#his armour his personality and his name: EVERYTHING has been brought back to a blank slate; the bare essentials of a shell of who he is

[andi-o-geyser]

haha guess who finally bit the bullet and watched The Solitary Clone. it was me. *cries*

[moved-to-void-kissed]

Split of Twin Flowers

After being rescued from the realm of darkness, Aria seeks a way to give Ves a chance at living her own life, while also continuing to survive in her own right. Aqua brings her to the scientists at Radiant Garden to see if they have a solution, and for Aria to explain her situation, but the only option available may carry some worrying implications.. (3937 words)

Takes place after the ending of KH3. Content warning for mentions of battle scars, talk of a character being possessed, an event comparable to an exorcism (it’s kind of hard to explain in non-series-specific terms, sorry), and rather a lot of self-insert-focused exposition.

(Comments on and reblogs of my work are always okay, and appreciated, but are by no means required. I recommend reading this piece on the original document, but if that doesn't work, a transcript has been copied and pasted under the readmore.)

tag list: @thatslikesometaldude | @garchompp | @beeon | @tex-treasures | @catake | @tartaglialovemail | @catcao | @lilacslovers | @kissofthemoonrabbit | @vilehusband | @dragonsmooch | @childrenofmeyneth | @kalliopi-ships | @blackbirdcrime | @strawberryshipz (to be tagged in what I make, please click here!)

This is a piece I have been working on for a long time, and am very proud of, so I really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read it. I hope it isn’t quite as heavy as the content warnings may possibly indicate. I’m also using it as my post for the twenty-ninth day of sapphic September; there’s just one more to go!

Document transcript:

The door to the laboratory opened halfway, and a young woman tentatively poked her head around it. Upon seeing that she was not interrupting anything, she smiled and emerged more properly, brushing a lock of blue hair from her face.

“Oh, Master Aqua!” The lone scientist in the room smiled warmly as he noticed her. “Thank you for coming. I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, Ienzo.” Aqua replied, even if she did still in fact look rather tired. The long battle to defeat Master Xehanort and the true Organisation still felt fresh in her mind, and although it was a fight that the light had eventually won, it had still taken quite a toll on her. Not only that, but she hadn’t had the same chance to rest as the others - though thoughts of locating Sora still weighed on everyone’s minds, Aqua had been more concerned with finding a way back into the realm of darkness in order to rescue Aria, her partner who she had so unwillingly abandoned..

Now that Aria was finally free as well, Aqua could let herself relax a bit more, and with that lowering of her guard came much contemplation of everything she had gone through.

“Um.. Master Aqua?”

“Ah!”

She’d been staring off into space again, judging by Ienzo’s worried expression half-visible under his hair.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, don’t worry!” she replied, slightly embarrassed at her lapse in concentration. The young scientist did not look entirely convinced, but he seemed content enough to continue.

“I’m the only one here at the moment, but I should still be able to help with what we talked about over the Gummiphone. Did you happen to bring Aria with you?”

At this, the half-open door Aqua had come through continued to swing open as if of its own accord, only to reveal another young woman entering the laboratory with a somewhat nervous expression. She had clearly been through a lot, and the realm of darkness she had reportedly been trapped in for aeons had definitely left its mark on her; several large patches of darkness could be seen spanning her face and body, with one reaching down her left eye like a melting wound.

“Yes, I’m here..”

Her catlike eyes flickered nervously around the room, and it soon became apparent that what Ienzo had thought was a cape were in fact a pair of black feathered wings, both subconsciously curling around her shoulders. It was only upon recognising that Ienzo was the only one present, and that his initial reaction to seeing her was not as negative as she was expecting, that she was able to relax slightly and explain herself from behind a now-steeled facade.

“My name is Aria.” she said, looking up at the scientist from under her messy blonde hair. “Aqua said you might be able to help me achieve something. Has she already.. told you about, well-”

“We’ve already spoken a little bit using the Gummiphone I was given before, but he said it was best for us to come and talk in person to try and get everything clear.” Aqua stepped in after sensing Aria’s hesitation and took her hand to support her partner. “It’s alright - you can trust him,” she whispered close to her ear.

Trusting only in her love’s reassurance, Aria started to explain her intentions to Ienzo, who seemed content to listen even considering the clear presence of darkness she had; this silent gesture of tolerance was greatly appreciated. She appeared hesitant to reveal much of her true nature as a Heartless, but she did what she could to inquire whether the young scientist knew any way for a heart to be released from its current body and inhabit a different one, allowing the dormant self within the original body to reawaken. Unfortunately, Ienzo remained pensive, even after she had said her part.

“So, you’re looking for a way for a heart to enter a new body? I’m sorry, but.. I’m not sure we’ll be able to help you. Any of the resources we could have used - which is to say, the replicas, they would have been perfect for this - were taken by Roxas, Xion, and Naminé’s hearts.”

“Oh. So, there is nothing you can do?” Aria persisted, but Ienzo shook his head.

Then came a flash of hesitant inspiration.

“Unless..” He trailed off and turned to look down one of the corridors leading away from the main lab space. “Could you two come with me, please?”

“Of course!” said Aqua brightly, as Aria nodded in assent.

==========

The three left the main hub of the laboratory to walk down the corridor, which felt as though it was turning downwards into a basement level of sorts. Once there, they came to a tall door which Ienzo unlocked with some sort of biometric scanner, and this opened out into yet another laboratory space with a similar layout to the first - however, this one seemed in a less presentable condition than the other, and its lack of windows seemed to be what was giving it a more foreboding presence. There was a distinct sense that something bad had happened here, once upon a time.

“After you and the other Guardians of Light helped to defeat Master Xehanort,” Ienzo was saying to Aqua, “we went back to the Keyblade Graveyard to see if there was anything to salvage from the battlefield, and we were able to bring this back with us.”

He gestured to a container at the far wall, in which the two Keyblade wielders could now see a strange white figure suspended inside, resembling a featureless mannequin. It appeared to be dressed in some kind of dark robes, of a dull purple colour inlaid with sharp red motifs, worn over pieces of tarnished metal armour. A number of scuffs and dents littered the otherwise-smooth surface, and Aria could sense traces of a dark presence seeping from the container, despite the blank nature of the figure itself.

“What is this..?”

“This is one of the replicas that Even created, back when he was still Vexen, and a member of the first Organisation.” Ienzo explained. “The first twelve were prototypes, initially abandoned as failures, since they were made before his assistant provided the data needed to perfect them, but.. From what I understand, the real Organisation - which Vexen was also a part of at the beginning - repurposed those twelve into vessels for Xehanort’s heart, as backups in case the people they brought through time fell in battle again.”

“That’s right, I remember fighting these now.” muttered Aqua. “But, didn’t they fuse into one form, eventually?”

“That’s what I thought, too, from your accounts of the situation.” replied the scientist. “I’m not sure if Sora defeating the replicas in battle made them all separate out again, since they weren’t really designed to be fused, or if this one was already too damaged to combine with the others in the first place. Regardless, it was the only one we recovered.”

He now turned to face the blank figure with a concerned expression. “We’ve been running some experiments to see whether it can be repurposed for anything, but.. There’s a lot of darkness still lingering within it, so it wouldn’t be safe for a heart of light to inhabit without risking it also being afflicted by that darkness. And we haven’t found a good way of destroying that darkness without compromising the replica, either.”

“I could sense the dark power when I saw it, so corruption would seem a likely outcome.” Aria mused. “This would also be darkness from Xehanort, so.. it isn’t that surprising that some part of it stuck around. Persistence did seem to be his only worthwhile trait.”

She had crossed her arms in contempt at this last part, but seemed satisfied enough to relax after studying the replica further. “It shouldn’t matter any more than he did in the long run, though.”

“Hmm..” Aqua seemed concerned about the prospect, but was trying to keep an open mind. “What do you make of it, Aria?”

“Well..” She took a moment to examine the figure with an unchanging expression. “The replica body itself has sustained some damage from the fight, but I don’t see why that would affect my ability to inhabit it - it’s just possible that those injuries would reflect in my new appearance, which is.. nothing I’m not accustomed to. And, if the heart within a replica determines its appearance, then maybe what’s left of my heart - or, I suppose, the heart that I once was - would be able to smooth over those gaps. Though, if it’s the latter, that could mean my appearance ends up changing, which.. is not what I want.”

Aqua tentatively nodded, but Ienzo seemed more visibly confused.

“I’m sorry to interject, but- what do you mean by “the heart that you once were”? You’re saying that that’s different to your heart, somehow?”

“..In a sense, yes. How do I explain this..?” There was a slight pause as Aria tried to gather her thoughts, and it was clear she was still trying to think by the hesitant nature of her words that followed. She had seen right through to the heart of the man standing before her, which glowed with a newly-restored lustre. It was a heart that sought to help people, and sought knowledge in order to do that, though there were visible flickers of a long-seated regret present as well. Still, it was a heart that she judged would not judge her, so she decided to provide it with the truth she hoped would sate it.

“Though I look mostly human to you, this- isn’t technically my body, however much I treated it as such. If I were to let go of this vessel, or be driven out from her, you would see me as I really am - a Heartless, a flowering thing. However, Heartless are created when a heart is consumed by darkness, so.. surely the appearance I would take if I were to possess a blank replica would be that of the person this heart - my heart - used to belong to. Only, I don’t- I don’t really see myself as him, or as Ves. I am different, I am my own- well, person, if I can even call myself that. Yet, when I imagine my appearance outside of this vessel, I can only see myself as a Heartless. Does that make any sense?”

“I think I follow..” the scientist mumbled, though his still-furrowed brow seemed to indicate otherwise. “So, you kept your memories of who you were, even after turning into a Heartless? Kairi had implied that the same thing happened to Sora, but.. I’d just attributed that to him turning the Keyblade of heart on himself to free her, so it wouldn’t have happened to anyone else.”

This claim caused Aria to shake her head. “To my knowledge, the method is irrelevant; what matters is the intention. The more willingly a person opens their heart to the darkness, the more of their mind they keep when their heart is consumed, and they become a Heartless. I believe this is what happened with Ansem, though he actively sought after darkness so strongly that he retained a human appearance as well as mind. The emblem on his chest was the only way an onlooker could tell his true nature. When it comes to my original self, he was a Keyblade wielder, very similar to what I know of Sora, but… though he certainly did not willingly or deliberately let his heart be consumed, he was able to accept his fate in his final moments, and that is what allowed the Heartless formed at his demise - so, in other words, me - to retain some semblance of mind and self. Just.. not as much of it.”

“Oh. Yes, I think that makes more sense now. Thank you for the clarification.” said Ienzo. He was writing something furiously in a book that seemed to appear out of nowhere, then became startled when he realised his blunder. In an instant, he opened his mouth to ask something, but closed it with relief when Aria’s expression reassured him she did not mind him making notes about her.

It was Aqua’s turn to speak up now. “It’s so interesting to hear about this from you, Aria - but, I can’t say I’ve seen that kind of behaviour in any of the Heartless I’ve fought before. Had you noticed it at any point while we were in the realm of darkness?”

“Not that I can recall.” she replied. “It isn't exactly that common of an occurrence, considering most people’s disdain for the darkness. And, not only that, but..” She turned away from the other two here, and her next words came much more reluctantly again.

“Before I took over Ves, I remember feeling that I was losing myself - all I was driven by was this desire to be complete again, to be human again, but that was fading away over time. Then, when I found her, I didn’t necessarily feel more human, but what sense of humanity I did have was no longer fading away. So, if I hadn’t found her or someone like her in time, I probably would have lost my sense of self completely, and become just as mindless as most other Heartless are. It’s only thanks to the type of Heartless I became that I was even able to possess her in the first place, and.. I didn’t start to truly feel more like a person until I met other Keyblade wielders, and they interacted with me.”

“I see, I see.. So you’re saying that, in those Heartless that retain a sense of who they were before becoming Heartless, the remnants of normal heart behaviour - of humanity, if you will - have to be nurtured by others in order to be sustained, and will just be lost to the darkness if not actively encouraged?”

“Yes.”

Ienzo paused to finish hastily scribbling this knowledge down in his notebook, then lifted his head in realisation once he had had some time to think. “I think I might remember something of that from the old Organisation, actually.. Though, the memory is very hazy..”

To stop his mind from wandering as it wanted to, he returned to address the matter at hand.

“From what you’ve said, Aria, it does sound like you’d be able to make use of this replica - and you may well be the only one who could. I don’t think there’s any other solution here for you, and.. I say there’s no better way to find out than by experimenting. Give me a moment to get everything ready, and then we’ll be set to see if it works!”

Aria nodded, content with the proposal, but Aqua reached out to take her hand with a worried expression.

“Aria, are you sure you want to do this..?”

“Of course I am, Aqua. This is why I came here.” she replied. Then she hesitated again. “..Why, is there something wrong?”

“Well, no, it’s just-” Aqua took a moment to settle her whirling thoughts, holding both of Aria’s hands in her own now. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when I use my Keyblade on you. I don’t want to hurt you, or even destroy you. And, if something happened with the darkness infecting the replica, then..”

Aria couldn’t bring herself to meet Aqua’s gaze, but it was clear she appreciated the consideration, and did her best to reassure her love. “If I could leave of my own accord, I would have done so by now, but.. we’ve become too intertwined for me to do that myself. And Ves is not quite strong enough to drive me out from within - it’s enough of an effort for her to stay existing in the first place. So.. an outside force seems to be the only way to separate us. And there isn’t anyone I’d trust to wield that force, other than you.”

Despite herself, Aqua couldn’t help but smile at the last admission, and she felt her normal confidence returning. “..Alright then. If you’re sure about this, then.. I’m happy to be able to help.”

The two embraced for a moment, then there was a pause of silence as Aria took a few steps back to stand in the middle of the room. Once Ienzo had brought the replica out of its container, he carried it around to the other end of the laboratory, closer to the other two. Aqua summoned her Brightcrest Keyblade, then slowly raised its tip to be level with the X on Aria’s outfit. She took a deep breath, then pointed the Keyblade directly at her partner, echoing the movement used to open the paths to new worlds.

Aria instinctively flinched when a thin beam of bright light shot forward from the tip of Aqua’s Keyblade, striking her directly in the chest. She was then forced down into a kneel as an aura of pink-tinted darkness began to escape from her body. Her expression was grim, as if she was in pain, but Aqua caught sight of a hint of a smile before the darkness now emanating much more rapidly from her form started rising up to create something above her. It almost completely engulfed her body as if to pull it upwards too, seeming particularly concentrated around her head and wings, before disconnecting entirely to drop a drained figure to the floor. This left a dense collection of dark pink wisps, amalgamating in the air.

Ienzo was now well off to the side, looking rather alarmed, but his expression was replaced with complete surprise when the amorphous cluster of darkness coalesced, giving way to what looked like a floating mass of pink petals. Eventually, it turned around to reveal a large jagged mouth and piercing yellow eyes, staring with an expression he found difficult to interpret. The Heartless stayed floating in place for a moment, as if disoriented, then suddenly appeared to notice Aqua, staring at her curiously.

“Aria..?”

Her tentative call was clearly recognised by the flowering monster, which began to float cautiously towards her. She still had her Keyblade summoned, and her hand was trembling ever-so-slightly - whether with nervousness, uncertainty, or something else entirely, it was impossible to tell. Then, Ienzo stepped between the two and lifted up the replica body, hoping that Aria still remembered the plan.

“Here!”

It seemed the Heartless remained aware, as she moved forwards more purposefully after this, and collided directly with the empty vessel’s centre. A few petals scattered from the force, but it took only a few moments for the Heartless’ form to disappear entirely, appearing to be absorbed into the replica body. This caused another aura of darkness to manifest, enveloping the blank surface of the replica and making Ienzo recoil from the body - but it caught itself as it fell from his grasp to end up kneeling on all fours. A few more moments passed, as the darkness engulfed the entire body in a shell, before gradually dissipating after a few gold sparks were seen being forced out of the system.

The figure that stood up was slightly smaller than the replica had looked in the container, with catlike ears now poking upwards from a fluffy head of golden blonde hair. As she lifted her head, a cluster of cute freckles were seen scattered across her face, though in what Aqua thought was a slightly different arrangement than before. There were other little differences here and there, as well - the shape of her face, the way her hair fell at the back, how she stood dressed in the unfamiliar clothes from the replica in the middle of the silent laboratory.

But all of Aqua’s worries disappeared when the girl standing before her opened her eyes. Neither the bright, empty yellow of the lesser, mindless Heartless, nor a piercing orange like the seeker of darkness, nor even the harsh cold shade between the two that Aria’s eyes had been before, but a warm and resolute amber was the colour that met Aqua’s gaze, and regarded her with a renewed sense of gratitude and love.

“Aria!”

The Keyblade Master ran across the room towards her partner and nearly knocked her over with the energy of her emotions. Aria was nervous, but comfortably allowed herself to melt into Aqua’s embrace, now able to feel the connection between the pair even more strongly than before. Something felt so much more tangible about her presence now, and the relief coursing through her new body was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Aqua, it really worked..!” she smiled, speaking in a quiet voice filled with gratitude.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” exclaimed Aqua, who also had a few tears in her eyes. “How do you feel? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s all fine, I promise.” she asserted. “The replica’s darkness was not organised; it was just remnants that my presence has removed. I feel.. different, but in the best possible way. I could never have done this without you here with me - thank you, so much, for being here..”

She trailed off, still smiling at her partner, and another wonderful moment came and went. Then, a movement from behind Aqua caused Aria’s expression to take on a slightly fearful quality, and she turned her head to see what was happening. The cause of this movement was the figure left behind when Aqua set Aria free, who was slowly trying to get to her feet, her heart’s light flickering nervously. A bright green eye could be seen darting anxiously around the room from under her hair, but she was too weak to properly move, and quickly fell back to the ground again. Ienzo stepped in to support her, and his assistance was clearly welcomed as she was just about able to stand.

“Please take her somewhere she can recover.” Aria requested hurriedly. “After everything I put her through, she needs every opportunity she can to rest and adjust to being herself again..”

“Don’t worry. We have good facilities here.” Ienzo assured her. “Everything will be fine.”

This did little to ease Aria’s guilt, but the gesture was nevertheless appreciated. “Thank you, Ienzo.”

The scientist nodded, and then slowly helped the girl walk to the corridor. She appeared to be very shaken, and was glancing at everything with apprehension and unfamiliarity, but as she turned the corner of the corridor, she looked back at the couple still standing side-by-side, and met the eyes of both her saviour and her prison.

(For all that you have done to me, I know why you do not deserve forgiveness.

But, this is not the first time we have seen each other face-to-face since that day, thanks to that mirror you found in the darkness.

And ever since that moment, you have sought a way to free yourself from me. To let me live the life you once denied me. To break the hold that any other being you’d call your kind would do everything to strengthen.

You calculated the risks, but you still took them - the risk you would lose everything and the one person you cared for, for the sake of me getting to “get rid of you”.

So, who am I to judge a person - the person you have become - by the actions of the creature you once were..?)

A ghost of a smile flickered over her face, and the long-held vessel finally free again spoke of her own accord for the first time since the age of ancient fairytales.

“Thank you, Aria..”

[enochianribs]

p r o j e c t l a z a r u s (outlast au) pt 1.

Dean, a supernatural investigative reporter, receives an anonymous tip that something terrible has happened at what is supposed to be the long abandoned Novak Institute. As things quickly go south, Dean finds himself trapped within the rotting halls, pushed further and further in even as he tries to escape. What he discovers underneath the mountain may very well be the death of him.

read on ao3 here | or under the cut.

 The tip was anonymous but he’d followed it in good faith. If the lead was anything he’d hoped for, he’d have the story of his lifetime.       If    it was good. A huge if, but he was getting about that desperate for a big break, especially since he was still competing with Henriksen and Ash. Half of the time he couldn’t figure out where the fuck they were getting such gold mine stories. The bastards.

 He parked the Impala outside the gate, a tick of paranoia etching itself in his spine that someone would see him and yank the story out from under him. He debated covering Baby with branches and then realized that there was literally      no one     around. Outside of the sound of dry leaves blowing across the cracking blacktop and the breeze rustling the dying aspens, there was not a sound.

 Feeling stupid, he grabbed his small duffel bag and double checked its contents: his video camera (getting a little outdated with all the new tech but he’d bet his life on its durability), his flip phone (yeah, yeah, he knows), the first aid kit (he always brought it with when he went into abandoned buildings after stepping on that rusty nail that one time), a flashlight, the EMF detector (made it himself), and the switchblade (stolen from his father).

 The tools of the trade, if your trade was being insane and stupid and reporting on old urban legends and ghosts and demonic possessions and shit. Y’know, normal stuff. The kinda job you could tell someone about on the first date.

 With the contents all accounted for, Dean locked Baby up, shoved his keys into the bag and took a deep breath.

     Show time.  

 Beyond the crumbling brick wall towered the Institute in all of its fading glory, its architecture dated and magnificent even as the clay tile roofing broke and shattered at its base, creating a minefield of broken pieces sharp enough to dig through the tread of his boot if he wasn't careful. The hedges were overgrown and misshapen, and most of the exterior windows were broken. Dean could only assume from local teenagers trashing the place. It must have been beautiful back in the day, a hidden gem among the peaks. Fuckin’ kids.

 According to an old newspaper article, the Novak Institute was closed down in 1982 for financial reasons and had been avoided by every sensible local like it was cursed ever since. It was founded in the early 1880s by a man named Charles Shurley with a simple goal: fund and research miracle cures. The stuff of angels, as the word of mouth story went. After his death in 1930, his wealthy in-laws took over and kept his goal in mind as they expanded into even more experimental treatments for all kinds of medical and psychological ailments.

 Folks from around the world came to be healed, and the Novaks—   Shurley’s in-laws—  were damn      good    at it. They sought to push the boundaries between modern, traditional, and experimental medicine and frequently did so successfully.

 In 1970, a woman by the name of Naomi Novak took over the Institute, and (though it had always been a private facility for the wealthy to turn about their health for the better) she privatized the institution completely. Within a year it became a family owned research facility. Rumor was that members of the Novak family suffered from a mysterious condition, one that they kept behind closed doors and drawn curtains and that she was hellbent on finding the fix for it.

 From there Dean took every tale he'd scrounged up from the small mountain town down the road with a grain of salt. Urban legends all started somewhere, but along the way they lost the truth, and that was usually where the scary stuff kicked in.

 Still, the story went that it had been the wrong direction for the family to take, and they immediately stumbled into financial struggles that eventually dragged the entire thing down around them. In '82 they closed their doors, for good.

 Except, two days ago Dean received an encrypted email. Sent out in mass, he suspected. The contents of the email was straight up bizzare— since he'd received it, he'd kept a printed copy tucked into his back pocket, folded up and folded up again until the creases wore thin and threatened to tear.

It was in the mountain. They told me not to look. I did anyway. She told me not to look. By the time I send this, it will be too late. The Novak Institute needs to be burned to the ground. Don’t look. Just light the match and let it go.     

Dean’s issue was always the same.      Of course     he was gonna look. That was kinda his whole job—  stick his nose where it shouldn’t go and see what bit it. In fact, he      wanted     something to bite. That would be his big break. He just had to haul ass the other direction the second something chomped down and pray that he caught it on camera.

So here he was, sticking his nose where it shouldn’t be.

To the left of the main doors sat an armoured convoy. Its doors were closed, and it looked surprisingly free from rust, if it has been sitting there for a couple of decades.

 The model of the car was somewhat new, Dean realized.

 "Huh," He stopped in front of it, swiping a finger along its hood. Inspecting the pad for dust, it came away blank. His finger barely left a trail. The vehicle was spotless. It couldn't have been sitting there longer than a day with the way the wind swept dust across the open courtyard. "Weird."

 The convoy should have been his first red flag, so scarlet it must have been dyed fresh with blood. It wasn't.

 Dean pulled one of the ornate handles on the front door, but it didn't give an inch. They were made of a solid piece of wood, heavy duty. There was something vaguely fortified about the place. Hospitals had welcoming doors, encouraging people to come and get better. These, Dean could tell by the massive iron hinges they hung from, were bolted shut from the inside.

 Dean tried the other handle just in case. Nothing. He sighed, and tugged out his phone. 4:10 PM. One bar of signal that kept flashing in and out of existence. In October, the sun would be going down soon…and he was only supposed to be checking it out today. His plan was to come back at sunrise for a full day of sunlight and investigation.

 Down the expanse of shattered windows, a piece of glass skittered out across the cobblestone. His head jerked up and instinctually, he called out a inquisitive "Hello?"

 No one answered, but he heard, with straining ears, what sounded like footsteps shuffling further into the building.

 What if someone had beat him here? He hadn't been the only person the email was sent to. There was a chance that coming back tomorrow meant he lost the story to someone else. Henriksen would never let him hear the end of that. Dean had boasted that he had something      big,    had left in the middle of the night to get here before anyone else. No, he was not going to let Henriksen win another bet against Ash.

 Almost drowned out by the sound of the continued breeze, Dean heard a door slam shut inside the Institute. A stone sank past the bottom of his stomach down to the floor. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and the insidious feeling that someone was watching him crept around his psyche until he had no choice but to look back over his shoulder. The courtyard remained the same: desolate, abandoned.

 "Fuck it."

 He should've pulled his switchblade out, just in case, but he settled on the flashlight, fingers wrapping around it tightly. The light was really starting to die beyond the snowy backdrop, warm sunlight fading into a sickly orange glow that bathed everything in sight.

 "Just one room." Dean muttered to himself, and shouldered the bag, brandishing the flashlight with a grimace.

 This was a stupid idea.

 Like a statuette too close to the end of a table, Dean hoisted himself carefully over the edge of broken glass and hopped into the room blind. Darkness greeted him, enveloped him in an unknown that would consume him and spit a cracked reflection back out. All it would take was a little push in the wrong direction to send him toppling to the floor.

 The halls of Novak Institute were filled with hands just itching for something to break.

[anghraine]

“we also are daughters of the great” - chapter two

I wrote the first chapter as a one-shot promptfic, but ... idk, I got moved to continue it, so here’s some Merry and Fíriel/f!Faramir (among others).

Last chapter:

As she walked away, Éowyn called out,

“Lady Fíriel!”

Fíriel paused, and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

Do not leave me alone here, Éowyn thought.

This chapter:

“You have already done a great deal for my people, Meriadoc—more than we could ever repay. But I would ask something still further.”

He would not have said that he’d do anything for her, the way Pippin had. But Pip seemed right enough that she was a creature of the heights. Not so high as Aragorn could be, but with a more constant and immediate force of personality alongside her gentleness. It made for an agreeable but very odd impression.

chapters: one

-

For Éowyn, the remaining hours of the day passed gradually. Her thoughts dwelt on her uncle and her brother and Aragorn, and whatever doom awaited them, then skittered nearer, to her own fate, and her useless present. Her arm ached; though she could endure pain, she knew it would have made her an easy target on a battlefield—even if she could have escaped the city, caught up with the army, and fought among them. She must have seemed ridiculous to Lady Fíriel.

Éowyn shifted her weight from one leg to another. The idea sat uncomfortably with her. Although they had only just met, and spoken briefly, she disliked the idea of appearing childish or silly to her. Fíriel had betrayed admiration rather than disdain, but that might arise from pity as well, whatever she said. Éowyn did not wish to seem weak to anyone, and certainly not a gentle, composed lady of Gondor—and the last of Cirion’s line, no less.

At least Fíriel had been true to her word; not long after their conversation, two healers appeared to lead Éowyn to her new, east-facing chambers. So she stood there at the window, gazing at Mordor and worrying, while the minutes crawled slowly by.

For Merry, however, everything seemed very fast indeed. 

One minute he had been watching Gandalf defend Théoden even as the terrible Ringwraith king descended, throwing all but Gandalf himself from their horses. Dernhelm rose, still defiant, and Merry’s horrified gaze fixed on him—her—Éowyn? Éowyn, so fair and valiant! Gandalf or no Gandalf, he had known suddenly what he must do. He stabbed his dagger into the wraith’s knee, and Éowyn drove her sword into the wraith until it shattered.

The Lord of the Nazgûl disappeared into nothing—Éowyn collapsed—Théoden was weeping over her, and Merry too, while a chill numbed his right hand and crept up his arm. It was Gandalf who insisted Éowyn was alive, and ordered her and Merry carried in a rush to the Houses of Healing. Everything grew colder yet, and hazy, until he could scarcely move and scarcely see. Before he quite knew what had happened, he fell asleep.

His sleep was unpleasant: cold and grey, filled with terrible voices that whispered of the dead he had not saved. Some of the voices sounded like the king of the Ringwraiths and he kept stabbing at it, then remembering that the Barrow-dagger had broken. They were all dead, Pippin and Éowyn and Théoden and, somehow, Gandalf and Strider. But no—that didn’t make sense—he couldn’t quite remember—

Another voice joined in, and even in that icy dream, it surprised him.

