer than necessary.

Jesus, Marley, you want to be a family of three with Hotch? Be my fucking guest.

When your gaze falls to a clambering Jack Russell in an enclosure, you drop to your haunches and hold out your hand that he can just about touch with his paws.

“Hey little guy, what’s your name?” You croon.

Hotch watches you, not understanding the desire to fawn over a dog that smells bad and probably licks and pisses on everything, and his face does nothing to hide his distaste. And for a moment, he envies you. He envies your bright disposition, the ability to be able to enjoy things that most people can, he envies being able to laugh wholeheartedly and not view everything in grey-tinted glasses.

Pushing past the envy though, is a sense of lightness in his chest, an almost happiness-by-proxy and he bristles at it. He doesn’t know who he is if he isn’t angry and selfish and alone.

“This.” Marley tells you, “is Ruffus.”

A penchant for puns and dad jokes makes you laugh at the name while the dog makes a show of reaching for your hands. JJ and Garcia can’t help but laugh too but when you turn to Hotch he looks at you like you’ve grown a tail.

“Ruffus?” You help clarify. “As in Rufus?”

“Oh.” He nods blankly.

You roll your eyes and carry on playing with the little Jack Russell in front of you, “Oh don’t mind him, he doesn’t get puns.” You say in a baby voice. “He’s so angry all the time. Yes he is! Yes he is!”

“Hey, I have a sense of humor.” He says monotonously and so ironically, it hurts. He drops to his haunches next to you and the scent of his cologne delicately graces your nostrils, something rich and manly, intoxicating.

“Uh. Hey. Buddy.” He says awkwardly.

You realise then, most of the interactions you’ve had in such close quarters where you’re able to smell him have culminated with his hands on you, and like the dogs Pavlov conditioned, you expect his touch on your body.

You don’t know why you feel remiss when you don’t feel it.

You spend the next hour or so walking through the kennels, learning more about the adoption process and at the end of the tour, Hotch delivers a news bite for the six o'clock news, suddenly cheery and playful.

He’s enigmatic that way and you can’t help but watch.

“Well, the organisation does a really great job of making sure that sick or neglected animals are rescued and rehabilitated and I think it’s incredibly vital to shine a light on these places.” He tells the camera while Ruffus paws at his face. “Without exposure and public support, these organisations can't continue doing what they do and we wouldn’t be able to play with this little guy today.”

He lifts up Ruffus and tickles his ears, allowing the dog to lick his face. He stiffens like anybody would but laughs, honest to God laughs and you think he’s maybe coming around to the idea of dogs.

You’re proven wrong quickly.

As soon as you shake hands with Marley and the rest of the staff and get back to the car, he shudders exaggeratedly and clicks his fingers for hand sanitizer and wet wipes which he rubs against his face aggressively.

“Slobbery beast.” He mutters. He checks something in the mirror and clicks his tongue, readjusting the collar of his suit jacket. “He got his disgusting spittle on my suit.” He shrugs the jacket off and tosses it into the front seat, muttering something about having Anderson burn it.

Jackass.

———

When you get back to Hotch’s estate in Fairfax, a stressed Anderson meets you by the front doors and behind him are stacks and stacks of boxes, labelled everything from Kitchen to Bathroom. You hold in a satisfied smile when you glance at Hotch and take in his horrified expression at his entryway being crowded.

“What is this?” He asks, running a hand through his hair.

“… My boxes.” You reply as though the question is stupid. “Look, they’re even labelled.”

His eyes narrow. “Watch your tone, Sparky. I mean why are there enough to furnish a department store?”

“Because I live here!” You reply brightly, walking over to the boxes. “I’m making this my home… which means…” You grunt with the exertion of lifting a heavy box marked for the kitchen off of a box for the bedroom and pull out a glass jar. You watch his face fall. “Candles! And incense. And wax melts.”

“Absolutely not.��

“Absolutely yes. This one?” You pop the top off of the large glass jar and inhale deeply. “Strawberry shortcake. Here, smell.” You hold it out to his face.

“Fuck no.” He dodges your attempt at shoving the candle in his face and grumbles something about how he’s going back to the office to finish up some work. He clicks his fingers for Anderson to come with him but you grab the younger man’s arm as he tries to get past you.

“Let go of my aide, Sparky.”

You don’t love the nickname.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” You ask.

“The office. I was going to stick around, but then I realised you pulled this shit to get one over on me.” He gestures sweepingly across the entryway piled high with boxes. “Now I guess I suddenly have some work to get done at the office, so… make yourself at home. Gina will show you to your room.”

“Oh don’t worry, I have no illusions of you ever doing anything to make my life easier. I was actually talking about this.” You rummage through a box marked ‘Work’ and pull out the fifty page thick draft of the preliminary bill for Brandon Grant and unceremoniously press it into his chest. “We had a deal.”

“Whatever.” He mutters, and with that he leaves.

Truthfully, he’s thankful to be out of the house, he can’t stand the idea of being there while you unpack and encroach on the once-lively space he shared with Haley. He feels as though Haley’s betrayed spirit will claw and bite at him, like she’s embedded into the foundation of the place.

JJ and Garcia stick around, throwing their hair up and unpacking your bedroom things first. As you make the walk upstairs, Gina shows you to your room and promptly leaves, leaving you to explore the upstairs of the house thoroughly. There are little to no personal effects anywhere, in contrast with the things you brought, the theme of the house tastefully curated.

There are nine bedrooms, five bathrooms, and two store rooms upstairs and you recall from memory that the room next to yours is Hotch’s. Which means you have a bone to pick when he gets home.

Home?

The reality settles in that this is home now, and a pit begins to form in your stomach. You’ve never had much luck settling in well in new places, even hotel rooms are struggles, but finding your place in a home that’s already lived in fills you with dread. You look towards your personal knick knacks, for some comfort; books, candles, some picture frames, your favourite pillow and an ambient lamp you’ve had since you were 12, and feel a little more settled.

You’d take it a day at a time.

———

“Damn.” Morgan rubs a hand over his beard and slumps back against his chair. “This is…”

“… Really good.” Hotch concedes, flipping through the last few pages. “Inflammatory language which we’ll have to change but it’s pretty solid. Specific, well structured… I hate to admit it, but she’s good.”

Morgan smirks in the dim lighting. They’ve been in Hotch’s office for hours and it’s close to midnight now. “Y’know it wouldn’t kill you to cut her a little slack.”

“I beg to differ.” He sighs, checking his phone. Sleep hasn’t come knocking yet and he’s content to remain in the office for a while longer but when he checks the CCTV and sees you asleep on the couch in the main living room, he suddenly feels the urge to return home. “Let’s call it a night for now, but get me Mr Grant’s phone number. I think I’d like to speak with him before we move forward with this.”

“Yeah you got it.” Morgan’s eyes follow Hotch’s movements and he stifles another smirk. “You heading home to your new fiancée?”

“The number, Morgan.” He reminds him sternly.

When he gets home, the house is dark, save for a few lamps and the extractor light in the kitchen. The downstairs boxes still litter the entryway, albeit a lot fewer of them, but there’s still a considerable amount left to unpack and he bristles at the chaos in his home.

He likes to keep a clean and organised space.

After JJ and Garcia left three hours into packing because of a work emergency, you’d gotten changed into some sweats and tried to finish unloading everything, had ended up getting distracted by Modern Family and ultimately ended up asleep on the couch.

Hotch watches you with an indifferent expression, bothered by your peaceful disposition so he nudges you but you don’t stir. Instead, you burrow further into the couch cushion and make a noise of contentment which annoys him more. He tries nudging you again, harder this time, but you still don’t move. He places a large hand on your bare arm but stops when he makes contact with your skin, realising how cold you are, noticing only now, the goosebumps on your flesh.

He scans the living room and kitchen and the tornado-like debris scattered on the floor and curses under his breath.

Loosening his tie, he rolls his sleeves up and rolls you to the edge of the couch, and with a small grunt, maneuvers you so he can pick you up in his arms. You stir a little now, inhaling deeply as your eyes flutter open.

You’re barely coherent and murmur something along the lines of a command for him to put you down.

“Shut up.” He mutters. “Run for president,’ they said. ‘You’ll be the most powerful man in the world,’ they said. Got me fuckin’ playing serf, carrying people to bed.”

“What?” You mutter in your sleep.

“Nothin’.” He grunts, lying you down in your new bed. He pulls the comforter over you and watches you for a second, groaning again when you fall right back to sleep - almost envious of your ability to be such a deep sleeper.

Heading back downstairs, he makes quick, but petty work of unloading the remaining items, efficiently stowing things away in cupboards and drawers too high for you to reach.

“That’ll teach you. Do you need any help? No. Do you want to unpack yourself? Yes. And look at this, fucking 1:30am and I’m unpacking kitchen utensils for a preppy princess who’s three sheets to the fucking wind.” He mutters to himself. “A KitchenAid? Why the fuck do you need a KitchenAid, Sparky?” He grumbles, placing it inside a kitchen cupboard.

When his gaze falls to the juicer in the back of the same cupboard, he suddenly knows how to exact his revenge.

———

You’re dreaming about the Dwyer case when a jarring grinding noise yanks you from your sleep. Once you catch your breath, you rub the sleep from your eyes and step outside angrily, investigating the source of the noise. You’d realised you were in bed at some point last night, unsure of how or even when you’d gotten there, surmising that you must’ve been too tired to remember coming upstairs.

When you track down the origin of the noise, you’re met with Hotch in a crisp black suit at the kitchen island, juicing something green with a massive, unsettling smile on his face.

“Mornin’ sunshine! How’d you sleep?” He asks, turning the juicer off.

Your expression is vacantly angry and you stare at him. “It’s-“ He starts the juicer again, cutting you off.

“Sorry. You were saying.” He nods.

You open your mouth to speak but he repeats his earlier action again and then once more before you stomp your foot in indignantly at your sleep being disturbed.

“It’s 9am.” You groan.

“Yeah. Functional humans have been up for at least an hour. You’re welcome by the way.”

“For?”

“Unloading your shit last night.”

“I didn’t say thank you.” You correct him. He rubs a thumb over his bottom lip in a way you realise is a sign of his patience being tested. Brilliant. “Hey, was I in bed when you came back last night?”

It dawns on him that you don’t remember being carried to bed.

He inhales sharply and frowns, replying nonchalantly. “I don’t really pay attention to your whereabouts, ever. I’m a busy man.”

“You didn’t go rooting around my underwear drawer did you? Take my panties or anything?” You prod.

He looks you up and down. “Been there. Trust me I wasn’t impressed.” He lies.

His words feel like a slap in the face, but you can’t place why. You don’t value him or his opinion but his comment about your performance in bed and your physicality still stings. You cross your arms over your chest and jut out your chin defiantly.

“Then why has almost every interaction we’ve ever had resulted in you basically humping my leg like a dog?”

His eyes darken and flash with something wicked and he takes a step closer to you. You step back in tandem until your back digs into the countertop and the front of his tall, strong body cages you in.

“I’m a man of principle. And pride. All of this… aside from getting me to the White House… is to make me even. I don’t particularly care for you, but you leaving me tied to my bed four years ago isn’t really something I can forgive or forget.” A shiver runs down your spine. “And now that I have you under my roof, I’ll make sure I get even. I have the power in this. You’d do well to remember that.”

“And if I don’t?” You challenge.

His eyes sparkle with something, like he’s in on a secret. A smirk crosses his face for the briefest of moments before he steps back, jerking his chin towards you after taking a sip of the green sludge he’s still drinking. “Get ready. Mr Grant’s going to be here in an hour for a photo op to soft launch the bill.”

“What?! Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” You panic, smoothing over your hair. “I’m going to need some coffee.”

“Not a morning person, I take it?” He smirks.

He knows Mr Grant isn’t arriving until 1pm but he’s still getting his revenge by making you panic.

“Coffee… where’s your coffee maker?”

He takes another sip. “I don’t have one.”

“You- you don’t have one?” Your eyes widen. “You work the same hours I do, how do you not have a coffee maker?”

He shrugs, downing the rest of his slime. “God if you’re like this without coffee, I’d hate to see what you look like hopped up on caffeine.”

“Hotch-“

“Oh wait. You got a little something-“ He leans in close and smears the green sludge on your nose and cheek before leaving the kitchen and making you settle for black tea instead.

He does take sadistic pleasure in seeing you sweat but the next morning when you wake up - this time, without a whirring juicer as an alarm - you find a coffee maker on the kitchen island with a novelty bow and a note on top.

‘Consider decaf, Sparky.’

———

December:

“What colour?” Hotch mutters next to you in the car. You’re on your way home from another ‘date’ with Hotch and you spent the first twenty minutes of the drive on the phone with Thali and the next twenty arguing with Hotch.

Thali’s hospital rotations meant that you only had to watch Theo on Friday evenings and Saturdays, but her new rotation commencing in two weeks consists of weeknights, only two of which, her nanny is available for.

You reassure her that you can handle watching Theo and naturally, Hotch’s curiosity had spiked. You’d asked if you could vary the terms of your agreement so it allowed you to be in your own apartment on the nights you had to take Theo, but in his pig-headedness and need to lord one over on you, he refused.

His solution? Theo moves in, too.

“Why are you collecting my family members like infinity stones, why don’t you ask Thali and my parents to move in too? Complete the set?”

“I don’t know what that means, I’m not a freak. And no offence, but I’d rather chew my own arm off than live with your mother.”

“Watch it.” He’s only mirroring your sentiments but she’s your mother to chastise.

“Answer the question. What colour do we paint his room?”

You consider it for a moment. With no other alternative, it seems that this is the only way forward and having a familiar colour may help Theo settle in quicker. It’s what had allowed him to settle into your place too - that and the same room layout and decor.

But you don’t want Hotch doing you any favours, not when this entire relationship is transactional and based on who can get one over on whom. Theo is one thing you won’t compromise on.

You chew your cheek. “Fine. But this isn’t something you can hold over me, or cash in like we do with everything else.”

He blinks at you with an indiscernible look on his face. “No bullshit.” He reassures you.

You nod. “No bullshit.”

“Colour?”

“Laurel green. There isn’t a specific brand, you have to get it mixed, and he’ll need a particular bed and rug too. Bookcase as well.”

“Done.”

You’re still not able to thank him for anything, something about it feeling odd and wrong so you sit for a few minutes in surprisingly comfortable silence before he speaks.

“For the record, I would never use Theo as a bargaining chip.”

And you don’t know why, but you believe him.

