#i also have bloody chains hanging from them and a severed arm if that helps

[quietwingsinthesky]

moving my furniture around specifically in a way that will piss off my interior decorating friend when she comes over tomorrow

[sarcasmandships]

how to save a life part 2︱spencer reid

word count: 8.7k

spencer reid x slight oc

spencer and veronica argue over him keeping their relationship from the team, but when spencer sustains a life-threatening gun shot wound it puts everything into perspective

angst + hurt/comfort with a n eventual happy ending 

this is not an x reader because i hate writing y/n in place of a character name and it often forces you into writing in second person which i also hate - however I have avoided giving specific descriptions of hair/eye/skin colour, height and body shape so feel free to imagine it like an x reader

this is also heavily inspired by greys anatomy and ive taken characters from the show to be side characters, however you do not need to have watched a single episode of greys to follow the story

warnings: spencer being shot, descriptions of blood, descriptions of surgery

read part one here! 

Veronica readjusted her dress for what felt like the 100th time that evening. The green, silk bodice was too restrictive; her feet ached from the stiletto heels April had picked out for her. She grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"That is for the guests!" April hissed, smacking her arm with her tiny clutch bag.

"And the hostages," Veronica said, raising her glass to an imaginary toast.

"Amen to that," Cristina agreed, taking a long sip of champagne from her own glass.

"You two are hopeless," April said, shaking her head before storming off.

"I like angry Kepner," Cristina chuckled.

"God, I can't breathe in this thing," Veronica gasped, pulling at the top of her dress again, "I think I've got a tension pneumothorax."

"Unfortunately, if I had a needle big enough to help you, I'd have stabbed myself in the eye hours ago," Cristina said, deadpan.

Veronica gave her a shaky laugh.

"Ooo, is that Kevin Gibbs?" Cristina said, suddenly filled with a burst of newfound energy as she spied a man at the next table, "oh, he is rich rich, I'm so getting a donation from him," she grinned before dashing off to take Kevin Gibbs' arm.

Veronica rolled her eyes as she watched Cristina twirl her hair and flutter her eyelashes; she was far too good at this. Veronica was left alone at the table, tired of pretending she was interested in anything these rich, old men had to say; she pulled her phone out to scroll through Twitter.

However, as she unlocked it, Spencer's name popped up on her screen, and her shrill ringtone cut through the low-level chatter and ambient music in the room. She hastily switched the phone to silent after receiving a few pointed glares but continued to stare blankly at the screen as it rang.

She did not want to speak to him.

But she had told him to keep in touch.

Via text, not a phone call.

But what if something was wrong.

Eventually, she clicked 'accept'.

"Spencer, I told you-"

"Hi, Veronica," the voice on the other end cracked, "it's Derek Morgan. We met earlier today..."

Veronica's blood ran cold as Derek spoke to her through the phone. She could hear the piercing wail of the sirens; it harmonised with Cristina's shrill laughter as she flirted with Kevin at the next table.

Blood was pounding in her ears. Her entire body was in free fall like she was being hurled down the drop of a rollercoaster that seemed to never end.

"... they're taking him to Stafford Grace Mercy West Hospital, meet us there when you can - I gotta go."

Derek hung up the phone.

Veronica stood frozen, her body trembling and mind spinning.

"Veronica!" Jackson snapped as he strutted towards her, "you're supposed to be getting donations, not standing in a corner drinking all the champagne…."

Veronica was staring straight at Jackson's face as he ranted, but she couldn't focus her eyes enough to see his furrowed brows or flared nostrils. Her mind was spinning at hyper speed, but everything around her moved in slow motion; she gripped onto the edge of the table.

"…are you even listening to me?" he snapped his fingers in front of Veronica's glazed eyes.

"Spencer was shot. In the chest, he's on the way to the hospital now," she said in a monotone, "I have to...I have to go...I..." Veronica clutched her head in her hands; the room would not stop spinning.

"Oh my god," Jackson gulped, "of course, go, go. Do you want me to come?"

Veronica stumbled away from him and towards the door. Why was the floor moving like that?

"No," she called back to him, "this is your event you can't leave, I just- I need to go," she turned on her heel and dashed out of the door.

The hospital was just up the street. Jackson had picked a venue close by so the doctors who didn't have the day off could get there quickly after work. Veronica pushed people out of the way as she staggered up the street; her feet didn't hurt anymore. Her whole body was just pins and needles.

She burst through the doors of the ER, in her floor-length, green dress and dazzling emerald necklace, with tears streaming down her face. Sections of her neatly pinned hair had broken free; she clutched her chest as she gasped for air. It was only a matter of time before someone called for a psychiatric consult.

With most of the other attendings at the gala, the interns and residents had swarmed like locusts to get their hands on a surgical case. Veronica pushed through the sea people, looking for someone she knew – why did all the residents look the same?

Veronica scanned the trauma rooms, hoping to catch sight of his messy hair. They were full of bloodied and beaten-up people, but none of them were Spencer. She had just stumbled through the double doors to the waiting area when she heard someone call her name.

"Veronica?"

She whipped her head around to see Derek Morgan standing in front of her. Several steps behind him, she noticed Penelope Garcia, who she recognised from this morning, and several other anxious FBI agents.

"Derek," she gasped, gripping onto his outreached hands, allowing herself to stabilise slightly, "w-what happened?"

"We were chasing down the unsub and Reid...he fell and just when he was getting back up, he got hit. It was bad luck. It caught him just above his vest."

"And he's in surgery now? I didn't see him in any of the trauma rooms?"

"They just took him up; come with us. You need to sit down," he said kindly, and Veronica allowed him to guide her over to the seats.

"Hi again," Garcia squeaked, but Veronica stared straight ahead and didn't answer her.

The others tried to introduce themselves, Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. They were names she knew well from Spencer's last night rants about work, but she couldn't bring herself to look at any of them long enough to put a face to the name. Derek was trying to reassure her when Veronica caught sight of a familiar resident walking past with a tablet in her hand.

"Murphy!" she barked, "get over here."

Murphy's head snapped up, and she looked around rapidly to see where the voice had come from; when her eyes finally landed on Veronica, she looked at her quizzically but shuffled over.

"Dr Grey, I thought you were at the gala-"

"I need you to look up a patient for me, Spencer Reid - came in with a GSW to the chest and should be in surgery now."

"Dr Grey, what's going on?" Murphy said slowly, her eyes darting between Veronica and the team of agents behind her.

"Just do it, Murphy!" she ordered, and Spencer's teammates looked slightly taken aback.

"Okay, okay!" she said, typing rapidly on her tablet, "he's in surgery with Dr Hunt and Dr Altman for an exploratory thoracotomy...chest x-ray showed a GSW to the chest with the bullet lodged near the thoracic aorta...he was tachycardic and hypotensive when he came in, with substantial blood loss-"

Bile bubbled up in her throat, "what OR are they in?"

"Dr Grey, I can't-"

"What O.R, Murphy?" she snapped; she gripped the edge of the plastic chair to prevent herself from strangling the resident.

"OR one!"

"Okay... OR one. OR one has a gallery," Veronica mumbled to herself, she tapped her foot against the floor and her stiletto clacked against the linoleum.

"Dr Grey, you know you can't go up there when you aren't working-"

"Murphy, do you want a medical career?"

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"Then you'll get out of my way before I have the AMA strip your medical license," Veronica snapped; she stood up and gathered up the skirt of her dress as she began to power walk towards the elevator.

"Wait, where are you going?" Derek called after her.

"Spencer's in OR one, that OR has a viewing gallery... I'm going to watch his surgery," she said flatly before turning away and continuing along the hallway.

It wasn't until she was in the elevator and ready to push the OR floor button that she realised that Spencer's team was directly behind her.

"What are you guys doing?" she sighed as they piled into the elevator after her.

"He's one of us. We aren't gonna hang around a waiting room if we can be there with him," the blonde woman that Veronica thought was called Jennifer, retorted.

She was ready to argue. To protest that they weren't allowed in the gallery, that surgery wasn't for the faint-hearted. But then she looked at all their faces, desperate and distressed; they looked how she felt.

So, she closed her mouth and jabbed the button for the fifth floor.

The elevator seemed to take forever to reach the fifth floor. It stopped on three, and a huddle of surgical interns tried to cram in, but Veronica snapped at them before they had the chance.

"No. You get the next one," she glowered at them, and they could only give her nervous stammers and shaky head nods in response.

Veronica rolled her eyes at them as the doors crept shut again, with her arms folded tightly across her chest and tapped her foot against the floor.

"You seem to have a lot of authority here," Hotch commented.

"I'm an attending," she said bluntly, "they're interns - bottom of the surgical food chain, their only job is to stay out of our way and try not to kill anyone."

"That seems...harsh," Garcia whispered to Derek.

Veronica whipped her head around, "a hospital like this doesn't work without a hierarchy; it's how we learn. If we don't treat them that way, then they get too confident. Would you rather have an intern perform Spencer's exploratory thoracotomy or two surgeons with years of experience who are chiefs of their respective departments?"

Garcia gaped at her, but the elevator doors creaked open, saving her from trying to respond to Veronica's scathing comment.

"The gallery is this way," Veronica grunted under her breath as she exited the elevator and crept up a short flight of stairs.

"That wasn't very nice; Garcia was only making an observation," JJ whispered to Emily as they followed Veronica.

"Who is this woman?" Emily responded, equally as confused as to why they were following this random woman around a hospital.

Derek turned round to face them, "she's Spencer's girlfriend-"

"Girlfriend!" Emily gasped, "did he ever mention a girlfriend to any of you?" she asked, looking between JJ and Derek.

"No, not once…." JJ frowned.

"He didn't tell me as much as he was forced to, that's why he's been acting so off recently, but I couldn't really get many details from him about her, so don't ask me anything - she's just worried about him like we are, she's on edge too."

Veronica burst into the gallery, which was thankfully empty. She pressed her forehead up against the viewing window and saw Spencer lying on the table. The glass was cool against her forehead, which seemed to somewhat soothe her pounding headache.

Spencer's face was draped, she couldn't see his eyes, but she could see his half of his rib cage. That unsettled her; she wasn't supposed to be able to see into her boyfriend's chest cavity. Veronica clung to the glass as she staggered to the intercom on the wall; she pushed the button that allowed them to hear what was being said in the OR.

"... there's a lot of bleeding here, more suction!" Dr Altman demanded.

"Right away, doctor."

Veronica flicked the switch that allowed her to be heard in the OR, "Owen," she said slowly, and he looked up at her in shock, "I need you to save him."

"Veronica, you're supposed to be at the fundraiser. What are you doing here?"

"Owen, listen to me," she pleaded, her voice cracking, "I need you to save him."

"Well, of course, I'm gonna try and save him, Veronica I don't understand-"

"Oh god," Dr Altman said as she suddenly realised what was happening, "Spencer Reid... he's your Spencer. I met him at Owen and Cristina's wedding; we talked so much about the Mechanical Complications of Acute Myocardial Infarction I thought he was a surgeon too…."

Veronica nodded silently.

Her Spencer.

She couldn't control the sob that wracked her body. She was vaguely aware of Garcia placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, so I need you to save him," she sniffed, "because if he dies, I will literally go out of my fucking mind, and I won't be much of a neurosurgeon from the psych floor."

"Veronica, you should be up here," Owen said as he forced another clamp into Spencer's chest, "how did you even know where he was?"

"Murphy told me," she said, "but it wasn't her fault, so don't go and yell at her; I told her I'd have her medical licence taken away."

Owen paused, "you can't do that, though."

"She doesn't know that! Please just save him. I need you to save him."

"I-" Dr Altman hesitated, "we'll do everything we can, V, I promise you."

"Thank you, Teddy," she whispered through her tears; she flicked the button off again so they wouldn't be distracted by her sobs.

Veronica collapsed into a chair in the middle of the front row and kicked her heels off. Spencer's team had shuffled into the rows behind her and sat, whispering quietly among themselves and clutching onto each other.

"V-veronica," Garcia finally spoke after around an hour of near silence, "I know you're a different kind of doctor, but what are they doing? I don't understand any of these medical terms. Can you explain it?"

Veronica twisted slowly in her seat to face her, revealing her mascara coated cheeks and puffy eyes. She nodded slowly.

"They're doing a surgery called an exploratory thoracotomy; they're trying to remove all the bullet fragments from his chest cavity. Their main concern is that the bullet hit very close to the thoracic aorta, which is a major vessel that carries blood from the heart to the rest of the body."

"B-but it didn't hit his aorta, so that's good, right?"

"Right, cos' if it had, then he'd have bled out seconds after he was hit," Veronica paused to swallow the vomit creeping up her throat as she imagined Spencer's bloodless body lying in the morgue, "but the impact of the bullet creates shock waves when it enters the body. Considering the proximity to the thoracic aorta, it could weaken it and cause an aortic dissection."

"And that's bad?"

Veronica nodded gravely, "they're almost always fatal, the blood loss becomes too uncontrollable, and even the best surgeons, like Dr Altman and Dr Hunt, can't do anything," she turned back around to face the OR as a fresh set of tears threatened to spill over.

"Oh," was all Garcia could muster up.

"Those doctors, are they really the best?" Emily asked.

Veronica nodded, "Owen, Dr Hunt is head of trauma surgery, and Teddy, Dr Altman, is head of cardiothoracic surgery. They served together in Iraq; they've put soldiers half blown apart by bombs back together, if anyone can save Spencer - it's them," she reassured.

"Good to know..." Emily said in uncertainty, wrapping a comforting arm around JJ, who was silently sobbing into a tissue.

"What you need to understand is that every GSW is different, which is what makes them so difficult to fix, and when a bullet enters the body, it not only tears through structures, but the transfer of kinetic energy can cause damage to nearby tissues, like what I was saying about his thoracic aorta," she explained slowly, "that's why GSWs are so dangerous because the damaged area can ripple out around the entry wound."

"But you think he'll be okay, right?" JJ sniffed.

Veronica hesitated; she glanced back at Spencer's motionless body on the table. Her eyes scanning the monitors he was hooked up to, the constant stream of O neg he was being replenished with, the rip spreaders and clamps in his chest…

She felt sick again and had to turn away.

"I don't know. He hasn't been in surgery very long… it's just too early to say."

"There isn't anything more we can do for him now," Hotch spoke gravely, "he's in the hands of the people who are best trained to help him; we just need to trust that they are doing everything they can to save him."

Hotch's words had a sense of finality, and the room fell close to silent again with only Veronica, Garcia and JJ's sniffles and sobs echoing around the dimly lit room. Derek help Garcia's hand tightly in his own, JJ rested her head on Emily's shoulder, Hotch and Rossi sat next to each other, their faces stoic and stony. Veronica sat alone, tugging at the restrictive bodice of her dress every few seconds.

They sat like that for at least another two hours.

Suddenly, the monitors attached to Spencer began beeping rapidly, Veronica's heart seized, and she jumped to her feet to get a better view.

"What's happening to him?" Garcia whimpered; she clung onto Derek's arm as he also stood up and strained his neck to see.

"He's in DIC!" Teddy's voice echoed through the intercom, "push heparin," she ordered.

"Veronica, what's going on?" Derek asked; he tried to keep his voice steady, but it wavered slightly.

"He's in DIC, disseminated intravascular coagulation - it means that proteins in the blood that cause clotting go into overdrive, which actually causes excessive bleeding. If they don't control the blood loss, it's fatal."

"Lap pads! And more suction! I can't see a thing," Owen demanded as he packed Spencer's chest cavity to absorb the excess blood.

"And hang another unit of O neg, he's losing too much blood," Teddy added, "there was nothing in his medical history that indicated he was at risk of DIC...Veronica! Is he on blood thinners?"

Veronica dragged herself over to the intercom and pushed in on the button, "n-no, nothing like that, he takes zolpidem sometimes, but that wouldn't cause DIC..." she muttered.

Something clicked in her brain, and she spun round to face Derek, "you said he fell before he got shot."

Derek nodded, "that's right, the woman the unsub had abducted pushed past him to escape, and he fell down the full flight of stairs. That distracted me long enough for the unsub to get a shot in at him...."

"Teddy! He fell before he was shot, he fell down a flight of stairs, he could have a splenic injury or a laceration on the portal vein or hepatic artery- it wouldn't have been picked up on a chest x-ray. You have to do an ex-lap!"