“Awake,” said Strider, in the commanding way he had sometimes. 

He sounded very far away. Merry couldn’t see through the mists, or pinpoint the source of the call.

“Awake,” Strider repeated, even more firmly, and Merry felt a growing warmth, driving the cold off. Even his hand no longer felt numb, and he couldn’t hear any voice but Strider’s.

“Merry.”

Merry opened his eyes. Strider stood nearest him, pulling his hand back from Merry’s head, but Pippin was there, too, alive and well but for his anxious face, and Gandalf just behind him. A mildly sweet fragrance filled the air about him. Just the smell of it made him feel better. And starving.

“I am hungry,” he announced. “What is the time?”

“Past supper-time now, though I daresay I could bring you something, if they will let me,” said Pippin, his voice a little unsteady. Now Merry could see that Pippin had acquired armour, too: a chainmail hauberk made of some black metal, and a black surcoat over it, embroidered with the symbol of a white tree. He had never looked more like the Thain he would be someday.

“They will indeed,” said Gandalf. “And anything else that this Rider of Rohan may desire, if it can be found in Minas Tirith, where his name is in honour.”

Well, that sounded very nice.

“Good!” Merry said. “Then I would like supper first, and after that, a pipe, if Strider will provide what is needed.”

“Oh?” said Strider.

“I had some of Saruman’s best in my pack,” said Merry, “but what became of it in the battle, I am sure I don’t know.”

Strider looked sternly down at him. Really, he was bigger than anyone had a right to be. Maybe he’d drunk Ent-draughts at some time or another—though Éomer was nearly as tall, like Boromir had been, and Merry couldn’t imagine either of them doing it at all. 

“Master Meriadoc,” Strider said, in his severest tones, “if you think that I have passed through the mountains and the realm of Gondor with fire and sword to bring herbs to a careless soldier who throws away his gear, you are mistaken. If your pack has not been found, then you must send for the herb-master of this House. And he will tell you that he did not know that the herb you desire had any virtues, but that it is called westmansweed by the vulgar, and galenas by the noble, and other names in other tongues more learned, and after adding a few half-forgotten rhymes that he does not understand, he will regretfully inform you that there is none in the House, and he will leave you to reflect on the history of tongues.”

Merry blinked.

“And,” Strider added, “so now must I. For I have not slept in such a bed as this, since I rode from Dunharrow, nor eaten since the dark before dawn.”

Guilt jolted through Merry and he seized Strider’s hand, kissing it. 

“I am frightfully sorry. Go at once!” he said. “Ever since that night at Bree, we have been a nuisance to you. But it is the way of my people to use light words at such times and say less than they mean. We fear to say too much. It robs us of the right words when a jest is out of place.”

Strider’s scowl dissolved into one of his rare smiles. He said, “I know that well, or I would not deal with you in the same way. May the Shire live forever unwithered!”

With that, he bent down to kiss the top of Merry’s head, then left with Gandalf. As soon as they were gone, Pippin started to laugh.

“Was there ever anyone like him? Except Gandalf, of course. I think they must be related.” 

Now entirely perplexed, Merry just stared at him.

“My dear ass,” said Pippin, “your pack is lying by your bed. He saw it all the time, of course. And anyway, I have some stuff of my own. Come on now! Longbottom Leaf it is. Fill up while I run and see about some food. And then let’s be easy for a bit. Dear me! We Tooks and Brandybucks, we can’t live long on the heights.”

Merry thought about it—about Great Smials and Brandy Hall, and Meduseld and this monumental city, about their families back home, and Boromir and Éowyn and Strider. Aragorn.

“No,” he agreed. “I can’t. Not yet, at any rate. But at least, Pippin, we can now see them, and honour them. It is best to love first what you are fitted to love, I suppose: you must start somewhere and have some roots, and the soil of the Shire is deep. Still there are things deeper and higher; and not a gaffer could tend his garden in what he calls peace but for them, whether he knows about them or not. I am glad that I know about them, a little.” Then he shook his head, clearing it. “But I don’t know why I am talking like this. Where is that leaf?”

Pippin’s armour clinked as he climbed off his stool and produced the pipe and leaves. Merry almost laughed, himself, at the sight of him, looking as near a fine soldier as any hobbit could be, but with a pipe in one hand and a little pouch of Longbottom Leaf in the other. His face must have spoken for him; Pippin wrinkled his nose and ran off to get some food.

By the time that he returned, Merry was truly ravenous, enough that he didn’t think to ask much of anything until he’d swallowed half of the meal in front of him. Then he slowed, new thoughts jabbing into his mind.

“Lady Éowyn,” he said. “Do you know what happened to her? Is she—”

“Alive,” said Pippin. “Strider brought her back, just like you. She is resting not far from here. The king and Éomer are seeing to their people, I believe.”

Merry relaxed, but Pippin had hardly spoken when his brows drew together.

“What is it?” Merry asked. 

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” he said slowly, “but I wish he—Strider, I mean—Aragorn—I wish he could have gotten here just a little earlier.”

Merry chewed, then swallowed. “Why is that?”

“So he could have saved Lord Denethor,” said Pippin, his face clouding over. “I swore myself to his service, in return for Boromir, and … well, because I wanted to. He fell leading the retreat against the Black Riders; he and the Prince were the only ones who could hold the soldiers together, and he got pierced by an arrow. The healers kept him alive for awhile, but not long enough. He died just after they brought you and Lady Éowyn here.”

“Oh,” said Merry, feeling rather blank. He knew of the Steward dimly, through Boromir’s proud accounts of his father, and through the message sent with the Red Arrow, which had struck him as courteous. But he thought of Théoden, and felt a burst of sympathy. “I am sorry, Pip. Was he kind to you?”

Pippin nodded, then shook his head, then just deepened his frown, looking bewildered as much as anything.

“He was strange,” he said. “More like Gandalf and Aragorn than Boromir, though not as powerful as Gandalf, I think. But the same sort of person, if that makes sense. Gandalf said Denethor could see people’s thoughts, even people far away.”

All right, not like Théoden.

“I think it was true,” Pippin added. “You’d understand if you met him.” He grew solemn again. “Not that you can. He’s gone, like Boromir. There’s only Fíriel left now.”

“Is that Boromir’s sister?” said Merry. He had even less of an idea of her, beyond a vague impression of her existence and Boromir’s affection for her. But he felt sorry for the unknown lady, nevertheless—all the more when he thought of how her brother had died. Despite everything that had happened since then, his throat tightened.

“Yes,” Pippin said, and thankfully, his smile returned. “I like her.” 

The words would have been tepid enough on paper, but Pippin pronounced them with so much fervour that Merry’s brows rose. 

“What is she like?” he asked.

Pippin tilted his head, thinking about it. In fact, he thought about it for so long that Merry might have poked him, if not for the chainmail.

“A bit Elvish,” he said at last. “She belongs to the heights, right enough—but isn’t so far-off, if you understand me. It’s hard to explain. You can talk to her, and at the same time, she … you can’t help feeling that you would do anything for her.”

He flushed a little as he spoke. Merry hid a smile. 

“Did you ask for a strand of her hair?” he said.

Pippin turned redder. “No! Don’t be absurd, Merry. It’s not like that. You’ll meet her sooner or later, and then you’ll see.”

Merry just laughed, more amused to see Pippin admiring a daughter of Men than he would have thought he could be by anything, a few hours ago.

Regardless, it seemed that he’d scarcely finished talking and smoking with Pippin when Legolas and Gimli came to see them, and they all walked and talked until he grew tired, and they told him of their (terrible!) adventures coming to Gondor. It was a pleasant way to spend an hour—but before long, the rest were all riding out to confront Sauron himself, in Mordor. 

Merry watched sadly, feeling very alone, and fearful of what might happen to them all. Pippin’s young friend led him back to the Houses of Healing, saying something meant to be reassuring, but Merry barely heard it. And in the Houses, the hours rushed inexorably on, while Merry tried to calculate the army’s progress in his head, for no messengers came, and nobody seemed to know anything about what was happening out there. But the more the time passed, the closer they had to be getting—and here he was, doing nothing.

As dreadful as he felt, it seemed like he’d only just turned around when he realized it’d been two whole days. They wouldn’t be in Mordor yet, but they’d be making progress, unless something else had gone wrong.

“Master Meriadoc! Master Meriadoc!” 

Merry turned to squint at a servant of the Houses. He’d mostly been left to his own devices, apart from the healers who insisted on examining him every day. 

“Yes?” he asked.

“If it is no inconvenience,” said the servant, “there is someone who would like to see you.”

“See me?” repeated Merry. He couldn’t imagine who would feel the slightest interest in him, except perhaps Éowyn, and he gathered that she was still recovering. “Who wants to see me?”

The servant straightened, looking proud. “The Lady Fíriel, master. She is waiting here in the Houses now, if it pleases you to speak with her.”

Merry didn’t know whether to take this as real concern for what pleased him or not, or just part of the people of Gondor’s odd way of talking.

“Well—certainly,” he said, baffled but curious. 

It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, anyway, and he didn’t want to be impolite, particularly not to Boromir’s sister. He trotted after the servant towards a wall overlooking the gardens, where a few healers and recovering soldiers were walking to and fro. He didn’t see Éowyn among them, but he did see a woman standing at the wall. He couldn’t make out much of her beyond black skirts and black hair that hung loosely down her back; still, he felt sure that she was indeed Fíriel of Gondor.

“My lady,” the servant began, and the lady turned around.

She had a pretty face, but Merry was struck less by this than by how much it resembled Boromir’s. And Aragorn’s, in some odd way that he couldn’t immediately identify—more of an air than any particular feature. 

“You must be Meriadoc,” she said.

Merry bowed, a little awkwardly; he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“I am,” he said.

Fíriel swiftly walked over, and held out her hand, which Merry took in some confusion. She shook his in the manner of the Shire, her face lighting with a pleasant smile that only deepened her resemblance to her brother. Merry appreciated this, even while feeling a little unsettled. She was tall like Boromir, too—very tall. The Men of Gondor generally stood higher than the Rohirrim, to be sure, but though no man, she must be taller than many if not all of the Riders. Certainly more than any woman he’d seen except Lady Galadriel.

“I am Fíriel, daughter of Denethor,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”

The servant quietly withdrew, leaving Merry and Fíriel all but alone, her gaze fixed on him. He repressed the impulse to dust off his borrowed clothes, unable to escape the feeling that her clear grey eyes saw everything there was to see about him. That, perhaps, was what reminded him of Aragorn: both the colour and a keen, intelligent attention. 

“You are, er, welcome,” he said. Even to himself, his tone seemed flat and strange.

“Perhaps you would walk with me, unless the exertion is too much,” said Fíriel.

“Oh, no,” Merry said, then flushed. “I mean, it isn’t.”

She gestured towards the steps that led down to the gardens, a certain gentle command in the gesture, and they walked together on the greensward, among the early foliage. After a minute or so of silence, she said,

“You have already done a great deal for my people, Meriadoc—more than we could ever repay. But I would ask something still further.”

He would not have said that he’d do anything for her, the way Pippin had. But Pip seemed right enough that she was a creature of the heights. Not so high as Aragorn could be, but with a more constant and immediate force of personality alongside her gentleness. It made for an agreeable but very odd impression.

“What is it, my lady?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound rude.

“I am a healer, of sorts,” said Fíriel, which did not at all surprise him. “I have often worked in these Houses, and I wish to help those whom I can. I just met with one of these people, a person recovering in body but not in spirit, and I hoped you might be able to assist me.”

More puzzled than ever, Merry said, “Well—if I can help—but I don’t quite see how.”

“You accompanied the Lady Éowyn to Minas Tirith, I believe,” she replied. 

All at once, his confusion cleared. “Oh! Yes. Is she the one you’re trying to help?”

Fíriel nodded.

“I would like to help her,” he said frankly, “but I still don’t see how.”

“I know very little of her,” Fíriel told him. “I thought you might tell me more, so that I might better understand her malady, if you can without breaking her confidence.”

Merry was already nodding, now eager to comply. Despite how little he knew or understood Fíriel, he felt a sudden conviction that this gracious lady might indeed be able to help, if anyone could. 

“I don’t think there were any confidences,” he said, thinking it over. “Except as Dernhelm, of course, though she still didn’t tell me.”

“Dernhelm?” said Fíriel.

“That was the name she gave when she brought me with her,” said Merry, realizing how little Fíriel—or anyone here—would know of the story. Nothing, really.

So he took a deep breath, and told her everything.

---------

Notes (LOTS OF NOTES)

1) One minute he had been watching Gandalf defend Théoden: One of the underlying ideas of the verse is that canon Faramir wouldn’t be there to exercise his vaguely supernatural command over “men and beasts” in the retreat across the Pelennor, which has multiple consequences, but one of them is that there’s no pyre preventing Gandalf from joining the battle. He suggests in LOTR that he would have been able to save people in the battle if not for the pyre.

2) “I am hungry,” he announced: much of this scene is taken from the book, but of course without Merry’s mourning of Théoden.

3) a chainmail hauberk made of some black metal, and a black surcoat over it, embroidered with the symbol of a white tree: taken from the earlier description in the book.

4) Éomer was nearly as tall, like Boromir had been: UT says Éomer was of like height with Aragorn, inheriting the trait from his Gondorian grandmother, while Boromir is described in Fellowship as only a little shorter than Aragorn. In another note, Tolkien says that Aragorn would be at least 6′6″ (so potentially even taller!) and Boromir, “of high Númenórean lineage,” 6′4″. Very tall indeed to a hobbit :)

5) he bent down to kiss the top of Merry’s head: in the book, he does kiss Merry before he goes!

6) he and the Prince were the only ones who could hold the soldiers together: one of the other consequences of no canon!Faramir to do it. The fic assumes that Denethor’s avoidance of battle wouldn’t extend to a situation where he’s probably the only person who can lead against the Witch-king/Ringwraiths (with Imrahil needed for the sortie). 

7) But the same sort of person, if that makes sense: while Denethor is obviously not a Maia, we do hear in ROTK that “Pippin saw a likeness between the two,” and also that Denethor is more reminiscent of Aragorn than Boromir. 

8) I like her: Pippin’s instant love for Faramir in the book is carried over to Fíriel here.

9) A bit Elvish: in ROTK, Faramir is described as “one of the Kings of Men born into a later time, but touched with the wisdom and sadness of the Elder Race”

10) you can’t help feeling that you would do anything for her: genderbent version of “he knew now why Beregond spoke his name with love. He was a captain that men would follow, that he would follow, even under the shadow of the black wings.”

11) “Did you ask for a strand of her hair?” he said: one of the things that’s always entertained me about this verse is that Pippin’s love for Faramir basically becomes a scaled-down version of Gimli’s for Galadriel.

12) they told him of their (terrible!) adventures coming to Gondor: I didn’t feel like replicating the fairly extensive conversation they have about it in the book.

13) Pippin’s young friend: Bergil does lead Merry away in the book.

14) there is someone who would like to see you: in the book, we only hear that the Warden tells Faramir that Merry would know more of Éowyn and accordingly, “Merry was sent to Faramir” and “they talked long together.”

15) She had a pretty face: Faramir is described as having a “fair face.”

16) how much it resembled Boromir’s: from ROTK—“Pippin gazing at him saw how closely he resembled his brother Boromir.”

17) She shook his in the manner of the Shire: since Fíriel isn’t in battle, I imagine that she spent a bit more time with Pippin and picked this up.

18) a pleasant smile that only deepened her resemblance to her brother: Frodo describes Boromir’s face as “fair and pleasant” in FOTR.

19) She was tall ... very tall: Faramir is described as “very tall” in TTT and elsewhere said to strikingly resemble Denethor, who was “very tall and in appearance looked like an ancient Númenorean.” Fíriel isn’t quite as towering as Faramir (who has to stoop to kiss the forehead of the tall Éowyn), but she’s still over six feet.

20) The Men of Gondor generally stood higher than the Rohirrim: this is according to UT.

21) a keen, intelligent attention: TTT—“a keen wit lay behind his searching glance.”

22) unable to escape the feeling that her clear grey eyes saw everything there was to see about him: Faramir is generally portrayed this way, but ROTK specifically says that Faramir picks up more than Merry actually says in this scene.

23) a certain gentle command in the gesture: Faramir is described as “commanding” in TTT, but also gentle throughout.

24) Not so high as Aragorn could be, but with a more constant and immediate force of personality: ROTK says Faramir has an air “such as Aragorn at times revealed, less high perhaps, yet also less incalculable and remote.”

25) “I am a healer, of sorts”: this is necessary for Fíriel to be present at all, but I also thought that a Faramir who couldn’t be a warrior would be, in some ways, freer to follow his(her) temperamental inclinations, so it seemed pretty natural for Fíriel to be a scholar/healer. It’s “of sorts” because she does have Númenórean gifts, but they’re very different from Aragorn’s kingly healing.

26) this gracious lady: Denethor accuses of Faramir of always trying to appear lordly, generous, gracious, and gentle; my interpretation is that he (and therefore Fíriel) really is those things.

[alindakb]

Letters to my Parents - Sunday 25 June 1995 - by Alinda

Sunday 25 June 1995

Dear mom and dad,

 I see that Draco already explained most of what happened yesterday to you. He’s sleeping now, he’s got his hand twisted in my t-shirt. He’s scared, just like me. Yesterday was bad. Cedric is dead. Every time I close my eyes I see him getting hit by that awful curse. He just fell to the ground, like he was a string puppet who strings just got cut. And all I can think off is that Voldemort did the same to you. He used that curse to kill both of you. I’ve known for some time now that this is the way you died, but seeing the curse happen, it has made it worse.

I also hate how much I scared Draco. He was on my mind all the time when I was in that graveyard. That is where we were transported to. But let me first tell you about the maze. I thought that thing was scary, but after seeing Voldemort in the flesh the maze was a piece of cake.

 The maze was dark. The hedges were enormous and cast dark shadows onto the path. And all sounds were blocked by them. I couldn’t hear the crowd anymore. Luckily, it didn’t stop me from feeling Draco, like when he was enchanted during the second task. I knew he was close and that he was rooting for me. And that was enough to be brave and walk onward.

 I entered at the same time as Cedric and we both went into a different direction when we reached the first fork in the maze. I wish now that this was the last time I saw him, that we hadn’t reached the cup at the same time and he wouldn’t have come with me to that graveyard. He might still be alive if that was the case. I still can’t believe he’s dead. It’s surreal. He was only sixteen.

 I did see him again a couple of times in the maze. The first time was when he jumped out of a corridor where he had encountered Hagrid’s Blast-Ended-Skrewts. He said they were enormous. This was around the same time I was wondering what the deal was, as I hadn’t run into any obstacles yet. I just felt like someone was watching me all the time. It was creepy.

 Moments later I turned a corner and spotted a Dementor. Without thinking I draw on one of my happiest memories of time spent with Draco and cast a perfect Patronus. My Stag galloped towards the Dementor, who tripped over its own ropes. It turned out it was a Boggart and not a Dementor. Even easier to deal with. I just shouted Riddikulus and the Boggart was gone.

 The next obstacle was some kind of enchanted mist. This is when Fleur screamed. I could feel that Draco was worried about me so I chanted that I was fine, that all was okay. And reading his letter to you from yesterday, I guess it did help him a little.

 But back to the mist. All other paths I had tried were dead ends, so I had no choice but to go through it. As soon as I stepped into it, the world turned upside down. It freaked me out a little. It felt as if I would lift my feet to walk, that I would fall into the sky and disappear from this world forever. In the end, I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see the sky and pulled one of my feet from the ground. As soon as I did, the world turns right side up again and I could move on.

 Next, I ran into the Blast-Ended-Skrewt. And Cedric was right, it was enormous. I tried to stop it with a Stupefy, but the spell just rebounded on his armour. Then I tried Impedimenta, but that rebounded to. I stumbled backwards and fell down. The Skrewt was coming closer so I yelled Impedimenta as loud as I could. The Skrewt froze in place, so I got up and ran as fast into the other direction as I could. I think I hit the Skrewt on his fleshy underside with my second attempt of Impedimenta.

 And all this was still fine, What happened next was the start of everything going downhill. Cedric was in the path next to me. He screamed at someone, asking them what they were doing. And then I could hear Viktor shouting Crucio. Cedric screamed in pain and I tried to find a way onto his path to help him. There was no way, so I used the Reductor curse to make a whole. I had to kick the branches until they broke so I could get through. But I’m glad I did.

 Viktor stood over Cedric, who lay on the ground, twisting and jerking around. I used Stupefy on Viktor to make him stop. I couldn’t believe he did this, I thought he was a good guy. He was always friendly towards us, joined us for dinner on multiple occasions. And even Hermione liked him in the end. But it looks like he was a cheating bastard after all. We did send up some red sparks so the teacher could get him out of the maze. I didn’t want to be responsible for him getting eaten by a Blast-Ended-Skrewt.

 Cedric and I both went our separate ways again. And I know I ran into a Sphinx and that he had a riddle I had to solve, but I can’t remember what the riddle was any more or how I solved it. I only know that I did and that the Sphinx let me pass. And when I took the corner I could see the Cup. I started running towards it until I saw Cedric come out of a path further ahead. I knew I would never be able to catch up to him, with his long legs. I stopped in my tracks and just stared at Cedric getting closer to the cup.

 And then I saw the shadow on the hedges moving towards Cedric. Cedric hadn’t seen it, so I shouted to warn him. Cedric turned and could get out of the way just in time not to get hit by a giant spider. But he fell and lost his wand. The spider was going to eat him, so I swing spells at it to make it stop. Only it didn’t do much good, expect set the spider after me. I couldn’t stop it from reaching me and lifting me from the ground. I tried to kick it, but instead only hurt myself when my leg touched its pincer. The pain was horrible. I think I could lose by shouting Expelliarmus, but I’m not sure anymore. I fell to the ground and landed on my hurt leg. This was bad. I could feel the bone giving way and I couldn’t stay upright. Cedric and I both through a spell at the spider at the same time, and that finally stopped it.

 I couldn’t move, my leg wouldn’t support me. So I told Cedric to get the cup. He was closest and still able to get there. He had won and I was okay with that. I had never wanted a part in this stupid tournament in the first place. But Cedric didn’t. He said he would have never made it if it wasn’t for me. That I saved him twice now in the maze and told him about the dragons. He wouldn’t take it. But I also couldn’t take it and stealing away the glory from Cedric, who had wanted this, who had fought for it. So I suggested to take it together. I now wish I hadn’t, that I had listened to Cedric and just took the cup alone. He would still be alive. I know I didn’t kill him, but it does feel like it was my fault. He was only there because I suggested taking the cup together. And we were only transported to that place because of me because someone wanted me there to help Voldemort with his crazy spell to get his body back. So I do feel guilt and blame when it comes to Cedric’s death. I can’t help it. If I hadn’t been in that tournament, he would have won and been alive. But now he’s dead.

 The cup was a port key. When Cedric and I took hold of it we were transported to a graveyard. We had no idea what we were doing there so we took out our wands just in case. Cedric was holding me up when a figure in a black robe approached us. I thought he was holding a baby or some cloths. But when the person came nearer my scar exploded. The pain was horrible. I grabbed my head and if it wasn’t for Cedric I would have fallen to the ground.

 And then it happened. A high, cold voice said ‘kill the spare’. The words Avada Kedavra sounded. A green light flashed by me and then Cedric fell to the ground. As he was holding me up I fell with him. I landed on top of his body. I looked into his face and couldn’t believe it. His grey eyes blank and expressionless, his mouth was half-open like he was surprised. He was dead.

 Before I could properly process what was happening I got dragged to my feed. The man in the cloak tied me to a headstone that had the name Tom Riddle on it. I struggled to get loose. It’s then that the man hit me with his hand and I saw that he was missing a finger. I knew then who it was. Your supposed to be friend Wormtail. Anger flooded my head. I wanted to get loose and kill him. I had shown mercy toward him and now he killed an innocent person.

 What happened next was sickening. Wormtail brought out a cauldron and started a fire underneath it. He then took the bundle of cloth and took out a creature that looked like a small child, but it had a face with bright red eyes and a snakelike nose. Its arms and legs were thin and tiny. It looked horrible and I knew it was truly evil. My scar hurt again when I looked at it. Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron and I wished it would drown. That would have been so much better than what really happened.

 Wormtail started a spell. It made the grave beneath me crackle and a small amount of dust rose into the air. It fell into the cauldron and the potion in it turned blue. Then Wormtail said something about the flesh of the servant and cut off his hand. He dumped it in the cauldron, turning the potion red. And then he walked towards me. His words frightened me, and I thought my end was there. He said: ‘blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.’

 I thought of Draco, far away at the Hogwarts grounds. He would feel the pain and despair I’d lived through during the second tasks. He would be incomplete for the rest of his life. And I would do that to him. Tears fell from my eyes, knowing I would hurt him more than anyone could ever do. He would be alone and broken. I wished I could have held him one last time, kissed his lips goodbye and watch him sleep next to me.

 In the end, he only made a small cut on my arm and took a little blood. For a short moment, I felt relieved that I wasn’t going to die. But then Wormtail dropped my blood in the potion. It turned white and started to send sparks in all directions. Then there was a white fog that raised from the potion. And then he was there, Voldemort stepped out of the cauldron. He told Wormtail to robe him and then he was standing in front of me. His face was whiter than a skull and he had wide livid scarlet eyes. And his nose was flat as a snake, with slits for nostrils.

 Voldemort summoned his followers by touching the Dark Mark on Wormtail’s arm. It took some time for them to arrive, and Voldemort started talking to me like I was his friend. He told me he killed his own father. Who could even do that? Kill the man that put you on this world?

 And then they arrived. Man in black cloaks and masked. They approached Voldemort on their knees and kissed the hem of his robe, calling him master. Then they would back up and stand. A circle formed around Voldemort, with gaps in between, like more people should still come. But Voldemort started to talk. He was not happy with the Death Eaters. Went on and on about how they never went looking for him and help him. One of the men asked for forgiveness and was punished by receiving the Curcio curse. Voldemort told them they should all serve them for thirteen years before he would even think of forgiving them. He then rewarded Wormtail for his help by giving him a silver hand that took the place of the hand he had chopped off.

 I hate what happened next. Voldemort spoke to the person next to Wormtail. He called him Lucius and I knew it was Draco’s father that was standing there. At the moment it was clear that Draco just lost his home. Voldemort wasn’t happy with Draco’s father. Said it was a disgrace how he couldn’t even control his son and teach him the ways of a true wizard. And Draco’s father said he was sorry, and that he won’t disappoint the Dark Lord again, that he would teach his son to obey. I have no idea how I’m going to tell this to Draco. I won’t let him go home this summer, I’m sure I will never see him again if I do. Draco will never betray me, and I’m afraid his father will kill him for that.

 Voldemort went by the circle, mentioned names of people missing, and mentioned names of the people there. I hated knowing that my friends' fathers were among them. Greg and Milicent will be so ashamed knowing their fathers are back in the service of Voldemort. Nott and Greg’s fathers were also present. I’m sure they will like that, even brag about it when it comes to it.

 Then Voldemort just went on and on about how amazing he is, how he managed to return to them because of a spy at Hogwarts. He Crucioed me then. The pain was beyond anything I ever experienced. It felt like my bones were on fire as if my head was splitting in two and my eyes were rolling in my head. I wanted it to end, to blackout, or even die, just to have the pain stop.

 Voldemort wanted to prove to his followers that I was no match for him, so he ordered Wormtail to set me free and give me my wand. It hurt like hell when I had to stand on my broken leg again. I don’t know how I managed it, but I did. Not that it mattered. I knew I was no match for someone like Voldemort. He hit me again and again with the Cruciatus curse. The pain was unbearable. And the feelings I felt through my connection with Draco made it even worse. He was hurting too because of this. He could feel my pain and be unable to stop it.

 That is when I knew I had to try to survive somehow. Even with all the odds against me, surrounded by laughing Death Eaters. (How am I going to tell Draco that his father was one of the loudest laughs among them? It will hurt him to know that his father wishes me dead.) When Voldemort gave me a breather, I ducked away and hid behind the headstone.  I could here Voldemort coming closer. He was taunting me, saying he would finish me. And deep down inside I knew there was no way for me to escape death. I cried as I made a choice. I was not going to die like a coward, hiding behind a grave. I was going to die standing proud, just like you dad. So I whisper a goodbye towards Draco and then stood up. I stumbled around the grave to face Voldemort and the end. I fired off the only spell I knew would give me a small chance of survival. My Expelliarmus left my wand at the same moment that Voldemort cast his Avada Kadava.

 And I don’t know if you know what happened then, if the slivers I saw were you, or if they were just lingering parts of you. And it doesn’t matter. The words you, or your lingering parts told me gave me the strength to get home, and that’s all that matters.