———

A week later, Theo moves in. After a hectic few days of getting everything ready for him, making sure everything you sourced is either an exact or close enough match to what he’s familiar with, you show him his new part time abode.

And he loves it.

You laugh a little at his reaction and by the doorway, Aaron watches the little boy take in the walls and the bed with a smile.

When you show Theo downstairs, he’s not too happy, frowning at the empty living room and entryway.

“Christmas tree.”

It hits you then that with Hotch’s house essentially being a revolving door of the two of you being in and out, you’d completely forgotten about the holiday season. You’d never really decorated at your own place either, the holiday going largely uncelebrated and with the way that your new roommate had forgotten, you can safely assume he’s the same.

“… Oh sweetie. I don’t th-“

“Tree.” Theo repeats.

Hotch nods, rubbing his hands together. “Tree?” He asks Theo. Theo nods. “Alright! Then let’s go get a tree.”

You narrow your eyes waiting for the moment he reveals that it’s some kind of sick joke and you can sock him for making Theo feel bad. But it just doesn’t come. And when he starts putting his coat on and calling the driver, you realise he’s serious and for some reason that unsettles you more.

If only Theo was a little older, you could’ve used him to make Hotch do anything you wanted.

One Christmas tree and ten bags full of decorations later, you’re still as dumbfounded as you were before. The house staff help to put up the tree while you put Theo to sleep with promises that when he wakes up tomorrow, the tree will be waiting for him.

He goes to sleep with too much glee inside his tiny little body, practically vibrating. You find Hotch at the top of the bifurcated stairs, his elbows on the bannister as he watches staff decorate the 18 foot tree.

You mirror his stance and after a long pause, you say, “He’s my nephew.”

He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Did I say he wasn’t?”

“No, but. I don’t want you to get too familiar with him.”

“He’s a good kid.”

“I know he is. But he gets attached. And when this hellscape is over, as glad as we’ll be, he’ll just be confused.” You let the words hang in the air, acutely aware that you’ve revealed too much of yourself and it makes your skin crawl. But you can’t help the words leaving your mouth. “He doesn’t deserve to have people leave him all the time.”

His chest pinches at that and he connects the dots that you’re probably talking about Theo’s dad. A part of him wants to ask what happened there, but he doesn’t want to overstep, nor does he want to show any interest that’s more than superficial.

Letting go of his own anger and grief isn’t something he’s ready to do.

So he settles for old faithful. Jerking his chin toward the staff downstairs, he says, “Shall I have them put some mistletoe up? Give you a re-enactment of the bar from four years ago?”

You sag in relief that he’s moving on from the heavier subject matter, and hip check him, giving him the finger as you walk away. “In your fucking dreams.”

———

Seven years.

Seven Christmases.

In the seven years since Haley’s death, he’s spent Christmas alone. The first two were spent in a drunken blur with old home movies and a bottle of bourbon, and every year after that he’d either buried himself in work or trolled the bars for lonely women in DC.

Now, in an act of deja vu he sits in your parents’ grand dining room in another uncomfortable silence with only the clattering of knives and forks to segment the awkwardness. After being forced to hear about your ‘engagement’ from somebody other than you, your parents thought it appropriate to engage in some family bonding, but the thing about certain families? Bonding doesn’t come easy.

Passive aggressive comments and jabs and quips about how important family are, are what come easy. After the initial awkwardness over the engagement and Thali crooning over the two of you and conveniently placing mistletoe in the entryway of every single room, you now sit in hushed togetherness to enjoy dinner.

“So, sweetheart, how's work?” Your father asks.

Hotch covertly watches you across the table as your demeanour changes. You’re still apprehensive and a little guarded, anxious for your parent's approval but your eyes sparkle a little and your shoulders relax.

“Really well, actually. Thanks for asking. I was assigned a pretty big case just recently, AG Racine asked for me personally.” You try to downplay it but your pride shines through.

You’re welcome, he thinks. But he thinks he’ll wait to play that card.

“Oh? That’s excellent, I’m glad to hear things are improving on the work front for you. And yourself, Aaron? I saw you met with…” your father looks to you for help.

“Mr Grant. Brandon Grant’s father.” You supply.

“Yes, Sir.” Hotch nods. “I mean we discussed what a terrible tragedy that was for the entire family, and what a loss it was for a single father to lose a young son to so much brutality. I wanted him to know that it didn’t go unnoticed and that we’ll keep fighting for him.”

“I see.” Your father muses.

Next to Hotch, Theo struggles with a potato and without thinking, Hotch leans over and cuts it for him, segmenting the rest of his vegetables too to make it easier. Your eyes narrow as you watch the interaction between the two, annoyance building in your stomach at how easily Theo warmed to him.

Your father watches the interaction too, and while he isn’t a man of very many words, he is astute, which is why you keep your expression unreadable. Your mother watches too with a less unreadable expression, her frustration evident.

“So, Thali tells me Theo moved in with you guys?” She asks.

“Not really.” You shake your head, trying to avoid the way you’re all barrelling towards an argument. “It’s a few nights a week while Thali has night shifts at the hospital.”

Your mother sighs, placing her knife and fork down. “All of this hard work and running yourself ragged, Thalia. Your father and I told you that the trust fund is still there, why not reconsider so you can stay at home with Theodore?”

You brace for impact. “Because I like working, mother.” Thali says. And because allowing your parents to control her financially would mean relinquishing control in other aspects too.

“Well. I still think you should reconsider. If not for anything else, think of your son.” Your mother warns.

Thali opens her mouth but you shake your head, telling her silently to let it go.

“I like living with uncle Aaron.” Theo’s small voice supplies and any and all animosity that was in the air dissipates like smoke.

Nope. Don’t like that. Uncle Aaron?

“Baby, you don’t have to call him uncle Aaron.” You say, panicking that he’s becoming attached.

“Hey! I like being Uncle Aaron.” Hotch’s face softens and he smiles, and for the first time since you’ve known him, this one you think might actually be genuine. He ruffles the top of Theo’s head. “I like living with you too, buddy.”

Nope. Don’t like that either.

You take a swig of wine to help Theo’s words go down easier but your mother’s less-than-astute observation makes you choke violently.

“Well. I suppose it’s good practice for when the two of you have children.”

“I agree.” Thali nods, leaning back in her seat. The only time she’ll ever join forces with your mother is if she needs to get one over on you.

Hotch laughs uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck and your mother quirks an eyebrow at your reaction. “I didn’t say anything quite so shocking, I don’t know why you insist on making it a big deal. You’re engaged to be married are you not?”

“Yes, but-“

“Then it’s fine.” She concludes with finality and you just accept you need to let it go.

You’re not even married yet and you’re already looking for the fire exit, but children? With Hotch?

Not fucking likely.

———

Throughout the evening, Thali comes up with increasingly creative ways to get you and Hotch under some mistletoe, but something neither of you counted on was her enlisting her son to help.

Theo tells you he wants to play hide and seek and he wants you to find him, but the only way he’ll play is if you stand outside on the back veranda while he hides.

“Count to 100 and stay right here. Do not open your eyes.” He orders and with that, he leaves. A minute later, you hear shuffling and open your eyes to find Hotch standing next to you under the doorway arch of the veranda and the twinkling Christmas lights.

“Hello, future mother of my children.” He prods.

“According to my mother, but then again, I’ve never done anything she’s expected of me.”

“Prove her wrong this time?” He says, glib.

“I’d rather skin myself and take a salt scrub.”

“Ouch.” He says, stepping closer. You look him up and down in an expression that tells him to maintain his distance but he ignores you. “So listen, back at the house, I actually uh, got you a gift.”

You frown. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “A juicer. I know how much you love the noise, so I figured you should have one of your own.”

Asshole.

“I actually got you something too.” You tell him earnestly. He raises his eyebrows. “Mhm. Yeah. I know how much you love aromatherapy so I got you a jumbo three-wick candle - orange blossom and vanilla.”

“Nicely played.” He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and chuckles, tipping his head upward as he groans.

You both spot the mistletoe simultaneously and he regards you with a look that you can’t quite decipher fully, but it’s the look he gets whenever he gets dangerously close to you.

Remembering the comments he’d made when you’d first moved in about him holding all the power, and his sole reason for this entire thing being revenge, you decide to put his theory to the test and exact your own revenge.

You smile coyly, a breathless laugh leaving your lips. You flutter your eyelashes and hold his gaze that looks darker under the ambient lighting. Your eyes fall to his lips momentarily, your tongue wetting your own as you step forward slightly, looking up at the mistletoe again.

His guarded demeanour slowly melts away, you can tell by the way his shoulders relax and his eyebrows unfurrow, allowing you an unobstructed view of his dark eyelashes. Your feet almost touch now, and you release another breathless chuckle, your fingers playing with his tie.

“What are you doing?” He rasps, wrapping his hand around your wrist.

“I think it’s uh… tradition to kiss. Right?” You smile.

He holds your gaze, his face now flushed a little, his eyes hooded. He smells of sandalwood and feels so warm that you forget it’s freezing outside. You tug him forward gently by his tie, your gaze on his lips and slowly slide your hands up his abdomen and chest, allowing them to rest on his pectorals as you tiptoe to reach him.

Your lips inch closer to his, both of your eyes fluttering closed. You feel his hands on your hips now, thumbs brushing your sides and squeezing a little. Your lips barely brush against his, a hair’s breadth away from making contact and your eyes flutter open just slightly to take him in.

Bingo.

“You’re wrong.” You whisper, your lips zinging with electricity at the proximity. “Look how easy it is for me to get you where I want you. You think you have all the power in this. But you only have it because I let you have it.”

You step back quickly and without a second look in his direction, you leave him cold and confused at what just happened. His blood thrums, his lips tingle and his cock throbs at your words, but his mind works overtime to decipher if your words are true as he watches you retreat inside.

He doesn’t get a chance to ponder it too much, though. His phone rings, pulling him from his confusing internal conflict.

“JJ?”

“Turn on the TV. Barnes just announced.”

———

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kingliam2019 · 3 years ago

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I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE SOMEWHERE: FINALE

The SUV carrying Liam rolled onto the gravel of the driveway leading to the Trauben Estate passing a beautiful green plush lawn with pristine cut hedges and rows and rows of Grapevines lining the hilltops. The SUV stopped in front of a set of glass doors. A Staff member came forward to open the door for the arriving guest. With a slight bow he welcomed the guest as another staff member retrieved his bag from the back of the SUV.” Good evening, Sir welcome to the Trauben Estate my name is Ralph allow me to take your bags to the front.” “Thank you, Ralph.”

After checking in and getting his “Honeymoon Suite” Liam made his way to the Concierge asking for Clara, telling the woman behind the desk that he wanted to thank her personally for the accommodations. . “Sir, is there anything that I can help you with, I will be more than happy to help with any and all concerns you might have.” “No but thank you it is more of a personal matter that I would like to speak with her about.” “Sure, one moment please” She excused herself to call up to Clara’s office., “Hello Clara, I have Luka Vertolo at the front asking to speak with you about his Suite and requesting it be in person, yes, I tried but he wanted to speak to you personally….. Ok, thank you.” She hung up the phone and turned to Liam, “If you will follow me, I can take you to her office” She led Liam to the elevator, got in and took it to the top floor. After getting out and turning down a short hallway she led them to Clara’s door and knocked while waiting for entrance, she opened the door for Liam letting him step inside, she left and closed the door behind her. Clara rose from her chair and walked over to him, extending her hand,” Hello Luka pleasure to meet you please have a seat.” “Good evening, Clara, the pleasure is mine.” “Is there something wrong with the room, is something missing, is there…” “No, everything is beyond par. I came to speak to you privately about one of your staff members, Miss Gabriella Young'' Clara stared at him not knowing how he knew her. Liam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his ID Card and passport along with his Diplomatic Immunity card, handing them to Clara. “I’m sorry for this misconception about who I am. I actually had a friend make the reservation for me, Gabriella is a dear friend of mine and she left under false assumption of a misunderstanding, and I’ve been looking for her to try and clear up what happened. My friend saw her photo on your web site and I knew it was her I’ve loved her since I first met her all those months ago in New York, She came to my country to participate in my social season for me to find a wife, but long story short, one night we all went out just to let loose and I guess we all had one too many and she kissed my best friend, who I knew he was dating someone else and I did a stupid thing by kissing my ex and she stormed out. I found out that my ex who was dating someone else at the time went to her room that night and said that “he proposed to her, but it wasn’t me who did it was her boyfriend and I guess she thought it was me and she left.” By the time he explained everything he had his tear-stained face in his hands trying to catch his breath “Your Majesty. '' Please just Liam is fine” “Well Liam um I’m sorry this happened to you, I know of the story between you both, she explained it to me a few nights ago, but at the moment she is not here, she is employed here but um I’m not sure if it is my place to tell you what happened to her.” With a shaky breath his eyes widened at Clara, “Please Clara I need to know where she is, I need her to know that I am not angry with her for leaving. My whole reason for looking for her was to bring her back with me and make her my wife. I cannot be the man I am to be nor the King that my Country needs me to be without her. Please Clara please.” What was she supposed to do? She didn’t want to lose Riley, she was the best the estate ever had, but she really didn’t want to betray her, and there is actually a King sitting in front of her and is the baby his, if it is she really didn’t want to commit Treason by keeping him from his child. Looking at the broken man in front of her, she pushes all her thoughts away and gently smiles up at Liam. “Please be calm when I tell you where she is.” Liam nods letting out a shaky breath bracing himself for whatever is about to come. “She is at Sonoma Valley Hospital, when you get there just give them Riley’s name and they will lead you to where she is.” HOSPITAL!? Clara what happened?” “Liam that is not for me to say she will tell you but, I assure you she’s fine, here’s the

address it’s only a 10-minute drive from here.” Liam grabs the paper with the address and turns to leave the room, his hand on the knob. “Liam, if I might make a suggestion, before you get there a dozen Roses would be nice.” She gives him a warm smile and a wink as he leaves to get to his SUV.