"Veronica, we've already cracked his chest-" Owen began to protest.

"Pressures dropping, doctor!"

Veronica banged on the glass, "he'd rather be alive with two incisions than dead with one."

"Dr Hunt, you're the trauma surgeon this your call," Teddy said calmly, "but we need to do something and fast."

"We don't even know if he has a splenic injury! We can't take medical suggestions from our patient's hysterical girlfriend; that isn't how it works-"

"He's dying," Veronica wailed, "and he's going to die if you don't do something. If it were Cristina on my table, you would be begging me to do whatever it takes to save her. Teddy – you promised me you would do everything you could, and you're not doing anything! He's bleeding to death, and you aren't helping him," she sobbed against the glass.

Teddy and Owen exchanged a look.

"10 blade," Owen grimaced, and Veronica breathed a sigh of relief, "you better be right about this Grey – convert drapes for an ex-lap!"

"Oh God, I can't watch this," JJ said; she flopped back into her seat as Owen made a deep incision into Spencer's abdomen.

Despite dealing with horrific crime scenes daily, everyone else in the team had to follow JJ's lead as floods of blood gushed from the incision site. Garcia, who had screwed her eyes shut the minute the monitors started beeping, was rocking herself back and forth and mumbling under her breath.

"Okay, I need more suction! I'm seeing some damage to the hepatic artery," Teddy said, "can you ligate it from your side?"

"Yeah, I think so, clamp!"

Veronica wished she could be like Spencer's team. She wished she didn't have a medical degree; she wished she didn't know every possible thing that could go wrong from this point forward. She wished she could close her eyes or at least tear them away from the scene that would plague her nightmares for years to come.

She could hardly believe it when his pressure finally stabilised; she embraced the smile that crept onto her face as she watched the readings on the monitor slowly begin to climb up.

"You can open your eyes now; they ligated the artery and stopped the bleeding, combined with the heparin that should be enough to keep him stable for now."

"For now?" JJ questioned.

"He's doing well; that injury could've been fatal, but he pulled through, and that's good; it's just that I don't want to tell you he's out of the woods when he's far from it."

"It's been hours," JJ said, "how much longer before we know if he'll be okay?"

Veronica shrugged, "probably a couple more hours; they need to make sure the wall of the thoracic aorta is strong enough before they close and remove all the bullet fragments; they need to take their time."

"You'll have to forgive us, Dr Grey," Hotch spoke quietly, "we don't have the patience for this kind of thing like you do."

"It's okay, and you can call me Veronica," she smiled nervously and picked at her nails.

This was what she'd wanted all along, to meet Spencer's team. But now, she was standing in front of them and couldn't think of a single thing to say. She had imagined this moment every night for months, but never in her wildest dreams did it go like this.

"Veronica then," he said stiffly, "so you said you're a neurosurgeon?"

"Yeah," she said, tearing her eyes away from the surgery in front of her to face him, "that's how Spencer and I met; he came to a lecture I gave on the Endoscopic Fenestration of Arachnoid Cysts Through Lateral Pontomesencephalic Membranotomy, cos' that's just the kind of things he does for fun," she snorted.

"Sounds like him," Hotch said, smiling fondly.

"I just can't believe he never told us about you," Emily commented, "and I can't believe we never figured it out; I mean, come on, guys, we're meant to be profilers."

Veronica gritted her teeth, "Yeah, me neither..."

"Veronica!" Jackson said, bursting through the door to the gallery, "I just got away from the gala; how's he doing?" he asked, rushing over to embrace her in a tight hug.

"He's stable for now; his temp has come up a lot since he got here, but he did go into DIC, and they had to convert to an ex-lap..."

"Owen and Teddy will be doing everything they can; he'll be okay."

She nodded, "I know...I just want it to be over; even if he was in the CCU, I could handle it, but he's lying open on an operating table, and I can't help him."

He rubbed circles on her back soothingly, "it'll be over soon. Can I get you anything?"

"Something to change into. I don't think I have any clothes in my locker, but just grab me some scrubs... I'd take a patient gown if it meant I could get out of this dress," she said, tugging again at the restrictive top.

"You got it," he said, breaking away from their hug, "April wanted to come and be with you, but Harriett's with the sitter and she had to-"

"Don't worry about it, just get me something to wear. I can't breathe in this thing."

"Yeah, I'm on it," he said, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead, "Cristina's on her way; she'll be here soon."

Jackson shuffled out of the gallery, giving a nod and a tight-lipped smile to the others as he passed them. Veronica retook a seat.

"That was Jackson," Veronica explained, noting the confused faces of the BAU team members, "Dr Jackson Avery, he works here too, but he was stuck at the gala - we were having this fundraiser for this hospital...stupid...."

"V! I just heard; why didn't you tell me?" Cristina burst into the gallery in a similar fashion to Jackson, "I had to hear from freaking Avery that your sexy FBI boyfriend got shot?" she berated as she sat down next to Veronica.

Veronica shrugged, "Jackson was there when I got the call. You were busy turning up the charm for that rich old sleaze."

Cristina shoved her lightly, "I'll have you know that rich old sleaze donated 1.5 million dollars to this hospital," she said smugly.

"Show off," Veronica grunted, folding her arms over her chest.

Cristina stood up to peer through the glass, "supervisory sexy agent, has Owen and Teddy working on him? You need to calm down and stop chewing your nails; he'll be fine."

Veronica rolled her eyes, "you need to stop calling my boyfriend supervisory sexy agent, or you'll be the one on the table."

"Aw, come on, I'm kidding! My husband is right down there...oh my god, my husband saves your boyfriend from a GSW? That'll be such a good story for me to tell your kids."

"Can we wait to see if he makes it off the table before we start discussing our hypothetical children?"

"Boring."

Jackson returned at that moment, "sorry, I didn't know your scrub size, so I just guessed. And you didn't have any shoes in your locker, so I stole some sneakers from April, you're the same size, and she won't mind - I also brought you some of her makeup wipes," he rambled, handing her the pile of clothes.

"Stealing shoes from your ex-wife now?" Cristina teased as Jackson sat down on the other side of Veronica, "I thought pretty boy Avery was rich enough to buy his own," she cooed.

Veronica stood up and slid the scrub pants on under her dress, and pulled the scrub top over the top. Cristina unzipped her dress, and she let out a deep breath as the pressure on her rib cage was released; she shimmied the dress off and threw it over an empty chair.

"Shut up, Yang," Jackson grunted.

"Children, behave," Veronica said warningly as she slipped on the socks and shoes she was borrowing from April.

Veronica sat back down and finished wiping off the makeup that hadn't been flushed away by her tears. Jackson gripped her hand tight in his, and she smiled appreciatively at him; Cristina gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"Guys, what if he dies?" she whispered as they watched Teddy and Owen work away on Spencer.

"He won't," Jackson protested, "he didn't code in the field, and the majority of GSW victims without penetrating vascular injuries survive if they get to a hospital on time."

"There is a bullet in his chest cavity! That is a penetrating injury," she blubbered.

"But it didn't directly damage his heart or any major arteries; yes, they could be weakened by force, but he's been in surgery for hours, and nothing has ruptured – plus after they close him up, we'll monitor him closely, and he will be okay," he said with a squeeze of her hand.

"Avery's right. It's far more likely he'll be a vegetable or something," Cristina shrugged.

"Yang! His best friends are right behind you," Jackson hissed.

"They are?" Cristina said, whipping her head around, "oh, hi."

Cristina gave them a wave, and they stared back dumbfounded.

"Who the hell are these people?" Emily hissed.

"I don't know, but they seem to think that Spence is gonna be okay, and that's all that matters to me," JJ answered.

"He could still die; people die from GSWs all the time. There could be complications, he could get an infection-"

"Look, Veronica, if the worst happens, then we can cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? And you know we'll all be here for you, no matter what," Jackson said, and Veronica smiled appreciatively at him.

"Thank you," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Y'know, you should've married him when you had the chance - cos' if he dies and you were his wife, you'd get that life insurance. If he dies now, you'll just be poor and sad."

"Cristina!"

"No, it's okay," Veronica said with a slight smile, "it helps."

"God, talk about a dark sense of humour...."

"I think I'm just still drunk," Cristina shrugged.

"I think I'm hungover already; my head is killing me," Veronica groaned, massaging her temples.

"Want me to get you a banana bag?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah, why not."

Jackson stood up and made his way across the gallery and to the door; he turned back to face the BAU team members, "can I get anything for you guys? Coffee, water…I wouldn't recommend the food, but we got vending machines."

"No, thank you," Hotch answered politely, "anyone else?"

The rest of the team shook their heads or mumbled no thank-yous in response. Jackson gave them a sympathetic smile before leaving; JJ's stare was still firmly fixed on Veronica.

"What did she mean? You should've married him when you had the chance?" she asked.

"It means that supervisory sexy agent-"

"Cristina!"

"Fine, Spencer, asked V to marry him, and she said no cos' she can't let herself be happy."

"That isn't why I said no, and you know it."

"Well, no. But your real reason is stupid, so I'm gonna say it's your self-destructive tendencies instead. Do you know what I've give to never have to interact with Owen's dumb work friends? You're getting the best of both worlds here."

"You work in the same hospital! Owen's dumb work friends are your colleagues."

"Ugh, whatever."

"You turned Reid down because of us?" Rossi questioned, speaking for the first time since they had entered the gallery.

"It's a bit more complicated than that-"

"What's wrong with us? You didn't even meet us until today?" JJ snapped.

Veronica sighed and picked at her nails; her first interaction with Spencer's friends already wasn't going very well, and now she had to tread lightly as to not offend anyone.

"That's the problem; it took Spencer getting shot in the chest for us to meet because he refused to tell you about me; how could I marry someone when I'd never even met his friends? It's what we argue about more than anything else. We argued about it this morning actually...."

The blood drained away from Veronica's face as the events of the day flashed through her mind.

She turned to face Cristina, "oh God, we were arguing this morning about it, and again when I dropped his phone off at work - the last conversation we ever had was about that stupid argument. What if he dies thinking that I'm pissed off at him? I didn't even tell him I loved him before I stormed off," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Well, he's a profiler, right? Even if you didn't say it, he would be able to tell...."

"He's a genius, not a psychic, Cristina."

"She's right," Derek interjected, "before he lost consciousness, he told me to call you and tried to say something else; he kept saying tell her... he never got to finish, but I'm sure it was just that he loved you."

"He really said that?"

 Derek nodded, and a weight was lifted from Veronica's shoulders, although she quickly felt uneasy again when Jackson returned, IV kit and banana bag in hand.

 "Okay, I know you don't like needles, but it'll make you feel better, so give me your arm," he demanded.

 Veronica huffed and begrudgingly gave him her arm; she winced as he pushed the needle through her skin, "ow! I thought plastic surgeons were supposed to have a gentle touch."

 "Plastics is barely even a real speciality; Avery gives boob jobs on the daily – we do real surgeries and save lives."

 "Hey! I'm also a qualified ENT, and I practically run the burn unit-"

 "Guys," Veronica groaned, "can you have your little dick-measuring-contest another time? Maybe like when my boyfriend isn't lying open on an operating table?" she said, gently massaging the tender skin around her IV.

 "You said you liked my dark humour!"

 "Only when it's funny," she sat down again and massaged her temples "hey, I think they're nearly done," Veronica cheered.

 She dashed over to the intercom, "Are you guys closing him up?"

 Teddy nodded, "yeah, and then we'll be taking him up to the CCU. You should get some rest before he wakes up," she advised.

 "He's going to be okay, Veronica," Owen said; she couldn't see his face under his mask, but she could tell he was smiling.

 Veronica couldn't fight the grin spreading across her own face; Spencer was going to live. He was going to make it off the table. Now all she had to do was pray that he woke up because Veronica didn't know how she would cope if she never saw his eyes again.

 "He's really going to be okay?" JJ whispered; she held her hands up to her lips in a prayer formation as fresh tears spilt over onto her cheeks.

 Emily pulled her into a tight embrace and stroked her hair, "Hey, don't cry. The doctor said he's going to be okay."

 She nodded against Emily's chest, "I know, these are happy tears – it's just I've been sitting here for the past four hours wondering what I would tell Henry if his Uncle Spence died and now, he's going to be okay, and I'm crying more than when I thought he was going to die…stupid," she mumbled.

 "It's not stupid," Veronica offered kindly, "your body has been in panic mode and how that you're finally able to relax a bit, you get an emotional outburst that makes you cry – it's totally normal," she said, tentatively reaching out her hand to take JJ's.

 She nodded and gave Veronica's hand a squeeze, smiling at her for the first time since they had met. The mood in the room had shifted as the BAU members slowly began to accept that their teammate was going to live, and the nervous tension began to dissipate.

 "Teddy's going to close him up and then wheel him up to the CCU, Cristina are you staying or coming home?" Owen's voice echoed through the intercom.

"I'm staying obviously!" she said indignantly.

Veronica shook her head, "no, it's okay, you go home."

"V, I can't leave you here-"

"It's fine, Cristina. You're working in the morning, and you'll need to be here for rounds at 6am, and you won't be any use to anyone if you're sleep-deprived. So, go home. Besides, I've got Avery to keep me company."

Cristina gave her an appreciative smile and squeezed her hand one last time before she left the room. A wave of jealousy surged in Veronica's chest as Cristina disappeared from her line of sight; it wasn't her fault that she was going home with her husband whilst Spencer was being stitched back together. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

 "I'm so sorry, V," Jackson said, holding up his phone, "it's one of my burn patients, she's got an infection, and I think I'm the only sober attending after the gala…I can send a resident-"

 "No, no, it's okay," she smiled sadly, "go and help your patient; she needs you more than I do."

 "Page me if you need anything," he said, kissing her forehead gently before leaving her alone with the BAU team.

 She was in a room with seven other people, but she had never felt more alone. They were clutching onto each other, whispering amongst themselves and smiling; Veronica didn't have anyone.

She shuffled away from the displays of affection and picked up her dress and shoes, "I'm going to put this stuff in the attending's lounge, there's coffee in there if you want anything – and on-call room seven is always empty if any of you need to sleep. He won't be awake for a while; you should get some rest," she said, giving them a tight-lipped smile.

 "Thank you, Veronica," Derek said; he nodded over Garcia's head as he held her in his arms, "I don't think any of us will get much sleep until pretty boy wakes up, though."

 Veronica laughed, "pretty boy, I always thought he was exaggerating when he said you called him that. If you don't want to sleep, that's fine, but you can't stay in here – the interns like to hang out in here before pre-rounds, and they'll be here soon," she said before gripping onto her IV pole and swiftly exiting the gallery.

 Tears burned in her eyes as she made her way to the attending's lounge, grabbing a replacement banana bag from the nurse's station on her way; Spencer was going to be okay. He was going to wake up and have his team to comfort him, fetch him jello, keep him company through the recovery and bring homemade meals to his apartment. What else could she do for him that they couldn't?

 She burst into the attending's lounge and slammed the door shut behind her. She let out a heart-wrenching sob as she shoved the dress into her locker, growing frustrated and kicking it when the poufy, underlayers of the skirt wouldn't fit.

Maybe that's why he had never introduced her to the team because he already had seven people who loved him unconditionally and could give him all the love he needed. And Spencer didn't want her to know that; what could she do for him that they couldn't?

Veronica darted into the bathroom and held her own hair bag as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Maybe she was just a fuck to Spencer, an outlet to release his frustrations after a hard day. Assuming he wasn't fucking any of his teammates, that was the only thing she was good for that they couldn't give.

 Derek said that his last words before he passed out were about her; he asked him to call her. He tried to give her a message – why did Veronica not share Derek's confidence that the message was I love you?

She flushed the toilet and washed her mouth out with water from the tap. Her headache was beginning to subside, but she still switched out her banana bag before she limped out of the bathroom, using the IV pole as a support.

Veronica threw herself onto the couch. She wanted to scream, or kick something else or rip her own hair out, but she simply didn't have the energy to do anything except shut her eyes and drift off to sleep. The image of Spencer's open chest cavity and the knowledge that his team were everything she was and more burned into her brain.

 ***

Spencer's brain was awake before his body was. He was acutely aware of people moving around his room, but their voices were muffled, and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes to see who they were.