 Our spells met in mid-air. My wand started to vibrating and I had to struggle to hold on to it. But I knew I had to, that if I would let go, I would die. The thread between our wands turned golden and splintered into a thousand more offshoots until we were enclosed in a golden dome of light. And then beads showed up on the golden thread that connected our wands. They started moving towards my wand, which became hard to hold onto. And I just knew that if they would come to close, my wand would break and I would be lost. So I concentrated hard on moving the beads in the other direction. Slowly the beads came to a stop and started to move towards Voldemort’s wand.

 When the bead touched Voldemort’s wand, smoke came out of it. First, a hand appeared, and then the smoke turned into Cedric. He stepped out of the wand and told me to hold on. Next, the old man I had seen in my dream during summer stepped out of the wand, followed by Bertha Jorkins. She also told me to hold on. Her voice sounded from far away, it even had a little echo, just like Cedric’s voice had sounded before.

 And then you stepped out of the wand, mom. My hand trembled then, and I almost let go. But you said that dad was coming, that he wanted to see me too. So I fought to hold on. I wanted to see dad too. And just thinking about it, makes me miss you so much. I hope it truly was you that came to help me from beyond. And it was good to see you and to hear you speak to me. I just wish you were here now too. That you could hold me and tell me that everything will be alright. Because I don’t think it will be for a long time and I don’t want to think about what that means for me and Draco. I don’t want a war. I don’t want anyone else to die.

 I did what you asked of me, dad. I broke the connection and made a run for the port key. It was hard with my broken leg, but I managed to step through the pain and make it. I grabbed hold of Cedric’s body and then the port key. I was swirled away and landed back in the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts.

 You wouldn’t believe the relief that washed over me when Draco knelt beside me and took me in his arms. I grabbed his hand and won’t let go of him. I didn’t know how to speak, to tell him how sorry I was for almost leaving him forever. I won’t repeat everything he already told you yesterday. Just know that I was shaken and scared, but also happy to be back with the people I love. Sirius and Draco made sure I got to the hospital wing. The supposed Professor Moody was with us. He questioned me. When Sirius and Draco both fell asleep, I knew something was wrong. And then Professor Moody called Voldemort the Dark Lord. And I remembered that Voldemort had said he had a spy at Hogwarts, one that had put my name in the goblet of fire.

 Professor Moody didn’t deny it. He took credit for his handy work. He wanted to know if Voldemort forgave the other Death Eaters, the ones that never went to Azkaban, or even searched for their lord. He was the one who concurred the Dark Mark in the sky during the Quidditch World Cup. And he made sure I would win the Tournament. He manipulated me all year and he is the one who used the Imperius curse on Viktor during the final task. Viktor didn’t attack Cedric because he wanted to win that badly, he wasn’t in control.

 I didn’t understand why Professor Moody would join Voldemort, or why he wanted to kill me. But he was planning too. And if it hadn’t been for Tonks, Professor Snape, Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall barging into the hospital wing to stop him, he would have. You should have seen Headmaster Dumbledore’s face. I finally understood why everyone always calls him the greatest wizard of our time, and why Voldemort fears him. He stared down at Moody, with cold fury in every line of his face. And there was a power radiating from him as if he was giving off burning heat.

 Professor Snape rushed towards me, making sure I was alright. But all I wanted to know is what the bastard had done to Draco and if he was fine. Professor Snape understood and he smelled the tea and then checked Draco. He promised me it was just a sleeping potion, that Draco was fine, and that he would wake up once the potion had set its course.

 After that everything became a little hazy. Headmaster Dumbledore ordered everyone around. He told Tonks to go and set the real Professor Moody free, and then he ordered Snape to get his best trued serum and for Professor McGonagall (who was checking up on Sirius) to go and fetch Winky. The headmaster told me that the person that just tried to kill me wasn’t the real professor Moody. That the impostor had used Polyjuice potion to hide in plain sight all year.

 Lupin came barging into the hospital wing than. He rushed to Sirius to check on him. And maybe there is still hope for them if Professor Lupin is so worried about Sirius. I truly hope so for Sirius. I know he would nothing more than to have Lupin back in the way they were before that faithful Halloween night.

 Not long after that, the person that looked like Professor Moody turned into his true form. And I recognised him from the pensive memories Draco and I saw. It was Barty Crouch Jr. He hadn’t been as innocent as he had tried his father to believe on that day he was sent to Azkaban. Headmaster Dumbledore questioned Winky when she arrived and later Barty after he had given him some Veritaserum. He told us how he escaped Azkaban (and how his mother past away in there in his place), and how he stole my wand during the Quidditch World Cup with which he concurred the Dark Mark that night. He explained how he got to Hogwarts and how he killed his own father when he had escaped Voldemort’s hold on him.

 When Headmaster Dumbledore was done questioning Barty Crouch, he asked Professor McGonagall and Tonks to escort him out of the hospital wing. And once they were gone, the headmaster woke up Sirius. He told us it was better to let Draco sleep. So that when Harry was ready, he could tell Draco all he wanted too in his own time and own pace. But now the headmaster wanted me to set aside the pain and confusion and try to remember as much as possible. Sirius was all protective of me, asked if we could leave it till morning, let me first have a good sleep. But the headmaster said it couldn’t wait. So I set out to tell as much as I could remember.

 It was hard to start, but soon it felt good to tell it all. So I did, even when it was hard. Draco’s weight against my chest, his soft breathing also helped. When I got to the part where our wand connected and you, and the others came out of it, I struggled to continue. I was glad Professor Lupin how that was possible and that I had some time to collect myself. It’s called Priori Incantatem and happened because our wands both have a core with a phoenix feather (and it turns out that Fawkes is the phoenix who gave up the feathers).

 The headmaster explained the effect to Sirius, mentioning that one of the wands would force the other to regurgitate spells it had performed. And then he looked at me and said that some kind of form of Cedric most have appeared. I confirmed and said that there were more, an old man, and Bertha, and them mom and dad. When I said that, Sirius and Lupin linked their hands, and I could see the tears stuck in Sirius his eyes.

 I told them how you helped me get away. I was able to escape because of you. I told them about Cedric’s final request, and then I just couldn’t continue. It was all too much. Sirius put his arm around me and hugged me as best he could, without disturbing Draco. And then headmaster Dumbledore let Madam Pomfrey heal my leg and give me some dreamless sleep. Before I fell asleep, Professor Snape told me he would inform my friends that I was okay and that they could wait till morning before visiting me.

 Sometime during the night, I woke up. Draco wasn’t resting on my chest anymore. His head rested on his hand as he was staring at my face. He looked sad, and he pushed some of my hairs out of my face with his free hand. We shared some emotional words. And he told me he wrote to you to tell you I was okay, and that I could wait with informing you about everything else that had happened. I first needed to just be with him, lay together and tell each other how much we love each other. If Sirius hadn’t still been in the room, I think we would have done more than just kiss. But Sirius was still there, asleep in a chair. Draco said that Professor Lupin had left together with Tonks and that it was hard to watch how broken Sirius is about that. And I love Tonks, she’s great, but because of her Sirius is hurting and I don’t like that.

 Draco and I fell asleep again, and when we woke up this morning, the hospital wing was crowded with our friends. Hermione, Blaise, Luna, Greg, Daphne, Millicent, Ron and Neville were all there. They had overheard headmaster Dumbledore fight with the minister about the return of Voldemort. I knew I couldn’t lie to them, so I told them the truth, that he was back.

 This is when Draco remembered that Voldemort had summoned his followers, and he asked if his father had been there. I just nodded, I didn’t want to tell him how his father had spoken about Draco. Greg didn’t need to be told, he just said that his father would have come too. Then Millicent said she was sure her dad would too. And then Neville did the most amazing thing, he said that didn’t matter, as long as they all knew what was important, and that if they needed, they could all come to stay at his place to stay safe. And that is how I know I have the best of friends, and that even if things will take a turn for the worse now, I’m not alone. None of us is.

 When they had all left Sirius stood up from his chair and said he would write a letter to Draco’s mom, to make arrangements to keep Draco save. When he left, Draco started to cry. He sobbed on and on about that he could never go home again. I just held him until he fell asleep. And that is where we are now.

 So now you know everything. I promise I will keep you informed on all that will happen now.

 I love you, and I miss you.

 Your Harry James Potter.

[mitchmarnier]

M A N I A [part one, prologue.] 

pairings: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier, stanley uris/patricia blum, mike hanlon/bill denbrough.  word count: 3,142  summary: PENWISE ACADEMY is a safe haven for all those who are different. Supers have been the dominating force in the world for the last three centuries, and Penwise is their training grounds for North America. They’re not heroes yet. They’re just idiots with super powers. 

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Eddie Kaspbrak watched the Maine scenery moving past him in a daze, his fingertips still tingling. He squeezes his eyes shut as another wave of nausea came waving over him. The last twelve hours still had a sick shakiness to him. The last few weeks had been the most freeing of Eddie’s life thus far, finally having his nights and what best of a life he supposed he could have had. For as long as Eddie could remember, his mother had kept him boarded up in their small Derry townhouse. Eddie had gone to school once, he believed, when he was young and his father had still be alive. After Frank Kaspbrak had died, Eddie had been taken out of society for all intents and purposes. For twelve years, the only person Eddie had spoken to was his own mother.

Eddie was sick, you see. His mother had always told him so, his whole life. He had some sort of terrible lung disease that meant if he ever got so much as a cold, he could die. Eddie had never questioned her, terrified of how easily he could just die according to her words, until about two weeks earlier. A terrible sense of longing and curiousity had come over him that simple night, and for the first time in his life- Eddie had snuck out his bedroom window and into the night.

That had been the night he met Martin. Just the thought of that made Eddie’s stomach clenched up twice fold. He could see Martin so perfectly, light up with the lights from the street lights and the moon, always smiling. Laughing. Martin, falling to the dirty ground, convulsing, spitting up blood.

“I wish we could have found you sooner, Edward.” The driver broke through Eddie’s thoughts as they came pulling up in front of a huge white house. It had gorgeous, old fashioned windows and Eddie thought that maybe it was the most beautiful house he’d ever seen. They certainly weren’t in Derry anymore. “I really believe that this is the best place for you. We’ll be able to help you here.”

Eddie said nothing, but stepped out of the car. The house seemed even larger as he got closer, looming up above him. It was easily five stories tall, and spreading out over a quarter of a street block. Eddie’s breath hitched in his throat, and he fumbled for the inhaler in the pocket of his fanny pack.

“You don’t need that.” A weird, distant voice came to him and Eddie jumped. He turned to face a boy with shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes, sitting on a porch swing with a large book open in his lap. He stared at Eddie without blinking and an uncomfortable feeling settled itself in Eddie’s gut. He fumbled with his inhaler and it fell to porch, bouncing down the steps and rolling under the porch.

Eddie swallowed roughly, and looked up at the porch boy. He was still staring at Eddie, expression completely blank.

“Don’t mind Bill.” A nicer female voice came from behind Eddie. He turned again, looking at a dark skinned girl wearing what looked like modern battle armour, who was smiling a little disconnectedly at him.  “He’s a little weird. Doesn’t know how to mind his own business.”

Bill looked over at the girl, his expression still mostly blank though Eddie thought he could see a little bit of annoyance there. He closed his book and stood, walking into the house without a word to Eddie or the girl.

“Bill’s a clairvoyant.” She told him, placing her hand on what looked like a dagger of some sort that was fastened to her belt loop. “He doesn't really mean to pry. He just can’t help it.”

Eddie just nodded, not feeling quite ready to start asking a bunch of questions. He didn’t even know what a clairvoyant was, or how it had anything to do with Eddie’s inhaler.

“My name’s Kay.” Kay said, gesturing towards the front door of the large building. “I think you’re going to fit in well around here, Edward Kaspbrak. Penwise is the best super academy in the country, you’re in good hands.”

Eddie swallowed roughly, adjusting the ugly yellow gloves his mother had forced onto his hands when he’d gotten home, sobbing. Had it really only been that morning he’d been at home, with his mother, praying for comfort and finding the opposite? It felt like a lifetime ago. “I don’t know what a super academy is. I don’t really know why I’m here. One minute I was meeting my boyfriend and the next-” Eddie let out a rough shake of breath and Kay was giving him a sympathetic look.

“I know it’s hard,” Kay said with a short nod. “Especially when this life is thrusted on you. Half of our mission here at Penwise is to make our students as comfortable as possible at all times. Train them to control what they can do, and train them to survive.”

“Survive?” Eddie asked, voice cracking, heart racing.

A dark look came over Kay’s face. “Just like in any society, there’s a good and a bad in ours. It’s just a little more dangerous with people like us. All our people need to know how to defend themselves, and protect those who cannot protect themselves. It’s our birth right.”

Eddie gaped. Twenty-four hours ago he hadn’t even known that super powers actually existed outside of those Saturday morning cartoons his mother hated him watching, but now he found that not only did superheroes really protect the world- but that he was supposed to be one of them.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know.” Kay chuckled, ushering Eddie into the house. It was even more grand from inside, and Eddie didn’t think he’d ever felt so small and unimportant. “Mike will explain everything to you. He’s much better at this stuff than I am, but he’s in combat training with one of our higher levels so that conversation will have to wait.”

Eddie nodded, turning to attention as a curly haired, properly dressed boy came into the front foyer with a steaming cup in his hands. Eddie suddenly felt surrounded by the smell of the apple pie his Ma would make on Thanksgiving, and for the first time, Eddie felt a pang of homesickness.

“Oh!” Kay seemed surprised and the boy with the tea looked completely stuck. “Stan, this is Eddie, our new student. Eddie, this is Stanley Uris. His father is our supreme, he’s usually around here somewhere but he has to supervise all of the school in the country as well as our societies so sometimes it can be a few weeks between his visits.”

“Hi.” Stan said, sounding glum. He looked at Eddie shortly and frowned. “And before you ask what my powers are, I don’t have any.”

“Oh.” Eddie nodded. “Okay.’

Stan’s eyebrows disappeared under his spirally hair. “You don’t think that’s weird?”   

“Should I?”

Stan shook his head, a slow smile sliding across his lips. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, Eddie.”

“Okay, perfect.” Kay clapped her hands. “You can show Eddie to his room then. I have to get ready for my next training sessions and I’d rather have more time than this as it is. He’s in room 257.”

Stan’s lips twitched slightly, a mischievous look coming over his face. “He’s rooming with Richie?” Eddie’s stomach dropped at the obvious amusement on his boy’s face. “Alright, come on you poor bastard.”

Eddie shot a panicked look at Kay, who wasn’t even looking at him, and followed Stan up the stairs onto the second floor.

“Richie Tozier has been longer than anybody except Mike, and he’s the longest enrolled student.” Stan told Eddie as they walked down the hallway. “He should have been cycled out into a troop or society by now, but he’s a stubborn bastard who refuses to work as a team player. He's been doing the same training over and over until he gets his shit together.”

“How old is he?” Eddie asked nervously, scratching apprehensively at his arm. It wasn’t as satisfying with the gloves on. “If he should have already been… cycling out.”

Stan shrugged one shoulder. “Richie’s 21, but it’s not really an age thing here. It’s not like normie school, with grades and a regular start age. You start when you come here, and you get cycled out whenever you’re ready. It’s usually less than five years, sometimes if a child is young when they’re brought to us, we keep them around longer. Nobody’s ever been here as long as Richie Tozier, without turning into a trainer after being cycled out.”

Eddie nodded once, not entirely sure he actually understood, and pulled on a loose string on his gloves. “This Richie guy sounds kind of horrible.”

Stan replied in a rather bored, unchanged voice, as though he was still discussing the inner workings of this super academy; “He’s the person I’ve ever met.”

Eddie blinked, but they reached the door at the end of the hallway, and Stanley let him both in without knocking. Sitting at the desk was a girl with long brown curls, wearing a flowery yellow dress and knee high black boots.

“Hey, Rich.” Stan greeted the girl, rolling his eyes slightly.

The girl, Richie apparently, stood up and it seemed like she morphed in front of Eddie’s eyes. No longer was there a small, dark haired girl standing in front of him- it was now a very tall, scrawny dark haired guy in the same dress and boots. He shot Eddie such a dirty smirk that Eddie felt his face burn bright red and turned back to Stan, silently begging for an explanation.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Richie has the power of mutation. He can make himself look like anything he wants, whenever he wants. It’s rather annoying, really.”

Almost as though to prove Stanley’s statement, Richie morphed suddenly into a large yellow canary and fluttered over to land on Stan’s shoulder. A small little bashful smile crossed Stan’s face as he scratched at Richie’s little bird head. “Boy of many faces. Do you maybe mind sticking with the one you were born with for the comfort of your new room mate?”

Richie flew from Stanley’s shoulder and morphed in mid-air, dropping down onto the bed and pressing his arms behind his head. He was the boy again, with a head full of messy black curls and a goofy, childish grin. And he was naked, dress and boots left behind from his bird transformation moments earlier.

Stan, at least, seemed to have some sense and tossed a large black sweater that seemed to be advertising that Goonie movies from the early 80s. Richie shrugged it on and settled on his messy bed.

“Aren’t you going to… put pants on?” Eddie asked timidly.

Richie raised an eyebrow at him. “Why would I wear pants when I could just not wear pants?”

Eddie supposed he didn’t have an answer for that, and forced himself to look away from Richie’s legs. They were shaved, all the time apparently, and Eddie found it harder to look away than it should be. If the slight smirk on Richie’s lips meant anything, he could tell.

“What are you in for here, Eds?” Richie asked, and Eddie found his nerves almost instantly soothed by the sound. Despite the situation, and undeniable weirdness about his room mate, Eddie found himself comfortable with him already. Eddie hadn;t known many people in his life,  and he thought that should make him suspicious of strangers, but he’s found that not to be the case. Eddie was ready to throw himself to the potential love and acceptable of every person he passed in life.

Perhaps a weakness, but Eddie chose to see it as a strength. He could see that all of his belongings had made themselves already into the room somehow, so Eddie moved carefully to sit down on the bed crossed legged.

“Okay,” Stan said, glancing around at the space between their two beds. You could see where Richie’s well-worn room turned into Eddie’s brand new one, practically a line in the ground. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Stan turned to point at Richie. “Richie. Be nice.”

Richie pressed a hand to his chest, making a mockery of an insulted noise. “I’m always nice, Staniel. Thank you very much.”

Stan shot Eddie a small, very forced smile then ducked out of the room. Eddie could feel Richie’s eyes on him, and shivered. “Well.” Eddie cleared his throat awkwardly. “Aren’t you going to ask me? About why I’m here?”

“Nah, dude.” Richie shrugged, grabbing a rather thick looking book from underneath his pillow and opening it, leaning back against his bed with a bored expression. “That’s your business. You can tell me if you want-”

“I killed my boyfriend.” Eddie broke through Richie’s nice dismissal. Richie’s mouth froze mid-word,  eyebrows bouncing up underneath his messy curls. Eddie felt his entire body rush hot. “I didn’t mean to! It was an accident, I didn’t know-”

“Relax, kid.” Richie said, lowering his book and giving Eddie an amused expression. “If anybody thought you were dangerous, or evil, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be up at Juniper.”

“What…” Eddie cleared his throat. “What’s Juniper?”

Richie smirked. “All in good time, Eds. All in good time.”

⤿ Beverly Marsh hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of her. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, still resting angrily against the ground. Mike Hanlon kicked against her ankle, prompting another groan.

“You’re strong, Marsh.” Mike said, Beverly still refusing to open her eyes. She let herself remain against the cold floor, listening to the ages old lecture that Mike gave her during every sparring session they had together. “You’re stronger than maybe anybody who has ever been to this school.”

Beverly peaked up at him with one eye half open, wondering if she was truly about to be praised by the legendary Michael Hanlon. He held a hand out to her, and she grabbed it, allowing her to be pulled up to her feet. She stumbled slightly once she hit the ground, already healing quickly, but sore nonetheless. Mike was the only trainer who could ever leave her sore.

“Strength isn’t everything.” Mike said slowly, seriously. “If you’re going to win a fight, you need to fight with your mind as much as your physical strength. You might be able to win against some nobodies, or people untrained, just by throwing punches and kicks until you knock them out. But we have bigger enemies out there, Marsh. They won’t be taken down by pure brute force.”

“So you keep saying,” Beverly said dimly, narrowing her eyes at Mike and crossed her aching arms. “But you and Sir Uris Donald and Kay just keep talking about this big threat but you’ve never given any sort of evidence of it! We haven’t been at war for years! Decades! Not in our lifetime!”

“You’re wrong.” Mike shook his head slowly. “Our kind will always be fighting for our rights and our freedom- from those who would choose to ignore us, and from those who wish to see us extinct.”

“That will never happen.” Beverly said fiercely, shaking her head. “There’s too many of us, and we’re too fucking powerful. There’s no way a Civie government will be able to take us out! I’d like to see them try!”

“That might be so.” Mike said dryly. “But it’s not just Civies that would like to see our society in ruins.”

Beverly swallowed roughly, furrowing her brow. She shook her head and pursed her lips. “You can’t expect us to prepare for some bullshit war that you won’t explain and have no evidence of, Hanlon. It’s not fair. I know you’ve been cycling students out to troops ten times more often than to societies, that’s not how it’s supposed to go!”

“Do not raise your voice to me, Marsh.” Mike said harshly, but the pain in his eyes made Beverly’s stomach dropped. “You and Tozier should know better than anybody here why we’re constantly in preparation for war, I don’t know why you both continue to fight us in your training. We are only trying to help you and defend our people. War is coming, sooner than we’d like. Upperclassmen or not, you’re not entitled to any information until you completely finish your training. If you want information, if you want to know what is going on, let me train you.”  

Beverly nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, let’s go. Bring it on.” Beverly raised her arms, wincing at the ach in her limbs.

Mike let out a small laugh. “No. You’re done for today. Hot shower and sleep. We’ll meet again tomorrow morning, for laps.”

Beverly groaned, accepting the towel that Mike tossed at her while laughing.

⤿ Subject Nineteen dropped down to her knees, bowing her head. The room was silent around her, not even a single whisper coming through the crowds of people that were gathered. The Higher Power walked around her in a suit, polished to perfection, with the bright spurts of light coming out of his finger tips every time he completed the circle.

“Our time is coming!” The Higher Power shouted through the room. “No longer will we bend to the demands of Donald Uris and his spineless heroes!” The crowd all screamed, applauding the declaration. “No longer will we act as lesser than the civilizations that cannot stand before us!” More screaming, more applauding. “We stand now, our own free people, to take the world that we deserve! We will not be silenced anymore!”

The screaming was almost deafening and Subject Nineteen wrinkled her nose at the noise.

“Daughter. Stand.” The Higher Power said, lifting his hand as sparks shot out towards her. Subject Nineteen rose immediately, standing with the straightest posture and looking over the Higher Power’s shoulder, knowing to never meet his eye. “You have out shone every other child of mine, gone above and beyond what I could have ever dreamed. And now, daughter, you go forth and you do the unthinkable- you make our path to freedom. Our future society rests on you.”

The Higher Power handed forward pieces of paper, and a bag of what appeared to be clothes. Subject Nineteen accepted them, nodding curtly. The Higher Power turned back to the crowd and spread his arms wide. “My daughter will join the Uris Society and rumble it from the inside, so that we may come in and ruin it beyond repair. Our saviour.”

As the crowds screamed for her, bowing towards her, Subject Nineteen looked down at the papers in her hand.

MAINE CERTIFICATE OF BIRTH. Blum, Patricia Marriott.

[msjr0119]

Why me?

Part 2 -Return to the Big Apple

Riley is forced out of Cordonia unknowingly to her friends, and moves back to New York.

She is later faced with her past from Cordonia and is hiding a few new secrets. With the help from her New York friends and friends from Cordonia will she escape her current situation and find her happy ever after?

Tags- @drakesensworld @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @choiceslover-24-7 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley - tagged the people who liked/reblogged the introduction.

“What do you mean gone? She’s probably gone for a walk or something?”

He knew she was upset, and people react in different ways to deal with stress. Riley loved the maze, he immediately thought she would be having some time to think there.

“Sir? All her possessions have gone. She’s left. I’m so sorry.”

Liam still in denial, couldn’t believe that she would leave considering what had happened to everyone last 24hours. They should all be uniting and fighting this together, but instead it was as if people were mourning- keeping their heads down low and the silent nods to each other acknowledging that everyone felt the same;shock, sadness, fear. It had affected not only the Crown and Royal family- but the country and her people as well.

Was she really that selfish? He thought, as he balled his fists and punched the mirror on her dressing table- shards of glass shattered everywhere. Liam bit his lip as he brought his hands over his face- the anger had built up an adrenaline rush feeling no pain as his fist his the glass. He knew he would regret this action once the effect of rush disappeared.

“I can’t believe her! She is unbelievable! What coward leaves when her friend is fighting for his life? Bastien get the guards to look for her now! In the meantime we need to go and see Drake. Show him that there are people here who care about his wellbeing.”

Bastien nodded, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t stop thinking about Riley. What exactly happened in the study? He already had doubts about Constantine’s story of events. Jackson Walker had previously warned him not to believe a word his majesty said when it came to protecting his country and any secrets that the crown held.

They arrived at the hospital through the back entrance to avoid the press who were camping outside the entrance like vultures. On arrival to Drake’s room, their friends looked concerned when Riley hadn’t accompanied them.

“If your all looking at me wondering where Riley is, she’s ran away. Only a coward would run. Leave her in New York, I am done with her!”

Liam spat at his friends, knowing what they were thinking wearing all the same facial expression.

“Liam, that is not Riley. She wouldn’t leave without saying bye!” Maxwell exclaimed.

“Maxwell. She has gone. End of story. Forget about her! We all need to forget about her! Now I’m going in to see Drake.”

Liam took a deep breath before entering the room, not knowing exactly what to expect when seeing his best friend laid up in the hospital bed- would Drake remember that night? He fixed a smile on his face before entering.

“Drake! Glad to see that you are awake. You gave us all a fright! How are you feeling?”

Drake removed his oxygen mask slowly, and tried to get comfy - his facial expression showing him hiding the excruciating pain he had.

“Like someone shot me! How do you think I feel Li? Where’s Brooks? Is she okay? I didn’t think.. she was just stood there... I...”

“Drake, she’s erm.... she’s fine. But she’s returned to New York. She doesn’t want anyone to contact her.”

“What!!! Are you kidding me? I need to see her Li! Why didn’t you stop her?”

The blood pressure machine that was connected to drake was going ten to a dozen. He really didn’t need anymore stress. Riley was the love of his life- the only woman who understood him and all his flaws.

Anger was building up inside of Liam. He didn’t have chance to stop her. He didn’t know. Was his anger based on Riley leaving or was it a mixture of emotions from the events that had happened the night before? Just as he was going to answer, the Doctor walked in.

“Mr Walker, I’m Doctor Ali. You need to calm down. We don’t want you to injure yourself anymore. We are just going to check your observations and the wound. When you arrived, we cleaned it up but you needed emergency surgery. You lost a lot of blood during the surgery and your blood pressure increased more than we expected it to do. We thought your body was potentially going to go into Hypovolemic shock. However we managed to stop the bleeding, you are on the road to recovery, thanks to Lady Riley’s quick thinking and the response time from the paramedics. We will keep you in for a few days for observations, then we will discuss discharging you.”

Both Drake and Liam nodded, as Doctor Ali updated his records and walked out of the room. Both their hearts sank at the mention of her name.

“Li what does he mean by Brooks’s quick thinking? What the hell happened?”

Liam didn’t know himself, he had been escorted out by a group of the kings guard. Guilt began going through Liam’s mind that he wasn’t able to help his friends and his people. Thinking about how to respond, he was interrupted as Bastien walked in.

“Drake my son. It’s good to see you! .... And to answer your question- Lady Riley ripped her dress apart and tied it around your wound to add pressure to prevent the bleeding. You wasn’t responding and she began CPR on you until the medical assistance arrived. She ignored the Kings orders to get out for her own safety.”

Both men looked at Bastien, with tears falling from their eyes. Drake had saved her life, and she refused to leave him and help save his. Liam wiped his wet cheeks and turned to Bastien, feeling guilty about what he said about Riley when she had left.

“Bastien, have you got any updates on Lady Riley’s whereabouts?”

“Unfortunately not Sir. But we are working on it. Before she left, I saw her....”

Bastien pauses as he began thinking about whether he should tell them the truth about what he saw- jeopardising his job. He didn’t want them to paint a bad characteristic of her, she loved them both. And she deserved more respect.

“And!” Liam raised his tone.

“And.. I found her in the study with a red arm, she was emotional and the King Father was on the floor in pain. I assume they had a fight. I heard her scream my name and I immediately ran there. That was the last time I saw her when she left the study... the last thing she said to me was ‘Excuse me’.....”