10 minutes and 2 dozen roses later Liam enters the Hospital reception asking for Riley’s room. He’s directed to the 3rd floor. As he rides the elevator up his mind is wondering what’s wrong that she had to come to the hospital. She was a strong woman, healthy, but she was a workaholic, always wanting to finish what she was doing sometime on the tour. Liam noticed the tiredness in her, asking when the last time was, she slept. She was stubborn but a go-getter. He’s pulled from his thoughts by the elevator doors opening, he steps out from the elevator looking at the Pass in his hand to the numbers on the doors. Her’s is closed, pushes all bad things aside, and with a shaky exhaled breath he lift’s a hand to knock, and hearing her voice to enter brings back a flood of emotion, he has not heard it in 6 months, but her voice was enough to calm him. Riley is standing by the window looking out at the blue sky and rocking back and forth with a sleeping Gregory in her arms. His breath hitches as he sees her standing there. With a shaky voice he says her name. “Ri-Riley'' She stops making sure she has a tight grip on the baby. Her eyes widened but still looking out the window. Li-Liam” “Riley are you okay? Can you look at me please?” “Liam” she says with tears in her eyes but quietly not wanting to stir the baby just yet. He takes a tentative step towards her. “Riley please… are you okay I was so worried about you. "I’m sorry Liam. I’m so sorry I kept this from you, but I was so mad, I wanted to come to you.” “Riley please it is I who is sorry.” And keep what from me?” As she turns, he sees her holding something then realizes it’s a baby. “This... is Gregory William Rhys, your son, our son.” She places the baby in his arms carefully as not to wake him and his tears spill from his eyes, his breath is caught as the baby let’s out a yawn and ever so slowly open his eyes and Liam’s heart is caught in his throat as he gets a glimpse of the baby blue eyes staring back at him. “Riley he's. he’s just beautiful.” With the baby still in his arm nestled in the crook of his elbow, Liam slips his hand into his jacket pocket and slowly gets down on one knee. Riley puts a hand to her mouth as her tears fall, her breath caught as she whisper’s “Liam….” “Riley my love I wanted to do this the day after the night we were all out but “He gives her a crooked smile and a shoulder shrug. “I have felt a love for you from that first night in your old bar, it was like color has come into my life and I could breathe better just looking at you. That next morning before I left to return to Cordonia, I had a private meeting at Tiffany’s I went and picked out this ring, I was going to come back to New York to see you and tell you to hell with the social season, that I never felt what was in my heart from that moment I met you. But to my surprise there you were as a sponsor with Max, and I knew you had to go through the season. And seeing you there that you were there for me solidified the deal that we were meant to be together. Riley my Love, would you do me the honor of marrying me and being my wife and Cordonia’s Queen?” “Oh, Liam I feel the same way there has been nothing I’ve wanted more Yes Liam Yes I’ll marry you.” He takes the 4k square diamond ring out of the box and places it on her finger with a kiss. “So, when can you leave so we can get back to the Trauben Estate and pack and get back home?” “Well, I was supposed to be leaving yesterday but this little guy was not so little, and I had to have stitches from the tare, but I was checked and am waiting for my release forms. I have to tell Clara that I’m leaving. So, after that we can go back Home.” “I Love you, My Queen.” I love you more my King” And I Love you my little Prince.

@ao719 @bebepac @the-soot-sprite @angryschnauzer @bobasheebaby @txemrn @dcbbw @queenrileyrose @kingliamandriley @hertzwritings @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @fictionloveevie @kat-tia801 @sirbeepsalot @twinkleallnight @busywoman

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ukrfeminism · 3 years ago

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A campaigner has lost a Supreme Court challenge against the Government over its policy of not allowing gender-neutral passports.

Christie Elan-Cane, who has campaigned for more than 25 years to achieve legal and social recognition for non-gendered identity, brought a case to the UK’s highest court in the latest round of a legal battle for “X” passports.

Challenging the policy administered by Her Majesty’s Passport Office (HMPO), the campaigner argued that the UK’s passport application process, which requires individuals to indicate whether they are male or female, breaches human rights laws.

However in a judgment on Wednesday, the Supreme Court unanimously dismissed the appeal.

Giving the ruling, Lord Reed said: “The form is concerned with the applicants’ gender as a biographical detail which can be used to confirm their identity by checking it against the birth, adoption or gender recognition certificates provided and other official records.

“It is therefore the gender recognised for legal purposes and recorded in those documents which is relevant.”

The President of the Supreme Court found that Elan-Cane’s interest in being issued with an “X” passport was “outweighed” by other considerations, including “maintaining a coherent approach across government” as to what genders are recognised.

Lord Reed continued: “There is no legislation in the United Kingdom which recognises a non-gendered category of individuals.

“On the contrary, legislation across the statute book assumes that all individuals can be categorised as belonging to one of two sexes or genders, terms which have been used interchangeably.”

The four justices sitting with Lord Reed, Lord Lloyd-Jones, Lady Arden, Lord Sales and Lady Rose, also found that a binary approach to gender forms the basis of a wide variety of public services.

At a hearing in July, justices were told the current gendered policy has a significant impact on the lives of those affected.

Kate Gallafent QC, for Elan-Cane, said non-gendered people, like the campaigner, and non-binary people have to make a false declaration to get a passport, which “strikes at the foundation of the standards of honesty and integrity to be expected of such official processes”.

However, Lord Reed said: “Notwithstanding the centrality of a non-gendered identification to the appellant’s private life, it is difficult to accept that a particularly important facet of the appellant’s existence or identity is at stake in the present proceedings.

“That is because it is only the designation of the appellant’s gender in a passport which is in issue.”

Representing HMPO – which is part of the Home Office – Sir James Eadie QC argued it would be “obviously problematic and highly undesirable” for only one part of the Government to recognise non-binary or non-gendered identities.

In written arguments, he said: “It may lead to the same person being treated as having a different sex/gender by HMPO for the purposes of issuing a passport on the one hand, and by other Government departments for all other Governmental functions on the other.”

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blaawan1814-blog · 2 years ago

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Since the death of the Duke, the Queen had been becoming visibly frail. On Thursday, I saw screenshots from social media of her children rushing to Balmoral; I commented that this did not look good. Later, Huw Edwards wore a black tie on BBC; I knew this was it. The Queen is dead. People in China seemed genuinely surprised that the Queen’s health had been in decline, but after all, she is a woman 96 years of age. We are all bracing for this day; hopefully, it will come later rather than now, but in the end, it did come. Soon, the Chinese Social media exploded with the news that the Queen had died. This Queen, a foreign head of state, clearly meant something to the Chinese. Personally, I’ve never had strong feelings about the monarchy except for the fact that she was the only Queen I knew. Her ubiquitous presence is everywhere. She is on the stamps I licked, the money I use, and the passport I travel with. It was her who signed my commission, ElizabethR, that conferred me with the status of commissioned officer in Her Majesty Armed Forces, a little bit of Elizabeth Windsor that I will always treasure. This is an opportunity to take a moment to reflect on the passing of a person who has played a key role in every Briton, from 80 to a 20-year-old. Her omnipresence has to be a product of the longevity of her reign. Very few of us alive today can recall anyone else sitting on the British Throne. That fact alone makes the notion of a King Charles III so strange and unfamiliar and singing God Save the King, something we all need to get used to. To have seen another British Monarch, one has to be in their eighties. My late mum, who died in 2004, had lived through the reigns of four monarchs in her 72 years. I’ve managed to rack up almost as many years without witnessing a single coronation. The Queen is a keystone, an enduring symbol of steadfastness in the ever-changing world. So when they bury her next week, I will be sad, not so much for the passing of a Monarch, but for the passing of a generation.

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dizzyduck44 · 2 years ago

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Little things that show how the Queen touched everyone’s lives.

The National Anthem. We are going to mess this up more than once. This has changed immediately and we will go onto autopilot and sing God Save The Queen at a sporting event this year. Guaranteed!

We all currently have money, coin and paper, that bears her image. It will be years probably before it will no longer be legal tender.

Similarly there will be thousands of stamps with her image sat in post offices still to be sold.

Overtime the ER on post boxes will be replaced with CR.

Since the age of 8 I have been involved in Guiding and the Promise has always been to “serve the Queen and my country”. Every Rainbow/Brownie/Guide will now say a new Promise.

I work in law, there will no longer be QCs but KCs, a concept so strange I can’t name a single case that refers to it as the case would be outdated now.

Passports. We no longer have the privilege of “Her Majesty’s protection”.

These are just little ways that her passing will change our everyday life.

Everyone thinks it’s just a funeral and a coronation. There are lots of little suitable things that will need to change from today onwards.

Oh and William will need to be invested as Prince of Wales. Welsh castles will start the lobbying process as soon as Charles is crowned, just you watch. Charles was crowned in the North, William lived on Anglesey. My money is on Beaumaris.

#uk history #queenelizabeth2

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jasmehraj · 4 years ago

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Chaos in the get together

The tapping sound on the new and polished wooden floor intensified as she danced to her favourite tune.

She lifted her hand and her legs moved in a practised motion. A small laugh escaped her lips when she almost fell from the edge of her little stage, and two arms wrapped around her torso saving her from the inevitable fall.

They fell into an easy dance like they've been doing this for years.

"It's my class reunion in a few days."

"And?"

"You are going with me."

His lips turned upwards, "Your majesty, can't really deny you."

"Hmm."

The song finished and they both bowed.

"So? MDC originals?" The handsome man, her fiance made weird hand gestures as if trying to copy her. She elbowed him which caused him to mock gasp.

"You are such a jerk."

The lights were dimly lit. There were multiple people in there, most of them dressed in expensive clothing, trying to show off. There were some rare people who came in casual outfits. And Marinette and Jason happened to be one of them. (Umm I mean kinda sorta one of them? If leather jackets, jeans, combat boots, glasses or a biker look in general counts as casual.)

They both entered hand in hand.

"You know what? I'm already dying of boredom." Jason pouted and put a hand on his chest.

Marinette just chuckled, "Then I will have to go home with a ghost.-" She grabbed his collar to make him bend down to her height-," and find someone else to marry me next week."

Jason mock-gasped again, "You really know how to tame me huh?"

Marinette giggled, "That's what happens when you stay in relationship with a dork for 5 years."

Jason replied with a smirk, "Well then it's good that you have this hot and sexy dork on your side."

They both joked their way inside.

Suddenly everything went silent. Both their laughs jacked in when they noticed the sudden silence.

"If it isn't the loser." A girl in orange (AAAHH MY EYES, SO MUCH SPARKLE! FEELS LIKE I'M LOOKING AT A BOTTLE OF SPARKLE) dress came hand in hand with a green eyed blonde. "How is the biggest failure in the world doing?"

Marinette adjusted her glasses and pretended to check her nails, "I don't know how are you doing?"

This filled the orange dressed girl with rage. She went redder and redder with every second. "I'm a success, I'm dating Adrien Agreste, the face of the Agreste company from 6 years, he's mine now-"

Marinette yawned dramatically, "yada yada yada, you are saying that you are dating my ex, you know what, I ate sandwich today, want those leftovers too?"

Everyone looked at Marinette with horrified expressions on their face. Lila was standing there opening and closing her mouth looking like a fish.

"That was really mean Marinette, you shouldn't start a fight with Lila, we are here on a get-together-" Jason moved just a little and Adrien took a step back cautiously.-"And can you tell your fling to back off?"

The word fling was said with such disgust that made Marinette laugh.

"You mean my fiance? Sorry sunshine but he can't stand at one place with assholes around." Adrien made a hurt face like he was a puppy kicked by someone on the footpath.

"Fiance? Congratulations Marinette!" The whole room gave congratulations to her while Lila and Adrien stood at the side trying to gain their attention again but failing miserably.

"Let's Go Adrien." Lila huffed and made their way towards the door. Adrien followed behind closely but before they could reach the door a male voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Hey! Agreste. You dropped something." They turned to see Marinette's Fiance.

Adrien smiled, "What?"

Jason smirked, "As a matter of fact you both dropped something. Oh is that your backbone lying over there and ouch Rossi, look at your ego lying on the floor unguarded." There were collective gasps.

"How. Dare. You? I'M GOING TO RUIN YOU TWO!" Lila screamed, face red.

Jason smirked, "Don't worry we got that covered already."

Just at the perfect time, Adrien's phone ringed. "Put it on speaker sunshine." Marientte came to stand next to her fiance. "Your girlfriend wouldn't want to miss it."

Adrien put his phone on speaker. "Hello?"

"Hello Mr. Agreste jn.?"

"Yes that's me."

"You and your girlfriend are accused of helping your father with the illegal drug selling, black money and illegal properly. We are expecting you in the police station in an hour. As a caution, your passport has been disabled so you can't escape. The rest of the things will be told to you face to face."

Lila screamed, "HOW?"

The officer heard her of course and deadpanned, "The Waynes were the one who did the investigation. I'm sure Mr. Todd Wayne and his fiance are standing right next to you."

"Hell yeah I am Lucus."

Adrien cut the call. He looked at Marinette, face filled with disgust and pointed at her, "YOU! YOU DID THIS! YOU BIT**"

Marinette yawned, "I would have been a bit** if I had ruined your life, but I just sat on a chair enjoying how you do it yourself."

Adrien grabbed Lila's arm and marched out of the door.

Marinette sent a flying kiss her friends' way, "Okay bye! It was nice catching up with you but I gotta go now."

And like that the most kick-ass couple that we love went home to plan their wedding. That's it. And your lovely author closes the book and give you a sloppy salute. "See you next time folks. Thank you for joining me for our story Tuesday."

Forgot to post it but here we go. LILA BURNNNNN And take Adrien with you.

Permanent taglist: @nathleigh @jalaluvsu @togetherwekill @stackofrandomstuff @qualitypeacepainter @greatcatblaze @shewhorises-tjyj @myazael

#maribat #jasmehraj #salt #not class salt just lila and adrinen salt #mlbxdc #mlxdc #i love maribat #jasonette #because chaos #jason x marinette #marijason

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histoireettralala · 3 years ago

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The Sacking of Joseph Fouché: The Downfall (4/4)

" Unfortunately, in his gleeful mystification, Joseph Fouché made a little mistake. He thinks, indeed, that he is playing with the inexperienced rookie of a duke, with a minister still in diapers.

But he forgets that this successor was nominated by a master who doesn't accept jokes. Besides, Napoleon is already watching with distrust Fouché's behaviour. This long hesitation in the handing over of his position, this open-ended postponement of his departure for Rome, displeases him. Moreover, the investigation opened against Ouvrard, Fouché's tool, has given an unexpected result: it revealed that Fouché previously already entrusted another broker with notes for the English office. And until now nobody yet has tricked Napoleon with impunity. Suddenly, on June 17, an incisive mail is sent to Fouché in Ferrières, sharp as the stroke of a whip:

"Monsieur le Duc d'Otrante, I beg of you to send me the note which was conveyed to you by M. Fagan, whom you sent to London to probe Lord Wellesley, and who brought you this lord's answer, of which I was never informed."