 There was a tight sensation in his throat, and suddenly, Spencer started gagging violently.

 "He's fighting the intubation!" a voice called out, "page Dr Altman."

 Dr Altman. He knew that name, he thought to himself. But his brain was still too hazy from the anaesthesia to think straight. Dr Altman…something to do with cardiothoracic surgery – probably one of his doctors. But where had they met before?

 He felt hands all over him, grabbing at his neck and face; there was a horrible scraping sensation in his throat, and then he could breathe freely again. He's fighting the intubation, the voice had said. That was good; that meant he was breathing on his own.

 However, he couldn't appreciate the joy of knowing he wouldn't be hooked to a ventilator for the rest of his life whilst his throat ached like that. The tube had been removed, but he still felt his gag reflex at the threshold of triggering.

 He really needed to get Veronica more credit for that.

 His limbs were heavy, he tried to at least wriggle his fingers, but they wouldn't move. The muffled voices which echoed around him were beginning to become clearer; he could make out what sounded to be JJ's voice by his head.

 Finally, his brain allowed his eyes to flicker open. But he immediately wanted to screw them shut again when the blinding fluorescent glare of the ceiling lights shone down on him.

"Oh my god," JJ gasped, "he's awake!"

 He couldn't move his head to see her, but her worried face quickly appeared in front of his, "Spencer? Spencer, can you hear me?" she asked frantically.

"Ow," he mumbled in response.

 "Thank God you're okay," she said, stroking his hair as tears streamed down her cheeks.

 "You gave us a scare, pretty boy."

 Spencer strained his eyes enough to see Derek standing in the corner; he leant against the wall with his arms folded tight across his chest, but Spencer could clearly see the grin he was fighting.

 "What happened?" he groaned, trying to readjust his body into a more comfortable position.

 "Hey, don't try and move," JJ scolded lightly, "the nurse said that you'll be groggy from the anaesthesia for a while," she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently.

 "Did we get him? The unsub?"

 "Yeah, don't you worry about him, kid, he's going away for a long time," Derek reassured, "he got a shot in at you before we could take him down… I'm so sorry, kid, you fell, and it distracted me long enough for him to shot you before I could shoot him."

 "Hey, it's not your fault," JJ said, "it could've happened to any of us."

Spencer nodded in agreement but didn't try and speak again; his head was throbbing, and he closed her eyes again, the darkness providing some brief relief from the brilliant light above his head. But with every passing second, Spencer became increasingly aware of the dull aches in his chest and abdomen, the pain growing sharper with each intake of breath.

 "How many times did I get shot?" he groaned, "I can't remember anything…but my whole body hurts."

 JJ bit her lip as she continued to stroke his hair, "just once, Spence, but you fell down the stairs just before you got him and it injured…something, I don't know what – I can't remember what she said," JJ looked over to Derek for a prompt, but he shook his head in response.

 "Hey, don't look at me; I didn't understand a single word any of those doctors said," Derek shrugged, "Dr Altman is coming to check on you, though, kid. I'm sure she'll explain it all to you."

 Dr Teddy Altman!

They met at Cristina and Owen's wedding; Spencer could tell she was in love with the groom and distracted her with a rant on Mechanical Complications of Acute Myocardial Infarction. She was Veronica's friend.

 Oh god, Veronica. She must be so worried – if Derek had even called her that was, she might be oblivious to his condition. Spencer was ready to open his mouth to as about her, but JJ was already speaking again before he had the chance.

 "…and our resident genius will definitely be able to understand better than us," she said, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead, "I've never been so nervous as when we were sitting in that gallery, thank god those doctors fixed you up."

 "Wait, what gallery?" Spencer asked, opening his eyes to squint at her, her words distracting him long enough to forget to ask about Veronica.

 JJ paused and exchanged a look with Derek, "we hoped you wouldn't mind – we were in the OR gallery during your surgery, but we didn't actually see anything," she reassured, "none of us could actually bring ourselves to watch, but we just wanted to be there, in case anything happened to you."

 "Not that we'd have been much help," Derek chuckled, "but I got you to the hospital in one piece. I wasn't about to let you out of my sight until you were stable."

 Spencer nodded slowly, "how did you even get in there?" he mumbled.

"Veronica," Derek said, "you asked me to call her, and she came straight over, but she wasn't about to sit around in any waiting room, so she found out where you were…we just followed her up there."

 Spencer tugged on his blanket, "so…you met her then?"

 JJ nodded stiffly, "we did."

 "Oh. Suppose I did ask you to call her, I don't know what I expected…."

 "We didn't get a chance to talk much," Derek said carefully, "you were touch-and-go a bit in surgery, so it was a bit too tense for small talk."

 JJ moved away from him and sat back in the chair next to his bed; she picked at her nails, "I don't get why you never told us about her, Spence?"

Spencer didn't answer her. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go; in fact, he was hoping he'd never have to have this conversation at all. The rational part of his brain knew that was unrealistic, but the rational part of his brain didn't seem to exist when it came to protecting Veronica.

 He shrugged, "I didn't think you guys needed to know."

 Derek unfolded his arms and moved out of the corner, coming to rest at the end of Spencer's bed, "didn't need to know? You've been making excuses about this to me all day, kid. And I'm not buying the - you wanted to have something to yourself - bullshit anymore-"

 "You asked her to marry you," JJ said, her voice cracking slightly, "you wanted her to be your wife, but you didn't even tell us about her? Were you just going to get married without any of us there?"

 "She told you that?"

 Spencer had the strength to ball one of his fists; this was going horribly. The tension he had created in his hand spread up his arm and along to his chest. He grimaced as another sharp stab of pain rippled across his body.

 JJ shook her head, "no, her friend mentioned it, and we overheard. I don't get it, Spence, we're supposed to be like family, and she…we didn't get to talk, but she seems nice. And she's a doctor – she's smart like you, and she obviously loves you. Did you think we wouldn't like her?"

 "No, and she said no to me anyway, so it doesn't matter…."

 "She only said no because you wouldn't introduce her to us," Derek stated bluntly, "that's what she said when we asked her about it and considering I didn't even know she existed till this morning, I can't say that I blame her."

 "Guys, I will explain later, I promise," Spencer began as he tried to sit up in the bed, "but I need to talk to Veronica. Right now – where is she?"

 "She is in a patient room down the hall," Dr Altman said as she waltzed into the room and picked up Spencer's chart from the end of his bed, "nice to see you awake, Dr Reid."

 "A patient room – i-is she okay?" Spencer stammered.

 Teddy peered over the chart to look at his concerned face, "she'll be fine, she's just dehydrated and a bit hungover – we've got her on an IV. Besides, the couch in the attending's lounge is not the place you want to sleep unless you want to give yourself scoliosis."

 Spencer tried to move one of his legs, "I need to go see her, I need to explain everything, I-"

 "You need to lay back down," Teddy said as she moved over to his bedside and pressed her stethoscope against his chest, "I need to listen to your chest, take a deep breath for me-"

Spencer begrudgingly breathed in.

"-breath sounds are clear and equal, that's a good sign," Teddy said, hanging the stethoscope back around her neck, "and your latest round of labs are all within normal limits. Dr Hunt and I were able to remove all the bullet fragments during surgery, we were concerned that the impact could've weakened the wall of your thoracic aorta, but it seems unaffected."

 Spencer nodded, "okay."

“We had to convert to an exploratory laparotomy mid-surgery; you had some bleeding in your abdomen which we needed to repair; that's why you have two incision sites. They will likely leave scars, I'm afraid, but the abdominal bleeding triggered a condition called DIC and would have been fatal had we not caught the bleeders."

 Spencer's brain was spinning. He knew he had been in bad shape, but he really nearly died. He needed to talk to Veronica, and fast.

 "…it was actually Veronica who made the connection between your fall and the bleeding. She wasn't even operating, and she saved your life," Teddy smiled at him, "I just need to take a peek at your incision sites, and then I'll be out of your hair."

 Spencer winced as she lifted up his bandages to take a closer look.

 "Okay, they look all good and no signs of infection. You will need at least another day for observation; I'll get the nurse to administer your post-op antibiotics, so let her know if there's anything else you need."

 "He won't admit it, but he's in pain. Can he get any more morphine or something?" JJ asked, biting her nail.

 "What? No, I'm fine. I don't need any more painkillers; I'm all good!"

Teddy raised an eyebrow at him, "you just had major surgery, but you don't want more pain meds?" she asked sceptically, "you aren't maxed out on anything; I can order more-"

 "No," Spencer snapped, "I mean…no thank you, Dr Altman. They make me too disoriented, and I need to be clear-headed when I talk to Veronica," he said, adjusting his tone.

 Teddy gave him one last suspicious look before she moved back towards the door, "okay, no more pain meds. I'll let Veronica know you're awake," she said before exiting the room, closing the sliding glass door behind her.

 Spencer let out a deep sigh of relief and relaxed back into his pillows slightly. Even the brief conversation with Dr Altman had left him exhausted, so he wasn't sure how he would manage when the rest of the team flocked to his bedside to question him about his condition and Veronica.

 Veronica.

That was going to be a long conversation.

JJ and Derek stayed by his side as the nurse came in to administer his antibiotics, just as Dr Altman had said.

 "Hotch and Rossi had to go sort some things out with the arrest," Derek had informed him, "they said they'll stop by later when they can."

 "And Emily and Garcia are in the cafeteria, we've let them know you're awake, but we didn't want to overwhelm you with too many visitors at once," JJ explained, "and Garcia really needed some sugar. She's been freaking out, Emily's trying to get her to eat something," she chuckled.

 "I feel bad I caused all this stress…." Spencer mumbled.

 "Course we're worried about you, Spence; we're a family. But you didn't cause us stress; it's not your fault," JJ reassured; she leaned closer to Spencer to grip his hand in hers.

"Exactly, it's the unsub's fault. You didn't choose to get shot," Derek added; he shuffled over to the bed from his corner and took hold of Spencer's other hand.

 The three of them sat in comfortable and heartfelt silence for a few moments with their hands intertwined until they were interrupted by a hesitant voice in the doorway.

"Uh, sorry, I did mean to interrupt. I'll come back later…."

part 3 coming soon

sorry there’s not too much spencer in this part, i promise there will be more in part 3 when veronica and spencer have their confrontation 

if you enjoyed this please consider leaving a comment as it really keeps me motivated, and reblogging! i really appreciate likes but on the tumblr reblogs are the only way to get my work out there x

tagging anyone who commented on part 1, message me/ comment if you want to be tagged for part 3:

@dilaurantisbitch

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i also take imagine requests!

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

@stinastar got Eskel on my brain so I had to throw some love (see also: whump) his way

Here darling, have some suffering... as a treat.

(As always, I didn’t bother editing so if you see anything ridiculous, please let me know)

________________________________________________________________

Humming a melody, Jaskier was contemplating his next ballad. He had some good material from the last of Geralt’s hunts he had snuck along on a few weeks back, right before the two parted. Jaskier was feeling this one should be nothing short of epic, a wonderful, and maybe slightly annoying, surprise for his favorite witcher upon their next run-in.

Smiling while he tried to think of a good rhyme for “reckless”, Jaskier let his eyes roam over the village he was approaching. It seemed like a small settlement, but large enough to have an inn. He was in a fairly remote part of The Continent, but he was hopeful that his charm would serve him well, even if there weren’t an inn.

As Jaskier got closer to the village an odd sight made him lose his train of thought. In the middle of the main road going through the village it seemed that most of the residents had gathered round in a loose circle, and in the middle Jaskier could see two poles that looked to be made of metal sticking up. Perhaps it was some sort of festival or ritual in the area, thought Jaskier as he tried to get a better look.

When Jaskier finally got close enough to hear the villagers, he still couldn’t quite see what they were circling, but the snippets of conversation he heard weren’t particularly encouraging. Jaskier slowly waded through the crowd, concern growing as he heard the villager’s whispers, “monster” “it’ll be good to see it die” “it deserves to suffer”.

Finally, Jaskier was able to push through to the front of the crowd, getting to see what it was that had the villagers so excitable.

He let out a sharp gasp, his eyes widening in shock.

Before him was a man, his arms chained to the metal poles, stretched high above his head, his knees on the ground, his ankles chained to the bottom of the poles. His knees were bloodied, and the man was entirely bare, save for the chain he wore around his neck.

Well, more like a medallion, really.

A medallion in the shape of a wolf’s head.

Jaskier felt panic run through him as he realized he was staring at a witcher, just as broad and scar covered as his witcher, wearing the same medallion. The man’s head was bowed as he sagged in his chains but Jaskier knew that his eyes would be that same golden amber that frequented his dreams. The only difference between this unknown witcher and Geralt that Jaskier could see seemed to be their hair, this witcher’s hair a dark brown color so very different from Geralt’s white.

Before Jaskier realized what he was doing, he had taken a step forward, closer to the witcher. Jaskier felt a sharp pull to his arm and turned to see an elderly man with a severe face holding him back, “Best not get too close, son. We’ve weakened the monster but he’s not close to death just yet. Got another week or two in him at least.”

“Right. I’m sorry, I’m a bit confused. What, exactly, is going on?” Jaskier pulled his arm out of the old man’s grasp, quickly righting his doublet.

The old man smiled, revealing far fewer teeth than he should have had, “We tricked the blasted mutant, that’s what! Weakened him and tricked him and now he serves his penance for his sins.”

Jaskier’s mind raced, trying to process what was happening. The witcher had been captured by the town, it seemed, and now was strung up and being left to die.

Having travelled side by side with a witcher for nearly a decade, Jaskier had seen more than his fair share of intolerant people and towns, but never had he seen the malice in this man’s face. The old man was clearly proud of his accomplishment, happy to watch the witcher in front of them suffer for weeks on end before death.

Well, Jaskier certainly wouldn’t just sit around and let this happen, no sir. But what to do? He wouldn’t be able to fight the entire village, and any village willing and able to do what they had done wasn’t going to be swayed by pretty words and a catchy song. No, Jaskier would have to be clever, he had to find a way to sneak the witcher away with none the wiser.

“I must admit, good sir, I’m very impressed. How did you manage to catch a witcher unawares?” Hopefully, he would be able to get the old man to give him information.

The old man let out a laugh that made Jaskier’s stomach roll with disgust, “It came asking after a contract and I was able to slip it a special mix in some food and drink while we spoke. Family recipe - helped do in four other of these monsters, though this’ll be the first since I’ve taken over as alderman, only the second in my life time. A very exciting day, all around. Sent the mutant into the woods and ambushed it.”

“And you’re still poisoning him? To keep him weak?”

“No, no. No need, those shackles we had special made for an occasion like this. Dimeritium. The beasts are weak to it, it’ll stay weak just from that ‘til it finally dies.” The alderman was beaming at Jaskier, clearly delighted with his accomplishment.

Jaskier wanted to beat the man bloody. “That’s very impressive, and do you have the town guards keep watch over him? Or hunters?”

The alderman laughed, “Needn’t waste the resources. The dimeritium does the trick and it’s locked in. I keep the key with me so there’s no need to go guarding it.”

Jaskier smiled, “You’re clearly a brilliant man, tell me alderman, did the witcher have any belonging you’ll be selling? I was accosted by some bandits on the road and lost my weapons and my horse. I’d be happy to pay.”

“Ahh, we’ve it’s things in the stable still. A brilliant stallion. We’ve no real need of it in the village but some coin wouldn’t go amiss! All it’s other things are in the stables as well, if there’s anything you want I’m sure we can work out a fair price. Follow me, if you will.”

Jaskier let his gaze fall to the witcher again. The alderman claimed the witcher had at least another week but Jaskier wasn’t convinced, the man looked close to death. Hopefully, he would be able to acquire the horse and he would be able to use the stallion to get the witcher to safety.

Dusk was approaching when Jaskier finally left the stable, his purse lighter, but now in possession of a horse, two witcher’s swords, saddle bags full of various potions and clothes and other witchery things, and an invitation to join the alderman and his wife for supper.

Jaskier hurried to the small inn the alderman had mentioned and quickly purchased a room for the night, hurrying into it, thankful it was on the ground floor.

The only thing keeping the witcher imprisoned were shackles around his wrists and ankles, shackles that simply locked with a key. A key the alderman kept. Although Jaskier was hesitant to sup with the alderman and his wife, particularly considering they apparently have a poison that, not only isn’t detected by witcher’s, but also is enough to subdue them, he figured that it would be his best chance to get the key.