********

The note was written and her bags were packed. Riley snuck out of the palace, hoping she didn’t see anyone- this was like mission impossible considering how many of her friends were staying at the palace. Not to mention all the kings guards on duty for the extra security. Once she had walked out, she turned back to face the beautifully designed architecture of the Palace. It was still like something out of a fairytale, the swaying trees following the direction of the night air, the lights making the whole area sparkle like crystals. All the memories she had came flooding back.

Fighting back the tears she got in the car and went to the airport- never looking back.

Goodbye Cordonia. I’m sorry.

Riley had fallen asleep on the flight back to New York, even though she was fighting it. She awoke to the Pilot announcing that they was landing shortly at LaGuardia Airport and to prepare for the landing. Rubbing her puffed up eyes, she put her seatbelt back on and got all her belongings together, ready to leave immediately after they had landed.

Once they landed, checking through the security was quick. She stepped outside, breathing in the cold New York air, waiting nervously for the shuttle bus to the taxi stand. Eventually it was her turn for the next taxi, getting in feeling exhausted and not knowing where to go, the driver asked “where to Miss?” She knew the only place where she would see a friendly face- The Dive Bar, Lower Manhattan.

It had started raining, Riley had no coat so ran out of the taxi and towards the bar. After crossing the road, she felt someone grab her arm. She screamed thinking about Constantine doing the same thing, the flashback appearing in her mind. The person who grabbed her, pushed her to the floor and stole her purse. She couldn’t even identify what they looked like due to them wearing a hoodie covering their face.

For fuck sake. This is karma for being such a failure at everything.

“Hey! Are you okay? I just saw what happened? Bastards! Do you want me to run after them?”

Riley looked up at the man, he was handsome she thought, even when he ran towards her out of breath. He put his hand out and pulled her up. She stared into his baby blue eyes, they sparkled. His hair was dark and wavy. Riley couldn’t deny that he wasn’t good looking, he was like her knight in shining armour.

“Erm, thanks but they will be long gone now. Fools on them- there was only a few dollars in it. I’m Riley.”

“Cooper. Nate Cooper. Nice to meet you Riley. Are you from around here?”

“I used to be. I’ve just returned home after a few months away, I am never leaving ever again.”

She laughed to cover the hurt she was feeling, all the emotions she had been through in the last 24hours.

“Nice to know your not leaving. Could maybe meet up at some point?”

“Yeah sure.”

Nate handed her his business card with his number on it. Riley stared at it as he gave it her, debating whether to actually contact him or to just throw it in the bin.

Of course he’s a lawyer, Riley thought- the price tag of that suit would explain it all. Although the stereotypical image of a lawyer is to be arrogant and dishonest. This man gave the first impression of being anything like those stereotypes.

“Ring or text me when your settled back in.”

“Thanks Nate. I will. Goodnight.”

**********

Riley walked towards the bars door, hesitating, thinking what if Daniel didn’t work there anymore? Meeting Nate made her blank thoughts about Cordonia for a while. It’s good to be home- she thought. It’s going to be okay.

Riley entered the bar, it was still the same shithole, with the same regulars slumped up against the almost empty bar. She spotted a man who turned around with a surprised expression.

“Riley? Oo my god! Are you okay?”

Riley ran up to her friend Daniel, hugging him so tight that he could have easily suffocated before she burst into tears.

“Hey hey, what’s happened?”

Daniel wiped her tears away, placed his finger under her chin to lift it up, so she had eye contact with him.

“Dan, I’ve fucked up. My life is a fucking shitstorm waiting for more shit to happen. I’m so annoyed with myself, and how my decisions have always been wrong. Can I have a whiskey please? Or maybe 2 or 3? You’ll have to put it on a tab though....to make things worse I’ve just been mugged outside.”

She forced a smile and sat down in a booth- her hands covering her face, the rain water dripping from her long natural curly hair onto the table. Daniel grabbed her a drink and joined her.

“Don’t worry about the tab, this is on me.”

“Thanks. Shouldn’t you be working?”

“Nah, I technically finished ten minutes ago. You staying in New York?”

“Yeah I’m back home. Can I stay with you until I get back on my feet?”

[dimancheetoile]

summer is sweet (but blood is sweeter)

part 3 of the “The Haruno Clan is a samurai clan” AU

part 1 - part 2

ShikaSaku - rated T

read it on AO3

“So you won't take the citizenship?”

Sakura snorts. She takes her eyes off the blade she's sharpening and eyes the bandages around Shikamaru's hand. He looks away, so she goes back to her blade.

“I'm not sure what you'll be able to do in the village,” he says, something slightly haughty in his voice.

She gives him the side-eye. “Are you really so privileged? I know you're from a clan, but is it such a rich one that you can afford your obliviousness?”

“You don't need to speak to me like that.”

She laughs, sharp and quick like the katana she's sheathing back. “There is always need of a blade for hire in a hidden village, shinobi-kun. If only because you're all so expensive most of the citizens can't afford you. And trust me, that's enough for bloody business to develop in the underground. If you're too blind to see that, maybe you all need a crash course in politics.” She ties the katana to her hip. “I can't believe I'm more knowledgable on the issue than you are.”

Shikamaru crosses his arms. “That might be true in Kiri, or Suna, but I really don't think we have that going on in Konoha.”

Her wide eyes are mocking him. She doesn't answer, but her snort of laughter is enough. “We'll see how long it takes me to find a job, Shikamaru. In the meantime, go back to your diplomacy and flashy fights. It looks to me like you ninja don't know how to do anything else.”

She leaves him behind without another word. The more time she spends in Konoha, the more disappointed she is in everything and everyone. Especially Shikamaru. Bastard. I thought I could trust you. She should have known better than to place her hopes in a man willing to lie with a woman like her. That might just have been his plan all along, after all. Didn't he get his intel, without having to infiltrate anything more than her cousin's ass? And he got a free lay with Sakura. How foolish of her.

The inn she's staying at was picked by the Hokage, so it's full to the brim with shinobi who don't have a qualm talking about village business where she can hear it. All the more for her if she decides to leave. That kind of intel might just save her life once she's out.

They look at her funny when she gets inside, probably because the first thing she did after the Hokage paid her for her secrets was to buy a battle kimono.

In pure spite, she had chosen a bright orange one, with a muddy yellow haori. The armour she wears to protect her chest is dark red and it clashes horribly with both her hair and the colour of the kimono. She hates it. It's awesome. She's everything but discreet and it offers her the perfect kind of attention.

No one takes a fighter seriously dressed in those colours. All the better that she carries the protection seal of the Hokage, because in that case, it means she can afford to dress like that precisely because she's dangerous as fuck.

She likes the looks the shinobi send her. The youngest ones are chuckling, trying not to show too much how ridiculous they think she looks. The oldest, the toughest ones? They eye her like she's rogue Mist, and she revels in it. She gets a seat at the back of the room, beneath a window facing the busy street. It's early evening and families are still outside.

A waitress with a missing eye and a deep burn scar on the neck comes to take her order. A wave of nostalgia washes over her body, the feeling of uncertainty in her recent decisions making her sick. So she asks for a bottle of plum liquor from Iron, the alcohol she's enjoyed the most since her father made her drink herself sick when she was ten.

It doesn't surprise her when, a second after the waitress disappear, three shinobi sit in front of her. She eyes them warily. The first one is dressed all in green, and his dark hair reminds her of the nobles at the daimyō's court . She tenses at the danger he inspires in her. He might look goofy, but his aura is way too strong, and his broad shoulders speak of incredible strength.

The second man has red tattoos on his cheeks, and she's sure she's seen them somewhere before. His grin is feral, so she looks away quickly to find the only woman, just as broad-shouldered as the first man, her tan skin healthy in the setting sun.

“What can I do for you, shinobi?”

The tattooed man smirks. “We thought we'd get to know each other, rōnin-sama. Hinata had a lot to say about you.”

Why does she know that name? Oh, Kami. He's on first name basis with the Hokage. Just great. At least he wasn't being sarcastic when he used the honorific. And that's when she recognises the marks.

“You're an Inuzuka!”

“Yes, I am,” he grins, proud and loud like only clan children can be.

Sakura stares, like he's a piece of jewellery on display. What an odd sight, that confidence, that trust in the safety of his home. Then again, he knows the Hokage well enough to call her by her first name. No wonder he can smile like that.

“I've worked with yours before,” she says, careful not to say too much. She's unsure of how well-spread the news of her treason are. “You respect our work. I appreciate that.”

His nod is sincere. “Samurai are great trackers, even better hunters. We complement each others. The Inuzuka have a great deal of respect for your art, swordsman.”

She hums pensively, almost liking that young man who trusts too much and thinks swordsmanship is an art. “So what's your deal? Why come talk to me?”

“'cause you brought Shika back,” the woman says finally.

“And thanks to you, we can now take down the Haruno spies in our precious village, my lady rōnin,” the dark-haired man adds. And that answers what they know about her situation. She has to take a minute to swallow the fact that secrets are so easily shared in a supposedly hidden village.

“I'm Inuzuka Kiba. This is Rock Lee and Hyūga Tenten.”

Sakura does a double-take. That woman looks nothing like a Hyūga. She must have married inside the clan, which makes it all the more obvious that those people have a high position in Konoha politics.

“If it's alright with you, we'd like to introduce you to the rest of our friends,” Tenten says. “They're very excited to meet you.”

Sakura doesn't even try to hide the disbelief on her face. “Sure, I guess.”

“Right, follow us, then!”

Because, apparently, the rest of their friends is sitting a few metres away and has been listening to their entire exchange. Konoha fuckers. There's a lot of them, but they already made room for her and the three who came to get her, so she can't use that as an excuse to get the fuck out of that bar.

She's about to sit when a familiar ponytail catches her attention. She has to blink a few times, because that can't be happening, that's not possible, she was—

“I thought you were dead,” Sakura whispers, her voice cracking as she stares.

The chatter at the table quiets down, everyone having caught on what she just said. Something is stuck in her throat. She wants to cry.

“I thought you were dead,” she repeats, a sob echoing in the last word. “They told me you were executed. They told me it was my fault!”

She can't stop the tears from coming. For years, she had burnt incense at the little shrine she built in secret, deep in the Haruno Estate. She had prayed every day for forgiveness, for the rest of the spirit of her oldest, dearest friend. The only person she was every allowed to talk to. Until they tried to escape together, servant and master, hand in hand.

“They brought me back your hair and told me I would never be allowed to speak to another child until I completed my training,” she says, bitterness coating her tongue. “I was whipped once for every day we spent together,” she adds, her voice low, and that gets a gasp from the ghost in front of her. “We knew each other for five hundred and ninety-eight days.”

“Ojō-sama...”

“DON'T CALL ME THAT!”

A low whine escapes from her throat, her sobs unstoppable.

“Was Shira even your real name?” Her laugh is hysterical. “Of course not. After all, you were just a Leaf spy sent to steal our secrets.” She looks at all the blank faces around the table, some shocked, most of them grim. “Here I thought hidden villages were soft. But sending a ten-year-old to spy on an even younger child? That takes some guts. I'm impressed,” she spits.

“Sakura? Ino? Is everything okay?”

She turns around, finding Shikamaru looking at them with worry. She shakes her head, nausea making her take a stabilizing step back.

“Enjoy your evening, Ino-chan.”

She leaves the tavern without looking back.

[gold-from-straw]

Reassembled - final chapter!

I’ve never had a story take THIS LONG to finish before omg! (well, apart from all those half-finished first drafts of novels I’ve got in my drawer... shhh!) I think this is finally done, though I’m not ruling out some future fluffy slice of life scenes, similar to the ones I started with! If you’d like to read from the beginning, here it is, but otherwise, here’s a chapter of Frigga being the true BAMF that she is ^_^

Frigga felt the adrenaline rise in her blood as she followed her husband into the mortal’s conference room. With a tiny nod to her, Agent Coulson placed the slim tablet on the table and retreated, closing the door behind her, the Allfather, and their guards.

“Frigga,” he said, his voice as steel-lined as it always was in his dealings with diplomats and his second son. “I demand to know the meaning of this behaviour.”

“If you will not listen to reason, husband…”

“Listening to reason is one thing entirely, and you know you have my ear at any other time. But to present a disunited front to a clan of simple-minded mortals? This is unlike you. You have always been a consummate diplomat.”

Frigga snorted and dropped her facade of patience. “Do not treat me as some vassal or disappointing apprentice. You know very well what has driven me to these ends.”

“Loki,” he growled.

“Indeed, Loki. Your son. Or, as you have made clear, my son alone.”

“He has never been your son. He is but a political prisoner who has been treated extraordinarily well, and has repaid such treatment with dishonour and treachery!”

Frigga did not allow the pain in her heart to show on her face. How had she let things get so far? “He is not a tool, Odin, but a young man, a prince, of whom you should be proud. He has forsaken his birthright—“

“His birthright was to die as a child, abandoned on a rock!” Odin roared. “It was I who saved him from such a fate, who brought him to not only safety but a life of opulence. But of course, I should have known better than to expect loyalty from a Frost Giant.”

Frigga gritted her teeth. “Loyalty is earned by more than a single act carried out in secret.”

“Indeed, but it is usually expected of a son towards his father!”

Odin’s hypocrisy had long driven Frigga to circular arguments, and with an effort, she suppressed the expression of surprise that she longed to make, that suddenly Odin called Loki ‘son’ once more. “That sort of blind loyalty is what leads misguided young men to attack another realm, having learned to demand absolute obedience from their subject at their father’s knee. You cannot have it both ways, Odin!”

“And now you would have that attack go unpunished?” he demanded, as if seeing a weakness at which to strike. “You dare to speak for the Jotun, say that the attacker of their world should be allowed to frolic in freedom with his new pets rather than serve time for his attempted destruction of their entire realm?”

“I had been referencing Thor’s invasion, but now that you mention it…” Frigga worked quickly, not sure when she would get a better opening. With a gesture, one of her handmaidens brought forth the prepared anchor for the communication portal, and Frigga opened it with a burst of magic. “Helblindi, can you hear me?”

The Jotun king appeared in the portal, only his chest and head in view, and behind him, an entire court, arms clasped in respect and apprehension. “I see you, Queen Frigga. Well met.”

“Well met, indeed.” She stepped back so Odin was in view, and saw him straighten and apply his regal mask, face impassive. “I received your communique and was delighted to hear of the return of your people’s fortune.”

Helblindi bowed his head, as they had rehearsed. “Indeed, your majesty. It is my deep pleasure to report that the replacement Casket is working better than any of us could ever have expected.”

Frigga noticed the sudden tension almost radiating from Odin in sharp spikes, and offered up a desperate prayer to the Norns, but Helblindi was as talented a wordsmith and showman as his brother. He stepped aside to show the green-blue artefact glowing at the centre of the great temple, surrounded by a people who looked, already, so much healthier than they had done the last many centuries. “When we received word that the Casket of Ancient Winters had been lost, we were in despair. And then, to hear that you, Odin Allfather, were sending your own two sons to bring succour to our people and to repair the damage they had wrought! It was a balm to freeze many a heart molten in grief. This replacement has already done so much for our world, and will surely stand as a symbol of peace between our two great realms for millennia to come. I look forward to resuming diplomatic exchanges and trade in the next few months ahead.”

Frigga did not allow her smile to change in quality in any way, even though she wanted to bark an hysterical laugh at the Jotun king’s audacity, sneaking in that last statement that they had not discussed. She felt pride glow in her heart. This Helblindi may be young, but he would be no toadying fool, and he would grasp everything he could for the good of his people.

If Odin did not call their bluff, and declare outright war for their deception.

When Odin smiled through gritted teeth and inclined his head graciously, Frigga nearly wept in relief. “I am glad to see our reparations have been well received. Let us walk together towards a more peaceful relationship between our two great lands as once we did, and put the foolishness of the war behind us where it belongs.”

At his words, the Jotun court raised their hands and ululated in joy. Helblindi’s face split into a genuine smile that made Frigga’s heart ache. He looked so much like her Loki in one of his rare unguarded moments.

As the final platitudes were exchanged, and the portal closed, Frigga took a moment to savour the tentative victory before turning to face Odin again. He looked at her, expression blank, and she felt the anxiety of a young bride still battling an arrangement. She straightened her back, and smiled instead of cringing. She would win this time. “It appears there is no crime to punish.”

He stood in silence for a moment. “Leave us,” he said softly to the Einherjar and her maidens both. The women looked, with no uncertainty, towards her before they made any move to obey. Frigga saw his temper rise and told herself she was not afraid, simply excited at having won another point. She held his gaze and said aloud, “will you give my husband and I our privacy, handmaidens?”

The women bowed as one. Their long, elegant skirts would never shift to show the extent of their freedom, the number of weapons they concealed. The loose bodices appeared to conceal plump chests and bellies, but instead guarded lightweight dwarven armour and powerful muscle. Frigga had trained each and every one of her maidens, and they knew well that she could protect herself without them, too. They turned and walked demurely to the door, curtsying daintily to the Einherjar who held it open for them.

Odin waited until the sound of footsteps had faded to stillness, the loyal servants just outside at wait in the corridor. At last he spoke, his voice as expressionless as his face. “You dare defy me like this?”

“I dare much more in the name of my children,” she said, and unlike him, allowed her voice to fill with just a hint of the depths to which she would go. To which she should have gone many years before.

“You seem to think you are indispensable to me.”

She shook her head, and her blood thundered in her ears. “Indeed, I know otherwise, husband. I know there are none you would not forsake in your pursuit of power.”

“Of power?” he demanded. “Have I not been a faithful guardian of all nine realms for millennia? Have I not cared for your realm, and all others, keeping them safe from the marauders of the rest of the galaxy? How deep does this betrayal go, Frigga?”

The hint of hurt in his voice almost caught her, but she shook her head, as a cue to herself as much as him. “Do you know, Odin, that the humans have words for such as you? Narcissist. Abuser.”

“Abuse!” He scoffed. “You know not the meaning of the word! I have never treated you or our children with any cruelty, and only brought punishment for crimes that deserved it! As with any of my subjects, had their behaviour been above reproach, there would have been no reproach. All punishment was brought to them by their own hand.”

“There is a word they have for such insidiousness too,” she continued, almost conversationally. “They call it gaslighting. When a person in power manipulates another to believe that they are misremembering events, or feeling emotions incorrectly, or thinking incorrectly. As a woman who has long been lauded for her intelligence, I am ashamed that I have allowed it to continue so long, but I have been assured that there is no shame to be placed at the victim’s door. And yes, I am not ashamed to count myself a victim either. What I am ashamed about is that I have allowed you to victimise our sons, particularly Loki, for so many centuries in this way. Indeed, I have added to his suffering, telling him you have a reason for all you do, when even I could not see it. That ends today, Odin. You have stricken Loki from your bloodline, but I have taken him into mine. He is my son, and I shall allow no-one to threaten him, or his brother.”

“And so, because Frigga wills it, he is now free to commit his crimes across the galaxy?” Odin scoffed.

Frigga did not allow him to continue. She had come to the end of her patience, and it was time to bring this conversation to a close. “I know about Hela.”

Odin’s voice, his very breathing, seemed to come to an abrupt end. He stared at her, and Frigga wondered if the faintest hint of fear had crept into his visage. “Hela.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Your firstborn child. She who fought to please you in every way, and when she became too much of a threat - too much like you - she was locked away. I imagine she would be interested to receive another visit from her stepmother.”

“You would not—“

“I would,” she said, and could not hold back the viciousness. “I have failed my children, I have held back while I watched you build them up only to tear them down, time and time again. Make unreasonable demands, and then punish them for failing and for succeeding in meeting your expectations. You have wanted puppets, and will never see the worth in any of your children as they are, as I have wished for so long. It is over, Odin Allfather. Should you ever make a threat on either myself or my children, I shall not hesitate to ally myself with Hela.”

Odin was on her in an instant, his hands at her throat. “I should kill you where you stand!”

She smiled, calmed her heart. “And do you think I have not prepared for such an eventuality? You may never have admitted it aloud, but you know in your heart it is true - I have always been more skilled at magic than you, and have always been able to find a hole in your workings.”

Odin’s face paled. He stepped back and she stood upright once more, not allowing herself to touch her throat, to breathe any differently. It was no empty threat. Should she die, Hela’s prison would become her throne, all of Frigga’s power flooding her veins. She would prefer a longer term approach, one which would temper the poor girl’s broken fury, and she had… plans to that effect. But if safety was denied her and her sons, she would settle for revenge.

Without a word, Odin swept from the room. Frigga waited until he had marched down the corridor before slumping slightly, taking a deep breath.

She walked over to Agent Coulson’s tablet and lifted it from the desk, turning it so that the screen faced upwards. “Agent Fury, it is good to see you once more.”

“The honour is all mine, your Majesty,” said the image of Fury on the screen. He sat behind a great wooden desk, hands clasped in front of him. “I’m glad to see you remain unharmed. I must admit to being concerned there once or twice.”

She smiled and was glad the man had only been able to hear, not see, else the assassins she was sure he had secreted around the room would have surely come to her rescue, as unnecessary as it was. “Your support and hospitality has been invaluable, Agent,” she said instead. “I believe we have been successful in our endeavour.”

He nodded once. “It sounds that way, for now. And you’re sure Odin will not decide to attack at a later date?”

She shook her head. “He may have done so had he been able to reach Midgard earlier. But with the destruction of the Bifrost, he has been forced to only observe your world, and see the full power of your heroes. Not only yours, but those in Japan, Wakanda, England, and many others. Beyond that, the simple force of numbers of you humans has been enough to give him pause. Even so, as we discussed, my handmaidens will each be dispatched to provide the gifts you requested.”

“A pleasure doing business with you, your Majesty. With the apples distributed carefully we may have some chance of protecting our world in the long run… the very long run.”

“It will almost certainly be the last time we can provide such a payment for your assistance. I hope you have taken that into consideration?”

“Princess Shuri of Wakanda has several contingency plans already in place,” he said. “And I imagine Stark and Banner will be able to take similar steps.”

Frigga allowed a full grin to split her face. “In that case, I shall leave you to your logistics,” she said. “Well met, Agent Fury.”

“God speed,” he said wryly, and the screen went blank.

She left it on the table, then stepped out into the corridor. Her handmaidens arranged themselves at her back as she walked out into the common room to see her sons, her beloved sons, in a tight embrace, Loki sobbing in his brother’s arms as Thor comforted him. For a moment she wasn’t sure she would be able to speak around the lump in her throat. When she did it was a croak. “My sons.”

[autisticblueteam]

Fluff Week: Connie meets Wash for the first time

@secretlystephaniebrown thanks for the prompt!

Unexpected

[AO3] [Fic Tag] [Ko-Fi in Bio]

Word Count: 1548

Summary: Connie isn’t quite sure what to expect when she gets assigned her new secondary field partner, Agent Washington, but it definitely wasn’t this.

When Connie got assigned her new secondary field partner,she wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Agent Washington. Weapons expert; twenty-five years old; bornon a colony with a primarily Korean population; did his basic training in theLeonis Minoris system; and one of the unlucky few to have seen active combatagainst the Covenant before ending up here. On record she only knew hiscodename and speciality, but she had always preferred knowing what exactly itwas she was dealing with. So she’d taken a few liberties. As it turned out, theProject’s security wasn’t very well constructed; she figured she better warnthem about that sooner or later.

Her initial impressions based on that information were thathe would likely be someone rather like Agent Maine seemed, before you got toknow them: quiet, professional, a ‘get the job done and don’t bother me after’kind of guy. He’d seen the front lines of the war and was here for the reasoneveryone else told themselves they were here for− being part of the magicbullet program that was going to endthe war.

So, stoic and serious made sense. It was a personality typethat was kind of lacking around here, anyway.

The first time she met him was an entirely professionalsetting, with the Director and the Counselor there to introduce them and watchingtheir every move. Washington seemed to be everything she’d assumed he would be;he stood ramrod straight to attention, spoke only when spoken to, and remaineddead silent when they were dismissed to go prepare for their training.

Connie didn’t dare break the silence as they walkedtogether, barely risking glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He lookedtoo young to be here, baby-faced as anything despite the various small scarsthat littered his complexion and blotted out patches of freckles. Black rootsat the base of pale blonde hair gave away his habit of bleaching it, and hishair itself had a certain fluffiness to it where it was starting to grow out ofthe regulation cut. Really he didn’t lookmuch like what she’d imagined, but appearances could be deceptive.

“So,” Connie started, once they split off to their ownlockers, “how long have you been on board?”

“Huh? Oh, a week or so,” Washington replied whilst inputtinghis locker code. Didn’t look like he’d changed it off the default yet− no.Connie mentally smacked her own hand, stop.“The Director’s mostly been having me run evaluations, just to double checkthat my original tests still check out. Only got to work with my primarypartner yesterday.”

“Maine, right?”

“Yeah.”

With that, the silence returned. Connie sighed; well thatdidn’t work quite as well as she’d hoped. Training together better produce someresults, because right now she was running blank on how to−

Behind her, Washington groaned. “Shit, stay upright, come on−”

Curious, Connie peered back over her shoulder. Washington wasstood with one leg either side of the bench and she caught him elbowing thelocker door to make it stay open, only for it to hit the limits of its hingesand swing right back. It struck him hard on the elbow he’d used and he all but yelped, grasping at his elbow andletting go of whatever it was he was fussing with beforehand. Clatteringfollowed, something toppling out of his locker onto the floor and− rolling?

…Was that a skateboard?

That was a skateboard. There was a skateboard rollingtowards her.

She stopped the board with her foot, looking up atWashington with his deer in the headlights expression and giving him a raisedbrow. There was an amused smile fighting its way onto her face, her lipstwitching, but she folded her arms to keep up the ‘stern’ exterior.

“You have a skateboardin your locker, Agent Washington?” She said, trying and failing to keep theteasing tone out of her voice. Tapping a finger against her arm, she shook herhead and tutted. “This is a serious military project, Agent. There’s no timefor such frivolities as skateboarding,don’t you know?”

All of her preconceived notions of Washington disappearedwith the utterly awkward way he began to stumble over his words. “I didn’t− Ijust− I only− uhhh−”

Connie couldn’t let it go on any longer, she burst into laughter.“Washington, calm down, I’m just messing with you. You don’t need to give meexcuses.”

“Oh. Oh good.” His body language loosened all at once, andhe gave a laugh. “Because I got nothing.”

“So, skateboarder huh?” She rolled the board back towardshim, and he stopped it with his foot, flipped it up into his hand. He grinned,the sort of goofy grin that lit up his whole face, and turned to put it away inhis locker again.

“Sorta? I can do a few tricks, nothing super fancy,” Hesaid, shrugging. “I kinda just brought everything I own with me, there’s not alot.”

“Well, that makes sense.” Thoroughly distracted, she crossedover to the other row of lockers and peeped past Washington. “Is that food fromthe mess hall? Naughty.”

“I was hungry after all the evaluations! I just, y’know,made it easier to get food during breaks,” Washington said, flicking the swirlystraw that stood in an old can. Connie reached past, swiped a packet of driedfruit from the shelf. “Wow, right in front of me huh?”

“You stole it first,” Connie pointed out.

“Fair point.”

Connie elbowed him in the side, tucked the packet into the pocketof her formal uniform for later. Examining the contents of his locker further,she caught sight of the photos on the back and smiled.

“Cats! Oh they’re so cute!” She said, pushing up onto hertip toes. “What’re their names?”

Wash seemed delighted at the question, pointing at each ofthe cats in turn. “That’s Ari, and that’s Skyler. A friend back home’s lookingafter them, sends me pictures sometimes. Those are the latest, from before Igot recruited here.”

“You know, those are the best pictures I’ve seen anyone hangin their lockers. I know at least one of the others has pin-ups taped to theinside of the door,” Connie said, sitting herself down on the bench in front ofWashington’s locker. When Washington gave her what she read as an incredulouslook, she nodded. “Who needs family photos when you can have sexy ones, huh?”

Not that they’d probably be allowed family photos, honestlyshe was surprised Washington had even swung his cats, but that wasn’t thepoint.

The comment got her another laugh. Washington reached intothe back of his locker, touching the faces of the cats in the photographs for amoment with a sigh. It was a moment that Connie could relate to, thinking backto the photos of her mothers she’d smuggled along on her data-pad.

“You’re a lot… friendlier than I expected, Connecticut,” Hesaid after a moment. Reaching behind his neck he unfastened a clasp, pulled outa cat shaped chew on the end of a necklace that she hadn’t noticed under hisuniform.

Connie laughed, shook her head. “Oh god, it’s Connie, please. Connecticut is such a mouthful. The onlypeople who call me that are the Director and the Counselor.”

“It is kind of amouthful,” Wash agreed.