This is like the sound of a fanfare and able to wake up a dead man. Fouché ought to realize it by now. But it seems the Devil pushes him to want, very seriously, to measure himself against Napoleon, against the most powerful man in the universe. Because he declares to the envoy something which is entirely false, that he is extremely sorry, but he didn't keep any letter. He has burned everything. Of course, nobody believes that from Fouché and Napoleon even less than the others. A second time he warns him, in a rougher, more pressing way: we know his impatience. And now misdemeanour turns to obstinacy, obstinacy to insolence and insolence to provocation. Indeed, Fouché repeats that he doesn't have any paper anymore, and he bases the supposed destruction of the emperor's private files on a argument which is almost blackmail. His Majesty, he says with irony, honored him with such trust that, whenever one of his brothers aroused his dissatisfaction, he charged him, Fouché, to bring him back in line. And since then each brother shared with him his recriminations, he has considered it his duty not to keep those letters. His Majesty's sisters as well weren't always untainted by slander and the emperor himself had thought him worthy to be entrusted the secret of these rumours and had tasked him to seek which thoughtlessness was its source. It's clear and more than clear: Fouché is telling the Emperor that he knows many things and that he doesn't allow himself to be treated like a lackey [...] A second summon is issued by the new Police minister, the duke of Rovigo. But Fouché answers everyone with the same politeness and the same decisiveness that unfortunately, motivated by an excessive discretion, he burned the papers. For the first time a man in France openly resists the Emperor.

It is too much. As much as Napoleon, for ten years, underestimated Fouché, Fouché now underestimates Napoleon if he thinks he can intimidate him with a few indiscretions [..] Napoleon summons the chief of his private police, Dubois, and lets himself go in front of him to the most violent bursts of anger against "this wretched, wretched man". In his anger he comes and goes roughly and noisily and he suddenly shouts:

"Let him not think he can do with me what he did with his God, his Convention and his Directoire, whom he basely betrayed and sold! I have a longer sight than Barras, and with me it will not be so easy. Let him therefore be warned. But he has notes, instructions from me, and I intend him to return them to me. If he refuses, let him be put in the hands of ten gendarmes. Let him be taken to the Abbaye and, by God, I will show him that a trial can be done quickly. "

Now things are going bad. Now, Fouché himself starts feeling uncomfortable [..] Quickly, he writes now more and more letters, one for the emperor and others to various ministers, to complain about the distrust against him, who is the most loyal, the most genuine, the most righteous and the most faithfully devoted of all ministers, and in one of these letters it is pleasing to find this specific sentence: "It isn't in my character to change" (these words are literally written black on white by this true chameleon that Fouché was, as for the character). And, like fifteen years ago with Robespierre, he hopes he can still prevent the catastrophe by a quick reconciliation. He takes a carriage and goes to Paris to personally offer the emperor his explanations, or no doubt already also apologies.

But it is too late. He has played for too long, joked for too long; now there is no possible reconciliation, no possible compromise; the one who publically provoked Napoleon must be publically humiliated. A letter is written to Fouché, harsh, short and cutting, in a way Napoleon never used for other ministers:

"Monsieur le duc d'Otrante, your services cannot please me anymore. It is appropriate that you be gone for your senatorerie under twenty-four hours."

The tension was too great, the game too reckless; and now happens something very unexpected: Fouché, scared of his terrible situation, completely breaks down, like a sleepwalker who, unwittingly climbing on the roof and suddenly awakened by a sudden call, falls into the void. The same man who, within a hairsbreadth of the guillotine, kept his cool and his lucid thinking, pitifully collapses under the blow Napoleon struck him.

This 3 June 1810 is Joseph Fouché's Waterloo. His nerves break; he rushes to the minister to get a passport for a foreign land and, changing horses in every station, he flees without stopping anywhere till he reaches Italy. There, he goes from one place to another, running like a distraught rat on a burning hotbed [...] he begs Napoleon's sisters for help as well as sovereigns and friends; he appears and disappears suddenly, to the great displeasure of the policemen who are looking for and keep losing track of him; in short, he behaves like a madman, so great is his fear, and for the first time he offers, he the nerveless one, a truly clinical example of a complete nervous breakdown. Never, in one gesture, with one punch, did Napoleon crush an adversary in such a radical way than this one, who had been at the same time the boldest and the coldest of his servants.

[..]

Napoleon only wanted to impose his will, have his papers back, and he is completely successful. Indeed, while Fouché, distraught and as if hysterical, tires out his horses across Italy, his wife in Paris acts in a much more reasonable way. She capitulates in his stead. It is not questionable that, to save her husband, the duchess of Otrante gave back to Napoleon the papers Fouché had treacherously removed, since none of these private sheets on which the ex-minister based his threat of blakcmail ever reached the light of the day. Just like Barras' papers, from whom the emperor bought them as well as from the other inconvenient witnesses of his ascension, Fouché's files relating to Napoleon have disappeared without a trace. The emperor himself, or later Napoleon III, totally destroyed all documents which didn't conform with the official history.

In the end, Fouché receives the kind permission to get back to his senatorerie of Aix. The great storm calmed down; the lightning only shook Fouché's nerves, without hitting him to the marrow. On september 25, this desperate man enters his domain, "pale, unravelled, and showing in the incoherence of his ideas and the chaos of his speech a deeply damaged morale." But he will have all the time he needs to recover, because whoever rebels against Napoleon is for a long time put away from political affairs. The ambitious must pay the price of his entertainment: again the waves throw him into the abyss. For three years, Joseph Fouché will stay without dignities or employment: his third exile has begun."

Stefan Zweig- Fouché

#napoleonic #stefan zweig #fouché #joseph fouché #napoléon bonaparte

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josefavomjaaga · 4 years ago

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Letters from Naples, 1815

Some documents relating to chapter 3 of Helfert's book on Joachim Murat. I have not translated the report by Pauline Bonaparte's secretary about Napoleon's escape that Mier refers to in his second letter, as it's quite long and I assume it's been translated and quoted before. But I can do so if there is interest. Mier's letters however, are about Murat's immediate reaction to this news.

Mier to Metternich (in his own hand). (N° 21)

This 5th of March 1815.

My Prince! His Majesty the King received this morning a letter from Rome with the news of the escape of the Emperor Napoleon from the island of Elba. The Chevalier de Lebzeltern took advantage of this opportunity to announce this same event to me. Your Highness can easily imagine the effect which this news produced on the minds of Their Majesties. - The King sent for me to come to him to talk to me about this event, and told me that in a few hours he would send a courier to Vienna. Campochiaro was ordered to declare to our Court that in any event the policy of the King of Naples remained entirely subordinate to ours, that nothing could make Him deviate from this principle, and that He wished to know what course we would believe necessary to follow in this affair in order to comply with it. The King repeated to me on this occasion how much he wished to give the Emperor Francis proof of His attachment and His gratitude. While we were talking we saw several merchant ships enter the port. His Majesty sent to find out where they came from. It turned out that one of these ships had come from the island of Elba and had left after the flight of the Emperor Napoleon. The captain of this vessel gave the King details of which we were unaware, and communicated to Him the proclamation of the Governor of the Isle of Elba after the departure of Napoleon.

May Your Highness deign to accept the assurance of my highest consideration.

Mier. Mier to Metternich. (N° 22)

Naples 9 March 1815.

My Prince!

1) The departure for Rome of two officers of our Regiment of Prince-Regent Houzards, who have spent a few days here, provides me with a sure occasion to send my following dispatch to Rome and to recommend it to the care of the Chevalier de Lebzeltern.

2) It is only the day after I sent my report No. 21, that I learned that on the ship arriving from the Isle of Elba there was a certain Mr. Mary, secretary to the Princess Pauline. It is from him that all the details of Napoleon's escape were obtained. I do not believe that he brought letters for Their Majesties, at least the Queen has very definitely assured me of this. She has been kind enough to send me the attached document, written by Monsieur Mary.

3) I had the honour of informing Your Highness in my last report that I had been called to the King's residence at the moment when he had received the news of Napoleon's departure from the Isle of Elba. I found the King extremely agitated, not knowing where to stop his thoughts. It was obvious that he did not know what to desire. He maintained that the Emperor Napoleon landing in France would have the entire army, the whole of France behind him; that the Bourbons would be driven out; that Napoleon would not have risked this enterprise without being semi-certain of its success; that if he found a very doubtful party of the Bourbons resisting him, it would bring on a civil war in France. "What side will Austria and the other Powers take? It is a very unfortunate event, and one which may confuse all at the moment when the main questions had been happily arranged at the Congress. It is no less unfortunate for me in many respects: it may delay the arrangement of my interests, and in the long run I cannot remain in this position; I must know where I stand." He would go out at any moment to ask for news of the ships entering the harbour. After a conversation of more than two hours in the presence of the Queen, he withdrew when a ship from the island of Elba was announced. Afterwards I had a long conversation with the Queen who always consistent in her way of considering things, wise in her views and reasonings, putting character and perseverance in the party and the course which she once convinced herself was useful to her interests, not varying opinion at any event, always preaching uprightness and loyalty, gave me on this occasion new proofs of the essential qualities which distinguish her. One could see in her face how much this event had upset her. She told me that she was extremely worried about the fate of her brother, who was running towards his inevitable loss; that as a sister she could not wish for his death, but that she would have liked him to keep quiet in Elba; that she was convinced that, if the Emperor Napoleon ever succeeded in replacing himself on the throne of France, he would hasten to chase them out of Naples, a thing she never ceased to repeat to the King; that the Emperor Napoleon, once again Emperor of the French, will once more upset the whole of Europe; that she knows his character too well to ever doubt it; that it would be wrong to believe that age and experience have corrected him. "The King", she continued, "has a fine role to play, it is to remain invariably attached to the policy which he has embraced, to unite his interests as closely as possible with those of Austria, to repel all the perfidious insinuations which will not fail to be made to him, and to remain firm in his promises and declarations. This is what his honour and his true interests demand. You know me too well to doubt that I will not do everything to this end.

4) A Neapolitan courier sent to London carried the same declarations as the one that left for Vienna. The same day that the news of Napoleon's escape was learned here, the King convened an extraordinary Council of Ministers in which he declared to them that this event would in no way change the course of his policy. Notwithstanding these declarations and promises made to his people and his Allies, I know that his head is hard at work; that he has admitted into his presence several French refugees in Naples, enraged Bonapartists; that he has had several conferences with them; that he has sent secret emissaries everywhere (I have pointed out to Marshal Bellegarde two of this number who are on their way to France by way of Milan), and that his announced determinations are very shaky. This event instead of delaying his planned journey to the Marches seems to have accelerated it. His saddle horses and some campaign crews left last Monday for the Marches. His departure may take place at any moment. His mood, his words announce that he has projects in view, but that his ideas are not yet fixed, and that he is waiting for the first results of Napoleon's enterprise. If He remained in Naples, surrounded by the Queen and by a few sensible people who, without flattering Him, have the courage to tell Him the truth, one could count on His not being drawn into a few false steps; but in Ancona, returned to himself, surrounded by hotheads, there is nothing to be sure of. I have done everything to prevent this journey, I have begged and insisted that it should not be undertaken at this time, because of the bad effect it would have, and the suspicion that He would arouse by this step. I know that the Queen, Monsieur de Gallo, the Count of Mosbourg and many other reasonable people have positively advised Him against it; but all in vain; He seems determined to go. It is not yet known whether He will leave the Regency to the Queen.

5) Spirits in Naples are very agitated. There are people who make wishes for Napoleon, without knowing what they are asking for; but in general one would be angry here if the King interfered in an affair foreign for the moment to the interests of this country, and in despair if He took up the cause of Napoleon; in the latter case I believe that the King should not count on the fidelity of his subjects. If He wanted to make a diversion in favour of the Emperor Napoleon by going to France, half his army would leave Him; it would not be the same if He remained in Italy. He would find supporters there and could do us a lot of harm. Prudence requires that we put ourselves in this country in a position to face any event.

6) The Princess of Wales has openly expressed much delight at the escape of Napoleon. She told the King that she hoped for his glory that he would not remain an idle spectator of the events that were being prepared; that he should follow the example of the Emperor Napoleon, who with a thousand men despaired of nothing, while he with 80,000 seemed to let himself be imposed upon; that the course he would take in the present circumstances might lead him to immortality, etc. This inconsiderate woman wanted to follow the King to Ancona; but I have just been told that she has changed her plans and that she is leaving for Civitavecchia the day after tomorrow.

7) The Capri, a Neapolitan ship of the line of 80 guns, set sail several days ago to join the two Neapolitan frigates which left for the Adriatic.

8) Until now no movement of Neapolitan troops has taken place in the kingdom.

9) Count Széchényi leaves tomorrow for London. I have endorsed his passport for Rome. May Your Highness accept etc.

Mier.

(Completely unrelated question: What's the legal punishment for throttling a Princess of Wales?) I also love how Mier praises Caroline to Metternich.

#joachim murat #caroline murat #napoleon #hundred days #italy1815 #naples #helfert murat

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fuckofffuckofffuckoffloveme · 4 years ago

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Runaway - Part Fifteen

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

Mike Denman stepped off the train at Cardiff Central railway station and headed to the Roald Dahl Plass. He smiled when he saw the TARDIS parked just in front of the huge water tower, walked up, and knocked on the door. It swung open to show a handsome man with dark hair and a confused expression. "Who the hell are you?"

"What do you mean, who the hell am I? Who the hell are you?" Mike demanded.

"Captain Jack Harkness." He flashed his signature brilliant smile. "Whatever you're selling, we're not buying."

Mike narrowed his eyes. "Get out of my way!" He pushed past Jack and into the TARDIS, making the man roll his eyes as he closed the door.

"Don't tell me. This must be the pikey you were telling me about."

The Hunter beamed down at them from a ladder, where she was fixing a light fitting on the wall. She was wearing a white t-shirt with blue skinny jeans, and ankle boots. "Here comes trouble! How're you doing, Spike?"

"It's Mike!"

Hazel rolled her eyes, sipping from a cup of hot chocolate. Judging both by this and her thick hoodie, she wasn't planning on running around much today. Maybe they'd be able to have a quiet day together for once? "Don't listen to her, she's winding you up."

"Damn right, I am," the Hunter muttered in the background, smirking.

"You look fantastic," Mike told Hazel, hugging her. Startled, she held her hot chocolate out of the way and hoped it wouldn't spill.

"Aw, sweet, look at these two," Jack sighed, leaning against the console next to the ladder. "How come I never get any of that?"

"Well, you'd have to buy me a drink first," the Hunter told him, winking.

He sighed despairingly. "You're such hard work."

"Yeah, but worth every bit of it," she smirked.