With any luck he would be able to unchain the witcher and get him to his horse and then get him to safety.

Jaskier knew very little of dimeritium but Geralt had mentioned it in the past, mentioned it weakened him, made it impossible to use signs. Jaskier wasn’t sure how long it would take for the witcher to recover from the dimeritium bonds and whatever poison was still in his body, but he hoped it wouldn’t take too long. Jaskier wasn’t sure where they would be able to go that was safe so they would have to stick to the woods for a while at least. Until the witcher was well enough to defend himself. And Jaskier, hopefully.

Letting out a long sigh, Jaskier sat heavily on the bed. He wished he had a quick way he could contact Geralt, some back up would be nice. Although bringing another witcher into such a dangerous place might not be a great idea when Jaskier wasn’t even sure what poison they were using on witchers or how exactly they administered it.

Poison. Right, Jaskier needed to go to the alderman’s house. Surely supper would be ready soon.

Gods willing, he wouldn’t be poisoned too.

-

Attending supper at the alderman’s house wasn’t Jaskier’s favorite experience, what with the concern of an undetectable poison and the looming threat over the witcher outside, but it was helpful to his plans. As the alderman bragged yet again about capturing and subduing the witcher, he gestured to the heavy key ring with one sing key on it, hanging just beside the door leading to their back garden.

The alderman had also made it fairly apparent that the village as a whole didn’t concern itself far too much with security. Being so remote, they got very few travelers, and the villagers themselves would never do anything to risk the ire of their poison-happy alderman. All of these things boded well for Jaskier’s rescue attempt. He should be able to sneak out of the inn, into the alderman’s house to get the key, and back to free the witcher if he was careful.

Returning to his room, Jaskier started packing his bags, mind racing with his plans.

He would need to get the horse ready to leave town before doing anything else, a quick get away would be very important to the pair’s survival. Jaskier wasn’t sure how long the inn keep would be awake cleaning so it would most likely be best to sneak his belongings, and himself, out through the window.

Ideally, any stable boy would be asleep and Jaskier would be able to tack up the horse and strap all their bags and his lute to it with no one the wiser.

And then things would get trickier. He would need to get to the alderman’s house without being noticed, get inside, get the key, and run.

If the alderman or his wife noticed the key was missing too soon, then they might not make it out of the village.

-

Sometime later, Jaskier was lurking in the back garden of the alderman’s house, trying to make sure he and his wife were soundly asleep before he snuck inside to get the key.

After a while of waiting, Jaskier still hadn’t heard any movement from inside or seen any lights so he crept to the garden door and made quick work of the lock, thankful that he hadn’t forgotten how to pick a simple lock. He pushed the door open slowly, looking around in the dark kitchen, satisfied to not see anyone awake, grabbed the key, and pulled the door shut again.

Sticking to the shadows, Jaskier hurried as quickly as he dared to the center of the village where the witcher was chained. Hurrying up to the weakened man, Jaskier grabbed at the shackles on his left wrist, trying to will his normally steady hands to stop shaking. Jaskier made efficient work of the shackles on the man’s wrists, the man collapsing on his hands with a grunt. Jaskier hurried around the witcher to undo the shackles around his ankles before he grabbed the witcher by his shoulder, pulling his off his hands, “C’mon witcher. We need to get out of here before anyone notices you’re free. C’mon, your horse is saddled and ready to go, we just have to make it to the stables.”

“Wh’re you?” The witcher groaned in pain, his head finally lifting, his golden eyes meeting Jaskier’s. Jaskier quickly took in the man’s face, he looked remarkably like Geralt, save for the deep scars marring the right side of the witcher’s face.

“Ahh yes, I’m Jaskier, and I’m trying very hard to keep the both of us from dying, so if you could cooperate, I would appreciate it.”

The witcher slowly raised to his feet, leaning dangerously to one side. Jaskier quickly ducked under the man’s arm to provide support, hurrying the man toward the stable.

Once inside, Jaskier threw a set of clothes to the witcher, letting him dress while Jaskier led the horse from his stall. Jaskier mounted the horse quickly and held his hand down to the witcher. The witcher gave him a skeptical look before mounting the horse behind Jaskier, leaning onto him.

Jaskier urged the horse forward, heading west, “I’ve no clue where to go around here that will be safe so I thought we should stick to the woods for a bit until you’ve recovered some.”

The witcher behind him hummed and Jaskier decided it must be in approval.

The two rode hard, putting the awful village behind them before Jaskier veered off the road, leading the horse into the wood and finally stopping in a small clearing.

“Tell me, witcher, do you hear anything nearby we might need to worry about attacking us?”

The witcher slowly dismounted the horse and closed his eyes, “Nothing close enough to worry about. Fire should keep anything away.”

Jaskier jumped off the horse and walked to the witcher, ushering him to sit, “I’ll get started on a fire now, you rest.”

The witcher watched curiously ask Jaskier puttered around the clearing, starting a fire and setting out bed rolls.

“Eskel.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Eskel.”

Jaskier’s smile was blinding, “It’s lovely to meet you, Eskel.”

-

Sequel is here

[fullmarvelheart]

Crossing Lines (1/?)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader

Word Count: 3,322

Series summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, little bit of angst, slight swearing, slow burn (more to be added as the series progresses)

A/N: I’m finally able to post this today! I’ve been counting down until I could get this out😂 This is the first story that I have written and posted on my Tumblr account. I’m a bit nervous but very excited. I have not entirely proofread this story. Though, I would like to thank my beta reader, Lauren, for all the help and motivation she gave me. The GIF is not mine, credit to the original creator! And a big thank you to the @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ for hosting Mob!Bucky Appreciation Day and inspiring me to post this story.

Series Masterlist

The sharp clicking noise of my heels, followed by the dull thud of several boots, echo on the wooden stairs leading to the basement of my childhood home. I follow the along the long stretch of the twisting hallways until we reach a door that's muffling the slaps and punches behind it. 

One of the men that had met me in the foyer, and had followed me down, knocks twice on the door as I tuck my hand into the back pocket of the curve-hugging black jeans I wore for the day. Moments later, the steel door swings open with a low whine from the give of the rusted hinges. The scent of blood and sweat is the first thing I notice followed by the image of the room. 

Five men stand beyond the doorway. The man who opened the door stands near the edge of steel, gun hanging loosely at his side. Two bodyguards stand in adjacent corners of the room, making sure it’s possible to guard the others with in. Two others, the two most trusted of the household, including the right hand to the leader of the Manhattan Mafia Empire, stand imposingly in front of a man bound to a chair in the center. By the amount of fresh blood dripping onto the floor, this wasn't just some petty offense against the leader. Which draws my attention to the final man, leaning carelessly on a table filled with painful weapons. Nicholas J. Fury, the leader of this mafia clan, and my adopted father. 

"You summoned me from my apartment, Boss?" I say with a smirk while jutting out my hip. 

Phil Coulson, father's righthand, gives me a smirk in return while Maria Hill, his enforcer, just sends a half-hearted glare my way. However, father's face remains neutral.

"I did." He spares me a one-eyed glance. "Tell me what you see?"

I hum in thought to myself as I stalk my way around to see the captive's face. The top half of his once light-colored shirt is now hanging open from being cut by a knife or something similarly sharp. But it's cut open enough to view a tattoo resting on his right breast. 

A red skull surrounded by a halo of octopus tentacles. 

I grunt in distaste. "HYDRA scum."

The man lifts up his bloodied and beaten head to snarl at me. He twists his mouth before lobbing a spit ball at my feet. The glob of mixed spit and blood lands inches from my black, closed-toe heels. 

I scoff at the action and brush my hand into the waistline of my jeans. When I feel the slim metal hilt, I maneuver the object into my palm. With the push of a small button the knife of the switchblade extends before I quickly drive it into his thigh. He screams out in pain as I keep the blade firmly in place. When his screams turn into tired wails of agony, I turn towards my father. 

"Who is he?" I ask, motioning my head towards the man.

"We believe he's behind the hit on George Barnes. Or at least, is attempting to put the blame on us." He explains in his no-nonsense tone. 

My eyes widen in shock, my lips parting slightly. 

"George Barnes was shot at? Is this why I've been called in?" The prisoner painfully chuckles, quietly enough for only me to hear him. 

"He's dead, sweet cheeks." He whispers with a smirk of victory.

I growl at him before twisting my knife and yanking it out while I stand.

"So, why am I here? I assume it's not to attend the funeral because you know I can't. It was just a risk just to even come here." My father gives me a pointed look.  

"I need you to go with them to the warehouse with the prisoner while your siblings and I attend the funeral that's being held in a couple of hours. After the funeral, George's son and I will discuss some business about our alliance with the Brooklyn clan. I'll call you with the details." I nod at his instructions. 

"You know the FBI is going to have me all over this case once they receive word of Barnes’ death, right?" He nods. 

"I'm counting on it." 

"I'll be waiting by the van." I tell him before wiping my knife on the man’s already dirty shirt and tucking the now closed switchblade into the band of my jeans.  

I'm escorted back up the stairs towards the side of the house where the cars sit waiting in father's massive garage. Though the reason for the escort is now clear. My safety. My personal bodyguards, some of my father's most trusted men, meet back up with me to continue through the house. The sounds of nearing footsteps draw my attention to another hallway. My siblings, the twins, round the corner with their own group of bodyguards. 

Wanda, the youngest, according to her brother, is dressed in all black. Appropriate for a funeral. Her brown hair is in casual waves while her makeup is mostly minimally visible. Her natural eyeshadow pairs well with the red lip tint she chose. Her normal red leather jacket is replaced by a similar black one that's draped over a black dress which is cinched at the waist. Her normal array of colorful and seemingly mismatched jewelry has been changed into a long silver chain necklace and a simple dark color bracelet. And to top off the outfit, she put on a pair of high heeled ankle boots. A surprised gasp leaves her lips when she spots me and soon, she's running to me as fast as she can in those heels. Her brother, Pietro, follows not too far behind her. 

Pietro is dressed in a similar fashion. His silver dyed hair is brushed into gentle waves. A black leather jackets lays over a black dress shirt while matching pants and shoes. He also wears a small silver chain with a blue pendant on it. A gift from his twin.

Wanda pulls me into a tight hug with an excited squeal and I laugh, returning her hug with equal excitement.

"Y/N/N what are you doing here?!" She giggles as she pulls back. I laugh while Pietro pulls me into a similar hug. 

"What? Can't an older sister stop by and see her two favorite siblings?" I gasp in mock offense once I'm released from the hug.

"We're your only siblings." Pietro reminds with a roll of his eyes. 

"Besides, being undercover doesn't really allow time for social visits." Wanda points out. I only sigh. Sometimes she's too perceptive. 

"It has to do with Brooklyn doesn't it?" Pietro asks while crossing his arms. As the only male heir of our father, Pietro is often included or informed of current affairs. Again, I sigh in defeat, though I shouldn’t be surprised he knows.  

"Yeah, father called me in. This is a real shit show and I have a feeling this is just the beginning of it." I mutter distastefully.

They both nod in understanding, but Wanda looks equal parts sad and disappointed. But this is our life, we're used to it by now. Even though it's not always what we wish to have.

I gently smile before pulling them both into a big hug. 

"Promise me you two will be careful out there?" Wanda tightens her grip on me. 

"It's not us," She begins slowly. "Who you should be worried about." I chuckle dryly, knowing she's right, as I squeeze her back before pulling away from both of them.

"I suppose not. Still, I do. Now, I need to be going soon. I will see you both later." Pietro nods in acceptance, but Wanda let's her head droop slightly. I give her hand a tight squeeze before me and my bodyguards resume our way to where the cars are. 

I climb back into the car that I came here in, and wait patiently for the driver and everyone to clamber in. The car is started but we remain idling sitting. As a way to occupy myself, I reach into the side door and feel for what I hid in there before I went in. When my fingers brush over the leather holster, I grab it and attach it, and the gun it holds, to a pocket on the inside of my leather jacket. When it's secure, I fold the jacket back over my chest, concealing the firearm in the process. 

A muffled struggle echoes through the once silent garage.

"You want me to take care of that?" I ask the men who sit with me in the car, my fingers brushing over the spot in my jacket where my gun rests. 

"Nah, I'll go check it out." One of my bodyguards, Mackenzie, or Mack as he's called, replies from the passenger seat. 

"Of bloody course you'd be the first one of us lot to check it out." The driver, a Brit, by the name of Hunter scoffs.  

Mack just shakes his head before he opens the door and leaves. When there's a few moments of silence after the car door is shut, that’s when Hunter speaks again. 

"What are the odds of him bringing up something about needing that shotgun-axe again once he gets back in here?"

I chuckle and I see the shoulders of the person next to me move slightly. 

"High." May, the bodyguard next to me and the one that I trust with mostly everything, responds with a slight edge of humor in her voice. Then she turns to me. "Boss, I was going to wait until we cleared the property,-"

"A good idea, May. I don't know much as of now, I can tell you that, but I'll tell the rest once we’re on the move."

She nods and the front passenger door opens at the same time. 

"You'd think the men would know how to handle prisoners, like that one, by now." He grumbles as he settles into his seat. "I swear, one look at a shotgun-axe would scare the life out of those boys. Maybe they'd actually listen to simple instructions at that point."

We all the chuckle as the caravan of cars begins its trip out of the garage and to the warehouse. As we pull down the driveway, I reach into the pocket behind the passenger seat and pull out the object I stashed there and clip it inside my jacket, not too far from my gun. The gold of the badge reflects the light onto the side door while I begin to put on the mask that's essential for my survival out there in this scary world. The letters of F, B, and I revolve in my mind as I stare out the window at my former home. My life is a dangerous one and every aspect has a devastating risk with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warehouse is a dark place. Even if there is daylight present, streaming through the dirty frosted windows, a dark and dangerous feeling surrounds the place. It clings to it like the smell of a cigarette on clothes. For newcomers, like the prisoner that followed us in another van just a few behind our own, it's daunting. It's certain death. To me and my bodyguards, only our hairs stand on end in anticipation of what is to come.

I informed my guards of what I knew about the situation on the way here. A reverent silence filled the air at the mention of the late George Barnes' death. He treated his men well, was honest and loyal to his allies, and was a good man. Brooklyn and all of New York will miss him.

I stand in the empty warehouse floor, several paces in front of the unconscious prisoner, who's slumped against his restraints. Turns out the men are really in an impatient mood today. I cross my arms while I zone out observing him. Why did HYDRA do this? What did they gain? What's the bigger picture that I'm missing?  

The faint sound of gravel crunching under tires drags me from my head and has me turning towards the opened garage-looking doors. Three black vans drive in and come to a stop not too far from the entrance. Father and Coulson are the first to step out from the center van. My siblings then file out from the one on the right. The rest of the men who were in the cars climb out and seem to form a barrier between the front entrance and the four people headed straight for me.

"I thought I would be receiving a phone call first." I give father a weary glance, noticing his seriousness about something.

"Change of plans." He answers swiftly, and rather seriously. I begin to grow uncomfortable.

The sound of more approaching vehicles has my eyes widening as I turn my curious and nervous expression on my father who gives me a reassuring nod. 

"Fury." I hiss under my breath, not liking the idea of going into a situation blindly. He simply ignores me.

My focus is drawn back to the entrance as car doors closing harshly sound in my ears, though my gaze never wavers from my father's profile. A cadence of footsteps march across the unpaved driveway and into the warehouse, only pausing in front of the line of father's men. It's only when the footsteps draw nearer that I finally look at the party joining us.

My eyes widen, ever so slightly, at the sight of three imposing men nearing closer to where I stand. The man on my left is tall and broad-chested. His shiny blond hair reflects the dim light of the warehouse. His jawline is clean and sharp like a knife, adding to the dangerous air around him. The man in the center is just slightly shorter than the one on his left. A few strands of his long brown hair frame his face while, I assume, the rest is pulled back. However, the stubble on his face and those piercing blue eyes that I can see, even in the dim warehouse lighting, gives me an idea of who I’m dealing with. James “Bucky” Barnes. A man whose reputation for being a cold-blooded killer and a ladies’ man is very well known. However, any idea of seriousness is completely forgotten when I notice the man on my right, James’ left, who’s giving me a hard scowl. The familiar sight of the deep chocolate brown skin, hard eyes, and black hair puts me at ease. I could almost laugh at the situation.