“What did you think I was gonna be like? I’m offended, Wash.”Then, “Can I call you Wash?”

“Uh− yeah, sure.” The smile that flashed on his face didn’tgo unnoticed. “Well, I don’t know, you guys up here in Alpha squad are meant tobe like− the best of the best! I guess I expected you to be a little more… Idon’t know.”

“Snooty?” Connie said, raising a brow.

“I guess?”

“Well, don’t worry, there’s none of that here. Well, not alot. Wyoming accounts for most of it.” Grinning mischievously, she leanttowards Wash and stage-whispered, “Wyoming has a photo of his favourite teapotin his locker.”

Wash blinked. “…Really?”

“Really.”

“How do you knowthese things?” He stripped off his uniform’s shirt, revealing a tank topunderneath, and folded it up to put away.

“I know a lot of things. I’m the intelligence specialist, it’smy job,” Connie said, swinging her legs. “Stay on my good side, and it’ll be anasset.”

Wash raised a brow, fidgeting with the fly on his pants. “Andget on your bad side?”

“Well let’s hope you won’t find that out, Wash.”

“Okay, scared now,” Wash said, making Connie laugh. Hoppingup from the bench, she elbowed him in the hip.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t,” She said, then sighed. “GuessI better get ready to join you for our partnership evaluation. I’ll go grab mysuit.”

She headed down the row to go towards their actual armourlockers, ready to retrieve her undersuit and armour, but as she turned thecorner she stopped. Taking a step back and leaning around the final locker, shecalled over.

“You know, you didn’t turn out quite like I expected you to either,Wash.”

“In a good way, or a bad way?”

“Definitely a goodway. You need to teach me how to skateboard, sometime.”

“Heh, sure thing.”

[sasusakufestival]

The Girl Who Waited

Summary:Somewhere along the line while she was on his team, learning to become a shinobi alongside him, Sasuke stopped being just a good-looking, smart boy to her. Sakura got to know him – the darkness he wore like armour, and the light he only revealed in his rarest, most unguarded moments. [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 1 – Prompt: “Valentine’s Day”]

Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. A gaggle of pre-teen girls will taunt you a second time should you be found plagiarizing.

Warning: Spoilers for pretty much everything up to Chapter 699.

Canon-Compliance: As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during Part I, Part II and the Blank Period.

Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before An Inch of Gold and Unplanned.

AN: OC alert! There is an OC in this story! Ohmygosh!

Beta Reader: Sakura’s Unicorn

_____________________________________________________________________

一

Nine-year-old Sakura Haruno hides behind the shoji door of the classroom, clutching an immaculately wrapped package to her chest. Her heart beats a frantic rhythm against her ribs so loud that she thinks even he can hear it inside the room.

After all, Sasuke Uchiha is a prodigy who can already do so much more than the other students at the Academy. Super-hearing would not be that unbelievable.

Her stomach flip-flops a little, and she would tighten her fingers around the large box if she didn’t fear tearing the paper; the lady at the sweets stall did such a nice job wrapping it. Sakura didn’t even consider doing it herself because she’s all thumbs these days, and this gift has to be perfect. After all, she saved her pocket money from a year’s worth of chores so she could afford the finest box of chocolates they had.

It’s still not as nice as the one she saw last year in the fancy gourmet chocolate shop. Her mother wouldn’t let her buy it; Mama said it was a waste, and they don’t have a lot of money to begin with. That’s why Sakura had to save up this year.  She wanted it to be extra special because she knows Sasuke’s all alone now.

About nine months ago, he lost his entire family.

She doesn’t know what actually happened to the Uchiha clan, just what Iruka-sensei has mentioned and the whispers she hears from her parents when they think she’s not listening. And, of course, the rumours the other kids spread – some benign, others ridiculous, still others far too terrible to contemplate.

Sakura doesn’t care how it happened. All she knows is that Sasuke is on his own – he has no mother or father anymore, or even his big brother – and he must be lonely. And so, she has decided that even though she isn’t brave enough to tell him she likes him, if she gives him a nice enough gift for Valentine’s Day, he’ll understand that he’s not alone and that people are thinking about him all the time.

And by people, she means herself.  

If only she could muster the nerve to walk over there and hand him the package.

Just do it! There’s no one around, so no one will see if I mess up – shannaro!

“What’ve you got there, Sa-ku-ra,” someone drawls behind her, making her wince with every syllable of her name.

Oh, no! Too slow!

She turns around and finds herself facing Ino and at least three other girls from their class, all of whom are holding their own closely guarded packages.

“You’re not actually thinking of giving that to Sasuke, are you?” her former-friend derides, the curl of her lip suggesting Sakura has something decayed in her hands.

She squares her shoulder and juts her chin out defiantly. “So what if I am? I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“It is our business if you’re going to dishonour him with something as flashy as that,” another girl interjects.

Someone else sniggers, “I saw that same package being sold at market.”

“You got him store-bought chocolate?” Ino mocks. “And here I thought you said you liked him.”

“I-I do!” Sakura protests.

Ino smirks, crossing her arms and looking utterly superior. “You’re such a dummy, Forehead. Everyone knows you only give store-bought chocolate to people you feel bad for.” The other girls titter and Ino continues, “I mean, if you can’t scrape together enough money to buy the best quality, like I did, you should’ve at least made it yourself.”

Ino produces a beautifully wrapped, gilded package – it’s the one that Sakura saw in the fancy chocolate shop! Her heart sinks as she takes a closer look at what the other girls are offering – clear, neat bento boxes containing painstakingly shaped bars of chocolate. Some are decorated with icing designs and swirls of ganache and, though they are clearly homemade, Sakura can just imagine the effort that went into creating them. Two of the girls even have bags under their eyes.

Sakura’s cheeks burn with embarrassment and she looks down at her feet; her fingers around the package tighten.

“But if you really think you can buy someone’s affections with second-rate candy, then go on,” Ino continues loftily. “You can give him your gift first. We’ll all wait, won’t we, girls?”

There’s some giggling at this, two of the girls elbowing each other conspiratorially, Ino’s mocking smile never wavering. Sakura desperately wants to square her shoulders and march defiantly into the classroom, to be the first person to give Sasuke a gift.

But the seeds of doubt have been sewn.

What if he thinks that she isn’t serious? That her feelings for him can only be expressed in a second-rate box of chocolates? It’s bad enough she couldn’t afford to buy him the ones she wanted, but if even girls who have no chance with Sasuke have slaved over homemade chocolate for him, he’ll think she’s joking around.

Immediately, she conjures the mental image of him opening the chocolates and tipping them over her head in front of the whole class.

No way! That can’t happen!

She hesitates long enough for the group of girls to shuffle past her, crowding into the classroom. Immediately, they become a gaggle of cooing and giggling idiots around Sasuke, each one vying to give him their chocolate first. Ino, of course, leads the bunch.

Sakura doesn’t bother to see if he accepts the gilded package. Instead, she lets the shoji slide closed and trudges back down the hallway. As she passes a waste bin, she throws the chocolates away and doesn’t look back.

二

The next year, Sakura spends the weeks before Valentine’s Day slaving over homemade chocolate.

She’s been learning to cook from her mother, but isn’t really good at it. She’s passably better with sweets and, by the end of several burnt batches, she has a half-dozen edible and not so horrible-looking pieces of chocolate. She even stays up late to decorate them and, the next morning, arrives to class exhausted but proud.

Once again, she lingers on the sidelines, watching nervously as several girls (fewer than last year, but still a considerable amount) offer Sasuke their brightly coloured boxes and succulent-looking sweets. Ino is back with her expensive, golden package again, and it’s possibly more impressive than the one last year.

And yet, without fail, Sasuke ignores all of them.

Somehow, he’s more interested in staring out the window, leaving each girl standing awkwardly in front of his desk until another contender elbows her out of the way to try her luck.

If the other girls weren’t her competition, Sakura might feel a little sorry for them all. As it is, she’s nervous enough – half-tempted to prove that she’s the one he’ll accept a gift from, half-dreading being on the receiving end of that same treatment.

She spends most of the morning trying to decide whether she should even attempt it. She barely notices the drama in the background; the chocolates meant for Sasuke are sneakily divided amongst the rest of the boys in the class while the girls who brought them squabble with each other. Kiba actually gets into a fistfight with Naruto, and that’s when Iruka gets involved.  It all ends with the class having to write an essay on the necessity of discipline in a shinobi’s life.  At least that’s what she thinks the essay’s about. She may or may not have gotten distracted watching Sasuke instead of paying attention.

By lunch break, she finally decides to risk it.

After all, love isn’t supposed to be easy! And this will show him and everyone that I’m going to fight for him, no matter what!

And, of course, wouldn’t it be great if he did accept her gift instead of Ino’s?

Those thoughts are what make her straighten up and follow Sasuke out of class when Iruka-sensei dismisses everyone. He shuffles down the hall, alone as usual, most of the other students giving him a wide berth.

“S-Sasuke, wait up!” she cries, cringing at how her words come out as more of a whisper. It’s no wonder he keeps walking, disappearing around a corner and forcing her to actually run after him.

She races around the corner and quickly overtakes him, coming to a halting stop a few feet in front of him.

“Please wait,” she says, breathless, face flushing warmly. Staring down at the floor, she holds out her offering to him. “It’s Valentine’s Day and I-I would… I mean, I worked really hard on these and it would… I was hoping you could accept my…my gift. For you.”

She means to say feelings, but at the last second, her courage fails her. She thinks maybe that will make it hurt less if he doesn’t feel the same.

When nothing happens right away, she lifts her head and opens one eye.

Sasuke is staring at her blankly which she thinks is a good sign. He could’ve just kept walking, after all.

Then he sighs – her heart begins to lift in hope – and scowls at her.

“You wasted your time,” he tells her neutrally. “I don’t like sweets.”

And then he does finally walk away, hands in his pockets. Once again, Sakura stands by herself, clutching a box of chocolates to her chest.

Her eyes begin to water and her chest twinges painfully, her instinctual reaction to see this as rejection. Except…

Except, unlike with all the other girls, he actually spoke to her, instead of pretending she didn’t exist. She’s always wanted Sasuke to recognise her in some way, and today – well, today, he did just that.

It’s a step. Just one small step, but it’s a start!

She beams at his retreating back, and decides that she’ll get it right next time.

三

Sakura arrives a half-hour before any of the other students, determinedly carrying yet another plain, unfashionable bento box. Inside, she has arranged six perfectly-formed dark chocolate and chilli-spiced truffles.

This year, she’s sure she got it right.

Peering into the classroom, she is unsurprised to see that Sasuke is already there. He always arrives early, although she gets the sense that it’s not because he likes mornings. It must be so lonely at home for him without his family; being here is probably just less painful.

It’s that thought that keeps her from hesitating.

She marches over to Sasuke and plants herself in front of him, back straight, trying to radiate the kind of confidence the heroines in her storybooks always have.

He is in his habitual position – hunched forward, chin perched on interlocked fingers, and eyes closed as if in meditation. Maybe he’s contemplating the universe – Sasuke is so deep like that. Sakura almost doesn’t want to bother him.

Should I clear my throat or something? I don’t want to startle him…

Not that she could because Sasuke expects everything – he probably even knows she’s there. But if he does, why doesn’t he just say something?

As if her thoughts triggered it, a furrow forms on his forehead and his eyes shoot open, narrowing into his default expression of annoyance.

“Is there something you need?” he asks flatly, tone conveying exasperation – like she’s tiring him out by just existing.

Sakura takes a half-step back, torn between hurt and frustration because would it kill him to be nice for once in his life?!

But then his gaze falls on the box in her hands and his face smooths into blankness. His eyes close again and his shoulders slump. She thinks she hears him mutter under his breath, “This again…”

Which makes her a little defensive because she did it differently this year, damn it!

“I know you said that you don’t like sweet things,” she tells him quickly. “I guess that’s why you never accept Valentine’s Day chocolate, huh? I wouldn’t either if people kept giving me stuff I didn’t like. And…and not a lot of stores sell chocolate that isn’t sweet, so I made this. I tried a few different recipes to make sure they didn’t turn out sweet and I-I tasted them. And, well…I didn’t really like them – but not because they weren’t good, I just don’t like spicy stuff, but my mother said that’s how they’re supposed to be and –”

She clamps her mouth shut as she realises that she’s babbling. The whole time, Sasuke regards her stiffly, but for once, his expression isn’t one of aloofness. She thinks she sees confusion there, like he’s trying to decide on something to say.

“You remembered that I don’t like sweets,” he states, as if he hasn’t heard the rest of it. She can’t tell if he’s puzzled or impressed.

She decides to lean on the latter and puffs her chest out importantly.

“Well, I have a really good memory,” she boasts, fighting every natural inclination she has to look down at her feet. She’s got his attention for once and she intends to revel in every moment of it.

That moment turns out to be fleeting as his expression reverts to familiar annoyance and he stands up.

“I don’t like chocolate at all,” he tells her, heading up the stairs. “Give them to someone who does.”

Sakura panics, staring at his back and conscious that she’s about to lose her moment with him.

“Can I…can I ask why?” she blurts out. “I mean, it’s such a strange thing, not liking sweets. Are you allergic?” As she says it, an entirely-possible scenario occurs to her. “Oh. Is that why you always say no? Because it makes you sick? If-if that’s the case, you should tell everyone. I don’t think anyone would want you to get sick. D-definitely not me.”

She notices his fists clenching, his shoulders tensing, and when he bites out, “I just don’t like them,” she can’t help but shudder at the coldness.

Sasuke skips the rest of their lessons that day.

Sakura carefully doesn’t mention to the other girls that he was there, or that she’s the reason he left before they could shower him with more unwanted sweets. She spends the rest of Valentine’s Day trying to figure out exactly where she went wrong.

四

Sakura has never been to the Uchiha district.

It’s far away, on the outskirts of Konoha, and much older and creeper than most of the other neighbourhoods. Also, she’s never needed to leave the village proper, so coming out this way has never been necessary. Most of the older kids say it’s haunted by the ghosts of the dead Uchiha which Sakura knows is nonsense; most parents complain how the village really should resettle the area but no one ever does.

She wouldn’t be here today, except…well, it could be her last chance to get this right.

In two months, she and the rest of their class will be taking their graduation exam. Once everyone becomes genin, they will be split into teams, and she probably won’t get the chance to see Sasuke so often. He’s at the top of the class, and if teams are made based on class rank, she suspects she won’t be in the running.

Shikamaru’s a genius – she heard Iruka-sensei once say that he could be the first of them to become a jōnin if he tried. And, despite Sakura’s best efforts, all the other girls say that Ino is the top female student in the class.

If this is my last chance, I’m going to make it count this year!

She leaves her house at dawn, ignoring her bleary-eyed parents’ queries as she grabs the container she procured from the market the evening before. Dad makes a bad joke about early birds and worms, Mom shakes her head knowingly, and Sakura is on her way.

Upon reaching the abandoned quarter, it doesn’t take Sakura long to find Sasuke’s house. It’s the only place that looks like someone lives there, with the walkway swept of debris and the paint around the eaves renewed. She wonders if he did that himself, or if the Hokage sends someone every now and then.

She raps on the door a few times and then waits, rocking nervously back and forth on her heels. It’s early enough that he should still be here, and she doubts she’s waking him up. However, after a full ten minutes with no answer, her hopes begin to fade.

Maybe I missed him after all?

She considers the merits of bringing her gift with her to the Academy, but immediately decides against it. She came here to avoid the drama and attention that inevitably comes from giving Valentine’s Day gifts in a classroom surrounded by the other contenders for Sasuke’s heart.  She could always leave it here with a card – but there are plenty of stray animals in Konoha that would make quick work of her offering.

I could always come back after school. Or would that be weird? He might think I’m following him around, and then –

“Sakura.”

She shrieks in surprise, fumbling with the carton in her hands, miraculously managing not to drop it. Turning toward the road, she is faced with a tired-looking, sweaty Sasuke Uchiha. His clothes are scuffed with dirt, but his demeanour doesn’t suggest someone who was just attacked.

I bet he was out training. Wow. He gets up early to train and he’s always first to class? That is dedication. Sasuke is soooo cool.

It’s also not fair that he looks so good after a workout.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, not exactly unkindly, but not in a particularly welcoming way either.

“I just… I wanted to give you something,” she says quickly.

Sasuke exhales in annoyance at this. “I told you already. I don’t like chocolate –”

“I know. I remember,” she interrupts because he’s already heading for his door! “I decided to get you something that you do like, so you can accept my gift.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Sasuke says, reaching for his front door.

“N-no! Wait, Sasuke! Hold on. Don’t shut the door on me yet, please?” she beseeches. “I just want to… Here, look.”

By some small miracle, he doesn’t just ignore her, but his imperious over-the-shoulder glance isn’t exactly comforting. Not to be deterred, Sakura flounders a little with the box, but pries open the thin wooden lid to reveal its contents.

Two dozen shiny red cherry tomatoes gleam up at Sasuke in the morning sun.

“These are for you,” she tells him needlessly. “I saw you a few weeks ago, shopping. I mean – not like I was following you or anything, I was just with my m – we were getting groceries. And it’s weird to see someone our age shopping alone at the market that early in the morning, but then I realised it was you because…well. Anyway, I thought I should get you something you’d actually like this year, and these ones aren’t sweet at all! I tried a few to make sure. Oh, and I read that tomatoes have a lot of health benefits – there’s vitamins and potassium, and they help bone growth which, I mean, if you’re training as hard as I know you do, would be really great, right?”  She pauses, reviews everything she just said to make sure it’s not too lame, and then quickly adds, “And…and don’t worry about giving me anything back, okay? I just wanted to give you something. This doesn’t have to be a…a Valentine’s Day gift.”  

Throughout her entire speech, Sasuke has slowly turned around to face her, staring down at the tomatoes like he’s never seen any before. His eyes inch toward her face, calculation there, as if she is something inexplicable – a bacterium that’s decided to get chatty, perhaps.

He opens his mouth to say something – probably to reject her, so she braces herself for it. Then he closes his mouth, frowns thoughtfully, and exhales again. Except this time, it isn’t in annoyance, but more like…resignation? Acceptance?

“…thank you,” he tells her in a stiff tone, the words sounding awkward and unfamiliar to her ears. Maybe they feel even weirder for him to say, but she can’t really think about the implications of that since her brain is stalled – Sasuke has reached out to take the carton from her outstretched hands.

She shakes herself out of her stunned joy and, bolstered by her success, boldly suggests, “If you want, I can wait for you to get cleaned up. Maybe…maybe we can walk to class together?”

She knows she’s pushing it, but why waste the opportunity?

“No,” he replies as he unlocks the door to his house.

The interior is too dark to get much of a clue to what is hidden within, but it smells heavily of a combination of cedarwood, incense, and tatami. It strikes her as an odd smell for someone’s home – more suited to a temple interior. It possesses none of the comforting scents she is used to at house.

Sasuke turns to face her, the tomato carton loosely cradled in the crook of his arm. “I’m not going in today,” he says. He considers her a further half-second then adds, “You should go or you’ll be late.”  

And then the door is closed, an impenetrable barrier once more between them.

Surprisingly, Sakura doesn’t mind this rebuff. In fact, it does nothing to destroy her bewildered giddiness. All the way out of the Uchiha district, she feels a strange disconnect, as if she is floating. Once across the ward’s threshold, the giddiness turns into fully-formed joy and she laughs out loud.

“Shannaro!” she shouts at no one in particular, punching the air in triumph.

It’s the first time he’s ever accepted anything from her – maybe even from anyone. The magnitude of this moment is not lost on her, and she’s sure she’ll be coasting through the rest of the day on that.

As much as she wants to track down Ino and loudly rub it in her face, some inner part of Sakura cautions her to keep this quiet.

This will be mine and Sasuke’s secret.

And that makes it a hundred times better.

五

“Hey Sakura! Whatcha got in the bag? Huh? Huh? Huhh?!”

“Naruto, if you don’t get out of my face, I’m going to slug you!” she snaps, making a threatening fist at him. The orange-clad boy pre-emptively ducks, sticking out his tongue. Several feet away, she can practically hear Sasuke rolling his eyes.

“But I wanna know,” Naruto complains. “Did you bring games? You should’ve brought something fun to do. Kakashi-sensei’s taking forever.”

“No, I didn’t bring games,” she tells him, although she wonders why that idea hasn’t occurred to her before now. Their instructor is always late, if he even shows up at all. Maybe some cards or dice…

“Then what’s in there?”

“You’ll see when Kakashi-sensei gets here,” Sakura retorts.

“But why not now?”

“Because I said so! We’re waiting until –”

“I heard my name?”

There’s a puff of smoke and suddenly Kakashi is leaning over them, disgustingly unbothered by his tardiness, as usual.

“You’re late!” Sakura and Naruto chorus.

“Well, my horoscope said something unfortunate would happen to me if I took my usual route today, so –”

“Liar!”

“Can we get started?” Sasuke interrupts, as usual unimpressed with Kakashi’s excuses.

“In a minute,” Naruto shoots back. “Sakura said she would open the bag and I wanna see what’s in it!”

“If you keep annoying me, you won’t,” she grumbles, but she’s already undoing the ties and unfolding the cloth.

Two red-wrapped packages shine in the sunlight, and she passes them to Kakashi and Naruto. Not waiting to see their reactions, she reaches back into the bag and draws out a plain carton of tomatoes for Sasuke. She has, after all, learned her lesson.

Sasuke leans away from the tomatoes, as if he’s expecting them to attack, but at her expectant look, he relents and reaches for them.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” she declares, beaming at them all and relishing in their varied expressions.

Kakashi looks as if he has no idea what to say – she supposes it’s been a long time since he got chocolate from anyone – while Naruto is frozen. It occurs to her too late that this is probably the first year anyone has given him anything. This suspicion is confirmed when he looks up at her, his eyes suspiciously glassy.

“Sakura…”

“It’s not a big deal,” she hurries to say. “Ino gave all the guys on her team gifts, so I figured I would do the same. I’m not going to let her out-do me.”

That’s not entirely true.

Things have been so tense on their team lately. Sasuke’s been cold and sulky, while Naruto has been more reckless than usual, hell-bent on surpassing his friend and rival. The chūnin exam, the mark on Sasuke’s neck, and the events in the months afterward has kept everyone stressed. Maybe this tiny gesture will make the temperamental men in her life feel a little better.

“Hah! Sakura must hate you, Sasuke. She gave you vegetables!”

“Or she wants me to live longer than you.”

She winces.

Or not.

“This is very thoughtful of you, Sakura,” Kakashi tells her quietly, and even though she can’t see his face beneath that damned mask, she thinks he might be smiling at her. “Hopefully, you’ll receive some equally thoughtful gifts on White Day.”

In her imagination, he is looking pointedly at Sasuke, who scoffs lightly and says, “If we’re not going on a mission today, I’m going home.”

This predictably leads into Naruto calling Sasuke names, Sakura trying to keep the peace, and Kakashi finally letting them know about whatever lame mission they’ve been assigned.

The fleeting moment of peace is broken, to be forgotten over the course of their day. Still, Sasuke brings the tomatoes home with him, and Sakura counts that as a victory – one of a meagre few.

More and more lately, Sakura realises that there is something very wrong with her team, something that needs to be fixed before it completely breaks, but she doesn’t know what it is or even if she could help. Some days are very unpleasant – sometimes Sasuke and Naruto do nothing but fight. Other days – the worse days – are when they don’t even acknowledge each other’s existence.

Sakura can see that Sasuke is struggling with something, but whenever she asks – something she would never have tried to do when they were younger – he tells her he’s fine. If she gets brave enough to bring up the curse mark, he doesn’t speak to her for days.

The only thing that keeps his attention is his ridiculous competition with Naruto.

Despite keeping her worries to herself, Sakura’s performance on the team begins to lag. Sasuke snaps at her a lot more, Naruto cuts down on his annoying requests for dates, and Kakashi eyes her with concern.

Maybe that’s why one day in mid-March, Kakashi arrives at their usual meeting place with a large box of marshmallow animals and a casual “Happy White Day” greeting.

“Someone gave me these, but I don’t like marshmallows,” he tells her with a shrug. “So here.”

She would be willing to brush it off as coincidence if Naruto didn’t hand her a package as well. It’s clumsily wrapped with magazine covers and he sheepishly admits, “I forgot what day it was until yesterday.”

Upon opening the package, she finds a much too large, much too frilly white lingerie set.  

Kakashi chokes back either a laugh or a groan of dismay, and Sakura is – of course – forced to beat her friend into a human-shaped bruise for the inappropriateness of his gift…even if she might be laughing a little on the inside because it’s been so long since Naruto did anything lighthearted.

Sasuke offers her nothing which isn’t a surprise. Another girl might be upset that he’s the only one who doesn’t bother with a gift, but she’s used to this. Sasuke isn’t the type to give gifts to anyone, and after all these years, she’s finally started to understand that. But when Sakura glances up, his right eye twitches at the white material and she thinks that if she didn’t punch Naruto first, Sasuke might have. The idea makes her feel a little giddy because it suggests he cares about her honour.

A bit.

Ish.

Who cares? I’ll take it!

The fact that all of them agreed to make such a silly day as White Day special for her has her beaming the entire day. Training is even pleasant – a rarity of late – and her teammates don’t bicker with each other. Everything is going well, even though the only mission Lady Tsunade has for them is scrubbing graffiti off the back of the movie theatre – which goes by quickly because Naruto is apparently an expert at cleaning spray paint off walls.  

The three of them are just heading to Hokage Tower to check in when they encounter Rock Li on his crutches heading back to the hospital. The sight isn’t exactly unexpected, although the large bouquet he is holding in his mouth is somewhat of a surprise.

“For you, Sakura!” he declares when he stops in front of them, dropping his crutches to the floor and holding out the extravagant bunch of flowers. Sakura suspects Ino helped him pick the flowers out – camellias of red, yellow, and white are flourished beneath her nose. “Happy White Day!”

“Thanks, Li,” she tells him sincerely – even if she doesn’t return his feelings, it would be rude not to accept the offering. Besides, no one ever buys her flowers. “These are beautiful.”

“Only the most radiant blossoms for the most radiant blossom of them all!”

“Huh. She didn’t punch him,” Naruto remarks to Sasuke in an aside. “Should I have gotten her flowers instead?”

Sasuke crosses his arms. “Who cares? They’d just die, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sakura asks before she can stop herself, clutching the flowers to herself.

Sasuke shrugs and continues walking. “You’re impressed by useless things. If people are going to observe ridiculous holidays, the least they could do is give you something useful.”

“Hey, it’s not ridiculous!” Naruto protests. “At least we got her something, asshole.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s okay, guys,” Sakura says quietly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, Sakura, he is being most rude,” Li tells her. He frowns at Sasuke’s back and balls his bandaged hand into a fist. “Would it not set back my recovery time, I would challenge him to a duel!”

“No, no! Don’t do that,” she says quickly. “You can’t right now. Lady Tsunade said you can’t exert yourself. And really, I love the flowers. I’m going to put them in water the minute I get home, okay?”

Although Li is placated, when she looks up, Sasuke is already down the street with Naruto glowering at his retreating back.

“He seriously needs to unpucker,” Naruto grumbles.

Sakura sighs and mourns yet another day ruined by whatever’s going on with Sasuke.

When she gets home, her mother admires the bouquet and suggests inviting Li over to dinner; her father makes jokes about having to beat away the boys with a stick. Sakura grumbles at them both, reminds them that she and Li are only ever going to be friends, and heads upstairs to fall face-first on her bed.

For several long, blissful moments, she exists in perfect peace, nothing but the light breeze teasing at her hair. She is utterly exhausted, drained, and if she’s being honest, a little hurt as well. It’s sometimes hard to care about someone who is unwilling to open up. She figures that having your entire family murdered by your brother as well as having a psychotic shinobi brand you with a curse mark aren’t exactly things that are easy to talk about, but…

She still wishes he would talk to her. One day he will, she knows, but in the meantime, pretending that his constant rebuffs and caustic remarks don’t bother her is becoming a chore.

A shiver creeps up her spine and Sakura frowns.

Her room is drafty from the open window, a fact that’s confusing – she never leaves her windows open when she leaves the house. With a muffled groan, she pushes herself up and crosses the room to close it, only to pause at the sight of something sitting on the window sill – a plain, flat, white box. It’s not very large and she doesn’t see any ink or seals on it to suggest it might be dangerous, but there’s no note attached to explain its presence.

Half-suspicious, half-curious, she lifts the thin lid on the box.

Her breath catches in her throat.

A pair of black gloves are neatly nestled inside the container. They are thick, of high quality leather, and clearly well-made. Upon trying one on, she discovers that they are bigger than her hand – obviously made for a woman. She’ll grow into them eventually.

She can’t figure out who left these for her or why. They’ll be useful, though, to protect her hands from any stray blades or even during sparring sessions.