"Did you manage to find them?" Hazel asked eagerly.

"There you go," Mike smiled, handing over the fake IDs and passport. Little did he know, the IDs were in for a cathartic burning session later - it'd been Jack's idea.

Hazel grinned. "I can go anywhere now."

"I told you, you don't need a passport," the Hunter rolled her eyes, making her way down the ladder.

"It's all very well going to Platform One and Justicia and the Glass Pyramid of San Kaloon, but what if we end up in Brazil? I might need it," Hazel pointed out. "You see, I'm prepared for anything."

"Sounds like you're staying then," Mike noticed. Everybody looked at him, and he changed the subject. "So what're you doing in Cardiff? And who the hell's Jumping Jack Flash? I mean, I don't mind you hanging out with Soulless Samantha over there."

"Oi!" the Hunter exclaimed.

"Listen to yourself," Mike sneered. "But this guy, I don't know, he's kind of -"

"Handsome?" Jack suggested, grinning.

"More like cheesy," Mike corrected, clearly not impressed.

Jack looked to the Hunter. "Queenie, early twenty first century slang. Is cheesy good or bad?"

"It's bad," Mike deadpanned before she could get a word in.

"But bad means good, isn't that right?" Jack shrugged.

"Are you saying I'm not handsome?" the Hunter asked, nudging him.

"You're not handsome, you're beautiful," Jack told her, making her grin.

"We just stopped off," Hazel cut in, seeing Mike looking at them with disgust. "We need to refuel. The thing is, Cardiff's got this rift running through the middle of the city. It's invisible, but it's like an earthquake fault between different dimensions."

"The rift was healed back in 1869," the Hunter continued.

"Thanks to a girl named Gwyneth," Hazel added, "because these creatures called the Gelth, they were using the rift as a gateway, but she saved the world and closed it."

"But closing a rift always leaves a scar," Jack explained, "and that scar generates energy, harmless to the human race -"

The Hunter nodded. "But perfect for the TARDIS, so just park her here for a couple of days right on top of the scar, and -"

"Open up the engines, soak up the radiation," Jack continued.

"Like filling her up with petrol and off we go!" Hazel cheered.

"Into time!" Jack exclaimed.

"And space!" they all shouted together, high-fiving.

Mike just stared at them for a moment. "My God, have you seen yourselves? You all think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Yeah," Hazel nodded.

"Yep!" Jack agreed.

"It does seem to be the general consensus," the Hunter shrugged, leading them out onto Roald Dahl Plass and locking the door behind them. "Should take another twenty four hours, which means we've got time to kill."

"That old lady's staring," Mike noticed.

Jack smirked. "Probably wondering what four people could do inside a small wooden box."

Mike stared at him, looking horrified by the mere suggestion. "What are you captain of, the Innuendo Squad?"

"Well, actually -"

"Jack!" Hazel exclaimed, and they both burst out laughing, the Hunter watching fondly.

"Wait, the TARDIS, we can't just leave it," Mike protested as they started walking away. "Doesn't it get noticed?"

"Yeah, what's with the police box?" Jack asked. "Why does it look like that?"

"It's a cloaking device," Hazel told them.

"It's called a chameleon circuit," the Hunter explained. "The TARDIS is meant to disguise herself wherever she lands, like if this was Ancient Rome, she'd be a statue on a plinth or something. But I landed in the '60s, she disguised herself as a police box, and the circuit got stuck."

"So it copied a real thing?" Mike asked. "There actually was police boxes?"

"Yeah, on street corners," the Hunter nodded. "Phone for help before they had radios and mobiles. If they arrested someone, they could shove them inside till help came, like a little prison cell."

Jack shook his head slightly. That didn't sound too pleasant. "Why don't you just fix the circuit?"

She pouted. "I like it, don't you?"

"I love it," Hazel grinned.

"But that's what I meant," Mike said, pulling the conversation back to him. "There's no police boxes anymore, so doesn't it get noticed?"

The Hunter smiled, standing in front of him with her hands on his shoulders. Despite being an inch or so shorter, she still intimidated him, and he didn't even know the whole of what she could do. "Spike, let me tell you something about the human race. You put a mysterious blue box slap bang in the middle of town, what do they do? Walk past it. Now, stop your nagging. Let's go and explore!" They set off walking again.

"What's the plan?" Hazel asked, looping her arms through both Jack's and the Hunter's.

The Time Lady shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Cardiff, early twenty first century, and the wind's coming from the east. Trust me. Safest place in the universe."

***

They ended up in a small restaurant on the jetty, where Jack was telling them stories from his previous adventures.

"I swear, six feet tall and with big tusks!" he was saying.

"You're lying through your teeth!" the Hunter accused, laughing.

"I'd have gone bonkers!" Hazel cried, holding onto the table to keep her from falling out of her seat with laughter. "That's the word - bonkers!"

"I mean, it turns out the white things are tusks and I mean tusks!" Jack enthused. "And it's woken, and it's not happy."

"How could you not know it was there?" the Hunter demanded, her eyes wide and filled with happy tears.

"And we're standing there, fifteen of us, naked -"

"Naked?!" Hazel echoed, crying with laughter.

"And I'm like, oh, no, no, it's got nothing to do with me," Jack continued. "And then it roars, and we are running, oh my God, we are running! And Brakovitch falls, so I turn to him and I say -"

"I knew we should've turned left!" Mike cried.

"That's my line!" Jack exclaimed as Hazel burst out laughing all over again.

"I don't believe you!" she sighed, wiping her cheeks. "I don't believe a word you say ever. That is so brilliant! Did you ever get your clothes back?" The Hunter borrowed a newspaper from the next table, her good mood swiftly dissipating.

"No, I just picked him up, went right for the ship, full throttle. Didn't stop until I hit the spacelanes. I was shaking. It was unbelievable. It freaked me out, and by the time I got fifteen light years away I realised I'm like this."

The Hunter sighed disappointedly. "And I was having such a nice day." She showed them the newspaper, the front page of which showed Margaret Blaine as the new Lord Mayor of Cardiff.

***

In the foyer of the City Hall, Jack began to outline what they already knew about Margaret. "According to intelligence, the target is the last surviving member of the Slitheen family, a criminal sect from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius, masquerading as a human being, zipped inside a skin suit." He nodded. "Okay, plan of attack, we assume a basic fifty seven fifty six strategy, covering all available exits on the ground floor. Queenie, you go face to face. That'll designate Exit One. I'll cover Exit Two. Jules, you're on Exit Three. Mike, you take Exit Four. Have you got that?"

The Hunter raised her eyebrows at him pointedly. "Excuse me. Who's in charge here?"

Jack bit his lip to hide a smile. "Sorry. Awaiting orders, your Majesty."

"Right, here's the plan." She paused, smirking. "Like he said. Nice plan. Anything else?"

"Present arms," Jack ordered. Each of them pulled out a mobile phone, except for the Hunter, who was fixing a Bluetooth unit to her ear.

"Ready," she nodded.

"Ready," Hazel stated.

"Ready," Mike agreed.

"Ready," Jack smiled. "Speed dial?"

"Yep," the Hunter grinned, sonicing the device.

"Ready," Hazel seconded.

"Check," Mike nodded.

Jack flashed a brilliant smile. "See you in hell."

***

The Hunter followed the signs through to the outer area of the Lord Mayor's office, where a young man was sitting at his desk just outside the door. "Hello," she smiled warmly. "I've come to see the Lord Mayor."

"Have you got an appointment?" the young man asked politely.

"No, just an old friend passing by. Bit of a surprise," she grinned. "Can't wait to see her face."

"Well, she's just having a cup of tea," he stated.

"Just go in there and tell her the Hunter would like to see her."

"The Hunter?" he echoed.

"Yeah, it's an inside joke," the Hunter lied. "Tell her exactly that. The Hunter."

"Hang on a tick," the man smiled, and went into the office. The Hunter waited patiently, smirking when she heard a teacup smash on the floor, then smiling politely when the man came back out, looking flustered. "The Lord Mayor says thank you for popping by. She'd love to have a chat, but, er, she's up to her eyes in paperwork. Perhaps if you could make an appointment for next week?"

The Hunter looked at him pityingly. "She's climbing out of the window, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is," he admitted, sighing in relief.

"Slitheen heading north," she reported, pushing past the man, through the office and out onto the balcony.

"On my way," Hazel replied.

"Over and out," Jack agreed.

"Oh my God!" Mike wailed.

"Leave the Lord Mayor alone!" the man cried, trying to pull the Hunter back from following Margaret as she climbed down a ladder on some scaffolding on the side of the building.

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on." She telekinetically threw the man back into the office, locking the balcony behind him. "It's like you're not even trying."

Margaret reached the bottom of the ladder and took off her brooch, starting to run. When she saw Hazel running towards her, she snarled, removing her right earring. Then Jack came running from the opposite direction.

"Margaret!" the Hunter taunted, seeing she was running in the only available direction - across the front of the building. She joined Jack and Hazel at the entrance to the alleyway at the front of the building, seeing Margaret running away from them.

"Who's on Exit Four?" Jack demanded.

"That was Mike!" Hazel supplied.

"Here I am," Mike announced, running out with one foot in a bucket.

"Oh, you pikey," the Hunter scoffed.

"Be fair, she's not exactly going to outrun us, is she?" Hazel pointed out, at which point Margaret vanished.

"She's got a teleport! That's cheating!" Jack complained. "Now we're never going to get her."

"Oh, Artie's very good at teleports," Hazel assured him.

The Hunter buzzed the sonic screwdriver in the direction of Margaret's disappearance, and she reappeared, running towards them. She frowned, turned around and vanished again, but the Hunter just brought her back. The next time she was brought back, she was standing right in front of them, and panting hard. "Do you know, I could actually do this all day," the Hunter remarked conversationally, looking down at Margaret with no pity.

"This is persecution," Margaret accused. "Why can't you leave me alone? What did I ever do to you?"

"You tried to kill me, my friend Hazel here, and destroy the entire planet," the Hunter pointed out bluntly.

Margaret blinked. "Apart from that."

***

"So, you're a Slitheen, you're on Earth, you're trapped," the Hunter mused, leading them into the presentation room of the City Hall, in which the centrepiece was a model of a nuclear power station. "Your family get killed, but you teleport out just in the nick of time. You have no means of escape. What do you do? You build a nuclear power station. But what for?"

"A philanthropic gesture," Margaret shrugged airily. "I've learnt the error of my ways."

The Hunter scoffed. "And it just so happens to be right on top of the rift."

"What rift would that be?" Margaret asked innocently.

"A rift in space and time," Jack answered. "If this power station went into meltdown, the entire planet would go -" He mimed an implosion with his hands, adding the appropriate sound effects.

"This station is designed to explode the minute it reaches capacity," the Hunter stated, looking at the model.

"Didn't anyone notice?" Hazel frowned. "Isn't there someone in London checking this sort of stuff?"

"We're in Cardiff," Margaret deadpanned. "London doesn't care. The South Wales coast could fall into the sea and they wouldn't notice." She made a face. "Oh, I sound like a Welshman. God help me, I've gone native."

"But why would she do that?" Mike asked. "A great big explosion, she'd only end up killing herself."

"She's got a name, you know," Margaret pointed out icily.

"She's not even a she, she's a thing," Mike countered.

"Oh, but she's clever," the Hunter smiled. With her metal hand, she yanked the middle section from the model and turned it over to reveal circuitry. "Fantastic."

"Is that a tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator?" Jack asked excitedly.

The Hunter grinned, handing it over. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

"Ooh, genius!" Jack exclaimed. "You didn't build this."

"I have my hobbies," Margaret shrugged. "A little tinkering."

"No, no, no, no," Jack shook his head. "I mean, you really didn't build this. Way beyond you."

"I bet she stole it," Mike accused.

"It fell into my hands," Margaret said defensively.

"Is it a weapon?" Hazel inquired.

"It's transport," Jack told her, grinning. "You see, if the reactor blows, the rift opens. Phenomenal cosmic disaster. But this thing shrouds you in a forcefield. You have this energy bubble, so you're safe." He put the extrapolator on the ground. "Then you feed it co-ordinates, stand on top, and ride the concussion all the way out of the solar system." He stood on top demonstratively.

"It's a surfboard," Mickey realised.

"A pan-dimensional surfboard, yeah," Jack nodded.

"And it would've worked," Margaret grumbled. "I'd have surfed away from this dead end dump and back to civilisation."

Hazel frowned. "Isn't there supposed to be something about meddling kids in there?"

"You'd blow up a whole planet just to get a lift?" Mike asked, wondering why the others weren't too shocked.

"Like stepping on an anthill," Margaret smirked.

"How'd you think of the name?" the Hunter asked. She was looking at one of the banners with an expression of concern.

"What, Blaidd Drwg?" Margaret shrugged. "It's Welsh."

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "I know, but how did you think of it?"

"I chose it at random, that's all. I don't know, it just sounded good. Does it matter?"

"Blaidd Drwg," the Hunter mused, frowning.

"What's it mean?" Hazel asked.

"Bad Wolf," the Time Lady replied.

Hazel flinched, and Jack put his arm around her shoulder's - much to Mike's annoyance. "But I've heard that before. Bad Wolf. I've heard that lots of times."

"Everywhere we go," the Hunter narrowed her eyes. "Two words following us. Bad Wolf."

"How can they be following us?" Hazel whispered.

The Hunter shared a look with Jack, both of them clocking how scared Hazel actually was. "Nah, just a coincidence. Like hearing a word on the radio then hearing it all day. Never mind. Things to do. Margaret, we're going to take you home."

Jack blinked. "Hold on, isn't that the easy option, like letting her go?"

"I don't believe it!" Hazel exclaimed. "We actually get to go to Raxa - wait a minute. Raxacor -"

"Raxacoricofallapatorius," the Hunter told her in amusement.

"Raxacorico -"

"- fallapatorius."

"Raxacoricofallapatorius." Hazel's eyes widened. "That's it! I did it!" She and the Hunter hugged in celebration.

"They have the death penalty," Margaret cut in, ruining the ambience. "The family Slitheen was tried in its absence many years ago, and found guilty with no chance of appeal. According to the statutes of government, the moment I return, I am to be executed. What do you make of that, Hunter? Take me home and you take me to my death."

The Hunter regarded her coldly with those steely blue eyes. "That sounds like a not me problem."

***

Night had fallen by the time they got Margaret to the TARDIS.

"This ship is impossible," she exclaimed as Hazel shut the door behind them. "It's superb. How do you get the outside around the inside?"