“Samuel T. Wilson.” I chuckle when I see his eye twitch at the sound of his full name.

The trio stops not too far away from my father’s group and me. The sight of those two chocolate brown eyes, that look like they want to murder me, have me smirking.

“Special Agent Y/L/N of the FBI.” He growls, and I feel the tension in the room immediately spike. “I thought I saw the last of ya when I was let go.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Wilson scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. I also notice Barnes shifting in my periphery and sigh to myself as I think of how to reword things. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been let go so easily. There wasn’t any substantial evidence against you, but the other agents were going to keep you locked up to send a message. I let it slip to our boss, and he had a big problem with what they were doing. You were let free not too long after. So quit looking like you want to kill me, and maybe offer a ‘thank you’ instead.”

He goes to speak, but that’s when father decides to step in.

“Gentlemen, we came here to discuss a business transaction, not hash out the past. If you three would, follow me. Agent, you too. Son, keep the rest of our guests some company.” There are a series of soft grumbles and complaints, but ultimately, everyone listens.

When the three Brooklyn boys pass the now awake prisoner, his face turns a scary shade of white. And that’s considering the fact that he was already pale due to blood loss. I feel a shiver begin to creep down my spine, but I suppress it. I tell myself it’s because of the type of fear these men can instill, but deep down, I know that it was a low growl I heard somewhere over my shoulder.

Father takes us to one of the few offices in the warehouse and has me shut the door. Barnes sits in the chair across from Fury with both his men flanking either side of him. The only person at my father’s side is Coulson on the right, until I walk up to the vacant spot on my father’s left.

“I think proper introductions should be made before we begin talks.”

“I agree.” Barnes cuts in. “I didn’t realize this meeting would include a dirty Fed.”

I scoff but am interrupted before I can make any smart remark.

“This, gentlemen, is my eldest child. Y/N was the first I adopted and raised in this life. The only reason she is in the FBI is to help us deal with HYDRA.”

“HYDRA is everywhere.” I start explaining. “Like cockroaches in an old building. The only way to make sure every loose end has been tied up is to have all the information. There’s no better way to do it.”

“Hold up. I thought your last name was ‘Y/L/N’.” This time, Wilson interrupts.

“A cover, obviously. If the FBI learned of my ties to the Underworld or to my father, it would be worse than if they thought I was just corrupt.”

“The point is that Y/N will be passing on any information she learns about HYDRA and their plot.”

“I’ll also be keeping a very close eye on anything that may have to do with what happened to your father.” At the mention of him, I see James’ lips twitch slightly while the furrow of his brow deepens. “I am sorry for what happened to him. Your father was a great and very well-respected man.”

The only sign of acknowledgement I get from the new leader of the Brooklyn clan is a slight nod of his head, and I begin to grow uncomfortable in the silence that follows. Luckily, a phone ringing stops the awkwardness from becoming worse. However, it’s not just any phone. It’s my phone. I quickly snatch it from one of the pockets of my leather jacket and glance at the screen.

“It’s my boss.” I inform before answering. “This is Y/L/N. Yes, sir. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He hangs up. “I’m being called in. Send me the rest of the details later.” My father nods as he motions for me to leave. Before I do, I look over the three new faces and say in the most professional tone I can gather, “It was nice to properly meet you, gentlemen. I look forward to working with you.”

Without waiting for a reply from one of my father’s, hopefully, new allies to say anything, I hurry around the desk and out of the office. Once Hunter receives the word to get the car ready, I tuck my phone away again.

As I leave the warehouse, goosebumps prickle my skin. Not because it’s cold, or because I’m scared, but because of the pressure that’s suddenly fallen around my shoulders. This attack, this changes everything. HYDRA has always threatened the clans, carried out small or petty attacks, but they have never directly attacked the families. The death of George Barnes is only the catalyst. 

A war is coming, and blood will be spilled. But how prepared am I for what I expect to come?

Part 2

[hermannsthumb]

Would you please be willing to write 54 from the winter prompt list? About having a rough day?

54. we don’t really know each other but you look like you’re having a rough day so i got you my favourite hot drink from the cafe

from winter writing prompts here

sometimes it’s fun to write things where they were never penpals and they’re just kind of bastards to each other. this is a WELL needed break from working on finals and zine stuff

-------------------

Newt’s not really sure what he did to be stuck with this utter bastard of a lab partner—what sort of, like, karmic punishment he’s facing, and for what, or who high in command he pissed off in his job interview—but in terms of utter bastards, Hermann Gottlieb pretty much takes the cake. He snaps at Newt over everything. He tears down Newt’s theories in front of their superiors whenever he gets the chance. The dude even took a fucking roll of tape and divided the lab in half just so he wouldn’t have to look at Newt’s face—totally nuts behavior. Like, right? Who does that? He’s not even sure why they have to share a lab in the first place. It’s not like Hermann’s jumping at the chance to stick his arms in a kaiju chest cavity with Newt, or Newt can make head or tails of Hermann’s bizarre equation chains. Half of him is convinced they’re all just bullshit, anyway. But whatever.

At least Hermann’s being significantly less of a bastard today. Newt hasn’t heard one peep out of him—not even when Newt started playing music without his headphones, or knocked a whole chunk of kaiju intestine over onto the floor and it rolled (with a series of admittedly nasty splats) an inch across the dreaded tape line. He’s just been standing, motionless, at his chalkboard. All day. Not even writing anything. Occasionally, Newt’s heard him sigh.

It’s a drastic departure from the routine Newt’s used to. Newt doesn’t care about Hermann—he really doesn’t—but if he did, he might be…a little worried about the guy.

Hermann sighs again. This time, he wipes a hand down his face.

Oh, good grief.

Newt pulls off his work gloves with two snaps, switches his headlamp off, and clears his throat. “Hey, uh,” he says, timidly, and cringes at himself even as he does. Newt would say his odds are 50-50 that Hermann’s just gonna yell at him to mind his own business and get back to work. “Gottlieb? Hermann?”

Hermann turns from his chalkboard with a low “Mm?”

He has dark circles under his eyes; his collar, Newt notices, is tucked into his shirt, and one shirttail hangs out from his sweatervest, like he was distracted when he got dressed this morning. It’s the most disheveled Newt has ever seen him. Instantly, he feels a strange surge of pity for his weird, prickly lab partner. “You all good over there, dude?” Newt says.

“Yes,” Hermann says.

Then he sighs, and sits down heavily on the metal stool he keeps next to his ladder. It looks like the most uncomfortable thing in the world. “Frankly, no, Dr. Geiszler,” he says. “I’ve not had—the best of days.”

“Oh,” Newt says. He scuffs his boot against the floor. “…Do you want to, like…talk about it or something?”

Hermann works his weird, angular jaw furiously. For a second time, Newt’s sure the rebuke is coming—the stay out of my private affairs, Dr. Geiszler, an invitation for Newt to fire back at him with a nasty jab of his own, and then they can both be on their merry way like it never happened—but none does. “I am sure you have noticed I am not making as much headway in the updated jaeger coding as I would’ve liked,” Hermann says.

Newt didn’t notice. He doesn’t make a habit of paying attention to Hermann if he can help it. “Uh, sure,” he says.

“To put it lightly,” Hermann says, “I am stumped. And on top of this, my father—well.” He rubs his hands over his face again and doesn’t elaborate.

The amount Newt knows about Hermann can be counted on one hand. He knows that Hermann was like him—a child prodigy. He knows that Hermann cuts his own hair, because there’s no way something that bad could’ve been paid for, and Newt found dark brown hair clippings in the k-sci bathroom sink the same day Hermann’s bowlcut looked just a bit more severe than usual. He knows Hermann walks with a cane, but he doesn’t know why. He knows Hermann’s father founded the jaeger program, stuck his son at the head of it, and then suddenly and inexplicably publicly called for defunding it in favor of allocating resources to some stupid coastal wall instead. Newt can’t even imagine the pressure Hermann’s dad is putting him under to follow in his footsteps. Or how much harder it is for Hermann to complete even menial work tasks with that weighing over him. “Dude,” he says, sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

Hermann snorts.

“No, really,” Newt says, and he’s surprised to find he means it. Hermann is a bastard, but Newt kinda thinks he’s growing on him like…well, like a frumpy, bitchy old tumor. Or something like that. “I am. That really sucks. Can I help you with anything?”

“Not unless you can write this damn code for me,” Hermann says, scowling and banging the end of his cane against his chalkboard viciously. “Oh, never mind. I’m going to get a tea from the commissary before I tear my bloody hair out.”

He makes to stand, but Newt shakes his head, and says quickly, “No, dude, let me! Just stay here and chill. I was going to run out for a sandwich anyway.”

It’s a misstep, maybe—Hermann’s scowl darkens. But Newt presses on anyway. “Seriously, I’ll get it. I want to help you. Do you want a sandwich or anything too? Or noodles? I think the mess is serving noodles today. Or I could run out to get you takeout, whatever you want.”

“Newton,” Hermann says. Not Dr. Geiszler. Newt’s heart skips a beat for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. “I don’t want a sandwich or anything like that. I just want some tea.” His jaw moves back and forth again. “But—if you are so inclined to fetch it for me—I would…appreciate the gesture. I take it with milk and two sugars. Just a tea. That is all.”

“Okay!” Newt says, grinning goofily, and jogs from the lab.

He slams a bio-degradable cardboard coffee cup and a small box of pastries down onto Hermann’s desk thirty minutes later. Hermann, who was poring over a bewildering jumble of code on his computer screen, startles so badly his glasses slip off the end of his nose and bounce against his chest. He crooks his eyebrow at the cup and pastries. “Those are not from the commissary,” he says.

“They’re not,” Newt says. “Come on, the comm stuff is crap, you know they water everything down. There’s a café I go to just off base and they’ve actually got the good stuff.” It costs him a fucking fortune these days with rationing, especially on the tiny salary the PPDC is able to scrape together for him, but Newt firmly believes it’s worth it. Spending that much on Hermann is worth it too, he thinks, if it means Hermann can go back to their usual sparring faster. Sad, mopey Hermann unsettles Newt. He slides Hermann’s drink closer to him. “Come on, come onnn, try some.”

Hermann sniffs it suspiciously. He pries off the plastic lid, revealing a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate drizzle beneath. “This does not look like tea, either,” he says, and stares at Newt—unimpressed—over his glasses.

“It’s not,” Newt says. “It’s called the Geiszler—it’s my custom order at the shop. Well, I call it the Geiszler, anyway. I think they just call it ‘that one fucking guy is back again’.” Hermann cracks the world’s smallest smile, and Newt feels like he’s just scaled Mount Everest. He also feels like his stomach might twist itself up in knots, because it’s kinda a cute smile. Is that weird to think about Hermann like that? It’s totally weird. Whatever. “Go on, try it, for real. I promise it’s good.”

Hermann delicately snaps the lid back on and takes a long sip; he swallows, and hums thoughtfully. Newt has never cared about Hermann’s opinion this much before. “Well, it’s not tea,” Hermann finally says, “but I will admit it could be worse. Thank you.” He gives Newt another funny little sour smile—like it can’t decide if it wants to be a frown or not. “And thank you for the pastries, as well. Though I don’t know how on earth I’m meant to finish them all.”

“Dude, they’re totally not all for you,” Newt laughs. He digs one out of the box, takes a bite, and waves it at Hermann. Crumbs rain down on Hermann’s desk. “As if. We’re sharing.”

Hermann wrinkles his nose and sweeps off a layer of crumbs from some paperwork. “Hm,” he says. “Please do refrain from eating over my work station, Newton. I know you are far laxer with your sanitary habits, but…”

There it is again—Newton. Not Dr. Geiszler, and not Newt. No one’s called Newt Newton in years. It’s for the Newton that Newt forgoes the fight and just backs off with his pastry and a smile. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re right, that was rude of me. Enjoy the coffee.”

They’re back at each other’s throats in a day, but Hermann doesn’t stop calling him Newton, so Newt figures that’s gotta mean something.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Sinners & Saints-Chapter 14

               A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Fourteen

The tender ride to the island had Claire’s last nerve in shreds. She was very afraid of having her chip taken out today, even though Jamie already tested the safety of the procedure the day before. The four of them split up at the front of the clinic, Darius and Maia would hang out at the back door of the facility just in case the good doctor made a run for it.

Jamie held Claire’s hand and scowled at the nurse during check-in. The doctor saw them and abruptly turned around but was soon escorted back by Darius. The nurse was decidedly unfriendly today which added another layer of stress to the procedure. Jamie just wanted it over with and pulled Claire to the treatment room when they were called.

The doctor thankfully started with a shot of Valium that put Claire out completely. It was a little unnerving. Claire was not a rambunctious mover when she wasn’t sedated, but this complete stop even unnerved the doctor, so he put a monitor on her heart. Jamie held a glass jar out for the doctor to drop the bloody implant into before closing the incision. He knew women had a thing about their upper arms looking nice, so he watched every stitch closely.

Jamie handed the doctor ten one-hundred-dollar bills and they left as soon as Jamie could wake her up. Claire smiled continuously and said hello to everyone they passed. She stopped to pet a lady’s purse and asked what its name was. Jamie was struggling to keep her walking in a straight line and if he stopped she would go off in another direction, so it took multiple attempts to call Darius.

Once Claire was in the tender, he searched for Darius and Maia, hoping they would hurry. The inebriated Sassenach needed to be locked in her room until the Valium wore off. Everything almost went south getting her onto the aft deck when she fell backward. Jamie was able to catch her before she slipped into the ocean. He was so rattled, he put Claire to bed and watched her from a nearby chair. Maia came in with a tray of food and agreed to sit with her so Jamie could get his sketch pad. He was intrigued by the locals, the tone of their skin, their gestures, and facial expressions. While Claire slept, Jamie roughed in the scene he wanted to paint and the remainder of the day was uneventful.

Jamie had given up hope that Claire would wake up that day. He wanted to talk about Danny and the extraordinary things she said and knew about his paintings, even those not done yet. It would have to wait until tomorrow he decided and slid his sketchbook into his bed table.

Claire’s eyeballs peeked out from under their lids at first light. She could hear the rhythmic breathing of her husband next to her, so she knew it was very early and after almost twenty-four hours of sleeping, she needed to get up. Adso had other ideas and did nothing but purr when she stroked him.

Sipping delicious coffee on the foredeck, the sun energized her to feel more alive by the minute. There was movement on Danny’s yacht and she watched the peculiar crewman standing on the foredeck holding a flat of flowers like a statue. How odd, she thought, until she saw Danny’s head pop up and take a handful of young Petunias before dropping out of sight again. She forced herself to stop looking and jumped at the vibrating cell phone next to her. Javier was the only person who called so she picked it up and said his name.

“Javier!”

“No darling, it’s Danny, do you remember giving me this number? If not, I’m sorry to intrude. How are you on this beautiful morning?”

“I feel amazing today, and you?”

“Very well indeed, but I could use a hand with these young plants if you have a moment.” She chuckled, “I apologize for being unacceptably straight forward, dear, please forgive me.”

“No, no, I would love to help, plant flowers? On your boat? I love gardening but never considered doing on a boat. Yes! I would love to help you, Danny. I see your tender is out, can someone come and get me in ten minutes?”

Claire left a note for Jamie and got into the tender waiting for her at the aft deck. She was excited to see Danny again and planting small flowers, however weird that was on a boat, was the perfect activity for her energized morning.

Danny smiled brightly when Claire walked onto her deck, removing her gloves to shake her hand warmly. The tender engines screamed away until it was clear of the yacht, then the crewman pulled the steering wheel harshly for a nautical-donut that launched the young man sideways, splashing down about twenty-feet from the tender.

“Oh my God!”

Danny held her arm before she could jump overboard and rescue the man. “Don’t worry about the cub my dear, he has a racer’s heart and can’t help himself. I had the tender engine modified so when someone let’s go of the throttle it stops moving. He’s fine,” she giggled. “Let me show you our chore for this morning.”

Claire followed Danny along the side deck to the other end of the enormous yacht and stepped down to the foredeck. She watched her step descending the six steps and noticed greenery around her feet and heard the most amazing music. Once on the deck, she looked around at the beautiful garden Danny had created. There were large trees, many bushes, vines, trellis clinging roses, a proper rose garden, and planters overflowing with pansies in every color that lent their sweet smell to the air.