As she pulls the glove off, she is hit by an oddly familiar scent – cedar, incense, and tatami.

It takes a second to place where she’s smelled that, and when she does, her cheeks flush with warmth.

“Next time,” she promises herself out loud, holding the gloves close to her heart. Her birthday is in two weeks, and maybe if she plays her cards right, she can talk him into going on a date with her.

Only I’ll call it training instead of a date because maybe that word makes him nervous. But if we happen to stop by somewhere to eat on the way home, that wouldn’t be horrible, would it?

She spends the rest of the night planning it out in her head, never dreaming of the possibility that Sasuke won’t be anywhere near Konoha by the time her birthday comes around.

六

It’s been almost a year since Sasuke left.

A year since Sakura’s entire life was upended and thrown onto a path she never would have imagined. For herself or her friends.

She hasn’t seen Naruto is almost as long, not since he started travelling and training with Lord Jiraiya. He still sends letters when he can, but they’re few and far between. She barely sees Kakashi anymore, either – he’s always off on some mission or other. And, of course, Sakura herself is busy training with Tsunade and interning at the hospital.

Most days, she can push away the hurt and worry, but other days, it feels like the glaring absences in her life are even more obvious.

She supposes that’s why she finds herself making the rounds on Valentine’s Day, passing out chocolate to her male friends. Anything for a little bit of normalcy, anything to pretend like she’s still just a kid and not training until she bleeds almost every day to be strong enough to save the boy she loves.

Because she does love him.

Sakura knew she cared for Sasuke growing up, but his complete absence in her life has created a gnawing, hollow void that is too painful for her feelings to have been just a crush.

Somewhere along the line while she was on his team, learning to become a shinobi alongside him, Sasuke stopped being just a good-looking, smart boy to her. Sakura got to know him – the darkness he wore like armour, and the light he only revealed in his rarest, most unguarded moments.

The boy who thanked her for loving him, instead of outright rejecting her even when he was leaving her behind – that boy needs to be saved, even if it is from himself. It’s why she let Naruto make a promise to bring him back. And, no matter what, she’s going to be right beside him when they do.

Until then, she’s taking every day one at a time, trying to enjoy the little things that used to make her happy.

This year, there’s no way to send anything to Naruto – even if there was, she suspects Lord Jiraiya would eat it before her friend got a look in. The guy’s a complete lout, legendary Sannin or not. As for Kakashi, with his frequent absences, he’s hard to pin down. Sakura considers giving her small gift to Gai-sensei to pass on, but she honestly can’t take his overwhelming exuberance today.

Instead, she heads downtown to Manako’s shop. If Kakashi was to check in with anyone when he gets back from a mission, it’s either his rival or his…

Well, whatever Manako is to him. In any case, the Inuzuka woman is the more perceptive and relaxed of the two options.

Upon entering the little shop, the familiar scent of parchment, ink, and gunpowder wash over Sakura. Shelves with different scrolls and tags line the walls, each one able to create explosive blasts of varying degrees of severity and with different effects. Manako is a genius when it comes to demolitions – probably due to her keen senses – and for a civilian, understands the shinobi world better than most.

The woman herself is hunched over the counter, frowning at several complex equations on a scroll from beneath a fringe of dark hair. As Sakura ventures closer, Manako sniffs and glances up, smirking in recognition.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is,” she drawls, sliding her work away then straightening up, arms crossed. “It’s funny. You kind of remind me of this kid who used to come in here to buy explosive tags. Skinny little thing, about so high?” She makes a motion toward her hip with one hand. “Usually with a loud, blond brat who smells like ramen?”

“Knock it off. You know I was here last month.”

“I’m just saying you used to be in here more often,” Manako sighs dramatically. “I still keep your usual order in stock, too. But then again, as I hear it, you don’t really have much use for that Sakura Blizzard technique of yours anymore. Is it true that old Tsunade’s teaching you to break mountains?”

Sakura goes red. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Well, Scarecrow talks a lot, doesn’t he?” she shrugs and then leers suggestively. “Or at least he does when you know what he likes.”

Sakura’s flattered modesty turns into embarrassed disgust just as quickly. “Please stop talking now.”

It’s like thinking about parent-sex! Ugh, I should have gone with Gai-sensei after all!

But Manako laughs good-naturedly and mimes zipping her lips.

“What can I do for you, kiddo?”

“Actually, I’m just here to drop something off for Kakashi. I never know when he’s going to be around, so leaving it outside his apartment seems silly,” Sakura explains, handing over the small box of chocolates. “I mean, I doubt he’ll really care either way, but you know…it’s Valentine’s Day.” She shrugs. “If you want them, go ahead.”

“Nah, never touch the stuff. Me and most of my family are allergic to it.”

“That makes sense.” Sakura blinks in surprise. “Hey, wait – Kiba always used to accept chocolate when we were in the Academy. He used to fight Naruto over it almost every year.”

“That’s because my brother’s a stubborn little bastard who would eat himself sick just to prove a point,” Manako replies dryly, reaching out to take the box. “But I can keep these in my fridge for Kakashi. He’ll wander by eventually.” She eyes the small sack Sakura is carrying with her, and raises an eyebrow. “More stops today?”

“Mm-hm,” Sakura acknowledges, readjusting her gloves; they are still too large for her, but she wears them everywhere. “I’ve got a bunch to give out to my other friends before my shift starts at the hospital.”

Li should’ve just gotten back from a mission. Shikamaru and Choji probably talked Ino into getting them barbecue. Sakura even caved and picked up something for Neji, even though he’s never been what she might call friendly to her. She doubts he’ll eat any of it, but he was one of the guys who went after Sasuke to bring him back and she will be eternally grateful for that.

Sakura’s throat begins to ache at the reminder, a sure sign that if she keeps thinking on the subject, she’ll start crying again. She clears her throat and suggests, “Although…maybe I’ll get something different for Kiba?”

“Eh, why bother? By now, it’s almost tradition. Baby brother pukes his guts up, Mom yells at him, and Hana fusses over the little runt until he’s feeling better – a vicious, unending cycle.“

“That’s ridiculous. If it’s something he knows hurts him, why does he keep doing it?”

Manako shrugs. “People don’t always like what’s good for them.”

Isn’t that the truth?

The words hit a little too close to home which is why Sakura decides to cut the visit short. She pastes a smile on her face. “Anyway, that’s all I came in here for.”

Manako nods, her face taking on a more thoughtful cast than Sakura is used to.

“How’re you holding up?” she asks.

The question is unexpected, considering she and Manako don’t exactly have a close friendship, but there’s no doubt what she’s referring to. Everyone in the village knows of Sakura’s one-sided feelings for the youngest Uchiha traitor. She knows that people say stuff when they think she can’t hear, but she’s never taken Manako to be the type to listen to or care much for gossip.

Hoping to side-step the issue, Sakura continues to smile, although it’s a little more strained now. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Manako replies pointedly. “But I won’t push it if you’re set on faking it. Sometimes, it’s the only way to make it through the day.”

“What…what do you mean by that?”

She shrugs, piling her parchment and ink on top of the chocolates for Kakashi. “Nothing.”

But now Sakura is annoyed. “Then why’d you say anything?”

The bomb-maker is silent for a long moment, but at the last second, pauses in her journey to the back of the shop.

“Look, you’re not the first woman to get her heart broken by an Uchiha,” she tells her bluntly, although not altogether unkindly. “It hurts. It will probably hurt forever. But at least you know yours is still alive, right? So, just hold on to that. And go out there and kick ass.”

She disappears into the back of the shop, leaving Sakura puzzling over that. The implications are strange and yet not as surprising as she would expect. Sakura tends to forget sometimes that Sasuke wasn’t always the last Uchiha – in fact, if the reports she’s glimpsed on Lady Tsunade’s desk are any indication, he still isn’t.

Once, there was a whole clan, people who were part of this village. There are probably people still alive today who knew them, and now…now everyone just pretends they didn’t exist.

The notion bothers her, and it’s still in her thoughts as she wanders alone through the Uchiha district at the end of her day. In her hands, she carries a small, potted cherry tomato plant which she bought at the market on her way home. She plants it behind his apartment, in a spot she knows from her last visit here gets a lot of sun.

Looking down at the lonely little plant, she thinks on Manako’s words and clenches her fists.

He’s alive. Somewhere, he’s alive. He’s going to come back. And he’ll want to know that no one forgot him.

七

It’s been almost two years and Sakura has almost given up on ever hearing from Sasuke again.

She’s only able to sleep at night because she knows that while Orochimaru covets his body, Sasuke gets to live. Still, the more time passes, the more nightmares she has – horrible, detailed visions of Sasuke returning the village, only it’s not him. In these dreams, the village burns while Orochimaru, his face a shredded amalgamation of his and Sasuke’s features, laughs.  

She wishes she had someone to confide in about these dreams, but that would mean uttering Sasuke’s name. Besides the fact that her entire body hurts when she does that, she can’t stand the pitying looks she gets from people when she does.

Naruto would understand, but he’s still travelling. She hasn’t heard from him in a while beyond the occasional note to tell her he’s alive. Kakashi’s reconnaissance missions have increased, and the last communication she had with him was four months ago; he sent her a congratulatory note after she became a chūnin, a milestone that should mean something to her.

All she can think of is that she should’ve experienced it with Naruto and Sasuke by her side.

Now she’ll never get the chance.

“You look tired, dear,” her mother tells her one morning. “You should ask for the day off.”

“I can’t. Lady Tsunade is going to be testing out those antidotes I made yesterday.”

“And she needs you there for that?” Mebuki harrumphs. “She can just tell you how they turned out tomorrow. You need a break. Go out and have some fun. Especially today.”

Sakura blinks in confusion for a moment, then glances back at the calendar.

Valentine’s Day.

Oh.

“I really am busy, Mom. Besides, it’s not a good time.”

“Pah! There’s always time for romance! What? Are you worried no one would ask you out?”

“That’s not – I really don’t care about that sort of thing.”

The irony of that statement is not lost on her.

“What about your friend? The nice boy with the eyebrows. He’s always so polite when he comes by here.”

“I don’t like Li that way.”

“Why not? He clearly cares about you.”

“Mom, stop.”

“Sweetheart, I’m just worried about you,” her mother beseeches, her lighthearted and teasing tone vanishing. “You can’t put your entire life on hold for one boy –”

“Mom!”

“ – who isn’t coming back.”

CRASH!

The kitchen table is suddenly in two pieces – jagged planks on the kitchen floor and her fist throbbing. She didn’t properly channel her chakra, and if it weren’t for her still too-large gloves, her knuckles would be bleeding right now.

“Sakura!”

“He’s coming back!” Sakura cries, ignoring her mother’s shocked expression.

Mebuki recovers herself, hands on her hips. “There’s no need to break our furniture, young lady.”

“Naruto promised! We’re going to find him together! He said!”

“It doesn’t matter if you find him, if he doesn’t want to be here! If he doesn’t want…”

Her mother trails off and Sakura tenses.

“Doesn’t want?” she prompts.

“Never mind.”

“Doesn’t want me, right?” Sakura suggests, and now she’s shouting. “Who cares if he comes back if he doesn’t want me, is that it? Well, I don’t care! I don’t care if he comes back and doesn’t want me, because at least he’d be here. Alive. And maybe, even if it’s not me, he’ll find someone who makes him happy and he won’t want to be away from all of the people who do care about him, and that is all that matters!”

She’s crying now and, damn it, she promised herself she wouldn’t do that anymore!

“Sakura –”

“I have to go,” she sobs, hurtling blindly out the door and away from the house.

In circumstances like these, she usually heads for the training grounds, desperately needing to punch something that isn’t furniture. She knows she’ll be dealing with the fallout from that loss of temper for a while, but right now, she just needs to cool down.

As she nears the outskirts of the village, she unconsciously finds herself changing directions and in no time, is standing in front of Sasuke’s house.

The place is empty. No one wants anything to do with the remaining hints of the Uchiha clan, in much the same way that no one ever goes to Naruto’s apartment, except for her – as if being in the same place as either one might spread some sort of disease.

Sakura clenches her fists, stalking around the back of the apartment, frowning down at the tomato plant she put there last year. She has been tending to it every few days and, as a result, it is flourishing. Tiny greenish orbs are already forming.

It’s the only living, growing thing in this entire damned neighbourhood that someone actually cares about.

White-hot rage overwhelms her and Sakura snaps forward, ripping the little plant from the ground roots and all. She hurls it across the street before finally giving in and allowing herself to burst into gut-wrenching sobs.

She is late for her shift at the hospital.

Tsunade takes one look at her and sends her home; it’s clear she’s completely unfocussed today. Ino lets her stay at her place that night and, thankfully, doesn’t say anything about Sasuke.

The next morning before returning home to apologise to her mother, Sakura goes back to the Uchiha district.

The heap of branches and vines is, by some miracle, still lying forlornly in the road.

Sakura carefully gets rid of the mutilated parts, and checks that the roots and stalk haven’t been too badly damaged. As she arranges splints to hold it up, Sakura tries not to feel like the tomato plant is some sort of analogy for her life.

八

The world is gearing up for war. No one marks Valentine’s Day this year.

Every morning, Sakura holds her picture of Team Seven close to her heart, and wonders what the future holds for her former teammates – and herself.

Every night, she dreams of a boy with black eyes and an injured soul, and fervently wishes she knew he was all right.

The gloves finally fit.

九

The war is over and life as she knows it has not ended.

In the last four months, every able-bodied man, woman, and child has been helping in the recovery process. Although there have been losses, the small circle of people who Sakura holds closest to her heart are all safe. She just wishes she could see them more often.

Naruto, in spite of his healing abilities, spends most of his time in and out of the hospital for physical therapy – when he isn’t busy training to eventually become Hokage.

“I saved the damn world, I shouldn’t have to study anymore, believe it!” he complains constantly, much to the amusement – and quickly, annoyance – of anyone who will listen.

Kakashi is busy actually being the next Hokage which Sakura finds hilarious. She thinks he’s spending most of his free-time teaching Naruto so that he can get out of the job as quickly as possible.

And Sasuke…

He’s in prison.

He’s been there since the end of the war. As soon as the Infinite Tsukuyomi was dispelled and the disoriented shinobi from all the different nations were cared for, he surrendered himself willingly to Konoha’s justice without even knowing if they would execute him or not.

The Raikage is still bombarding Kakashi with extradition demands, but they’ve become weekly instead of daily, so that’s something.

As overjoyed as Sakura was with Sasuke’s return home, it was nothing like she pictured the event would be when she was young. Instead of strolling through the gates supported by herself and Naruto, Sasuke was led through in chains, a binding seal on his eyes. Instead of the village welcoming him home with open arms, suspicion and judgement fell on him from all corners.

Even worse, he deserves it and she knows it.

It feels like such a betrayal – worse than that day when she made up her mind to kill him. She can’t blindly support what he did the way she might’ve when she was twelve. Hell, she couldn’t even bring herself to visit him for that first month.

Seeing Sasuke again after everything was hard. From the first night after defeating Kaguya, Sakura was plagued by nightmares. Not of the battle itself, but of the genjutsu that Sasuke placed her under. It was stronger than anything she’d ever encountered, multilayered and complex, and the trial she went through just to break herself out of it – she still feels a little sick at the memory.

It took her a full month and many one-on-one sessions with Tsunade to completely separate her real memories from what happened to her while under the illusion. In the process of unravelling the mental trauma, she even discovered an unexpected side effect: a sudden understanding about what Sasuke underwent as a child.

He was subjected to his brother’s Tsukuyomi not once, but twice. Without knowing what was happening or having anyone to help him through it afterward, he coped with the trauma in the only ways he knew how – by shutting everyone out and seeking out someone powerful enough to ensure he’d never become a victim again.  

It’s no wonder he was never able to care for her with all that taking up space in his head.

Growing up, Sakura always thought Sasuke’s relationship with Naruto was just some immature childhood rivalry – boys fight about the same stupid stuff that girls do. She resented it, too, because he cared more about measuring his abilities against Naruto than acknowledging her. Now, though, she understands that it’s the only kind of relationship he had the capacity for. Whatever Itachi did to him, it stamped out any understanding he has ever had of the way normal friendships and relationships are supposed to work. Everything had to be framed as a struggle, and to him, a rival made more of an impact than a friend, or even a lover.

And yet, even knowing that he may never be able to see her as anything but his former teammate, Sakura can’t stop loving him.

And that’s fine, really.

Lady Tsunade never married after she lost her lover, but it didn’t stop her from becoming the most powerful kunoichi in the world. Sakura still hopes Sasuke will return her feelings, but unlike when she was twelve, it isn’t her only dream. She might not be destined to become Hokage, but there’s so much she can do for the world on her own.

And to start, she intends to make sure that what happened to her precious comrades – Sasuke, Naruto, Kakashi, and anyone else left orphaned by circumstance – will never happen again.

So, if Sasuke never left, she never would’ve discovered her ultimate purpose. Once she realised that, it made it easier to finally visit him.

Not that he’s technically allowed visitors, but Sakura’s status as Tsunade’s apprentice opens doors. And if it didn’t, the fact that she’s one of the new generation of Sannin who helped to save the planet would.

It doesn’t happen very often – there’s so much work to do at the hospital, and so many relief missions being outsourced these days. She’s never allowed in without an escort because, she suspects, the Elders worry that perhaps one of Sasuke’s old teammates might try to break him out of prison or something.

And, of course, the visits themselves are hardly typical.

Sasuke remains bound completely, blinded by a seal, and tightly secured in a way that makes her sick to see, even if she understands the necessity.

(Even if that small, still-healing part of her is glad for it.)

He never speaks, but he does listen when she talks. She knows he does because she spent her childhood talking at him, and she recognises the signs when he’s listening or when he’s ignoring her. Sometimes, she closes her eyes and imagines they aren’t surrounded by bars in a cold, dank basement. It’s not quite like the old days, but it’s something.

Which is why, on Valentine’s Day, Sakura thinks nothing of heading to the prison with a bag of goodies, feeling a whimsical sense of nostalgia.

She’s a frequent enough visitor nowadays that, even if she wasn’t the Hokage’s apprentice, they’d let her in. Ibiki just rolls his eyes while the guards tease her good-naturedly. Many of them are also still recovering from wartime injuries, and she’ll usually stop to chat with them or offer treatment suggestions when she has the time.

Today, she offers them each small boxes of chocolate because, working down here, it’s not like they’re accessible to the people who care about them.

“Just make sure you pay it forward and treat your sweethearts well next time you see them,” she chides good-naturedly. “They have to put up with you, after all.”

Pleasant laughs and light-hearted protest follow, and then Sakura submits to the usual protocol. They check her belongings for contraband or (ridiculously enough) poison, and then she’s wandering through the dank basement to the cell where Sasuke is being kept.

She thinks that Sasuke perks up when he hears her gait, but it’s dark down here and she doesn’t possess a Sharingan…just an overactive imagination.

“Hello, Sasuke,” she greets softly, waving even though he can’t see it. “How are you?” As if he would answer her honestly or at all. “Is there anything you want me to check for you?”

She’s the only person he’ll allow to see to his health, whether it’s to examine the remnants of his arm, or ensure that he isn’t getting sick from the damp cell conditions. The stubborn fool actually refused medical care the entire month she didn’t come see him which she promptly yelled at him for.

She thinks he was a little surprised at that, a fact which fills her with no small amount of satisfaction.

“Well, all right. But the minute you notice something doesn’t feel right, you tell me, okay? I don’t want to see another infection in your arm.”

Silence.

“I can’t actually stay very long today,” she tells him apologetically. “There’s a backlog of patients. Mostly stomach trouble. I think there’re too many guys eating sweets.” She chuckles lightly, noting him cock his head in question. “Valentine’s Day, you know?” His mouth makes a familiar, reflexive downturn and her eyes soften. “I guess that’s one upside to being in here, right? No one to bother you with unwanted chocolate.”

There’s no point in mentioning that, these days, she’s the only one who would consider getting Sasuke a gift.

“Speaking of,” she goes on, reaching for the contain of tomatoes she brought with her. “I actually did bring you something, for old times’ sake. I think you probably haven’t had any in a while.”

She holds one of the plump fruits out to him before she fully considers the situation. Then she freezes, fingers hovering inches from his lips, suddenly unsure of herself.

Idiot! He can’t see what you have – and even if he could, he hates being useless! Way to remind him that he’s basically dependant on everyone these days!

Not to mention that feeding another person is kind of intimate. She’s immediately conscious of her increasing heart-rate and has to take a stabilising breath.

Stop it. There’s no ulterior motive here. It’s very simple. Sasuke can’t use his hands, so I have to help him – just like that time when Naruto couldn’t feed himself. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Open your mouth,” she tells him, and even with her brain giving her logical arguments, Sakura can’t help the flood of warmth to her cheeks. She can just imagine the expression he would be giving her – confused and suspicious – if not for the blindfold.

Just when she thinks he’s going to keep ignoring her and she’ll have to convince him, he does as she’s asked.

Before she loses her nerve, she presses the fruit to his lips and he carefully bites down. A lone rivulet of juice runs down the corner of his mouth as Sasuke emits a definite noise of surprise – possibly even pleasure – and Sakura feels a giddy sense of accomplishment.

“Not too sweet, right?” she asks him nervously as he slowly continues chewing. “They shouldn’t be. This type isn’t supposed to be sweet and all, and I picked them early enough, so they’re only just ripe. I was just surprised there were any. I mean, so much of the Uchiha district is just rubble now, but this little plant managed to survive it. Against all odds!” She smiles even though he can’t see it. “Want another one?”

“Hm.”

In anyone else, that would just be a vocalisation, but Sasuke might as well have just waxed poetic. Sakura’s smile becomes a beam of joy, and the reaches for another tomato.

She doesn’t let him eat all of them – he’s on a restricted diet, and she doesn’t want to make him sick – but she promises to give them to his jailor to include with his dinner rations.

“I’ll bring some more next time,” she tells him, standing up. “I’ve got to go now though, so…”

She trails off, and as expected, he has nothing to say.

Her happiness ebbs a little at this, but she shrugs it off. It’s Sasuke, and she’s already gotten more from him today than she would expect.

As she slips back through the iron door, though, the silence of the cell is broken.

“Sakura…” His voice is gravelly from disuse, making her stomach do a queer little flip and a chill climb up her spine. “Thank you.”

The way he says it, she knows it’s not just the tomatoes he’s grateful for. And unlike the first two times he’s said these words to her, she isn’t crying.

She smiles into the darkness and tells him, “You’re welcome.”

Maybe there’s hope for the future after all.

十

Sakura is busier than she has ever been in her life.

Setting up a children’s mental health clinic is a lot more difficult in practice than on paper, and considering the lack of resources, tasks which should take weeks end up taking months. She can’t remember the last time she fell asleep without planning out what problems she has to fix the next day.

Kakashi is as helpful as he can be, considering how much paperwork he gets buried in every day. And Naruto is usually busy shadowing him, learning protocols and proper Hokage etiquette. Besides, organisational skills are not his strong suit.

Sasuke has been gone for almost a year.

Even though he’s no longer out in the world seeking revenge, his absences is still keenly felt. Sakura tries to comfort herself with the fact that at least this time, they are communicating. They exchange letters, but they aren’t the kind she secretly still hopes for. They’re sporadic at best, and only to check in; there are no lyrical descriptions of the places he visits or heartfelt declarations of love. Sometimes, he asks her for advice about local herbs that can be used as remedies, and he always ends the note with an assurance that he is fine.

She never really expected Sasuke to be the love-letter type, but sometimes, she wishes that he might give her some indication of whether they’ll ever have more than this odd, holding-pattern friendship. The closest indication of affection she’s gotten from him since his release from prison is a puzzling tap on the forehead.

It’s a little frustrating, to say the least.

Valentine’s Day comes around once more, and Sakura makes her rounds to all the men in her life, out of habit more than anything else.

It’s the first year she gives anything to Sai, who asks if he’s supposed to pay her back in sexual favours. Ino is not happy with that, and yet for some reason, it’s Sakura who gets yelled at. It’s even more unfair because by now, Sakura’s a pretty good judge of when Sai is really confused or just fucking with people. She has a suspicion about her two friends, but until she gets more confirmation, she just lets it go.

Later during the day, she goes shopping with Hinata to help her pick out the right gift for Naruto.  The Hyūga heiress is even more blatantly obvious about her romantic feelings than Sakura ever remembers being, but she’s also painfully shy. And Naruto is painfully clueless.

In the end, Sakura ends up giving him both her and Hinata’s gifts together, as if they’re both just gifts for a friend. Hinata is obviously upset with herself, but she thanks Sakura for her help all the same, and Sakura tells her not to worry about it.

“By next year, we’ll work up that confidence and you can give him chocolate all by yourself,” she teases, but it’s all in fun.

She’s not sure which is worse – being in love with someone who knows about your feelings and doesn’t return them, or being in love with someone who doesn’t even see you as a woman. Either way, she and Hinata are in the same boat.

Maybe we should start a support group…

She doesn’t send anything to Sasuke.

There would be no point. She doesn’t want to expose his location if he’s on a reconnaissance mission, and she doesn’t think he would appreciate the gesture these days anyhow. Gifts from a hopeless romantic probably don’t really fit into his mission of redemption.

Tomatoes don’t ship too easily by air, after all. Especially by the ornery little hawk Sasuke always sends. The thing has a mouth like a bullhorn and the same imperious attitude as Ebisu.

Still, Sasuke or not, it’s part of her routine to check on the now substantial tomato plant in the Uchiha compound. The rest of the compound is still in ruins – Kakashi and Naruto are unwilling to do anything to the place until Sasuke gives some indication of his future plans – but her little addition is somehow still going strong.

Sakura only intends to check for weeds today and then head home, but upon kneeling down to get started, she finds something unexpected. Sitting within the vines of the plant itself, and clearly not there by accident, is an unwrapped white box. It’s identical to the one she found on her windowsill so many years ago.

Fingers trembling, Sakura looks around, wondering if perhaps someone is playing a cruel joke on her. When she senses no one nearby, she picks up the box and very slowly opens it.

Her breath catches in her throat at the sight.

Nestled in the centre is a tiny, white gold pendant, moulded into the familiar shape of an uchiwa.

There is no card, nothing besides the charm, and yet it’s clear – just as it was with the gloves – who is responsible for this and who it is meant for. Sakura tears up a little because the idea of Sasuke doing something like this is foreign, but so very much welcome.

It doesn’t exactly clear up their relationship – in fact, it makes it more complicated and confusing – but for the first time in a long time, it’s hope.

And she’ll take that over anything else, any day.

終わり

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I hope you enjoyed the story! As part of the SasuSakuFestival, please vote, like and/or reblog, it would be majorly appreciated!

クリ

[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 15-21

“Ascalonian, eh?”

“Our father was from Ebonhawke and our mother’s a Langmar,” I said, and he looked surprised all over again.

With a quick laugh, he said, “Then get out there, little sister, and make our ancestors proud.”

title: pro patria (15-21/?) stuff that happens: Althea and Logan take on Zamon in court, and Logan recruits Althea into a new investigation—one that touches her own family.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Lord Faren, Logan Thackeray, Countess Anise, Julius Zamon; Minister Caudecus, Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Logan, Althea & Faren, Althea & Deborah chapters: 1-7, 8-14

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FIFTEEN 1 I could always depend on Faren’s loyalty. But even beyond him, everyone I needed looked to be present. Cin Fursarai had arrived to complain about his business losses. Lady Madeline kept me at arm’s length, but indicated she still meant to testify. My friend Corone was ready to identify his stolen chalice, recovered from Zamon's mansion by the Seraph. Reth told me that he’d been fired from the Ministry Guard, but hoped I’d pull this off. “Just tell the truth,” I said, clasping his shoulder, “and Zamon won’t be able to do any more damage.” 2 Beneath my easy assurance—what I hoped looked like easy assurance—my blood pounded. This could go horribly wrong, and I had no clever tricks left, no clones to conceal myself among, nowhere to run or hide. I could only present the truth, and hope it convinced the ministers. I couldn’t look at my mother. Anise and Captain Thackeray quietly joined me on either side. “Proving Zamon’s guilt won’t be easy,” he said, “but I have every confidence in you. Now get out there and convict that maggot.” 3 I nodded, appreciating both the support and pressure, willing my pulse to slow. It didn’t seem particularly accommodating. “You look calm, but I can tell you’re worried,” Anise said softly. “Don’t be—you’ve done all of the necessary preparation and the facts are on our side. The case is yours to win.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, and forced myself to breathe evenly. “Now I just have to win it.” 4 Zamon, of course, sneered and denied everything. “You’re a fool, you know. You’ll never convict me—I’m as innocent as a babe in arms.” I, too, had noticed the tendency of infants to try bribing extremely wealthy aristocrats. Gods, what an idiot. I shrugged. “Let’s see who the courts believe.” 5 “Hear ye!” called the judicial scribe, and the hubbub dutifully dwindled. “The trial of Minister Julius Zamon is hereby called to order, Legate Minister Caudecus presiding. Who stands for the prosecution?” “I do,” I said, and forced myself to add, “Lady Althea Fairchild.” Just before, the scribe had explained that I would be on trial for slander, if Zamon were acquitted. I thought of my family’s unstained name, and just repressed a shudder. “Your Honour,” I declared, “we have evidence proving Minister Zamon conspired against the citizens of Divinity’s Reach!” 6 I couldn’t turn back now. “He abused his authority to commit thievery, murder, and treason. We will present incriminating documents and sworn testimony from respected members of the community, including the sister of the accused!” Madeline blanched, but met her brother’s glare steadily. Minister Caudecus studied me for several long moments. Then he turned to Zamon and said, “The prosecution seems to have prepared quite a compelling case.” My head swam with relief. 7 “Minister Zamon, can you refute these accusations?” Zamon simply laughed, and all relief faded. He was an idiot, but one who knew his own interests. Well, sort of—all my witnesses now eyed him with intense dislike, even Fursarai. “Refute?” he said scornfully. “Why bother? My lord Caudecus”—and now he stood upright, back to his old arrogant height—“in accordance with the most ancient tenets of Krytan law, I invoke my right to trial by combat!”