"Like I'd give you the secret," the Hunter scoffed.

"I almost feel better about being defeated," Margaret admitted. "I never stood a chance. This is the technology of the gods."

The Hunter smirked. "Well, now you mention it..." She turned her attention to the extrapolator. "Jack, how's it going?"

"This extrapolator's top of the range," he told her, glancing up at Margaret. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Some airlock sale?"

"Must have been a great big heist," Jack translated. "It's stacked with power."

"But we can use it for fuel?" the Hunter asked.

"It's not compatible, but it should knock off about twelve hours," Jack nodded. "We'll be ready to go by morning."

She sighed, but nodded. "Then we're stuck here overnight."

"I'm in no hurry," Margaret piped up.

Hazel smirked, sitting cross-legged on the jump seat. "We've got a prisoner. The police box really is a police box."

"You're not just police, though," Margaret pointed out. "Since you're taking me to my death, that makes you my executioners. Each and every one of you."

"Well, you deserve it," Mike shrugged.

"You're very quick to say so," Margaret noticed. "You're very quick to soak your hands in my blood, which makes you better than me how, exactly? Long night ahead. Let's see who can look me in the eye."

Mickey looked away before she even met his eyes, and neither Hazel nor Jack held her gaze for more than a few seconds. When she looked to the Hunter, though, she gasped, seeing the woman casually making several paperweights float about her head with her metal arm.

"You're a -!"

"A what?" the Hunter asked, smirking. "A mutant Time Lord? Now, now, Maggie, don't be a bitch. You're hardly my first dead body. How's about you sit down and shut up?" Stunned, Margaret did so.

***

"It's freezing out here," Hazel complained as she joined Mike outside the TARDIS, keeping her hands cosy in her hoodie pocket.

"Better than in there," Mike huffed. "She does deserve it. She's a Slitheen. I don't care. It's just weird in that box."

"I didn't really need the passport," Hazel confessed. "Or the IDs."

Mike smiled. "I've been thinking, you know, we could go have a drink. Have a pizza or something. Just you and me."

"I guess," Hazel shrugged. He was still her friend, she just didn't want to deal with the awkward 'are you staying' crap.

"And I mean, if the TARDIS can't leave until morning, we could go to a hotel, spend the night." Hazel raised her eyebrows incredulously, and he backtracked. "I mean, if you want to. I've got some money."

"Mike, can I ask you a question?" Hazel bit her lip.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Are you seriously still labouring under the impression that I'm straight?" Mike blinked, and she laughed. "Oh, come on! How many times have I told you? It's been four years!"

"Oh, shut up!" he complained, not meeting her eyes. "Of course I knew. I just... You never know."

She narrowed her eyes. "What part of not attracted to men are you not getting?"

"Well, you know, I'm different," he shrugged. "I'm your mate."

"Yeah, and I'm gay," she stressed, raising her eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. There's a couple bars around here. We should give them a go, you know, before we go for pizza." He saw her glance back at the TARDIS. "Do you have to go and tell her?"

She shook her head. "She knows."

***

Inside the TARDIS, the Hunter shook her head, watching them walk away on the monitor.

"What?" Jack asked, coming to see.

"He's trying so hard to get in there," she told him, snorting. "It's pitiful."

"Does he know she's gay?" Jack frowned.

"Oh, yeah," the Hunter nodded. "She says she's been telling him for four years."

"What a dick," Jack muttered.

"I gather it's not always like this, having to wait. I bet you're always the first to leave, Hunter. Never mind the consequences, off you go. You butchered my family and then ran for the stars, am I right? But not this time," Margaret smirked. "At last you have consequences. How does it feel?"

The Hunter scoffed. "I didn't butcher them."

"Don't answer back," Jack complained. "You know that's what she wants."

"Well, I didn't," she shrugged, before turning back to Margaret. "What about you? You had an emergency teleport. You didn't zap them to safety, did you?"

"It only carries one," Margaret explained. "I had to fly without co-ordinates. I ended up on a skip in the Isle of Dogs." Jack and the Hunter snorted. "It wasn't funny!"

"Sorry," the Hunter apologised, then snickered. "It is a bit funny."

Margaret rolled her eyes tiresomely. "Do I get a last request?"

"Depends what it is," the Hunter shrugged.

"I grew quite fond of my little human life," Margaret admitted. "All those rituals. The brushing of the teeth, and the complicated way they cook things. There's a little restaurant just round the Bay. It became quite a favourite of mine."

The Hunter frowned. "Is that was you want, a last meal?"

"Don't I have rights?" she pleaded.

Jack scoffed. "Oh, like she's not going to try to escape."

"Except I can never escape the Hunter, so where's the danger?" Margaret shot back, before looking to the Hunter. "I wonder if you could do it? To sit with a creature you're about to kill and take supper. How strong is your stomach?"

"Strong enough," the Hunter assured her.

"I wonder," Margaret mused. "I've seen you fight your enemies, now dine with them."

The Time Lady snorted. "You won't change my mind."

"Prove it," the Raxacoricofallapatorian snarled.

"There are people out there," the Hunter pointed out. And Hazel. "If you slip away just for one second, they'll be in danger."

"Except I've got these," Jack stated, holding up two bangles. "You both wear one. If she moves more than ten feet away, she gets zapped by ten thousand volts."

The Hunter eyed them. "Do I even want to know?"

"Not in the slightest," Jack promised, smirking.

She rolled her eyes, smiling, then turned to their captive. "Margaret, would you like to come out to dinner? My treat."

Margaret smirked. "Dinner in bondage. Works for me."

***

"Here we are, out on a date, and you haven't even asked my proper name," Margaret sighed as they settled in their chairs, the Hunter grabbing a menu.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not a date. What's your name?"

"Blon," Margaret replied. "I am Blon Fel Fotch Pasameer-Day Slitheen. That's what it'll say on my death certificate."

The Hunter smiled politely. "Nice to meet you, Blon."

"I'm sure." Margaret pointed towards the window. "Look, that's where I was living as Margaret. nice little flat, over there, on the top. Next to the one with the light on." The Hunter turned to look, and Margaret emptied powder from her ring into her wine glass. "Two bedrooms, bayside view. I was rather content. Don't suppose I'll see it again."

The Hunter turned back around, eyed Margaret, then swapped the glasses. "Suppose not."

"Thank you."

"Pleasure."

"Tell me then, Hunter. What do you know of our species?" Margaret wondered.

"Only what I've seen," the Time Lady replied, looking at the menu.

"Did you know, for example, in extreme cases, when her life is in danger, a female Raxacoricofallapatorian can manufacture a poison dart within her own finger?" She shot the dart, and the Hunter crushed it between metal fingers without looking up.

"Yes, I did."

"Just checking." Margaret leaned forwards. "And one more thing. Between you and me." The Hunter leaned forwards too. "As a final resort, the excess poison can be exhaled through the lungs." Margaret made to exhale, but the Hunter spritzed a breath freshener in her mouth.

"That's better," she grinned, before going back to her menu. "Now then, what do you think? Mmm, steak looks nice. Steak and chips."

***

Hazel and Mike had been to a few of the bars and were now leaning against the railings on Mermaid Quay. "The Hunter took me to this planet a while back," Hazel was saying. "It was much colder than this. They called it Woman Wept. The planet was actually called Woman Wept, because if you looked at it, right, from above, there's like this huge continent, all curved round. It sort of looked like a woman, you know, lamenting. Oh my God, and we went to this beach, right. No people, no buildings, just this beach like a thousand miles across. And something had happened, something to do with the sun, I don't know, but the sea had just frozen. In a split second, in the middle of a storm, right, waves and foam, just frozen, all the way out to the horizon. Midnight, right, we walk underneath these waves a hundred feet tall, made of ice." She smiled at the memory.

"I'm going out with Trisha Delaney," Mike blurted.

"Right," Hazel said, blinking. "Okay. That's nice. Trisha from the shop?"

"Yeah, Rob Delaney's sister," Mike clarified.

"Well, she's nice," Hazel nodded. "I thought you said you'd never date her."

"She lost weight," he shrugged. "You've been away."

"Well, good for you. She's nice," Hazel smiled.

"So tell us a bit more about this planet, then," he requested.

She shook her head, blowing out a breath. "That was it, really." No way was she telling him the stuff the Hunter had confided in her that day.

***

"Public execution's a slow death," Margaret stated conversationally as their steaks arrived. "They prepare a thin acetic acid, lower me into the cauldron and boil me. The acidity is perfectly gauged to strip away the skin. Internal organs fall out into the liquid, and I become soup. And still alive, still screaming."

"I don't make the law," the Hunter shrugged, stabbing a chip with her fork.

"But you deliver it," Margaret pointed out. "Will you stay to watch?"

The Hunter sighed. "What else can I do?"

"The Slitheen family's huge. There's a lot more of us, all scattered off-world. Take me to them," Margaret pleaded. "Take me somewhere safe."

"Yeah, and you'll just start again," the Hunter deadpanned.

"I promise I won't," Margaret stated hopefully.

The Hunter shook her head, scoffing. "You've been in that skin suit too long. You've forgotten. There used to be a real Margaret Blaine. You killed her and stripped her and used the skin. You're pleading for mercy out of a dead woman's lips."

"Perhaps I have got used to it," Margaret sighed. "A human life, an ordinary life. That's all I'm asking. Give me a chance, Hunter. I can change."

"I don't believe you," the Hunter stated, cutting into her steak.

***

"So, what do you want to do now?" Mike asked.

Hazel shrugged. "Don't mind."

"We could ask about hotels," he suggested.

"I'm just as gay as I was an hour ago," she rolled her eyes. "'Sides, what would Trisha Delaney say?"

"Suppose," Mike sighed. "There's a bar down there with a Spanish name or something -"

"You're not dating Trisha Delaney!" Hazel interrupted.

"Oh, is that right?" Mike scowled. "What the hell do you know?"

"I saw her three days ago cradling her firstborn child!" Hazel shot back, remembering when she'd got takeaway for herself, the Hunter, and Jack. "So who the hell do you think you're kidding?"

"At least I know where she is!" Mike shouted.

Hazel scoffed, shaking her head. "There we are, then. It's got nothing to do with Trisha. This is about me again, isn't it -?"

"You left me!" Mike cut her off. "We were nice, we were happy. And then what? You run off with her and you make me feel like nothing, Hazel. I was nothing. I can't even go out with a stupid girl from a shop because you pick up the phone and I come running. I mean, is that what I am, Hazel, standby? Am I just supposed to sit here for the rest of my life, waiting for you? Because I will."

Hazel stepped back, her eyes wide. "I'm... sorry?"

***

"I promise you I've changed since we last met, Hunter," Margaret implored. "There was this girl, just today. A young thing, something of a danger. She was getting too close. I felt the bloodlust rising, just as the family taught me. I was going to kill her without a thought. And then I stopped. She's alive somewhere right now. She's walking around this city because I can change. I did change. I know I can't prove it -"

"I believe you," the Hunter cut her off.

"Then you know I'm capable of better."

She shook her head. "It doesn't mean anything."

"I spared her life!" Margaret protested.

"You let one of them go, but that's nothing new," the Hunter shrugged. "Every now and then, a little victim's spared because she smiled, because he's got freckles, because they begged. And that's how you live with yourself. That's how you slaughter millions. Because once in a while, on a whim, if the wind's in the right direction, you happen to be kind."

"Only a killer would know that," Margaret accused, making the Hunter roll her eyes. "Is that right? From what I've seen, your funny little happy go lucky life leaves devastation in its wake. Always moving on because you dare not look back. Playing with so many people's lives, you might as well be a god. And you're right, Hunter. You're absolutely right. Sometimes you let one go. Let me go," she pleaded.

***

"I'm not asking you to leave her, because I know that's not fair," Mike said. "But I just need something, yeah? Some sort of promise that when you do come back, you're coming back for me."

There was a deep rumble in the distance, and Hazel looked up, frowning. "Is that thunder?"

"Does it matter?" Mike huffed, exasperated.

"That's not thunder," Hazel realised, hearing it again.

***

"In the family Slitheen, we had no choice," Margaret explained. "I was made to carry out my first kill at thirteen. If I'd refused, my father would have fed me to the Venom Grubs. If I'm a killer, it's because I was born to kill. It's all I know." She huffed impatiently as the Hunter looked around, frowning.

"Can you hear that?"

"I'm begging for my life, you could at least pretend to listen," Margaret complained.

"No, listen, shush," the Hunter muttered, pointing to her empty wine glass, which was vibrating. Suddenly the windows shattered, and the customers started screaming.

***

People outside ran cover as windows and street lights exploded. Hazel made a decision, running towards Roald Dahl Plass.

"Oh go on then, run! It's her again, isn't it? It's the Hunter! It's always the Hunter! It's always going to be the Hunter! It's never me!" Mike shouted bitterly.

Hazel turned on him. "Yeah, because she and Jack, they're more my family than you ever were. You call me when you've decided you're going to accept us." Then she turned her back on him and ran for the TARDIS.

***

Margaret wheezed as they ran across Roald Dahl Plass, tugging on the Hunter's arm. "The handcuffs!"

She rolled her eyes and took them off, depositing them in her back pocket. "Don't think you're running away."

"Oh, I'm sticking with you," Margaret assured her. "Some date this turned out to be!"

The Hunter's eyes widened when she saw the blue energy streaming up from the TARDIS into the sky. "It's the rift. The rift's opening." She ran in, Margaret close on her heels. "What's happening?" she demanded, seeing things sparking and almost exploding on the console.

"She just went crazy!" Jack called from under the grating, poking his head up from where he was working.

"It's the rift," she told him, trying to stop the explosions from the console. "Time and space are ripping apart. The whole city's going to disappear!"

"It's the extrapolator!" Jack exclaimed, climbing up to her level. "I've disconnected it, but it's still feeding off the engine. It's using the TARDIS. I can't stop it!"

"Never mind Cardiff," the Hunter bit her lip, her eyes wide. "It's going to rip open the planet!"

"What is it?" Hazel questioned as she ran in. "What's happening?"

"Oh, just little me," Margaret smirked, ripping the arm of her suit so she could grab Hazel around the neck with one of her talons. "One wrong move and she snaps like a promise."

The Hunter scowled. "I might've known."

"I've had you bleating all night, poor baby, now shut it," Margaret snapped. "You, fly boy, put the extrapolator at my feet." She tightened her grip on Hazel's neck, making the girl gasp. The Hunter nodded, her eyes on Hazel, and Jack did as ordered. "Thank you. Just as I planned."

"I thought you needed to blow up the nuclear power station," Hazel croaked.