“This is amazing, Danny! It is the last thing I would expect on a boat. It is beautiful but what happens during a storm?”

“If we can’t outrun it the planters are wheeled into a garage beyond that door. You just lift a bit on the end of the planter and the wheels pop out.”

“Oh! That is so clever! Well, I’m ready, where do I start planting?”

Danny showed her an empty planter and they discussed what levels and colors should be included then Claire got to work. When Danny came to check on her a bit later, the planter was done. She and Danny took turns watering the expansive deck full of flowers and talked as they worked.

“Have you always loved to sale or yacht?”

“No, I bought this yacht to get away from my son who wants to put me in a home. Turns out I really like the freedom, the people, and my crew.” She regarded Claire for several minutes and finally spoke to her about the joys of being nosy.

“My dear, I was raised strictly, trained in social graces at the best boarding schools, I was a debutante, and my family is at the top of the social food chain so to speak. I caught a fever in my early thirties that killed my husband and put me into a coma for a month. I had a lot of time to think before I woke up and I was a changed woman from then on. The first change was I spoke my truth, whatever that was. Let me demonstrate.”

Claire was delighted with her perky and fun attitude and listened closely.

“You, my dear, might spend the entire time asking socially acceptable questions and never get an answer to the question that burns in your mind. Give it a try, what do you want to ask me?

Claire watched Danny encourage her to speak up and she finally blurted out “how can you afford this boat and live-in crew? Oh God, it’s none of my business Danny, please forgive me!”

Danny stood straight and held her head high, “nonsense! When I tell you the answer, we will be friends and I want to be your friend so come inside, out of the sun for some refreshment while I explain.”

Claire pulled off her deck shoes and looked up as a glass wall opened to the formal saloon. She was struck dumb as her eyes took in the exquisite furniture and art in the massive room. There was a double grand staircase that went up to the second floor of living space and the boat seemed to go on for a mile. She was barely aware of Danny talking to her until she felt her hand slip through her elbow, leading her through the saloon.

“I can see that you like my floating home, and now there are two burning questions, are there not?”

“What…what does the rest look like?”

Danny chuckled and led Claire on a tour of luxury and abundance she didn’t know existed. The artwork was exceptional and they chatted about several of the artists. The formal dining room could serve twenty-four people comfortably with another dining room for everyday use. The floor to ceiling windows provided a stunning view with glass doors spaced to provide fresh air and an exit to the side deck. Beyond the double staircase were Danny’s expansive office, sitting room, private atrium, and bathrooms as big as Claire’s bedroom. All the flooring was Italian marble that also lined the walls of the shower, which you could fit a basketball team in.

“I don’t stay in these rooms, too big. I live in one of the staterooms and it’s just right for me.”

“What? Why? My God Danny, this is so beautiful it’s making me emotional.”

Danny showed Claire the private deck with a hot tub, full bar, outdoor shower, and lounges big enough for two. They continued the tour to the upper decks, four of them, a large movie theater, an upper saloon that was a bit more casual with flatscreen televisions that appeared when a button was pushed, a bar that looked fully stocked, and a foredeck with formal dining. Another level was dedicated to a full-sized gym with all the equipment, free weights, benches, a huge screen for watching aerobic videos, two saunas, a huge hot jacuzzi, and a running track that circled the enormous room.

They stepped into an elevator made of glass and went down to the lower deck with a large swimming pool and waterfall. The glass wall in front of the pool opened completely to the aft deck that was set up like a beach party with two bars, outside showers, lounges, and a closet full of towels. Danny pulled Claire’s hand and they were somehow back on the main deck walking through the expansive galley that included four of every major appliance needed for entertaining, four commercial refrigerators, freezers, and dishwashers, a two-hundred bottle wine cellar, and huge tables for food preparation.

Claire was in luxury overload and felt sad she would forget half of what she had seen.

“I wonder if you would accompany me for lunch and the second question you asked?”

Claire was delighted to spend more time with a woman she was really starting to like. Danny led her out to yet another private deck off the galley that was smaller and more intimate with a small table for two already made up for lunch. She picked up the phone and spoke to someone about a sore ankle, asking questions that made Claire feel she was really concerned about the person on the other end. Then she ordered avocado toast and tuna stuffed tomatoes with several side dishes and iced tea. Claire was overwhelmed by the experience and the calming water around the deck, about thirty feet down she guessed. When the food came, a muscular young man brought the plates stacked carefully up and down his forearms which were transferred to the table with no apparent effort. He limped away.

“You are very quiet dear Claire. Oh, you’re starving, poor thing, I don’t imagine you had much to eat yesterday.”

Claire’s head jerked up to look at Danny, smiling at her cheeks stuffed with food. How would she know about no eating as she slept yesterday away?

“Well, you eat while I tell you who I am and maybe what I hope to be to you sweet girl.”

“My birth name is Sepora Cornelius Meyer. My grandfather immigrated to America from Poland and worked in a small grocery until he learned to speak English. He purchased the store eventually, but I digress. Everything my grandfather touched turned to gold and he reinvested every dime he made in oil, real estate, and steel. The short version is he became rich and celebrated before he died, leaving a son to take his place, my father.”

The young muscular man came out with plates of cheese and fresh vegetables that were bite-sized. While Claire crunched on carrots she looked to Danny with anticipation.

“Things were different then. The household adopted the opinions of the father and never questioned. They had more money than could ever be spent but an idle life was not allowed, so my father worked, starting at the bottom, learning the business of steel, oil, and real estate. He was quite a man, my hero, never to be replaced.”

Claire waited and crunched celery while Danny took several tiny bites of her avocado toast.

“Before my brother died, poor Alfred, my life was positively glorious! Boarding school in France and Sweden, summers in various countries with my friends, and beautiful parties during the social season where we could be in the same room with boys our age. It was such fun. When we buried Alfred, all that changed. No more school, no more summers away, and parties became a new kind of classroom where I would learn from watching the men. I didn’t like it one bit so I stuck my nose in the air through the first season and won myself a stiff neck and a cross father, more determined to ruin my life.”

“What took the place of school?”

“I spent dreadfully long hours reading communications from my father to other companies, banks, businessmen, and political people. When the steelworkers refused to let me take an active role on the production floor my father set up a small desk and chair and that is where I read stacks of documents. When I could finally wash at the end of the day, I pretended I couldn’t hear my mother saying I was now deaf from the ungodly noise of the production floor. She smiled and told me to set the table when my hearing came back or none of us would eat. I recovered quickly.”

“Did it ever get more tolerable for you?”

“Father planted fake letters, several of them during my second year leaning the business. Brazen mistakes in accounting, materials, even which political party he supported. I missed them all because I was daydreaming of lovely parties or who I would marry. Father became distant and terribly unhappy and one night I heard him talking to mother about his shame over not having a qualified heir to lead the business. He was so sad and it broke my heart hearing his defeated voice. It took about a minute to realize I was an utter failure to the most important man in my life.”

“Oh, Danny, how could you know how important it was for you to learn?”

“He and mother both told me and I didn’t listen, until that night. After that, he would hand me a stack of documents and I ran back to his office for more, asking questions about certain decisions and correcting the math where I found mistakes. It took several days to convince him, but soon I was waiting for him to come down the stairs for our walk to the office and I pumped him with questions along the way. It seemed like he grew three inches but it was the weight of defeat getting off of his back, allowing him to stand straight and proud, beaming his smile to the world. I was never so happy, or relieved, to know I wasn’t a failure in his eyes. And that’s all there is.”

“What? How old were you when you took over? Did your family keep all three businesses? How did you survive the depression? What was it like to be the leader of that kind of fortune? What …”

Danny smiled at Claire and her eyes twinkled. “I would love to tell you more after we discuss my coma.”

“What?”

“I had become my father when I fell ill. My loving husband had succumbed to the illness and I didn’t know it for over a month as I was deep inside myself. I could see how I distanced myself from real life to free my mind for running the business and such. When I woke up I had a new burden to suffer because I could see things in people. Their happiness, sorrow, who they loved, and who they were deceiving. It was like living in a nightmare that never ended. Young people from the best families would shake my hand and I would see their hands around someone’s throat, choking the life out of them. It felt like I had gone insane, especially when my mother had me committed and took over the raising of my son.”

“Good God.”

“You are feeling my pain at the moment because you are an empath, dear Claire, and those that confide in you feel they are truly understood for the first time. It is a rare quality.”

“I think everyone feels the way I do.”

“Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Claire heard a loud whistle and looked across the water finding Jamie and Darius standing in the tender holding spears up with two large fish impaled. She smiled and clapped a bit in the air, suddenly wanting to wrap herself around her husband.

“Thank you for spending time with me today, Claire. I hope to see you again, but it is time for me to rest. The cub has a boat race later and I will need my strength to endure it.”

Danny walked Claire to the aft deck and was truly surprised when Claire hugged her, thanking her for everything. Jamie helped her into the tender and she waved to her new friend who watched them smiling, until she disappeared into her own boat.

Jamie, Darius, and Maia, were asking about Claire’s morning making her uncomfortable with keeping Danny’s confidence about all she told her. She finally went to her room and drew a bath with bubbles to idle away part of the day.

“Everything alright, love?”

“No.” She looked at Jamie’s handsome face, “I miss you, although I don’t know how that could be.”

“I do, because I miss you too Sassenach. I came to ask you to go to the island with me today. I want to take some pictures of the five lads that will be in the painting. After that, we can play, have dinner, or drinks. But it is a date so look your best, like you do right now, mo chridhe.”

“What, here in the bath?”

“No, that wouldn’t be right unless we stayed right here.”

Jamie smiled and tried to grab her getting a wet sponge in the face for his efforts. Claire pulled the plug and stepped into the shower so Jamie could wash her hair.

When he came back an hour later, Claire was sitting on the deck in a pretty yellow dress that reminded him of something. She had straightened her hair and wore makeup to add the exotic dimension to her eyes. He slid his arms around her waist and asked if she was ready to go.

Once on the island, it wasn’t hard to find the five boys that hung out together. Jamie explained he was painting a picture and they were in it which caused quite a ripple in the calm of the afternoon.

Jamie took several pictures of each of them, close up of the face, one showing some mannerism, the other a body shot. He showed them and they laughed. Once Jamie sat down to sketch, Claire called them to her and when they realized how friendly, and pretty she was, they showed off for her trying to outdo the others. The sun was shining off her hair and shoulders and her smile was like a beacon on her tanned face. Jamie laughed at the playfulness of the boys he guessed to be fourteen to eighteen. Gentle, beautiful boys who had taken over his creative mind. Jamie packed up his paper and tools and they bid the boys goodbye to wander around town.

Jamie could see Claire’s shoulders getting red in the sun and pulled her into a dress shop that had a large section of hats, which he brought to her, five at a time. He chose a wide-brimmed hat and the shop owner was happy to wrap a yellow ribbon around it, tied in the back with the extra length hanging off the brim. They laughed and stole kisses and wandered aimlessly until it was time to find a restaurant and gorge themselves on local cuisine and whisky. Jamie slipped an arm around Claire when they left. If they had been more aware of the people around them, they might have noticed the stares, but they were in their own world.

Claire pulled her shoes off when they reached the sand. Jamie waited to be alone with her on the beach because the full moon provided all the light he would need.

“Sassenach, I have something for you.” He pulled her hand and she turned around with her tipsy smile and sparkling eyes. “God, your beautiful.”

“Do I get some sort of prize for something awesome I did?”

“Something like that.” He pulled a tiny box from his pocket and handed it to her.

She looked excited until she pulled the box open and her eyes fell on the diamond inside. She could not pull her eyes away from it.

“We can take it back and get something you like better. Just put it on, one time, and then decide.”

She handed him the box and never took her eyes off the ring. Offering her outstretched hand she watched him push it onto her finger, and then he pulled her to his mouth for a sweet kiss.

“Thank you, Jamie,” she whispered.

“Your welcome, love.”

Once in the tender, they moved slowly to the yacht, careful to keep the engine quiet as they passed boats and yachts with people sleeping inside. Claire moved to the floor of the tender and leaned against the inflated side and dropped her head back. She was looking up at the moon, directly above her, feeling deliciously happy, slightly buzzed, and ran her hand down her burning nipple. Jamie watched her tipsy arousal and wanted her naked under the moonlight.

When the motor shut off, she looked at him like he was all she needed for the rest of her life. Jamie crept toward her and pulled off his shirt and shorts. He wanted her to remember this night. The dress came off, as did the tiny thong she wore and he pulled her leg up and over the inflated side of the tender. He pushed into her body placing greedy kisses on her face and neck. He wanted it to last but seeing his naked wife and the way her breasts bounced with every thrust was his undoing. He couldn’t help himself, he let it go when her orgasm started and pumped his warm love into her body while she clung to him.

They laid in each other's arms and talked quietly, about love and what was ahead.

“Jamie, I want to buy a new tender. This is like an inflatable raft, so I suppose the previous owner had little use for it. It doesn’t feel safe, but it was a marvelous bouncy thing to make love on.”

“Of course, Sassenach.”

Jamie raised up on an elbow and looked around the tender in all directions. He pulled Claire up with a worried look and helped her dress before getting them back to the yacht. He held Claire with one arm and drove the tender with the other.

“Did you just turn completely around?”

“That I did Sassenach. Lay against me and rest, we’re almost home.”

When Jamie turned again she started giggling. “Sweetheart, are we lost?”

The motor started to sputter and lurch as the last of the gas was consumed. Claire could not stop giggling which calmed Jamie more than she would ever know. Claire dropped to the soft bottom of the tender and held her arms out to him.

“Come here, my darling man, and rest under the stars with me.”

Once she had twisted her arms and legs with his and laid against his chest, Jamie smiled at the moon and decided to relax. When they were dropping into sleep a huge noise woke them up and they clung to each other.

“What the fuck was that, Jamie?”

“It’s gone love, whatever it was. Rest now.”

Claire wasn’t relaxed and buzzed anymore, she was panting with fright and suddenly felt something very large push against her from under the water. Before she could say anything the horrendously loud noise was back and slimy cold water rained down on them.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie, what is that?”

Jamie suspected it was a whale that surfaced near them but had not formed a word before he felt something bump the tender. Claire started screaming as the bump came again, harder this time. Jamie pulled out his cell phone and prayed Darius would answer.

“Darius, thank God. We have a bit of a problem here.”

Something under the surface pushed on the tender again and kept pushing it until they were spinning around clinging to each other. Claire was screaming for all she was worth, and Darius was trying to sound calm for both of them.

“Do you see any lights, anywhere?”

“No, Claire sweetheart please don’t scream.”

“Do you have a flashlight? If you point it at whatever is beneath…”

“No.”

They were spinning in the tender pushed by something massive under the surface. Darius was running down the stairs as fast as his legs could go, worried they had drifted into the shipping lanes where they would never be seen before a gigantic cargo ship plowed over them, dragging them underneath it.

“Darius searched the water and saw nothing. “Jamie look up and tell me if you can see…”

“The sky is full of clouds now Darius, I can see nothing, it’s pitch black out here and something under the water is pushing us in circles. We need help!”

Darius noticed the lights coming on all over Danny’s boat and two bright searchlights swept the water for as far as he could see. He heard a tender approach and jumped in pointing a direction for the crewman to go. He had his phone on speaker and the young man was getting rattled by Claire screaming. He moved away from the throttle and told Darius to drive.

Claire was screaming the boat was going to tip over and Darius did his best to calm them down.

“Jamie! Hold onto Claire really tight and ask her to stop screaming, I’m in Danny’s tender and I’m coming to get you!”

When it was quiet Darius took a deep breath and played the only card that might save them.

“Be calm and don’t blow this, my friend. There is a flare gun in the water-tight compartment under the steering whflareIt is the only chance I have of finding you so ask Claire to sit perfectly still, take aim at the sky directly above you, and fire.”

A minute later the crewman pointed to a brilliant purple streak climbing into the sky, in the other direction.

“Did you see the flair from the water level?” The boy shook his head no, which meant they were very far away and Darius had only seconds before the flair extinguished.

“Sit down!”

Darius pulled back on the throttle and the dual engine tender launched in the direction of the flair. He noticed both searchlights were now directed at the ocean under the flair and hoped they could see the lights and know help was on the way.