SIXTEEN

1 I didn’t even have time to hope that Minister Caudecus would restore some sense of order to the proceedings; he immediately accepted the invocation and announced that Zamon would have to nominate a second, and I both a principal and a second. “I will be the principal, Legate Minister,” I said promptly. Caudecus granted a short recess to choose my second—my second, in a trial by combat, as if we’d jumped back to the days of the guild wars. I hadn’t really meant this when I hoped for it a few days ago, I’d meant—I’d been angry, frustrated, but I thought of it as a long-dead custom, not a possibility. What did prowess in battle have to do with truth or justice? Well, I thought, at the least it could be an outlet for justice; I felt not the slightest doubt of his guilt, and very little doubt of defeating him in combat, backed by a decent second. The only difficulty was finding one. 2 In fact, I had no difficulty narrowing the field to possible candidates. As soon as I turned about and considered the gathered audience, I dismissed virtually everyone. There was Reth, who had been a Ministry Guard; he must have some fighting skill. There was Anise, a better mesmer than I’d ever be. Captain Thackeray, of course, if he really meant what he’d said. There was even Faren, who had (however ridiculously) held his own in the bandit caves. But which? 3 I drifted among my friends, not wanting to give Zamon and his massive Norn retainer any chance at preparing themselves. Fending off their inquiries after the case, I saw Faren waving his arm and swivelled about to reach him. Instead, I nearly slammed into Zamon himself. With one of his most unpleasant smiles, he said, “It’s not too late to abandon this farce. Recuse yourself and I’ll see to it your honesty is rewarded. You don’t want to face the alternative.” Very quietly, I said, “Don’t threaten me, Minister.” 4 I ducked into the crowd before he could try anything else—I wouldn’t put much past him—and strode up to Faren. “Ready for action, old friend!” he said brightly. Tension faded from my shoulders and temples, for all that I’d resolved nothing. Faren could be theatrical, posturing, careless, but somehow he always seemed to soothe my nerves. And no woman could ask for a truer friend. “I’m sure you are,” I told him, with a quick embrace. To my surprise, he returned it tightly, his sharp chin digging into my scalp. 5 Faren released me, looking nervous and awkward in a way I hadn’t seen in years. “And let me add,” he said, his voice far removed from his usual vain cheerfulness, “I’m truly flattered you’re even considering me as your second.” Oh. Well, I was, though I hadn’t thought of it as flattery, just pragmatics—but perhaps that was all the more flattering in its way, especially for someone like Faren. In all probability, I wouldn’t choose him, but I was touched anyway. “Glad to know you’re willing and able,” I replied. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to decide.” 6 I tracked down Anise—or rather, Anise’s vibrant hair, but happily, the rest of her remained attached to it. “Trial by combat?” she said, with all the incredulity that I felt. “Who’d have thought it? I’m surprised Zamon even knows it’s an option. There hasn’t been one in over fifty years … or, at least, that’s what I’ve been told.” I shot her an amused glance; she’d been a family friend in my mother’s youth as well as mine, if not before. “Then we ought to make this as memorable as possible,” I said. 7 Captain Thackeray was the easiest to find; he stood a head above everyone else and was encased in heavy armour, with a bright sword strapped to his side. He grinned at my questioning glance. “As a Seraph captain,” he told me, “I can’t really jump around saying, ‘pick me, pick me!’ But I can certainly think it.” I laughed. That resolved the first question. More soberly, he said: “I’m ready to go if you need me.” ---------------------------------------------------------------

1) the guild wars: a bloody war between actual guilds that took place shortly before the first game, Guild Wars: Prophecies.

2) Anise’s vibrant hair: Anise has very long, beautiful red hair.

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SEVENTEEN

1 “There’s nothing I’d like better than to personally dish out some of the punishment Zamon deserves,” added Captain Thackeray. I could easily believe it of him—both the sentiment and the approach. As I left him and moved among very-definitely-not-nominees, I did my best to calculate my chances without betraying any sign of doing so. Reth seemed to be some sort of brawler, eager to rough up a traitorous noble with his own hands. Captain Thackeray, between his bulk and his armour, could effectively shield me and absorb Zamon’s and Eitel’s attacks while I lashed out spells. Faren was—Faren. And Anise would duplicate the confusion I depended upon, multiply it into mass chaos. 2 I returned to the scribe, expression carefully blank, the observers and guests staring in near-silence—all but my candidates, whom I’d quietly informed. Zamon and Eitel-the-Unlovable looked guarded, but unprepared for any specific approach. “Have you decided who will serve as the prosecution’s second?” asked the scribe. In a loud, clear voice, I said, “I’ve chosen Captain Thackeray.” Logan already knew, but he still seemed like he might nearly punch his gauntleted fist into the air. He, Anise, and I turned cheerful smiles on Zamon, who eyed us all with intense dislike. He didn’t look afraid, but he didn’t look relieved, either—whatever he thought of me, he must know it wouldn’t be an easy fight against a captain of the Seraph and a mage. 3 “An interesting choice,” remarked Minister Caudecus, almost dourly. What had Logan ever done to him? “If Lord Zamon proves victorious, he is innocent. The case is thrown out and these charges against him may not be brought again. If you win, then Zamon is found guilty of the crime.” “I understand,” I replied. I understood that Zamon was going to rot in prison or the grave. 4 In the grave, as it happened. Captain Thackeray and I planned our approach with a few words and expressions; he would rush forward, keep them off me, and I’d make sure he had a dizzying array of clones and illusions alongside him to keep things interesting, between shooting Zamon and Eitel full of chaos magic. It worked beyond my most fanciful dreams. Eitel went down quickly; he seemed to have no resistance to my magic, and no interest in dodging it. Zamon screamed that we were nothing—really, who did he think he was?—and then that our skill didn’t matter. I only drew near at the end, when Zamon lay groaning and wounded under Logan’s sword. “I only … did … as I was told …” he mumbled, and died. 5 What? Now we had some other scheming traitor out there? “Victory is declared!” announced Minister Caudecus, with absolutely no enthusiasm. “According to the dictates of Krytan law, Minister Zamon is found guilty.” Captain Thackeray—Logan—guessed that Caudecus disliked the proceedings purely for the disruption of normal order, not that it was our doing, but Anise shook her head. “How do you think Zamon knew about the ancient law in the first place?” she murmured. Logan and I glanced sharply at her. 6 “If Zamon won the battle,” she continued, “he’d be declared innocent—no more investigation. Now he’s guilty, but he’s also dead. No loose ends.” Of course—but Caudecus himself? I could hardly believe it, and Logan looked shaken as well. Anise didn’t move closer, but the sudden intensity in her face made it feel as if she had. “Never underestimate Minister Caudecus,” she told us. 7 Anise slipped away, always quick to avoid unintended notice, and Logan gave a brisk nod. “Go and celebrate a well-earned victory,” he said. “I was genuinely hoping for a conviction based on a preponderance of the evidence … but this works, too.” That was Logan, all right. The ambivalent expression on his face then vanished, replaced by an unusually cheerful resolve. I’d expected him to return to his own business, like Anise; instead, he gave me a comradely clap on the shoulder that nearly knocked me to my knees. Then, Logan—Captain Thackeray of Divinity’s Reach, heir of Gwen Thackeray, hero of too many battles to count—looked straight at me, a woman who’d been indistinguishable from any young noble until a few months ago, and said, “I’m starting to think there’s no problem we can’t solve if we tackle it together.”

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1) Eitel-the-Unlovable: Zamon’s retainer is a Norn, a member of a species of giant, vaguely Scandinavian shapeshifters. 

--------------------------------------------------------------- EIGHTEEN 1 “Now get some rest,” Captain Thackeray ordered. “There’s sure to be more work for us soon.” “Thanks, Captain,” I said, at once overwhelmed and determined. “I’ll be ready.” The compliments didn’t end there. Anise half-jokingly offered me a place among the queen’s lawyers; Corone laughed and said that he’d be sure not to run afoul of the captain and me; Lord Benjamin lit up when I suggested he should join the government himself; even the scribe said she was impressed with the trial. Truthfully, I told her, “I just hope that such proceedings remain rare.” 2 Faren, of course, swept a low, graceful bow, and then pretended to nearly swoon. “Another fine day’s work—on your part, that is,” he said. “Frankly, I’m exhausted just watching you.” I managed not to snicker, but only because I stood among the pillars and arches of the Ministry itself, not to mention under the eyes of some of the most powerful figures in Kryta. With a grin, he went on, “I hope you know I’ll be toasting your success later this evening, with damsels yet to be determined.” “I know,” I said dryly, and raised a brow. “Just spare me the details, and I’ll toast you for your discretion.” 3 Gladly leaving Faren to his own devices, I made my last farewells to everyone still loitering around the Ministry. To my relief, I had no immediately pressing duties, although Captain Thackeray—after congratulating me again and urging me to celebrate my victory—assured me that he’d be in touch. I didn’t doubt it, but for now, the best celebration seemed sleeping for three days. It wasn’t quite three days, but I did ignore everything else to crawl into my bed for hours, only waking for meals and a few dimly-remembered conversations. When I finally emerged, I had to assure my mother, “I’m not hurt, Mama, just tired.” Mother looked at me with anxious eyes—only more anxious after, well, watching me duel another minister to the death while unable to do anything, and while her other daughter lay dead and probably mutilated in some lost grave. I hated that she’d seen it, hated the fear that lived in her eyes these days, but more than that, I hated the idea of turning my back on our people. 4 After I spent a few days with my mother, alternately sleeping and consoling her, I headed back into Queensdale. I didn’t have a clear destination in mind, but I’d often heard Deborah talk about how people out there needed more help than the Seraph could supply, and how much more she wished she could do. I meant to help wherever I could, in whatever ways I could. Wherever I could took some peculiar shapes over the next few weeks. I made my way to Claypool and helped the Seraph captain there train the militia; in return, she wrote frankly, I wasn't sure someone of your reputation would stick around to help my militia. I'm impressed and honoured that you did. I re-read the letter four times, not smiling, just—I hadn’t expected either the surprise or the gratitude; if anything, I counted it an honour to serve the Seraph. 5 Then there was a lumber mill under perpetual threat from a) skritt and b) extremely oversized wasps. I helped the labourers fight them off as often as I could, and received another letter, though it took awhile to find its way to me—probably because it was addressed simply to “Ly Althea of Rurikton.” The leader of the workers was Ascalonian, and had been more deeply impressed that I had a home in Rurikton than that the home was a manor. Your reputation, she wrote, doesn’t exaggerate your heroism and skill. All of us at the lumber mill thank you for your time. That time, I did smile. I wasn’t patrolling Queensdale for praise, but neither was I so pure that I didn’t like getting it. 6 When I heard that Claypool had fallen under attack from centaurs, I returned as quickly as I could manage, and helped fight them off. These seemed even fiercer than the centaurs at Shaemoor, but somehow it was easier to drive them off. The centaurs were shaken, one of the Seraph told me. “Demoralizing the enemy is key,” he went on, “and you made that happen.” I’d helped, no more; but if my help had turned the tide for Claypool, I was glad to serve. Perhaps Seraph Elmder saw that, because he clapped my shoulder just as Captain Thackeray would have. “Thank you, soldier,” he said. 7 I ended up wandering all the way to Beetletun, doing everything from convincing children to work at their chores, to fighting off even hardier, more aggressive centaurs, to slipping inside their encampments to sabotage their equipment and free their slaves. There were pests in the village to eradicate, and farms throughout the shire to protect or salvage. And I fought alongside Seraph at their outposts, which I preferred to just about anything else. It wasn’t just Deborah or Logan; as I saw just how much the Seraph needed to do, and how thin their resources ran, I’d come to admire them for their own sake. I’d never met a Seraph I didn’t respect. Of course, there was Deborah’s memory; wherever her spirit might be, I hoped she knew what my life had become. I might not be much for taking orders from anyone I hadn’t chosen, but I was following her steps as closely as I could. NINETEEN 1 I was in Godslost Swamp, helping historians fight off nightmares from the Underworld—long story—when a letter from my mother arrived. It had been written weeks earlier, passed from courier to courier along the increasingly dangerous route, then left at the last outpost until someone brave enough to dare the swamp delivered it to the Priory camp. Thankfully, it contained nothing urgent, only accounts of Ministry machinations, the doings of my friends—she dedicated an entire paragraph to Faren, who appeared to be doing a great deal of nothing—and some visits from her own friends. Anise seemed in poor spirits, she wrote, or rather, irritated ones. Apparently, that nice Captain Thackeray has a bee in his bonnet (can you imagine him with a bonnet?) over something entirely disconnected from his duties in Divinity’s Reach. My brows rose; that didn’t sound like him at all. Mother concluded with an unsubtle wish that she would see me again soon, or at least hear from me, and I winced; although I dutifully wrote whenever I had paper and couriers available, this had not been one of those times—and if she’d known where I was, she would have good reason to fear for me. 2 Frankly, after fighting a massive, hellish nightmare creature that took a good hundred adventurers to bring down, home sounded decidedly appealing. I could soothe my mother, see my friends, get some decent meals and rest, and put on unstained clothes—and check in with ‘that nice Captain Thackeray.’ (Mother’s feelings towards him had always been vaguely positive, but seeing him protect me in trial by combat had raised them to eternal devotion.) I didn’t bother with a letter; thanks to some of my favourite spells, I could travel faster by myself than any series of couriers. And she plainly did not expect an actual arrival; I could surprise her this way. Sure enough, Mother gave a strangled shriek when she saw me in the street, and disregarded the curious people around us, the state of my clothes, everything, to rush forward and clutch me to her. I would never turn back from the path I had set myself upon—but though I cared for many people and places, I didn’t think I could ever love anything so much as my family. 3 Doubtfully, a woman I’d never met said, “Isn’t that the hero of Shaemoor?” Another replied, “No, it’s Minister Ailoda.” We ignored them to make our way back to the manor. To her credit, it took Mother a good five minutes to wrinkle her nose. “What have you been doing? Let me draw you a bath, darling.” I was only too happy to remove the accumulation of dirt and swamp water I’d never quite managed to scrub off at the Seraph outposts—but I had no intention of telling her just what I’d been doing. 4 I emerged from the bath with a pleasant sense of pristine cleanliness, and a silk robe that had never felt finer against my skin. After I dressed (the clothes freshly laundered, because Mother thought of everything), I supplied a severely edited version of my adventures since she’d last seen me. Even that much was enough to make her shudder. “I know you’re following your conscience, but—” “I am,” I said firmly. I did spend the next few days with her, amusing her with stories of (safe) quirks and mishaps, letting her show me off at the Ministry, staying beside her during the regular courtesy calls she received. Then I headed to Seraph Headquarters. 5 When I walked through the doors, Logan’s face lit up. He abruptly concluded the discussion he’d been involved in and strode right over to me. “Good to see you again, my friend,” he said, looking so pleased that I couldn't bring myself to doubt it. “You have excellent timing!” I had no idea what tangential preoccupation could have irritated Anise. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for what he said next. “Have you ever heard of Falcon Company?” 6 For a moment, my mind went entirely blank. The voices around us faded, my ears ringing. My face and hands felt cold, but my lungs burned. “Of course I have,” I said, proud that my voice remained even. “One of the most decorated units of Seraph, wiped out by a centaur ambush.” Taking a deep breath, I added, “My sister was a soldier in that command.” Captain Thackeray looked stricken. 7 “Your sister?” he exclaimed, clearly oblivious. Falcon Company had fallen under a different command, I told myself, unrelated to his own—that was why Anise disapproved of his interest—and that interest was frankly more than I would have expected. Still. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, turning somber. “I—I didn’t know.” I nodded, goodwill restored, and remembered myself enough to wonder: if he hadn’t heard about my connection to the Falcons, and didn’t have one of his own, why was he asking me about them? And why now? TWENTY 1 Gravely, Logan said, “You'll be even more interested in this information than I thought.” The chill lying over my skin flashed hot. Information? What—maybe—was— He lowered his voice, more conscious of our surroundings than I could manage. “Scouts in the Queen’s Forest discovered pages from an old journal. They were apparently written by Willem Harrinton, a member of Falcon Company.” A member of Deborah’s company. 2 Had Harrinton known something? Oh, he must have, for Captain Thackeray to consider it ‘information.’ He must have written it down. But— I waited, some approximation of composure returning; I could hear the low murmurs and pen-scratchings of Seraph business around us, though Logan had drawn us away into a corner where we wouldn’t be easily overheard. “The writing on the pages is rough,” he went on, “hasty. But it describes survivors of the battle taken prisoner by the centaurs.” 3 Damn composure, anyway. “Survivors?” I breathed, feeling the rush of blood all through my veins. Survivors. No body, no presence at the grave, nothing—was it possible? I’d never imagined it. Never dared imagine it. “My sister could be alive?” 4 Desperate hope sparked through me, and I seized his arm without regard to the layers of plate over it. “Logan, you’ve got to let me investigate!” I burst out. No, no, I had to stay calm, force myself into some semblance of self-control; friend or not, I’d be left out if I seemed too overwrought for the investigation. And I couldn’t sit back while others took on the danger, while Debs perhaps laboured under centaurs’ whips (great Kormir, I couldn’t even imagine it), while—I had to find out for myself. In a quieter voice, I insisted, “I need to know what happened to Deborah.” Instead of eyeing me doubtfully, as I half-expected, Logan gave me a sympathetic smile. “I thought you’d feel that way.” 5 “Let’s update my records,” he said briskly, reverting to his usual determined competence, “and then you can head to Eldvin Monastery and speak to Captain Tervelan.” I nodded, aiming for the same level of professionalism. “Though he’s been promoted to Captain of Queensdale, Tervelan once commanded Falcon Company,” said Logan. “He might be able to tell us more.” I remembered the abrupt letter we’d received, simply signed J. Tervelan. Now I was going to see its author at last. “Good,” I said. 6 Logan led me over to his desk, which was covered in papers and parchment in various conditions, along with the Seraph roster that I’d seen before. “Falcon Company’s records were largely destroyed by centaur raids,” he explained. “I’m trying to get a complete roster.” He dipped a quill in ink, then gave me a quick glance. “Your sister was of Krytan descent?” I lifted my chin. “Ascalonian, sir,” I said, “and proud of it.” 7 His eyes widened, a smile creeping back. But he confined himself to an indistinct noise of approval, dragging his finger down the faded roster until he reached Fairchild, Deborah. My chest hurt, but something in me thrilled at the quiet addition of Asc alongside her rank, which I affirmed, and age and place of birth, which I supplied. After he cleaned and capped the quill, Logan shook his head. “Ascalonian, eh?” “Our father was from Ebonhawke and our mother’s a Langmar,” I said, and he looked surprised all over again. With a quick laugh, he said, “Then get out there, little sister, and make our ancestors proud.”

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1) Ascalonian, sir, and proud of it: the line that inspired the whole fic! It solely (as far as I know) determines Deborah’s appearance in the cinematics, but Deborah and the PC being proud Ascalonians seemed something that would profoundly influence them, given the dynamics at play in GW1/Eye of the North/GW2.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- TWENTY-ONE 1 I nearly tripped on my way from the Seraph headquarters to Dwayna’s gate. A Charr was strolling through the plaza right before headquarters, easy as you please—a Charr, in Divinity’s Reach! It looked like he’d come from the gate to Lion’s Arch, which was … legal, but I hadn’t seen any here in years, and—and he couldn’t mean anything good. I paused long enough to glance back suspiciously; was he scouting out weaknesses? “That Charr is back,” someone said behind me, not bothering to lower her voice. “He makes me nervous.” She wasn’t the only one. 2 But I had more important concerns than Charr, at least right now. Logan and Anise could protect Divinity’s Reach; I had Deborah’s fate to uncover. I jumped from waypoint to waypoint, stumbling out of the last with a few copper for the gatekeeper and the breath nearly knocked right out of me. But I recovered after only a moment, and with a burst of concentration, took off running towards Eldvin Monastery. I slowed down as I approached, letting the air cool the sweat and flush on my skin, then wiping it with a cleansing handkerchief that I returned to my belt pouch. I might not be Faren, but I didn’t care to confront unpredictable circumstances at anything less than my best. I brushed a few blades of grass off my sleeves and, after a single deep breath, marched up to the main entrance. 3 The Seraph at the gates to the monastery clearly recognized me, by either description or reasoning. They immediately straightened up, and one of them—who seemed to be the leader—saluted me. “The hero of Shaemoor is finally here, everybody!” she cried. To me, she said, “The captain’s expecting you—he’s up on the wall.” Well, that should make things easier. “Captain Thackeray sent a message that you were going to visit,” she said, and looked me over with evident, un-Seraph-like fascination, her eyes wide. “We’re all very excited to meet the hero of Shaemoor.” 4 She was, at least. I thanked her and got directions to the captain, then paused. I had no way of knowing what any of them had seen or guessed, if anything. “Have you heard of the Screaming Falcons?” I asked. “Of course!” she said. “They’re legendary, especially around here—the best company in the Seraph, but then … well, you know.” Yes, I knew. 5 “Did you ever meet any of them?” I pressed. “They were before my time,” she said, sobering, “but I’ve heard stories about that week, laying out the bodies for burial.” Her jaw tightened. “They say some of the bodies were missing. It sickens me to think what the centaurs did with them.” My chest clenched, a sick, sour taste rising in my throat. I swallowed it down and replied, “Me, too.” 6 Inside the walls, the abbey brothers and sisters seemed cheerful enough, concerned first with their ale and secondly with their faith. But I quickly realized that the first Seraph’s enthusiasm was not shared by all. “Another ‘hero,’ huh?” said a lieutenant. “I’ve met your kind before—you’re brave enough, inside city walls.” I thought of saying I don’t have a kind, but I couldn’t quite believe it. At any rate, he clearly hadn’t met a map if he thought Shaemoor lay within city walls. “Out here,” he added, tone even grimmer, “you’re just a walking corpse waiting for your time to come.” 7 “Stiffen your spine,” I said coolly. “You’re representing queen and country. Petulance doesn’t befit your station.” Lieutenant Gordon laughed. “Queen and country? Yes, they do deserve better—better than this.” At once irritated, offended, and peculiarly impressed, I told him, “Keep that in mind.”

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1) the gate to Lion’s Arch: there’s a sparkly Asura gate/portal to Lion’s Arch (the central city of the whole game) from the human home district of Divinity’s Reach.

2) jumped from waypoint to waypoint: waypoints are location markers that let you teleport between them for a price (varying by distance between them). 

[quinzelade]

By No Constraint (chpt 57)

SS x Danse

Chapter List

Thanks to my amazing beta, waiting4morning, for her wonderful work! Thanks to Musashi1596 for the title.

Major Brotherhood/Danse spoilers.

Want update alerts? Follow this story on FFnet or Ao3.

--

Goodbye

--

“What a goddamn mess.” Rachel turned her gaze from the bodies littering the floor to the great, sweeping vistas of the Institute. The trees and grass were burning, and scorch marks left a chaotic pattern on the walls of the towers. The glass floor was cracked and covered in blood. Some human. Most of it synth.

Quinn didn’t answer the knight-sergeant. She only had eyes for Casey.

Bantios hadn’t moved from Casey’s side throughout the entire fight. He was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns from where the synths had tried to pick him off, only for them to be brought down by the circling Carson.

Quinn knew it was fruitless. Although laser burns generally weren’t that severe, Casey had been caught in the face at close range by a courser. She suspected their weapons were better than standard synth rifles, and judging from Casey’s lack of movement, this suspicion was probably truth.

The second the last synth had fallen, Carson had abandoned his armour and returned to Casey’s side. No one had tried to stop him—not even Maxson. Instead, an uneasy look flickered amongst the seasoned soldiers, conveying the silent message.

Casey was dying.

How long she had left, no one knew. But it was impossible to pass from initiate to knight without losing someone along the way. Quinn wondered which loved one had been snatched from each and every soldier—a friend? A partner? A child?

Rachel hovered at Quinn’s side, watching with a blank expression as Bantios passed empty syringes and stimpaks to Carson. Bantios took the lilac-tinged gel he had just made and carefully applied it to Casey’s face.

Rachel turned away, helping the other scribes move the rest of the injured. The dead were left untouched.

Quinn stood rooted to the spot. Afraid to hesitate. Afraid to proceed. She was about to lose someone she cared about—did she really want another horrific death etched into her brain? Deacon’s eyes were already pushing her to the limit.

Finally, she took a deep breath and slowly walked over, her feet loud in the quiet ruins of the facility. As soon as she saw Casey’s wounds, Quinn wished she’d kept her distance.

Her left eye was completely gone. The remains dripping down her blistered, weeping skin, stripped raw on one side, while a good section of her hair was burned away.

Bantios didn’t look much better up close. He was pale and glistening, his own eyes intact and determined. The front of his uniform was badly charred around the midriff, but he seemed unconcerned, his hands shaking. Other scribes flitted around him, preoccupied with their own patients.

There was a surprisingly low body count, all things considered. If Quinn didn’t know better, she would have thought the Institute were caught unawares. Clearly Shaun hadn’t expected this deception from her.

Ingram’s voice crackled over the intercom.

“Paladin, we’ve located the reactor. It’s accessible through the Advanced Systems division. Only...you can’t reach it. The security override can only come from the Director’s terminal. You’ll need to access his quarters.”

His quarters? Oh God. Shaun.

“Ready when you are, ma’am.”

Quinn turned to see Rachel Marguerie at her elbow, a sombre Carson getting to his feet as Bantios continued with Casey. He dragged himself over, looking crushed, but still prepared to move.

“Both of you stay here,” Quinn said. She wouldn’t allow them to come with her. Not for this moment.

“But—”

“I said no.” Quinn reloaded her rifle and lowered her voice. “My son...he’ll be up there. I need to...I want to see him alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rachel hissed.

“You of all people should understand the lengths a parent will go for their child.”

The knight-sergeant looked as if Quinn had slapped her, her face going chalk white. Quinn was too far gone to care.

“Carson,” she said, filling the stunned silence, “go back to Casey and help Bantios look after her. Rachel, help deal with the dead and injured. We need to keep things moving. They’ve thrown a good chunk of their forces at us just now, so I highly doubt there will be much resistance.”

“You’re going to the director’s office. Of course there’ll be resistance!” Rachel had found her voice again, her cheeks blotting with indignant colour. “Let us help you!”

“I’ve given you your orders, now do it!”

Every head in the vicinity turned to look at them, including Elder Maxson’s. Rachel stood on the spot, her face burning—from anger or embarrassment, Quinn didn’t know. Would Rachel tell Maxson what Quinn was planning, or would she bow to her rank?

Rachel’s scowl deepened, but she nodded. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Noted. Dismissed, knight-sergeant.”

Rachel gave her a jerky salute and marched away. Quinn waited until she was some distance from her, and then walked over to the elevator. She had just reached the controls when Maxson himself stopped her.

“You’re going alone, Paladin?”

Was that concern in his voice?

“Yes, sir,” Quinn replied, standing to attention. “I believe it will be easier to get through alone. They’ll focus their attention on the biggest threat, leaving me free to reach the terminal.”

Maxson frowned, obviously mulling her plan over in his head. But then he let go of her arm and stepped back, picking up his weapon again. “Ad victoriam, sister.”

“Ad victoriam, sir.” Quinn summoned the elevator, quickly forcing herself inside. her power armour just about fitting. There was a beep as the glass doors slid shut, and then she was lowered into the ground. Her friends watched from afar as Quinn disappeared out of sight.