"Failing that, if I were to be arrested, then anyone capable of tracking me down would have considerable technology of their own. Therefore, they would be captivated by the extrapolator. Especially a magpie mind like yours, Hunter," Margaret smirked. "So, the extrapolator was programmed to go to plan B, to lock onto the nearest alien power source and open the rift. And what a power source it found. I'm back on schedule, thanks to you."

"The rift's going to convulse," Jack realised. "You'll destroy the whole planet."

"And you with it!" Margaret cackled, stepping onto the extrapolator. "While I ride this board over the crest of the inferno all the way to freedom. Stand back. Surf's up."

The TARDIS console cracked open, and a bright light hit Margaret and Hazel, making the girl screw her eyes tightly shut.

"Of course, opening the rift means you'll pull this ship apart," the Hunter pointed out, leaning against one of the coral structures.

"So sue me," Margaret snapped.

"She's not just any old power source. She's the TARDIS. My TARDIS. The best ship in the universe," the Hunter said proudly.

"It'll make wonderful scrap."

"What's that light?" Hazel asked, wincing.

"The heart of the TARDIS," the Hunter replied. "This ship's alive. You've opened her soul. And she really has got a soft spot for our Hazel."

"It's so bright," Margaret whispered.

"Look at it, Margaret," the Hunter encouraged.

"Beautiful..."

"Look inside, Blon Fel Fotch. Look at the light."

Margaret relaxed, allowing Hazel to get free, rushing to Jack's side. "Thank you," Margaret smiled, then disappeared into the light, her bodysuit crumpling atop the extrapolator.

The Hunter moved immediately. "Don't look. Stay there. Close your eyes!" She closed the console up. "Now, Jack, come on, shut it all down. Shut down! Haze, that panel over there, turn all the switches to the right." The turbulence and the sparks stopped as the TARDIS settled, and she sighed in relief. "Nicely done. Thanks."

"What happened to Margaret?" Hazel wondered.

"Must've got burnt up," Jack guessed. "Carried out her own death sentence."

"No, I don't think she's dead," the Hunter shook her head.

Hazel frowned, rubbing her neck and wincing. "Then where'd she go?"

"She looked into the heart of the TARDIS. Even I don't know how strong that is. And the ship's telepathic, like I told you, Haze." The Hunter glanced over at her, flashing a smile. "Gets inside your head. Translates alien languages. Maybe the raw energy can translate all sorts of thoughts." She knelt by the skin suit and pulled out a large egg with dreadlocks. "Here she is."

"She's an egg?" Hazel frowned.

"Regressed to her childhood," the Hunter nodded.

"She's an egg?" Jack echoed.

"She can start again," the Hunter pointed out. "Live her life from scratch. If we take her home, give her to a different family, tell them to bring her up properly, she might be all right!"

"Or she might be worse," Jack suggested.

"That's her choice, Mr Pessimism."

"She's an egg," Hazel repeated.

"She's an egg," the Hunter agreed, smiling.

"Oh my God, Mike!" Hazel realised, getting to her feet and sprinting out the door.

***

The Hunter and Jack shared a look when she returned not five minutes later, looking dejected. "We're all powered up," the Hunter told her, making her look up. "We can leave. Opening the rift filled us up with energy. We can go, if that's all right."

"Yeah, fine," she nodded.

"How's Mike?" the Hunter asked carefully.

"He's okay. He's gone," Hazel muttered.

"Do you want to go and find him?" the Hunter offered. "We'll wait."

Hazel took a deep breath, then smiled, shaking her head. "No need."

"Off we go, then. Always moving on."

"Next stop, Raxacoricofallapatorius," Jack smiled, then nudged Hazel. "Now you don't often get to say that."

"We'll just stop by and pop her in the hatchery," the Hunter said, setting about flying them there. "Margaret the Slitheen can live her life again. A second chance."