Talking at that speed was impossible because the wind snatched your words away. Darius dropped the speed enough to tell the crewman to keep sight of the flair and then watch the smoke if it went out, then tap his leg when they were close. The tender jerked alive again, like a bullet shooting across the water. Darius was feeling frantic when the boy tapped his leg and he pulled up on the throttle. It was black as pitch above and below them and he knew his friends must be terrified. The boy put something in his hand, it was a flare gun!

“Holy shit, you just saved the day my man!”

“Jamie, are you there?”

“Well, I was about to hang up but decided to stay on a little longer,” said sarcastically.

“We have flairs, shooting one now, watch it for my direction.”

The bright red flair went shooting to the heavens. “Starboard, maybe half a mile.”

The crewman found an emergency box stored inside the bench seat at the back of the tender. There was a light that plugged into the battery port and it almost blinded them both. He held it high above his head and Darius shot another flair.

“Talk to me brother!”

“Portside, same distance.”

“What?!”

“We aren’t spinning anymore, it’s pushing us, a bit rough I might add.”

Darius could not wait. They had to take a risk if they were going to find them before the boat sank from something underneath.

“Your name.”

“Ethan, sir.”

“I’m Darius. It’s only right I know your name before risking your life. How do you feel about that..Ethan?”

“It’s what I came for, sir.”

“Perfect.”

Darius aimed the light a foot above the water and about 500 yards ahead. Once Ethan took the light, Darius pulled back on the throttle and kept his eyes glued to the direct path ahead.

Claire was on the edge of sanity after being bumped, spun, and pushed, by something large underneath the little tender. She couldn’t see anything in the dark black night except maybe a two-foot space that was lit by Jamie’s phone. She watched that space while Jamie talked to Darius and when an unexpected shape came up out of the water, caught by the dim light, Claire’s scream shattered the night and she fainted.

Jamie looked up at a large head shaped like a torpedo with an eye that regarded him before slipping back under the water. He held Claire on his lap and patted her cheek, begging her to wake up. Jamie was aware of another flare shot into the sky and realized he heard the gun go off this time.

“Darius! You’re close! Starboard and close!”

“Can you see my light, Jamie?”

Suddenly, there it was, like a hand reaching through the dark night to save them. He watched it until the white teeth of Darius’s smile materialized. Claire was rubbing her eyes and crying, waving at Darius in her filthy yellow dress.

Jamie pulled her to him, “thank Christ.” He reached for the rope and tied it tightly to the tow ring at the front of the tender. Darius heard the song of the Humpback whales in the distance and smiled at Claire.

“There’s your tormentor. Probably a female with a calf who had a bit of fun playing with the tender.”

Her ghostly white face peeked out from Jamie’s chest and he could see her shaking and teeth chattering. Jamie asked if she wanted to ride back on Danny’s boat. She moved to the side of her boat and looked down at the water before launching back into Jamie’s arms.

Darius slowly turned Danny’s tender around and moved the boat forward very slowly until the rope was taught and they were pulling the other boat. He turned toward them and asked them to lay on the floor of the tender and hold onto something. They were right in the middle of a shipping lane and Darius wanted to get them out of there pronto. He told Ethan to watch for bodies flying out and picked up speed gradually keeping the tow rope taught. Soon they were flying across the water until he gradually slowed down when the yachts were in view. Darius circled the boats twice, letting his wake provide resistance to slow the towed tender. Danny was waiting on Claire’s boat with Maia and helped bring Claire on board with teeth chattering and pasty white skin. The women helped her into bed and covered her with a quilt.

Danny sat next to her and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I can’t imagine how terrifying that was for you. Luckily, your man is strong as an ox and would have beaten the sea thing off to save you.” Danny’s voice was soft and caring and Claire was so grateful for her help. Jamie is coming to warm you up and I hope you rest tonight dear. Goodnight.

Jamie and Darius thanked Danny repeatedly, not finding the right words to convey she had saved them tonight. Danny looked at Darius with a sleepy smile.

“You are rather good at what you do, don’t ever doubt that Darius. I saw your brave heart tonight and felt your relief when you found them. Quite extraordinary. Goodnight.

“Thank you for everything tonight ma’am.”

Darius helped Danny into her tender and watched until she was safely on board, the tender was resting in the garage, and the lights flicked off one section at a time. He knew the chance of finding them in time was zero without a fast boat and he felt the gratitude down to his toes.

Small arms circled his waist and he looked down at the incomparable Maia with her head tilted and her chin raised in a healthy come fuck me pose that threatened his very sanity. She would pull him back to earth and make him right again. He gave himself over to her.

[talesfromatabletop]

Session 1: Trouble on the Triboar Trail, Pt1

SPOILERS FOR LOST MINES OF PHANDELVER!

To explain briefly, our DM likes to do recaps...or rather, he has us roll at the start of each session to determine which one of us will recap last session. This is to (obviously) help us all remember what happened last week and give a chance for us to possibly flavor things up a bit by how we choose to describe things. Successfully giving a recap gives you a DM Inspiration point that you can just save until you use it. :D

Moving on - we picked back up at the inn we crashed at in Neverwinter, the morning after agreeing to help Gundren Rockseeker move his equipment to Phandalin. Agrok and Lionel were first up, with Agrok shoveling down three portions of breakfast while Lionel played a bit of violin outside for extra coin. Even cooler, his musician player actually busted out his own violin and played us a sample over vc! He got 5 silver and a brief round of OOC applause from us.

Itheindar even came down to enjoy the music while Clive, the delightful little Cleric nerd he is, had to prep his spells for the day.

Gundren left in the morning, saying he had some things to prepare and that he'd leave before we did (which would be in the afternoon). Agrok saw him and Sildar off, seemingly interested in and possibly having a more important connection to Sildar than basically any of us had bothered to put in our backstories, lol.

Being a good boy, Tetholt sent a letter home to the missus before joining up with the group to start their journey down the Triboar Trail!

We...didn't really have any idea what to do in town, as you can see. Mostly we just wanted to get started and hadn't gotten the hang of confidently being the person to start speaking.

It wasn't altogether all that long before the DM pulled up our first map of the day - a stretch of the road with some horses laying down.

"Can I see if they're alive?" Agrok got the go ahead to check them from the DM, not quite sure one way or the other (yay failed checks!)...at least until Itheindar pointed out they were /very visibly/ filled with arrows.

With Itheindar's warning for us all to be careful, everyone rolled perception but Lionel was apparently too interested in our own horses to really pay attention to the gobbos that Clive spotted hiding amidst the tree, armed with daggers and bows and ready to make us look like the pincushion horses. Sweet baby cleric even cast Shield of Faith on Agrok because he was in front of the wagon by a good several feet and likely the biggest target on the field.

So started our first combat, with firebolts and arrows flying while Agrok cleaved anything in range with his weapon - including hitting a goblin's head off like a golf ball!

Fore!

This was all during a surprise round essentially, and Lionel was able to cast sleep on the last goblin standing so we could figure out how to deal with the little bastard. Itheindar mentioned he could speak goblin, so we used Lionel's Immovable Rod to pin him to the ground for interrogation.

About that time was when Agrok recognized the horses as the same ones he saw Sildar and Gundren ride out of Neverwinter. The saddlebags were looted and it was obvious that a fight had gone down, though we didn't know where our employers were.

Itheindar tried to persuade the goblin to talk - no dice.

Agrok and Tetholt tried to intimidate him - nada. Clearly it's because Itheindar's dialect of goblin was too posh and polite. Clearly.

Thankfully Lionel remembered he had Charm Person and used it to force the goblin to spill the beans. The lil' guy mentioned there was a hideout with around 20 more of his friends nearby and - after prompting from Agrok - that they worked for King Grol who had ordered them to wait at the trail and attack a dwarf...whiiiich we quickly realize was a trap set for Gundren. He also told us that Sildar is in the nearby hideout in the "eating cave" and that there's a Bugbear named Klarg with the goblins. Sadly, he had no idea where Grol is.

The whole party discussed how to best get involved. Some idea highlights include:

Setting a fire trap

Setting an explosive flour trap

Setting Agrok on fire and sending him in while raging

Ultimately we decided to head in together and moved a cart we found full of goods so that it could stay hidden, while Tetholt tied the goblin up to a tree branch so he couldn't run off and warn his friends we were coming.

We all followed the goblin's directions to the hideout until we reached a cave entrance. Agrok was (and still is) the only party member without Darkvision and ended up holding Lionel's hand so he could maneuver in the dark safely. Awwww!

We followed a narrow path next to flowing water and heard snarls and rattling chains nearby, eventually leading us to spotting a few chained up wolves. They looked hungry and malnourished but couldn't attack us unless we moved closer, so we let them be.

Lionel ended up spotting the first enemy on a suspension bridge over the water. Unfortunately, the enemy spotted us back after Clive and his clunky armor failed a stealth check. Whoops.

With an Yzma moment - "Throw the lever!" - we were nearly washed away when said lever turns out to set off a water trap. Only Clive was taken out, thankfully, but now our only healer was too far to help until next round. D:

Chaos ensued as we kicked off battle, splitting up and sniping as our skills let us (a lil' firebolt here, some vicious mockery there, some bolts and arrows to the head for a lucky few) while Agrok checked another tunnel.

Despite some poor aim occasionally making the first combat seem like we were going to get our asses kicked, there were actually some great one-hit kills from Agrok, Clive and Itheindar. DM took a couple seconds to describe cool ways we annihilated goblins - "You see your crossbow bolt bury itself straight into the goblin's eye moments before it slumps forward and plummets from the suspension bridge into the stream below, dead!" - or allowing us to do so ourselves - "So, how do you want to describe this kill?" - and Lionel was coming up with some great insults for his vicious mockeries.

10/10 would cave fight again!

There he found Sildar being held by a figure hidden by the darkness who warned him that if he got closer, Sildar would go down a short cliff. Sildar called the bluff but A BLUFF IT WAS NOT. Enraged at seeing Sildar presumably killed, Agrok fought and beheaded the damn goblin.

"PAYBACK'S A BITCH!"

Thankfully we were able to stabilize Sildar and quickly retreated to lick our wounds and have a long rest. We needed one if we were going to go back in and finish clearing the place...besides, we could send Sildar ahead to safety once he'd rested up some.

We wrapped up Session 1 there, bloodied and battered, but already hype to find Gundren and deal with the goblins that attacked Sildar.

[dearophelia]

self indulgent grey’s spy!au

so i’m watching madam secretary again and it’s reminding me of the grey’s spy au i was frantically texting @evil-redhead about last year

(first of all, and i did the research to learn that this isn’t actually possible, but it’s fic so who cares: please imagine with me addison as elizabeth’s surgeon general. thank you and goodnight)

second of all, and this is just copy/pasted from text messages with some very light editing:

-one-

The kill order comes in over encrypted text just after 2:30am Kaliningrad local time. Addison knows the logic: take him out and the whole supply chain through the Baltics collapses. She also knows the reality: taking out gun runners in former Soviet states is like playing whack-a-mole with a baby hammer. Eventually someone in the Company will figure that out and change tactics. In the meantime, she has orders.

She speaks flawless Russian with zero accent, which helps when she steers the arms dealer out of the party and up to his private suite. She pretends she’s from the same village as his grandmother, tells stories about a local borscht variant. He compliments her tits and her legs and everything else he can see. What he doesn’t see is the way she twists around her ring and flicks open a hidden compartment with her thumb while she’s pouring the vodka.

Addison watches as he eagerly takes the shot and then turns an interesting shade of purple. He’s dead within ninety seconds.

She takes a shot of clean vodka, wraps up in her black trenchcoat, and slips out the back entrance into the night.

There’s a pay phone four blocks down. She calls her handler and leaves a message about the museum being closed tomorrow, code for mission complete. She checks out of the hotel and is on the next flight to Helsinki away from here.

-two-

Addison likes Mark Sloan, she does. He’s a good asset and a great fuck and she doesn’t at all mind that their schedules sync up in Helsinki more often than she syncs up with anyone else anywhere else. Helsinki’s a good place to lay low for a few days, even easier when she’s hardly getting out of bed.

But he’s DIA and she doesn’t trust defense guys farther than she can throw them. Goes out of her way to avoid them, usually. But Mark’s good company, great fun, and nothing they do in this hotel room ever happened the moment one of them leave. So she’ll let the DOD thing go as long as it doesn’t interfere with her own work.

He’s making breakfast and trying to tell her a joke he overheard. This never ends well, but she indulges him. It falls apart in the translation – “You’d find this hilarious if you heard it in the original Czech,” he proclaims, setting a plate of eggs in front of her.

Addison eyes him over a forkful. “Since I don’t speak Czech, your odds aren’t looking good, Sloan.”

Mark’s still telling his joke and she smiles as the sun rises over their tiny hotel room.

36 hours and then she’s off to Paris and meeting a DGSE contact she can hardly stand. Then, armed with that information, back to former Soviet listening posts. Maybe this one will be inland.

-three-

Addison takes the right hook like a champ, luring the goon into a false sense of security. She drops down, grabs a broom from the floor, and lets the guy have one last laugh at the pretty girl with the stick before she comes whirling in and knocks him flat on his ass inside five seconds. Another goon runs out of the shadows and she cracks him across the skull so hard he actually skids across the floor.

“Impressive,” her contact says in dripping French. He sips his tea.

“The file?” she holds out her hand. No one does intelligence theatrics like the French. Not even the Russians.

With an irritated sigh, the DGSE agent drops a USB drive into her hand. “It self-destructs after 24 hours. Would not recommend keeping it in your suitcase.”

Addison gives him a tight smile and returns to her hotel room.

Derek, this time.

(Mark is Scandinavia and the former Soviet states. Derek is Western Europe. Alex is usually somewhere in Central Asia and Jake is in the Mediterranean.)

She waves off his concern about the shiner blooming over her eye and slides the drive into her laptop. “Order room service,” she tells him as she pulls her shirt off, changing out of bloodied and ripped clothes while waiting for the drive to load.

It’s not his fault he hovers. He’s an embassy doctor, bouncing around Western Europe for the State Department. Last time he got into a fight was probably high school. Last time he had to do anything classified on his own was probably never.

He orders – including red wine and extra ice, which she’s sure makes the kitchen worker on the other end say a few choice things about Americans – and her laptop chirps ready.

Volgograd this time. Not a weapons dealer. A physicist. A nuclear physicist. “Oh boy,” she says to herself.

She books a hotel in Volgograd and then places a same-day Amazon delivery for post-its, a portable printer, tape, and other supplies. She and Elizabeth call it the conspiracy theory order, though she skips the red string.

While Derek’s setting out dinner (and sets a bag of ice intentionally – and somewhat aggressively – in her direction), she sends a secure text to Alex.

gonna be in vgrad for a minute. you nearby?

Dinner’s over before she gets a response.

yep. even have some intel for you.

Addison puts her phone away and turns to Derek. “I’m fine,” she says, gesturing to the cuts and bruises.

“I know.” Still, he wraps his arms around her in a gentle hug. “I worry.”

She hugs him back. They haven’t been married in a long time. “I know.”

He gently maneuvers her to the couch and opens his bag. Addison went to med school too – though the CIA scooped her up during her residency – and a few of the cuts need butterfly closures for a couple days. She lets him work.

“How are Meredith and the kids?”

-four-

“Lox and two chives,” Addison orders at the counter, as she has the last ten days. “And the bathroom key, please.”

The cashier slips her a key. She pays and disappears down the hallway with the bathrooms, but opens the supply closet instead. Past shelves of paper towels and cups and cocaine (not her problem, not today), she pauses at the second door. The handprint scanner flashes blue then green at her palm. The door unlocks.

Bright lights overhead, several whiteboards shoved up against the walls, photographs and maps taped up everywhere. The single desk in the middle of the room is covered in folders labeled TOP SECRET, most of them open. Alex puts a cup of coffee into her hand. She finishes half of it before she even takes her coat off.

Spy work isn’t all glamorous. It’s mostly sitting in dark dank rooms filled with boxes of moth-eaten paper, trying to connect two dots. Alex is a good partner for it though. The fact that he’s CIA too doesn’t hurt – she doesn’t have to play the alphabet agency paranoia game with him.