Within seconds, she reached her destination. Stepping out of the elevator, Quinn deactivated it, just in case Rachel got any ideas about using a stealth boy and following. Then she walked through the maintenance corridors, vaguely remembering the way as she strode through the area she had first met Shaun, his synth clone trapped and terrified behind glass. Terrified of her.

Quinn’s stomach turned at the memory, but she continued on, steeling herself for their final encounter. She made her way into the next room, the decor changing from harsh yellows and off-whites to a series of subtle, soothing greys. Her heart raced harder with every step she took up the polished stairs, her armour making her progress bang.

And then there was Shaun.

He was lying in some sort of pod—a bed, she thought. His face was gaunt and ashen, his features in their usual blank arrangement. Even when Quinn left her armour, there was no trace of upset or surprise. He just stared at her, almost resigned in his mannerisms. Had he known of her betrayal after all?

“I didn’t expect to see you again.” Same monotone voice. Same calm expression.

Quinn licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. “The Institute had to be stopped, Shaun.”

He looked less than impressed with this answer. “And you’ve decided this for yourself? Or has it been fed to you by the corrupt societies above ground?” The blankness turned to anger. “It’s not enough that I lay here dying. Now you plan on...what? Destroying everything?”

Dying?

Quinn felt her mouth drop open, but she barely noticed. Her world was constricting, her breath caught in her throat as her heartbeat roared in her ears. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Despite it all, despite what she had left for Danse on that tape, Quinn had hoped there would be a way to get Shaun out. None of the Brotherhood knew who he was, after all.

Shaun took advantage of her silence. “Tell me, then. Under what righteous pretence have you justified this atrocity?”

“You’re dying?” she whispered. Even now, knowing this could be the outcome, the truth of it was too unbearable to accept. Her son. Her son.

“Answer my question,” Shaun replied, his voice tight and harsh. “Then I will answer yours.”

“I…” Quinn shut her eyes, trying to unfog her thoughts. He was dying. Why? How? The Institute was supposed to be the pinnacle of technology. Could they have saved him if she hadn’t led the attack? “I…”

“Why have you done this?”

The crack of his tone was enough to bring her back. Quinn shook her head and glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

For a moment, Shaun looked taken aback. But she didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“Corrupt societies? They’re just human beings trying to get by in this shithole of a world that you keep them in. You’ve barely walked amongst those people, Shaun. You just sit down here, deciding their fates for them while keeping the science that could improve their lives for yourself. Kidnapping them. Killing them. Mutating them into monstrosities and then releasing them back into the Commonwealth.”

“Ah, you found that old division, did you?” He didn’t seem bothered that she had learned such a dirty secret. On the contrary, he sounded curious. It filled her with a rage enough to drown out the mounting grief.

“Yes, I did. And I know you did nothing to stop it,” Quinn spat. “But even then, that doesn’t touch onto what you’ve done with the synths. You’ve creating living, breathing people, and you treat them no better than objects. I’ve found out firsthand the pain you cause them!”

A knowing look flickered across Shaun’s face. “M7-97?”

“Don’t call him that.” Her voice was sharp, and he looked surprised. She didn’t care. “His name is Danse. He’s a person, not a machine or an experiment. The same with your...replica.”

“I remember you telling me you would treat the child as though he were a human.” A faint smile played on his lips. “I’m glad to see there is now evidence for that.” He shifted in his bed and winced, his face taking on a dark look. “Your new companions will kill you both if they ever find out M7...Danse survived.”

“Maybe they will. But I’ll take as many of them as I can with me. He’s human, just like the rest of the synths. The Brotherhood’s desire to kill them is wrong.”

“You annihilated their biggest protector.” Suddenly he wore a nasty smirk. “The Railroad. You allowed us to reclaim many of our lost units once they were out of the picture. I’d intended to thank you, before all of this took place.”

“You disgust me.”

The words were out before she could stop them. Once again, Shaun looked stunned, but Quinn felt no regrets.

“It’s hard to believe I’m related to you,” Shaun said, his voice rough with anger. For the first time since she had met him, he looked truly furious, wearing a scowl worthy of Quinn herself. Then it was gone, and the unsettling blank returned.

“Well, none of it matters now. You’ll accomplish your task and ruin humanity’s best hope for the future. The only question then is why you’re still standing here. Is it regret, or did you just come to gloat?”

Quinn hugged herself as she stared at him, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. “I want to save you.”

“Save me? Why on earth would you do that?”

“You’re my son. I love you.”

Shaun stared at her for what felt like an age. Finally, he said, “How can you claim to love me after what has transpired? You have said yourself you are against all that I stand for, all that I believe in. And now you are here, making sure everything I hold dear burns.”

“Because that’s what love is,” Quinn replied, trying desperately to hold eye contact with him. “This has been hardest decision I have ever had to make, because I love you. But this can’t go on. You’ve hurt too many people. You had to be stopped, for the good of everyone in the Commonwealth.”

She paused.

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t help you before it got to this point. You became the man that you are, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. I failed you. But no matter what, you’re still my son. I will always love you. Even if you don’t love me. Even if you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Shaun murmured. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then come with me,” Quinn said. “I’ll find a way to get you past the Brotherhood. Claim you were a prisoner, or—”

“As I said, I am dying.” He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Cancer. I have already been told by my finest staff that there is nothing that can be done. Leaving with you would only prolong my suffering. And...I cannot go to...I don’t want…”

“You’re afraid of the outside world.”

Shaun nodded, and Quinn felt her heart break. There was nothing to be done. She couldn’t stay, as much as she wanted to. But the idea of leaving him to die alone in this godforsaken place was too much. She bowed her head, suffocating in her misery as she dug her nails into her hands, trying to stop herself falling over the edge.

“I can’t just leave you here!” she gasped, the tears now flowing freely. Shaun finally opened his eyes as he looked at her, alarmed, but quickly recovered himself.

“This is of your own making,” he replied coolly. “Go.”

Quinn didn’t move. It was wrong. It all felt so wrong. She glanced down at her Pip-Boy and knew what she had to do.

Quinn opened the holotape compartment, removed Nate’s precious recording, and handed it to Shaun.

He stared at it, frowning. “This is…?”

“Yes.”

“But...?”

“I can’t be with you until the end.” Quinn sniffed. “But your father can. It’s what he would have wanted. It’s what I want, too. So please, take it.”

“This is precious to you.”

She gave a small nod, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. She was afraid she might crumble if she did.

Shaun held it out to her. “Put it in my terminal. I can control it from here.”

Quinn obeyed, his skin warm and worn as they briefly brushed hands. She walked over to his computer and inserted the tape, before going over the options. There was an evacuation order on it.

“Shaun…”

“Yes?”

“The Brotherhood...they have control of the teleporter. And they have some of your staff as well. They tried to kill them, but I intervened. I think Maxson is going to interrogate them, though...and after that, I don’t know. Is there a way to evacuate the rest of your people entirely without them falling into the Brotherhood’s hands?”

“Why would you tell me this?”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone I don’t have to. They’re scientists, not soldiers. They don’t pose a threat. They don’t need to die.”

There was a long pause. Eventually, he said, “You continue to surprise me, Mother.”

Mother. He had called her mother.

Without thinking, Quinn reached out to him, wanting to touch him. To hold her son. Shaun recoiled from her, wearing a look of uncertainty, and Quinn let her arms drop. Of course there were still boundaries. His rejection stung.

“There is more than one teleporter in this facility,” he continued, glossing over the awkward moment. “We need to let them know that particular exit point is off-limits. That way they can escape.”

Quinn listened as Shaun carefully explained how to change the evacuation instructions, trusting that he wasn’t leading her into some sort of deadly trap. After all, he had nothing to lose. When she had finished his orders, the usual female voice began to speak.

“Attention all personnel. Evacuate the facility immediately. Platform YB-06 has been compromised. Please use alternative evacuation points if this affects your evacuation route. Attention all personnel. Evacuate...”

Quinn felt a stab of relief. With any luck, most of them would get away. She could argue for the ones Maxson had captured later. Quinn returned to the terminal and deactivated the lockdown that had been put in place.

Ingram’s voice rang out over the intercom. “Well done, Paladin. Looks like a path should be clear to the reactor. And I am happy to report that reinforcements have arrived.”

Quinn leaned over the terminal and sighed.

“You really don’t want to be here, do you?” Shaun asked from behind her.

She looked over her shoulder and saw he had turned around to face her. Quinn shook her head. “No.”

Shaun studied her for a moment. Then he said, “Use the access code 9003. It will disable some of the synths.”

Quinn blinked at him, but followed his directions again. The option to disable the synth units suddenly came up, no longer hidden in the system. She clicked it, and a message flashed to confirm completion.

Stepping away from the terminal, Quinn walked back to him, twisting her hands together. She was confused. Why was he helping her?

“Thank you,” she said, meeting his eye again. He was wearing a strange expression.

“You need to go,” he replied. “Just...leave me.”

“I love you, Shaun.”

“I...I believe you.”

That was as good as she was going to get. But it was enough. He understood. He knew.

Quinn got back into her power armour and left the room. As she walked past a deactivated synth standing still in the corridor, she heard the terminal whir to life. The recording she could recite from memory began to play.

“Oops, haha. Keep those little fingers away…. Ah, there we go. Just say it, right there. Right there, go ahead. Ah, yay! Hi honey…”

--

The chaos returned with Quinn. As she made her way back into the main plaza, laserfire filled the air, synths pouring out of the now opened door into the Advanced Systems sector. But not as many as the first attack. It seemed Shaun had been as good as his word.

Bantios was still with Casey. It was a bad sign she hadn’t been moved with the rest of the injured. That meant she wasn’t stable enough. Quinn kept an eye on them both throughout the duration of the fight, killing anything that got too close. Carson also remained near, almost fanatical in his efforts to stop Bantios being disturbed. When the last of the enemies had been dealt with, Carson exited his armour again and returned to Casey’s side.

Quinn bit her lip, glancing to the Advanced Systems entrance. The emptiness inside of her was being prickled by fear. They were moving out soon, and she would need Carson with her.

Carson sat in silence, following Bantios’ instructions to the letter. On and on the scribe toiled, burning through stimpaks and med-x and God knows what else. Even from this distance, Quinn could see the frantic desperation in his eyes, and knew he was thinking of Núñez.

Finally, Carson put his hand on Bantios’ arm. “Stop.”

Bantios shook his head. “No. She saved me. I have to help her. She has to live.”

“You aren’t doing her a kindness by dragging this out.” Carson stared down at Casey’s ruined face. His skin was ashy, his eyes watery as he blinked repeatedly, a muscle jumping in his tense jaw. “I’d give anything for…just stop. Please.”

Bantios said nothing. Carson took hold of Casey’s hand, pressed his lips to her fingers, and then laid her hand across her body. He observed the unsteady rise and fall of her chest, before getting to his feet and walking over to Quinn.

“I can’t watch her die,” he mumbled, answering her unspoken question. “Let’s get this over with.” He clambered into his armour without another word.

Bantios didn’t leave Casey immediately, pumping her full of stimpaks and other chems with a frown on his face. Finally, though, he stood up. But instead of joining them, he stopped Haylen, saying something to her that Quinn couldn’t hear. Haylen’s brow furrowed, but she nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder, passing him her pistol. Bantios stowed it away in his uniform and jogged over to Quinn.

“Requesting permission to join you in the reactor, ma’am.”

“Granted.” Quinn still didn’t like the idea of him tagging along, but with Casey on her way out, they were down a scribe. He didn’t smile this time, silently falling in rank with her team.

Unlike the duration of the first few fights, the Institute suddenly felt empty. Weapons were scattered everywhere, science equipment abandoned mid-experiment. Deactivated synths stood vigil around the desolate halls, their heads bowed, their arms limp. The evacuation notice had worked.

They moved through a room filled with giant yellow tanks full of liquid, and Quinn recognised it as the area she had found Doctor Li. The area she had first spoken to the synth of Shaun. Her skin prickled with...what? Apprehension? Hope? She didn’t know. But the child was not there. Would he die down here? Had he been left behind too, deactivated and forgotten? Or had the scientists deemed him human enough to take with them? Somehow, Quinn doubted it.

Her head was swimming again. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, swaying on the spot. How could she do this? Kill her son. How could she…?

“Quinn?”

Someone shook her and the haze cleared slightly. She turned her head to see Carson, and though he was wearing his helmet, the concern in his voice was loud and clear. His hand was clamped on her shoulder, and after a second she realised she was leaning into him.

Rachel and Bantios were at the end of the corridor, watching her with grave expressions. Thankfully, Maxson and his entourage had already gone on ahead.

“One last push, Quinn,” Carson said. “One last push and it’s over. You can do this. Come on.”

Quinn stepped forward unsteadily, grasping out to her friend to stay upright. Carson took hold of her elbow and helped her walk, continuing his mutterings until the tremors ceased and the moment passed. Whatever happened, Shaun was going to die. She had known this from the moment she’d given Maxson the Institute data. And if it had to be done, then she should be the one. Her child. Her responsibility.

Quinn straightened up, gently shaking Carson off. “Let’s go.”

They caught up with Maxson in the entrance to the reactor. It was a far cry from Advanced Systems. Dirty and rough, it reminded her of the Old Robotics section. Exposed pipes lined the walls, steam hissing out from gaps in the metal, and all the machinery was covered in a thick layer of grime, oil, and grease.

The reactor was supposed to be the most important thing in the Institute—it had been referenced numerous times in the terminals she had wormed her way into. Why then was it in such a state of disrepair?

Sirens raged on as oranges lights flashed across Quinn’s vision, dazzling her. Turrets in the ceiling opened fire, their lasers simply bouncing of Quinn and Carson’s armour while Bantios and Rachel took cover behind them. A few rounds from Quinn’s combat rifle later, and they were in pieces.

As Quinn progressed deeper into the reactor, things became familiar. Old consoles that wouldn’t look out of place in a wasteland factory. Pre-war safety posters plastered everywhere. Coffee cups and tool boxes. Even a battered clock on the wall, its hand forever frozen at quarter to ten.

“This must be the oldest part of the Institute,” Quinn murmured, peering through the grimy window to the reactor below. It certainly looked like a product of her time, so different from the clean, sleek decor of the main facility. The reactor was bulky and tarnished, though clearly maintained regularly, blue light flickering from the glass panels at its door. The core of the Institute, and the foundation on which the strife of the Commonwealth had been built.

Quinn moved on. Elder Maxson walked next to her, the others marching behind. She wished he wasn’t here. She would have much preferred Carson or Rachel at her side. But when they entered the main reactor room, Quinn quickly retracted her wish as a jet of flame engulfed them. Maxson only just got out of the way, the tips of his beard on fire. Better him than one of her friends.

Again, there was a distinct lack of humans in the area. But even though most of the synths had been deactivated, some still remained. Quinn gave out a yell as fire surrounded her, and she barrelled forward, barging into a synth holding a flamethrower and sending it flying.

These synths looked odd. They wore a mixture of white and black, their faces covered by dark masks. Not coursers. Not standard units. Something...different.

The battle that followed was the fiercest yet. Only three of these strange synths alongside a pack of the usual, and yet they seemed to shrug off the damage. The normal synths went down quickly, but the three… Even Maxson looked worried.

Pain.

Quinn screamed as something white hot pierced her back, sending waves of agony shooting through her body. The HUD in her armour was going haywire, flashing overload warnings from her fusion core port. She stumbled forward and turned to see one of the strange synths with a shock baton, advancing on her.

She knew all too well that an overload would cause the fusion core to explode. That in itself would kill her, but she was carrying the damn pulse charges. They were supposed to be put directly on the Institute’s power source, but if they detonated because of her armour, they could possibly set off the reactor anyway.

“Sto—” she began, trying to warn them, but one of the others must have been lurking behind her. Quinn felt the pain again as another shock baton was jammed into the port. The warnings flashed up again as her circuitry fried, informing at her that detonation was imminent.

Then it suddenly stopped. Quinn hit the release from inside her suit, and was relieved to find it still worked. She tumbled out onto the ground, her body stinging in the aftermath, and rolled over to see that Bantios had jumped onto the synth’s back. He was hitting it with everything he had and even managed to remove its helmet, exposing its head. Oddly enough, the synth seemed to be having difficulty pulling him off.

Quinn glanced behind her to see the other two synths hadn’t noticed she was now vulnerable. One was receiving a beating from Rachel Marguerie, who appeared to be letting out her anger over Casey with her fists rather than using her weapons, and Carson and Maxson had the last cornered.

A strangled yell dragged her attention back to Bantios. Quinn turned to see the synth drive a concealed blade into his stomach, penetrating his scribe’s armour as if it were nothing but cloth.

Bantios’ eyes bulged, each following stab causing him to convulse and groan. But instead of trying to pull away, his hand reached into his robes, producing the gun Haylen had given him. Gasping horribly, Bantios pushed the barrel again the synth’s temple and pulled the trigger. Both of them crashed to the ground—one still, the other twitching.

“David!” Quinn dragged herself across the floor, her limbs still tingling with pain, and reached him. Grabbing his robes, she rolled him onto his back and shook him. Bantios continued to stare blankly at the ceiling above, red slowly oozing from his mouth.

“No. No, no, no! Fuck!” Quinn reeled away from him. His blood was everywhere. It covered his uniform, his skin, her hands…

Quinn wiped it away on the dusty floor, ignoring the sounds of battle just feet away from her. First Casey, then Bantios. Another one. She had known this was a bad idea, and yet she’d let him come along anyway.

She thought of Danse. That first night in Piper’s when he had told her about the fate of his squad.

“Each one of them died because of decisions that I made.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth? But at the same time, if Bantios hadn’t been there, she might have been killed herself, along with every Brotherhood member still in the facility. That fact hurt her more than anything else. Bantios thought he’d failed everyone he’d tried to help, when in fact he’d just saved them all. And he’d never know it.

“Ah, fuck.”

Quinn looked up to see Carson standing over her, Maxson not far behind him. The knight’s reaction echoed her own.

“Fucking shitting fuck!” Carson strode off and kicked a dead synth on the floor hard in the head. There was a crack as its mask split.

“How did it happen?” Rachel asked, appearing at Maxson’s side. “I was...preoccupied.”

That was one way of putting it. Rachel’s knuckles were swollen and bleeding. Quinn wouldn’t be surprised if at least one of them was broken.

She explained in a monotone voice and then held her hand out to Rachel. “My legs are having a bit of difficulty at the moment.”

Rachel took the hint and pulled Quinn to her feet. She dusted herself down and glanced at Bantios again, before turning to see Carson stomping back towards them, taking deep breaths through his nose. When he calmed down, Quinn spoke again.

“You got it out of your system?”

Carson gave a slow nod. “Sorry, ma’am.” He glanced at Maxson. “Sir. Just...he’s only a kid. And I was hoping we wouldn’t lose anymore scribes today.”

Quinn knew he was downplaying what he really felt. He let his emotions run away with him at the best of times, but with Casey’s condition obviously on his mind, it was amplifying everything. Not that she thought Carson didn’t care about Bantios’ death—he would care regardless. But right now, it was rubbing salt in the wound.

Maxson seemed to think so, too. He kept uncharacteristically quiet.

“Carry him out,” Quinn said to Carson, feeling cold as she pointed to the scribe. “We’d be dead without him.”

Carson nodded and picked Bantios’ body up. He looked small and frail in the knight’s arms. Maxson stared at him for a moment as if he was going to say something, but then apparently thought better of it.

He turned to Quinn, taking refuge in the mission. “Codes to open the reactor. The honour is yours, Paladin.”

There was that ‘honour’ again. Honour of reactivating a war machine. Honour of destruction. Quinn wanted nothing to do with the Brotherhood’s idea of honour. She took the codes without a word and walked over to the reactor, making her way through the terminal. The door slid open without ceremony, and Quinn returned to her armour, removing the pulse charges from it.

“I’ll have to leave my suit behind,” Quinn said over her shoulder as she strode back to the reactor. She felt a stab of regret at this. The armour had been with her since she’d first joined the Brotherhood. Danse himself had tinkered with it for her. “The shock batons have ruined it from the inside out.”

“A pity,” replied Maxson. “We’ll issue you with a new set when we return to the Prydwen, Paladin.”

Don’t bother, she thought to herself, but didn’t respond.

The reactor was spherical inside, the walls curving around a central pillar. Quinn followed the handwritten instructions on the charges and managed to attach them to the metal surface, before setting it up for detonation. Once it was primed, she stepped out of the reactor and returned to the terminal, using the codes to seal the door. She looked at Maxson and nodded.

He smiled. “Good work, Paladin. I think it’s time to leave this place to its fate.” Maxson glanced up at the ceiling. “Proctor Ingram, do you copy? Our mission is complete. I need you to transport us out of here immediately.”

Quinn frowned. How the hell was Ingram supposed to—?

Her thoughts were cut short as the strange feeling needled through her, before the light swept her away.

--

Quinn staggered as the teleporter deposited her back in the entrance of the Institute. She clutched a hand to her head, nausea rippling in her stomach, when she saw a figure that rooted her to the spot.

It was something. It was selfish.

It was Shaun.

No...not Shaun. His synth. Down the corridor, standing next to a perplexed Ingram, was the boy. Quinn heard Maxson say something, but his words were muted, the buzzing in her ears drowning everything out. Ingram’s response was a little clearer.

“...he claims to be the paladin’s son, sir.”

Quinn’s breath was quickening, so sharp and shallow she could feel the dizziness creeping in. The boy was staring at her, his eyes wide with fear and...and something else. And Quinn could feel a peculiarity growing within her tight chest. Confusion, mingled with hurt.

This child was not the real Shaun, could never replace him. But he didn’t have to be a replacement. All he needed was a parent. Whatever Shaun’s intentions had been in creating this synth, Quinn knew she could do that—not just for the boy, but for Shaun too.

The child bit his lip. “Mom?”

That did it. Quinn dropped her weapon and sprinted down the corridor, shoving Maxson aside as he tried to get in her way. She threw herself onto the boy—onto Shaun—and dragged him into a hug. She couldn’t understand her feelings, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t deserve to die here, and the desire to protect him burned within her, to make him her own. Shaun had been her responsibility. This boy would be her responsibility as well. Completely. Gladly.

It took a good few minutes before anyone could convince Quinn to let go of the new Shaun. She was downright hysterical, rocking him in her arms as she cried out all of her grief. For what had happened. For what would happen. The end was in sight, but the last battle had sapped her of all her strength. She had nothing left to give.

Only Carson’s gentle touch and soft words eventually made Quinn relax her grip and let go. He promised he would look after Shaun if she chose to carry on. If there was one person she could trust, it was Carson. Even if he somehow found out the truth, he’d never hurt the child.

Rachel, meanwhile, was stood behind Carson, frowning. She cast her gaze from Quinn to the synth Shaun, and then back again. Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, and then a few minutes later her expression cleared and she stepped out of sight.

Almost gingerly, Maxson approached. Quinn had never seen the man in a state so tentative in his life, and for a second she wondered if he was channelling Bantios’ ghost. This thought immediately brought a stab of shame, and she looked around to see his body had been laid carefully on the floor. However, a few seconds later, Rachel came into view, picking him up and cradling him in her arms. Quinn smiled gratefully at her, and Rachel smiled back with a small nod.

“Paladin…Quinn.” Maxson crouched down to Quinn’s level, and she could help but notice that he appeared worried, as well as a little confused. A groggy thought crossed her mind—was the confusion because his own parents had never shown much love?

The Elder paused, and then sighed. “Bringing you here has been incredibly selfish of me. I assumed for the final push you would relish at the chance of vengeance, but I never considered that…” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “This must have been an ordeal for you. Though I am glad to see the Institute lied about the fate of your son. If you want to leave, then…”

“No,” Quinn said at once.

Maxson blinked in surprise. “You are not obligated to stay, Paladin. You have more than done your duty today.”

“I am obligated to stay, sir. They hurt my family.” She thought of Shaun—the original Shaun—alone with his father’s holotape, and felt a lump in her throat. “They are still hurting my family. I am seeing this through to the end.”

Maxson studied her for an age and then gave a slow, slight incline of his head. He straightened up and offered her a hand. Quinn took it and he helped her stand.

“Ad victoriam, Paladin.”

Quinn didn’t respond, her mind drifting. Everything became distant as he reeled off his instructions, and she shuffled forward, bending down to kiss the synth—her son—on his head.

“Stay with Carson,” Quinn mumbled. “He’ll look after you.”

Shaun gave a faint smile. “Okay, mom. I love you.”

Quinn’s breath caught in her throat. Did she love him? “I…”

Thankfully, she was spared the upset as Ingram’s voice cut across the gathering.

“Step back, ma’am. Teleporting you now.”

Quinn quickly obeyed, and within seconds the light engulfed her, taking her soaring through the atmosphere.

--

From the top of the Mass Fusion building, Boston greeted Quinn once again, splayed out in front of her like an old, dying friend. It teemed with invisible life, above and below, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it would ever be rebuilt. Probably not.

In front of her was the dreaded mechanism, its button primed and waiting. Behind her, Maxson wittered on, all business again, like he was hastily trying to cover up the glimmer of compassion he had shown her.

“Proctor Ingram has assured me we’ll be outside the blast radius.” He paused, and Quinn knew he was about to give some sort of practiced speech. She was right.

“Press that button and you not only defeat our enemy, you restore order and decency to the Commonwealth. It’s time, Paladin. The Institute and their synth abominations must be eradicated.”

Quinn ignored him. She continued to stare at the dead city with its parasitic inhabitants. The wind that was whipping through the air was suddenly very cold on her face. She knew what she was doing. Every second she delayed was a second longer in Shaun’s life.

“Paladin?”

“I need a moment. My son...my husband. Everything. This is just…” Quinn squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them. It was time.

Her hand hovered over the button as she stared at it. Drops of water pattered onto its rusted surface, and she realised tears were streaming down her cheeks. Quinn placed her thumb over the device and looked up towards the Institute.

She pressed it.

A huge white glow bloomed from nowhere, and then the ground shook as an explosion rocketed up in the sky, flame and dust and debris swirling like hellfire unleashed. Quinn closed her eyes, feeling the rush of heat whip through the atmosphere. Her knees buckled as the blast reached them, and she clung to the platform, barely feeling the hands grasping at her.

She was back. Shaun crying in Nate’s arms, Boston burning in the distance, the floor lowering them into their final resting place: Vault 111. She was choking on her fear, waiting for her death. Her son. Oh, her son.

The darkness of the vault swallowed her.

--

Nate smiled as he waved to Quinn from the living room window. She gave him a death glare and stomped off down the street. He waited until she’d disappeared from sight, and then hurried towards Shaun’s room, chuckling to himself. She was still angry that even after Codsworth had been fixed, he hadn’t returned her Islay to her. But as he’d said, why? She hadn’t fixed the robot for him. He’d had to call in a repair technician himself.

Fair punishment.

Nate picked Shaun up out of his cot and kissed the top of his head. “Hey, champ. Wanna help me do something nice for your mom?”

Shaun gurgled and grabbed hold of Nate’s finger, putting it in his mouth.

Nate laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He carried Shaun out to the shed—his man shed, a very important distinction from regular sheds, as he kept telling Quinn. The insistence usually earned him an eye roll. But it was the only place she wouldn’t hide his socks and screwdriver from him, and so the only place he could hide things from her. Well, except from the secret safe where he’d put her whisky. But that was an exceptional circumstance.

Sitting down on his stool, Nate shifted his hold on Shaun and picked up a holotape recorder he’d recently purchased. He showed it to Shaun, who immediately surrendered Nate’s fingers and put the recorder in his mouth instead.

“We’re gonna record a nice message for your mom,” he said, watching Shaun dribble away on the plastic casing. “So that when I give her the whisky back, she won’t divorce me. Good plan?”

Shaun made a babbling noise.

“Glad you agree, little man.”

Carefully, he edged the recorder out from Shaun’s grasp, distracting him so he wouldn’t cry, and then turned it on. Straight away, Shaun made a grab for it, and Nate nearly dropped it. “Oops!” He laughed and Shaun took hold of his sleeve cuff and started trying to chew that. Nate smiled as he said, “Keep those little fingers away…”

He hadn’t exactly planned what he was going to say in his holotape, and yet it all seemed to flow together naturally. How much he loved Quinn, what a wonderful mother she was, and his excitement for the future.

It was all true. Things would be hard, but so long as he had his family, he would be fine. Quinn had taught him that. He bounced Shaun on his knee, feeling a rush of love for his son. "Now say goodbye, Shaun. Bye bye. Say bye bye!”

Shaun gurgled again, and Nate grinned.

“Bye, honey. We love you."

--

A/N: So today is a monumental day for this fic! Aside from a few canon dialogue pieces from the aftermath of the game, this is it. We’ve reached the end of established Fallout 4 canon.

I finally have free reign over the story.

I am so damn excited. What about you?