Hazel smiled sadly, gripping the railings as they set off. "That'd be nice."

~~~

If you enjoyed, please like and/or reblog and consider donating to my Kofi to help keep me afloat! Thanks for reading :)

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #captain jack harkness #tardis #series #oc insert #gxg #lgbt #slow burn #thedoctorcried

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jenniferdiazisatransgirl · 3 years ago

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The Passport Saga Continues

So I received a letter yesterday dated the 1st April 2022, before any of my conversations with the HM Passport Office. They have tried to throw the blame onto the Post Office and suggested I seek a refund from them.

I used the Digital Check and Send service the Post Office offer. They check my application alongside the guidance that the Passport Office sends them. Plus if what the Passport Office Call Handlers have told me is true, that the rules have changed and they haven’t updated their site or they can make up the rules as they go. How could the Post Office predict that for it to be their fault?

I went to talk to the Post Office yesterday. They offered me the refund the Passport Office said I should get from them, but I refused it given it isn’t the Post Office’s fault and so why should they pay for the Passport Office’s mistakes.

They kindly ended the conversation though by saying they’d send any further documents free of charge and adding, “The Passport Office is very difficult to work with.”

I so pity that dude for having to deal with them on a daily basis.

#her majesty’s passport office #post office #trans woman #transgender #miscelllaneous

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queencatherynerhys · 4 years ago

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Taken - Part 12

A/N: I know it’s been forever since I’ve updated this series, but I still constantly go back to it. I must have worked on this chapter, and revised it 15 times. I just wasn’t satisfied on how it kept turning out. It’s been 2 years since I started this series, but hopefully, one day I will finish it.

Summary: Liam deals with Catheryne’s disappearance, and we also take a quick look on Catheryne’s journey out of Cordonia.

Tag List: @devineinterventions2 @madaraism @theroyalweisme @drakewalkerwhipped @laniquelove-blog @drakesfiance @hhiggs @hellospunkiebrewster @alicars @mrswalkerreynolds @mfackenthal @simplyaiden-blog @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @cocomaxley @boneandfur @lizeboredom @crayziimaginations @umccall71 @zarina-x-zig @ranishajay @heatherfilliez @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @mom2000aggie

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. They solely belong to Pixelberry. Also, credits for the image used for the book cover.

*CATCH UP HERE*

Liam dismisses Drake after a long, tense conversation about Catheryne and her sudden disappearance. He is determined to find her, so he summons for Bastien to come to his office right away.

He waits for his head of security outside in his balcony with a glass of scotch in hand. One question keeps eating away in his mind. How do you find someone who doesn’t want to be found? Is finding her even what fate wants him to do? Screw fate. I love her. I will never stop looking until I find her. He has to hold onto the tiny hope of finding and being with her again if he is to remain sane.

After a few minutes of waiting, Bastien finally arrives in his office.

“Your Majesty, you summoned for me?” Bastien greets him formally.

“Yes, thank you for coming, Bastien,” he replies as he moves to sit down at his desk.

“I won’t beat around the bush. Catheryne has left and disappeared. I need you to arrange a small task force to search for her. Use any resources you need to do that. Start your search at the airport and any other forms of travel. If she’s left the country, travel manifests and workers must have recognized her. I want to know where she’s headed. I want an update on every information you uncover,” he relays his tasks to his trusted head of security and friend. Bastien didn’t seem too fazed about learning that Catheryne disappeared so suddenly.

“I will get that done right away, sir. And as asked, I do have information for you. Duchess Catheryne’s horse, Nightingale, has just returned to the palace a while ago. She’s a smart horse. She must have found her way back on her own. We’re guessing Her Grace didn’t take her too far before finding another mode of transportation,” Bastien informs his king.

“Thank you for the update, Bastien. You may go,” Liam nods toward the door as a sign of the end of their brief meeting. When the door closes, he finally lets himself grieve. His shoulders slump forward with the burden he carries. Tears of loss, exhaustion, and pain fall and he has no strength left to hold them back.

His runs his fingers through his hair as he wonders why this is happening to him. Have I done something wrong that fate or destiny sees that I suffer? Was it such a big request that I marry not just for country but for love, too? All he wanted was to be a good king for his people and rule them with Catheryne by his side, but he guess that was even too much to ask or wish.’

Half of the day passes, and Liam tries to muster enough focus to get work done. Policies need to be reviewed and signed, but he just didn’t have the energy to do it. His heart and mind ached for Catheryne’s presence. Just to see her smile, hear her voice and laughter ring down the hall, and feel her touch would heal the deep hole she left in his heart.

Liam is startled by the sound of the opening door. When he looks up, Bastien is once again standing in front of him. Bastien begins to bow, but Liam interrupts him.

“No need for formalities, Bastien. Just give me the report. Have you found anything useful on where Catheryne is heading?” Liam asked.

“After a thorough search of all modes of transportations, we found no clues of where Her Grace might be heading. We’ve warned agencies to not disclose the reason of why were searching for her. But after looking at every manifest from all forms of travel out of the country, we found no trace of her.

Her name wasn’t in any of them nor did anyone recognize her. We are speculating that with her…background…that she must have known to use an alias and a disguise to avoid being found,” Bastien finishes his report, and Liam loses even more of the tiny hope he is clinging onto. I should have known that she wouldn’t make it easy for me to find her. He lets out a deep sigh.

“Thank you, Bastien. If there’s anything we’ve learned anything about Catheryne by now is that she doesn’t do anything in half style, but I’m not giving up hope. I want you to use any resources to find her. Search through security feeds from the airport and other areas. Look for anyone that might resemble her. If that doesn’t turn up anything, branch out to other countries. I’m not losing hope,” Liam commands.

He is not losing hope. It seems the beginning of his new mantra. He will scour the face of the earth if he has to. He needs her. He can’t live without her.

~Catheryne’s POV~

Catheryne races away from the place she calls home. It takes all of her willpower to not look and turn back around. She knows that she needs to leave, but she can’t bear the thought of what Liam will go through when he wakes up.

She tries to pull her mind away before it drowns with any more guilt. She concentrates on the sounds and feel of Nightingale’s powerful stride. Before she knew it, they’ve arrived on the location where they part ways. She decided not to take her too far away.

She tugs at her horse’s reins to slow her down. When they come to a stop, she dismounts the black horse and pulls her towards the blanket of the trees to avoid being seen. She gently strokes her loyal mare’s forehead.

“Thanks, girl. For everything. But I’m afraid this is the end of our journey together. I trust that a smart horse like you can find her way back home. I know Drake will take extra good care of you,” she whispers to her equine friend. Nightingale responds with a resounding neigh and touches forehead with her as if begging Catheryne to don’t go in her own language.

“I’m sorry, Nightingale. I have to go, but I want you to watch over my friends, ok. Take care of them, and make them happy,” her voice cracks as she backs away from her. The horse tries to get closer to her, but Catheryne replied with the shake of her head.

“No, girl. You have to go, ok? Go,” she points towards where they came from. Nightingale obeyed, but before galloping away, looks back at Catheryne with sad eyes.

“Goodbye, Nightingale,” Catheryne bids her farewell and pats her rump to send her back home. She watches as the black racehorse sprints back toward the palace.

Catheryne takes a deep breath and continued her journey. I will not cry here. She rummages in her backpack for the items she needs for her disguise. She pulls out a wig, a pair of glasses, and a US passport. One important thing her parents taught her was to always have a bug out bag packed with different named passports and types of currencies. It made her escape easier to execute.

She has been planning her leave within the last 2 months. She coordinated a taxi cab to pick her up near the boardwalk where she and her gang of friends had their first late night excursion to get cronuts.

As she walks down the quiet, eerie streets, she relives the memory of the social season and the exhausting tour of Liam and Madeline’s engagement. It was the first time in her life she tasted what it felt like to not be her parent’s daughter. All her life she spent running away from her demons, until she met Liam. He brought happiness and reprieve that she was longing for.

Sure, they had problems along the way with the conspiracy against her, but she thought she would finally be free, then she was kidnapped and manipulated by those bastards. Now, she’s…she doesn’t even know who she is.

She doesn’t know how to fit in the world, her world. She couldn’t stand the looks anymore. She knew running away looks weak and, even, cowardly, but she didn’t know how to heal emotionally in the confines of the palace and courtly politics.

Before she can get deeper in her insecurities, she sees the red light of the taxi she ordered. She climbs in the back and asks the driver to take her to the airport. It was a quick fifteen minute drive. She exchanged no words upon arrival, only handing the payment for fare and gratuity to the equally silent driver.

The airport was busy with tourist, even in the middle of the night. Ever since the arrival and rise of the American duchess in Cordonia, travelers have been flooding the tiny, fairytale-like country. She hopes that they will love this beautiful land as much as she does.

Her journey through security and to the gate was smoother than she previously anticipated. She sits down by the large picturesque window and watches as dusk makes way for dawn. She waits for half and hour before the attendant calls for boarding to begin. It wasn’t long before till her plane is taxiing on the tarmac.

She looks out her window to the wonderful place below. She sees the grand palace, and the tears she’s been holding back finally rolls down her face. In the glistening golden building, her king lies peacefully asleep dreaming of good things before waking up and finding her gone. I’m so sorry, my love. I hope one day you’ll forgive me for leaving.

She closes her eyes as she takes a deep breath. She doesn’t know what the future lies ahead for her and Liam, but before anything can happen she must first find herself again and who knows how long that will take or if she ever will?

#play choices #choices the royal romance #choices trr #trr liam #king liam #liam rhys #liam x mc #taken #romance #hurt #angst #dark

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cordonia-continued · 4 years ago

Text

Captivated

Chapter 21

AU - TRR Liam x MC (Riley Taylor)

A/N - Set after the Tariq scandal is cleared. Liam ends his engagement to Madeleine and proposes to MC as per the original story, but Riley turns him down. This AU follows their life from then on.

I work in investigation and my best friend's husband is a body guard so apologies if this chapter turned out too ‘techy’, I tried not to make it like that and to keep it very brief while still trying to be accurate, although they do say write about what you know!

Word count - 3,366

@kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @amandablink @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @mom2000aggie (let me know if you no longer want to be tagged)

catch up here

Liam is sitting at the long highly polished walnut table in the main conference room at the palace, he’s been locked in a meeting all morning with several of his advisors discussing budget cuts and he’s just about had enough. He’s welcome of the interruption when Bastien knocks on the door. His mind soon turns to concern however when the guard enters without waiting for an invitation. He looks up from his notes in surprise at the intrusion and sees the look on Bastien’s face, he knows immediately that something’s wrong. He rises from his seat and excuses himself as everyone around the table stands on ceremony with him. He follows Bastien down the hallway in silence to his study. He takes a seat at his desk as Bastien shuts the door firmly behind them.

“What’s wrong?” Liam asks as soon as the door is shut, knowing from the concerned look on Bastien’s face that this isn’t the time for pleasantries.

“Sir, don’t be concerned but I’ve had a call from Mara, they seem to have mislaid Lady Riley.”

“What?” Liam’s face creases in confusion. “What do you mean mislaid her? She not a wallet Bastien, how can you mislay her?” Bastien’s heart thumps wildly in his chest, he had hoped to avoid having to impart this news on his king, had hoped that Mara would have called him telling him that she had found Riley in a shop or cafe by now.

“They can’t find her sir. They stopped on the way to meet Drake and Duchess Olivia for lunch on Main Street. Somehow, and I don’t quite know how yet sir, Lady Riley went into a store and that was the last anyone saw of her. Her phone was found on the pavement with its screen smashed. There is no trace of her anywhere on the street or in the other shops. She’s not turned up to meet Drake.” Liam notices what appears to be shame and regret cross Bastien’s usually calm and competent face.

“What? How long ago did this happen?” Liam’s jaw sets ridged and Bastien notices a vein popping out on his strained neck. He bows his head avoiding the Kings steely eyes.

“About 30 maybe 40 minutes ago sir.”

“How has this happened Bastien? Where was Mara for Christ’s sake? You need to find her now!” Liam yells.

“I’m on it sir. She probably just went shopping and lost track of time, or ended up on a different street and got a bit lost. Don’t worry just yet, I’m sure it’s nothing. I need to go and makes some calls. I’ve got guards going to the loss location now. We’re getting the security footage for all along the street as we speak. If nothing turns up in the next hour I’m going to inform the police and set up a control centre in the conference room. Don’t worry Your Majesty, we’ll find her.”

“You had better Bastien.” Bastien nods and leaves the room, racing down to his office.

Liam’s phone silently buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, his heart hammering as he looks at the caller ID hoping it’s Riley. It sinks when he sees it’s Drake.

“Drake?”

“Li what the hell’s happening? Where’s Taylor?”

“I don’t know. Bastien’s just told me they can’t find her. Drake why is she not with you? I thought she was meeting you and Olivia for lunch? Where the fuck is she Drake?” As soon as Drake hears the usually calm Liam curse he knows that it’s serious.

“Shit Li, stay calm. We’ll find her. She has to be there somewhere. You know what she’s like, she probably saw a kitten and followed it and got lost or something. Me and Liv are going to stay here in case she turns up. Keep me updated yeah.”

“Yes of course, same goes for you too.”

“Yep sure thing buddy. Speak soon.”

Liam sits down on the couch in his study and puts his head in his hands, panic rising through him, adrenaline pumping through his veins making his hands shake. He stands, his legs trembling, and walks over to his desk, picking up the phone he presses the button for his assistant.

“Gabriella please dismiss the gentlemen in the conference room. Tell them something unexpected has come up. And cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. Please field any phone calls unless they are from Bastien, the police or...” his words catch in his throat. “Riley.”

2 hours later and there’s still no trace of where Riley disappeared to. Liam enters the conference room as Bastien’s team and plain clothes police officers are setting up phone lines and computers. A uniformed man walks over with Bastien, he bows and holds out his hand.

“Chief of Police, Officer Beckett. Pleased to meet you Your Majesty.” Liam shakes his hand. “I want assure you sir we are doing everything we can to locate Lady Riley. I have my best team on it and we will be working around the clock. The ports and airport are on high alert.”

Liam nods in response. “Bastien I want to stay here, I won’t get in the way. I need to know what’s going on.” It wasn't a request but a command.

“Very well sir. We are currently reviewing the security footage from the shops and the highways agency. We have a very narrow time frame in which she disappeared so we hope it will give us some results. A team of police officers are taking statements from anyone that we can identify who was in the vicinity at the time.” Liam nods his head in understanding. Bastien looks at the King gravely and lowers his voice. “I have an officer on the way to the Beaumont’s, we need to search Lady Riley’s room, see if anything’s missing, find out if she’s taken any clothes or personal effects, check if her passport is still there. I have asked an officer to be posted at the estate going forward until we have a clearer picture of what’s going on. We know that the letters and calls we recently identified were addressed to her there, I’ve spoken to the Duke of Ramsford and made him aware of the situation and he has agreed to allow us to place a tap on the phone line there. We need to be ready for the possibility of a ransom demand being sent. At the moment we have no lead on whether this is a planned attack by a known enemy of the crown or something else. Or if she’s gone of her own volition sir.”

“She wouldn’t do that Bastien.” Liam assures him.

“Sir at this point we can’t rule anything out. I have stationed guards at the restaurant she had planned to go to today in case she makes her way there, I have contacted Drake and Duchess Olivia they are on their way here. If you receive a call on your personal mobile phone from an unknown or unrecognised number don’t answer it and alert me immediately.”

Liam looks directly into his guards eyes. “Bastien you have to find her.”

“I know sir. I will.” He nods.

An hour later Drake and Olivia race into the conference room. Liam’s surprised as Olivia pulls him into an uncharacteristic hug. Drake fires questions at him. Liam holds up his hands.

“Drake slow down. I don’t know anything yet. Just that she was there one minute and gone the next. We have no ransom demands or contact from anyone claiming to be holding her.” He leads them over to the sitting area where they all perch nervously on the edge of the armchairs. They sit in silence as Olivia mindlessly drums her fingernails on the side table next to her. Like hail on a glass pane, the noise is as relentless as it is loud. Each click of the French polished nails on the table echoes the tumultuous thudding of all of their heart beats.

“Olivia!” Drake eventually snaps. “Quit it!” She glares at him, her face rigid with tension. As Drake looks at her he can’t help thinking that she seems to have aged a decade in the past few hours. She gets up and pours them all a cup of coffee from the pot on the low coffee table in front of them. She takes her cup, cradling it in her hands but not taking even one sip. She paces the plush carpeted floor back and forth asking the same questions that they’re all thinking but no one knows the answers to. Where is she? Why did she leave her phone? Why the hell was Mara not with her? What the fuck was she thinking going off on her own?

Waiting is easier for Drake than it is for the feisty Duchess. He’s had plenty practice while fishing. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes trying to clear his mind of the intrusive thoughts that are creeping in. He knows Taylor wouldn’t go off on her own and not let him know she was safe, she would know how much he would worry about her. Olivia is firing her questions at an unresponsive Liam who’s engrossed in his laptop, scouring every known news website for any information that may have been leaked to them, reading every comment on Riley’s social media in the hope of finding a clue, continually refreshing his email in case a kidnapper tries to make contact that way.

As the productivity of the police and guards go on around them, time for the trio slows to a trickle, minutes and hours blend into each other. Eventually Bastien calls Liam over to where he is standing looking over the shoulder of one of his technical officers.

“Your Majesty I think you need you to see this.” He points to the image of the inside of a store displayed on one of the large computer screens set up on the table. Bastien then addresses his officer. “Lucas go and take five please.” The techie gets up wordlessly from his chair and wanders off to the coffee and pastries that the palace staff have set up along the far wall. Bastien takes his place pulling a chair over for Liam. He presses play on the footage and Liam’s heart leaps into his throat as he sees Riley on the screen.

“These are the last movements we see of her sir. Here she is entering the shop. She goes directly to this aisle, picks something off the shelf here and then we see her from the other camera angle.” He switches to another clip. “Here. She goes to the checkout clerk and pays with her credit card. She leaves the shop here. The cameras in the front of the shop are broken. We don’t see anything after she walks out of that door.” Liam nods not taking his eyes off Riley on the screen.

“Sir we have confirmed from the footage and with the store clerk what her purchase was. It explains why she wanted to make the purchase herself and why she wanted to go into the store alone.” Bastien pauses and takes a deep breath, he lowers his voice so only Liam can hear him.

“Your Majesty, Lady Riley purchased a pregnancy test.”

Liam’s head snaps to his guard as his eyes go wide.

“What! Are you sure?”

“Yes Sir. I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you.”

Liam gulps audibly. “No, don’t be. Thank you Bastien. I’d rather no one else knows about this. No one Bastien, do you understand?”

“Of course Your Majesty. Lucas my digital investigator who enhanced the footage and Mara who spoke with the store clerk are the only other people who know.” Bastien can’t look at Liam as he says the next words. “Sir I hate to say it but we can’t rule out the possibility that this is the reason for her disappearance. It could be that she doesn’t want to be found at the moment, maybe she needed time to come to terms with whatever the result was.”

Liam closes his eyes and presses his fingers into them. He’s silent for a long moment. Thoughts swirl around his brain. He shakes his head but he can’t dislodge them. He wonders why she wouldn’t have told him about this; is she worried about how he would react. He wonders if she’s scared or excited at the prospect of becoming a parent. Maybe Bastien is right – would she be scared enough to run; to leave him alone carrying the burden of never knowing what happened to her. He can’t even begin to think about what his own feelings are on the subject, not with so much worry in his stomach about where she is. He addresses his guard with a certainty that he doesn’t quite believe.

“No. She wouldn’t do that. I can’t believe that she would do that. And we know from the time stamp that she text Drake after she left the shop. Why would she have done that if she was planning on leaving? And she wouldn’t leave her phone.” Liam rises from the desk.

“Have you contacted Jacob Henley?” He asks, not wanting to hear the answer, Liam wonders if she would have confided in Jacob rather than him and hopes to God that it’s not true. He can’t even imagine the pressure that Riley must feel at potentially carrying the heir to a country when she’s she’s not even married to its king.

“Yes sir.” Bastien responds, he merely shakes his head no as an answer. Liam understands and can’t quite decide if he’s relieved or not.

“I need to take a minute, let Drake know that I’m going to get some air. I’ve got my phone, please call me straight away if anything changes.”

“Yes sir.”

Liam leaves the conference room and walks with heavy legs to his study. So many hours have passed since Riley was last seen and they have no leads. Fear curls up inside him and clings to his ribs, settling uncomfortably in his chest. He feels powerless. The not knowing is torturing him, thoughts of what might have happened creep into his mind, images of the love of his life being hurt or alone, crying or in pain. He walks over to his cabinet and takes out a decanter of scotch, he pours a large measure into a crystal glass and downs it in one gulp immediately pouring another. He takes his glass over to the leather couch and sits down heavily. He rubs his hand over his face, trying to rub away the thoughts that torment his mind. He sits alone staring blankly at the palace gardens beyond his window for some time until there’s a quiet knock at his study door. He ignores it, knowing if it was Bastien he would have called him or burst into the room already. The knocking starts up again a moment later before the door knob slowly twists and the door creeps open. A sombre looking Drake peers around the door frame.

“Hey Li, ok if I come in?” He asks with uncertainty in his voice.

“Yeah sure Drake.” Liam sighs. “Help yourself to a drink.” He lifts his glass to his friend. Drake makes his way over to the cabinet and chooses a decanter of whiskey. He pours a large measure and takes a seat next to Liam on the couch.

“You ok?” Drake kicks himself as soon as he’s said the words out loud.

“Not really no.” Liam shakes his head. And Drake winces at his own stupidity.

“Yeah, stupid question. Sorry. I don’t really know what to say.”

“It’s ok. You don’t need to say anything. Thanks for just being here.”

Drake shakes his head. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. You know that. Olivia is staying over, she’s claimed a guest bedroom, sent one of your staff out for clothes and toiletries. Although I don’t know that anyone will do much sleeping. And Maxwell has not stopped texting me. He tells me he’s having a bit of a breakdown, although I’m hoping that’s what he meant and it was just his phone that autocorrected it to breakdance, the thought of him dancing at a time like this seems wholly inappropriate. But then again it is Maxwell we’re talking about here. He’s keeping me updated with the goings on at the Beaumont Estate through emojis.” Liam can’t even muster a smile for his best friend.

“Is there anything happening in there?” Liam gestures towards the direction of the conference room.

“Everyone seems to be busy but they’ve not given us any kind of update.” Liam nods. “Don’t worry Li, we’ll find her. She’ll be ok. She’s got to be. She’s probably just lost. She’ll be back before you know it with some grand story about how she lost track of time after finding an injured puppy and how she nursed it back to health with the help of a group of ragamuffin street kids, finding common ground by singing show tunes, or you know, something equally as farcical.”

“I hope so Drake. I can’t live without her.” Liam’s voice is barley a whisper. Drake knows exactly how Liam feels, his own heart echoes the same sentiment. The two men sip their drinks in silence for a long while until Liam eventually breaks it.

“Drake.” He takes a deep shaky breath. “Bastien said that she might have chosen to leave. Do you...do you think that she might have left because she wanted to?” Drake can see his best friend is holding back tears. Drake quietly contemplates the question before answering honestly.

“No Liam, I don’t think Taylor would do that. And if she did want to leave she would have told you first, probably in a big dramatic argument knowing her.” He smiles thinking of how Riley would never let anything go. She’s steely and determined, headstrong and impetuous. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to worry like this. She knows how much you love her. She wouldn’t leave her phone, she’s glued to the damn thing most of the time.” Drake smiles softly at the memory of arguing with Riley about having her phone permanently glued to her hand, remembering her asking him to take a dozen photos of her in the same God damn pose for Pictagram, how he wishes she was here badgering him to take her picture now. “And she would have definitely told Maxwell. She wouldn’t let people down.”

“Then that means that something’s happened to her Drake. Which is worse.” Liam’s voice breaks. “Someone’s taken her. I don’t know what to do Drake. I feel so useless.” A tear slips out of the kings eye and runs down his cheek. He wipes it away angrily.

“We don't know that Li. And it’s ok to have emotions. It’s normal to let them out from time to time you know. We can stay in here for a while.” Liam drains his glass and puts it down on his desk. He clears this throat and fixes his face into a much practised and disciplined unemotional façade.

“No. I need to get back in there and see what’s happening.”

He stands and Drake sees his friend transform in front of his eyes; brave on the outside, leading from the front regardless of personal cost. Everyone else has to see him as flawless, the polished version of himself to inspire confidence. Whilst Drake knows him as a friend he can’t help but respect him as a king. He doubts that the citizens of the country Liam reigns over could ever comprehend how much he has given up for them; he’s always the king that they need, stoic and strong. Drake sees the man underneath the crown, the man afraid of not being enough, of failing in his duty, of his purpose being unfulfilled. He sees a man that loves truly and deeply with his whole heart. A heart that’s in the process of breaking. Drake knows, because Drake’s is in the process of breaking too.

#choices trr #trr fanfic #the royal romance fan fic #choices fanfic #liam x riley #king liam #liam x mc #trr mc x liam #trr drake #trr bastien #trr liam

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