Hours pass. Another day, another half step closer. The bagel shop closes and they slip out the back by the dumpsters.

“You want to grab a drink?” she asks as she has every night.

“We could skip drinks,” he suggests.

She looks at him in the flickering parking lot light. Normally he says yes, they get drinks and dinner, talk shop, part ways at her hotel.

A small smile graces her lips. Addison doesn’t need to be a spy to pick up Alex’s meaning.

Volgograd is fucking boring. And she and Mark have an exclusive-when-we’re-in-the-same-city agreement, not exclusive-everywhere.

The smile shifts into a smirk. “Yeah.”

-five-

This is a bad idea. This is a really bad idea. This might be the worst idea she’s ever had. And yet.

Flicking her eyes up to the rearview mirror, she gets a read on the car following her. Scratch that – cars. Plural.

She slams on the accelerator and calls Elizabeth.

“I need a favor,” she says as soon as Elizabeth’s picked up the phone. Addison hears several small children laughing in the background.

“On it,” Elizabeth says, once she’s heard the situation and the favor. “Give me ten minutes.”

Sure. She’ll keep leading a high-speed car chase through Southern Turkey and try not to accidentally make a left into Syria. She can keep this up for ten minutes. Why not.

She has the final piece in a USB drive hidden in her shoe, but this extremely stupid idea only becomes worth it if she – or, she supposes, her shoe – can get back to the agency. Which is where Elizabeth comes in. Addison’s nowhere near Ankara and the embassy, driving into Syria is an even worse idea (and she’d run out of gas long before hitting Damascus anyway), and so she needs an exit. Now.

Seven minutes and Elizabeth calls back about an airfield fifteen miles away. A Blackhawk will be waiting there for her, but she has to clear a couple layers of airfield security first.

Addison looks back up in the mirror. Three cars now and she thinks she sees the silhouette of someone hanging out the window with a gun. She’s going to have to have a discussion with Derek about suitable conversations he has with his current wife about his ex-wife the CIA agent and international spy. It’s not Meredith’s fault; GRU’s been tailing Derek since they were the KGB. Addison makes a mental note to remind State about that, maybe have someone sweep his house for bugs on a more regular basis.

But that’s a later problem. A much later problem. The more imminent problem is that she’s being shot at and still has seven miles before the airfield. “Can I just drive through security?” Addison asks, making an abrupt right down a skinny unlit street.

“Sure,” Elizabeth says. “It’s our airfield, do what you want.”

“Not the first time I’ve destroyed US government property.”

Elizabeth snorts. “Call me if you need anything else.”

The call drops as another round of gunfire shoots past.

“You’re really bad at this,” she mutters at the car behind her. They haven’t even managed to blow out the back window yet, not that she’s complaining.

By the time she hits the airfield, they’ve shattered the back window, blown several holes in the trunk, and they hit one of her back wheels just as she slams through the first security gate.

The second gate guards are a little more prepared and already have the gate lifted. They drop spike strips behind her to trap her pursuers. She jumps out of the car to the sound of many tires being violently punctured and the sound of angry Russians being thrown out of their cars and onto the ground.

The Blackhawk lifts off into the dead of night. Addison runs her fingers through her hair and texts her handler that she’s on her way back to Istanbul. She’ll hand off the intel to people who get paid a whole lot more than she does and move on to a new case.

Maybe South America, this time. Let some heat die down before bringing her back to Europe.

Once it’s all settled and she’s in her state-sponsored room, showered and sitting in a fluffy bathrobe, she checks her messages. One from her brother, about Thanksgiving logistics. One from Elizabeth, making sure she made it out okay.

And one from Mark.

Case is taking me to Venezuela. Gonna be a while, Red.

Addison grins. Her new orders came in just before dinner. Turns out there’s some worrisome news in her area of expertise coming out of the South America desk and the Company’s shipping her off to Caracas.

Maybe not. My flight leaves in a couple days. Buy me a margarita?

[msrosey]

Ok- What if Shadow was Good and Amy was anti. Would Amy be the one who makes first moves or is it still Shadow?

This spawned far too much world building, i apologize in advance 

- set during the Dark Arms invasion, with the usual anti-Amy behavior where she hates Sonic and has her trusty warhammer. Twisting her a little bit so she’s not as childish, but still as messed up. Reminder that anti-Amy goes as Rosy the Rascal!  

- there’s no official anti-Shadow, so let’s just say the canon divergence here was that Maria /didn’t/ die via GUN raid and instead lived a longer life that was ultimately cut short by her condition. Shadow then never gains his gloom and doom persona and instead is more of a caretaker to her, albeit one with a MAJOR guilt complex for his creation not being able to cure her, and went in suspended animation until the Black Comet returns. 

Now onto the show!

.

AO3, for those that prefer! 

.

 Of all the things Rosy thought would end the world, alien invasion had been worrying low on her list. Inter-dimensional police force with the proper permits to take them all in? Pfft, sure. That freak echnida deciding the best way to destroy the emeralds was to blow up the planet? Wouldn’t have bet money on it, but why not? Even the idea of one of Robotnik’s helper bots going postal was more likely then, well—this. 

From the flying headquarters, Rosy could see the plumes of smoke rising from patches of scorched city. Flying dark specters zoomed over the land below, all light cast in a bloody sheen from the planetary sized comet hanging in the sky. 

She pressed closer to the glass, smiling at the view. Red always was her favorite—

“Amy,” a voice snapped behind her, haughty and suffocatingly uptight. Like the little twerp it belonged to. Rosy rolled her eyes. Still, she turned and gave the fox her signature crooked smile.

“Tails,” Rosy crooned, leaning against her green war hammer. “I was just stopping to smell the sulphur flowers. Something up?"

The fox looked annoyed, but Rosy knew that was typical for the stuck-up brat. “You may address me as Miles. Have you been paying attention to the meeting at all?"

Rosy batted her lashes, fixing her gaze on him and ignoring the crowd of people around the conference room. “Of course, Tails. Alien invasion. Comet’s gonna destroy the planet. Yada-yada-yada, I’m not good enough to fix it myself!” At the last part she mimicked talking with her hand in the fox’s signature serious tone. 

Miles narrowed his eyes, but didn’t rise to the bait. Boring. “Yes, this endeavor will require all of our strengths in order to succeed. And you’re aware of your part in the mission?”

A tingle ran down her back at the reminder, putting every single spine on edge. Rosy's grin turned manic. “Yep! I’m gonna hurt Sonic! Mangle him, bash him, crush him up, up, up!”

“Quite,” Miles said, raising a brow. “Your portion is critical, since as long as Sonic is guarding the remaining Beryl for Black Death on Demon Island, our plan stands little chance of succeeding.”

Thoughts of brutally maiming the hedgehog of her nightmares spun around Rosy's head, making her feel flushed. The planet’s destruction was one thing, and a thing she didn’t care much about, but Sonic— Well, the end of the world just wouldn’t feel right if he wasn’t absolutely bloody destroyed. She would have just tried on her own, as she always did, but these Black Arms were quite the heavy customers...and who was she do decline an offer from Miles Prowler to step aboard his exclusive gunship? 

He gathered an interesting group as well. Her gaze trailed over to the museum curator, Rogue, whose poofy purple dress was splattered in the green blood of the aliens. Probably had a fun run in with them when they were going for the last stash of emeralds in the Central Museum. Besides her was Knuckles, whose drive to destroy all the emeralds would have made him a genuine threat…if he wasn’t such a total wimp. Vanilla though, Rose knew she’d have to keep an eye on. As if to prove it, the leather clad rabbit was already looking at her, permanent sneer fixed on her scarred face. 

Ugh, assassins. Always so eager to intimidate. Rose rolled her eyes as Miles. The rabbit had eyes on her for a while, which would account for why Rosy had been so on edge since setting foot on the ship…unless, of course her internal tracking was picking up—

From beside her, someone cleared his throat. 

“Um, excuse me, Sir Prowler?” Doctor Kintobor was already wringing his hands, voice trembling. “I understand that the Black Arms need to be defeated, but maybe we can just…move them to another planet? I do so hate causing any harm to a sentient…um, sentient species. They do deserve to live too...”

Miles looked about to cause harm, but also like he severely doubted that the doctor was sentient. “Their lives are not worth more than our own. And this Black Comet of theirs threatens that. Or do you have a better plan, Doctor, hmm? Maybe ask them nicely to commit genocide in the next solar system?”

Doctor Kintobor flushed at the laughter that filled the room. “Oh, um, I suppose.”

“Besides, we have it on good intel that the Dark Arms have planned this invasion for some time. They will not be easily dissuaded and we only have one real source on their behavior,” Miles continued, casting a dark eye around the room, “And on that note…” His eyes landed on hers. Rosy tensed. “Vanilla, restrain her."

Rosy barely had enough time to call out cowards before the floppy eared assassin tackled her down, breaking her connection with her hammer. Metal clasps rose from the floor and locked her in place, leaving her to thrash. Beryl enforced metal, cause he was a wimp. Stupid Tails and his stupid inventions! 

“Apologies for the rough treatment, but we all know you can handle it,” Miles continued, posture immaculate. “And we couldn’t take the risk of you attacking our next guest.”

Touching her. People were touching her! Rosy struggled against the rabbit holding her down, baring full fangs at the room. 

“Um, maybe we should be, a little nicer…?” Rosy heard Dr. Kintober say weakly. “We do need her to take out Sonic and help defeat the Black Arms.”

“Correction,” Miles said cooly, “We need her and our guest to do that. And she already has a proven violent predisposition towards those of his species. You can see how we'd rather not take the risk, Doctor.”

Species...

Rosy’s head swam as the pieces began to connect themselves. She knew she’d felt something, she knew, knew, knew, one of them was on this ship. A— 

The doors of the gunship conference room opened and a familiar silhouette filled the doorway. 

“Sonic!” Rosy roared, bucking the assassin off her with one sharp movement. Her hammer flew across the room and slammed into her chains, breaking them into so many fine pieces. Emeralds, Beryl, whatever you called them, always were weak against some solid willpower. Rosy launched herself over the table and towards the figure, weapon in hand. Her mind raced with thoughts of the extra special smash she’d been saving up for him.

Just as Rosy got close enough to really savor the impending violence, a bright purple light filled the air. And when it disappeared, so did the rest of the room.

She blinked her eyes, rubbing hard as she found herself…atop the gunship? Tail’s stupid Anticyclone. Wind buffeted her sideways and Rosy dig her hammer into the steel hull to keep balance. How did—

“Sorry to alarm you, but a fight inside would have crashed the gunship,” someone said behind her. Rosy spun, launching out with her hammer. The hedgehog - because it was a hedgehog, her instincts were always right - only moved, speeding away on…hover boots?

“Aw, did you get some new toys, Sonic?” Rosy cooed, crouching low to keep from sliding off the ship. Stupid Tails was starting evasive maneuvers. How cute. “You know how I love breaking your new toys.”

“I am not Sonic—“

“But you’re a hedgehog!”

She rushed forward at the next tilt of the ship, this time managing to surprise him enough to get close. Then another purple light and he was gone. Rosy pouted, turning to look around the surface of the ship. “No fun, disappearing all the time. Don’t you want to play?"

Something dark zipped by her, knocking her hammer from her hands. Rosy watched it sail over the edge of the gunship, disappearing in the grey smoke fumes below. “Hey!”

The blur came to a stop a few feet away, his form more clear. A black and red hedgehog, although with spines a little too raised to be her Sonic’s, even with another of his color switches. Rosy glared. “That wasn’t nice! I just wanted to hurt you!” 

The hedgehog looked at her with odd eyes, tilting his head. “Why?”

Rosy made a face. “Why, what?”

“Why do you want to hurt me? Is it because I resemble this Sonic of yours?” His voice was even, betraying none of his emotions. It put Rosy on edge. No one was that calm without a plan. He continued, “What has this Sonic done to inspire such vengeance? To drive you to violence? Is he worth it?”

“Worth…” Rosy wasn’t sure whether to laugh or attack him for those words. So she did both. “Who cares about worth!"

The dark hedgehog only dodged her punches, keeping that same face of unruffled intent. “So you attack for the sake of it? For…fun?”

Now he sounded like that wuss echnida. Pacifist was just another word for coward. Rosy snarled. “Stop running away! I hate it when you run away. Stand and fight me, already!”

“No,” he said simply, ducking another attack. “Because I’m not your enemy. Why is Sonic?” 

Why was—why was—Sonic? Now Rosy did laugh, this time pausing her assault to do so. Why was Sonic her enemy? Why? In this horrible dimension where everything went wrong, someone actually had the nerve to ask why? An odd empty feeling filled her gut. 

Why was a stupid question to ask about enemies. How was always the more enlightening. Memories began to trickle in, images of a burning forest and screaming hoglets. Memories she’d long ago forced herself to forget. Her fists clenched. The answer ripped itself from her throat—

“Because he’s Sonic!”

This time her attack took him by surprise, and he only barely managed to slide out of the way on his stupid cheat hover boots. Her fist left a distinct imprint on the hull of the ship and Rosy could faintly hear Miles cursing a blue streak from the pilot deck. Whoopsie, another toy smacked around by an uncaring hedgehog. 

She thought he’d be used to it by now.

The memories roused by the thought only fueled her rage. Not her normal simmer, no, this time it was tinged with that ugly empty desperation from so long ago. Rosy flew at the hedgehog again, screaming. “Because he never takes anything seriously!”

Another kick, this time sloppy enough that he had more than enough time to move out of the way. Rosy slipped in the empty space where he'd just been, falling a sharp ways down the hull until she managed to launch herself back up. The lack of contact with him was beginning to grate, remind her of the times when…

“Because he’d ruin everything and just keep running from it!” It was getting darker, her steps harder to place. Meanwhile the other hedgehog looked as if he could do this all day with his stupid cheating hover boots and weird emerald powers. He didn’t even look as if he’d broke a sweat. 

Just like—

Amy-Rosy-Rosy cried out as swung again, “Because he ruined everything and wouldn’t even take me seriously!”

That caused something to bloom on the other hedgehog’s face, but Rosy was past the niceties of taunting. And that had been quite enough stalling. She feinted for his legs - stupid, stupid hedgehog legs - and just as he leapt out of the way, she grinned. He caught it, frowning in response, just in time for her hammer to soar from the clouds below and catch him.

In the gut.

Rosy grinned. Always nice to get a little cheap shots in. That always managed to humble a hedgehog. He fell back, sliding against the entirety of the ship’s top hull. Her hammer still with him, only to return to her open hand. She smiled at the sight of him laid low. “Aw, was that too good an answer for you?”

He groaned. Rosy giggled a little, flush with pride. From here she could almost pretend it was Sonic, finally stopped. What a thought. She leaned against her hammer, still smiling. “Let me give you some advice, new hedgehog. People are basically awful and are always going to find a reason to hurt others. You might as well stop giving them chances."

The gunship swerved again, but Rosy moved with it, making an odd little dance towards the hedgehog. He was already rising, but that was fine. That just meant she could smash him some more. She readied her warhammer as she got close, humming a senseless tune, “And pop goes your—“

The world went sideways. Rosy had enough time to catch the brief sight of long ears flapping - how did all of them know how to fly with no wings! Cheats! - just as she was kicked off the edge of the gunship. She dug in her hammer on the side, metal screeching, but there wasn’t enough side left. Vanilla’s stern face looked down at her as she fell.

No fun, Rosy thought, I didn’t even get to break Sonic first.

Her ears popped at the pressure of air around her and Rosy felt her gaze track over to the giant comet in the sky, still glowing. What a lovely color. At least her last sight would be —

Red.

Red eyes staring right at her, an odd look in them that Rosy hadn’t seen for longer than she could remember. The hedgehog was just above her, so close she could see the sweat flying from his brow His spines were being blown astray and his hover boots were struggling to boost him forward but still, his face was determined. He had her hammer in one hand and the other hand, outstretched...towards her.

Rosy only stared. 

There was no—no reason—saving her? Her? No one had ever—

His fangs were bared in strain as he stretched his arm further. 

Just as they broke the cloud cover and the gunship was almost just a dot in the sky, Rosy found herself doing something she hadn’t done since she was a hoglet and watched her entire family burn because of a mad boy’s boredom. 

She reached out for help. 

His face seemed to turn more determined at that, lunging forward with another roar of flames from his hover boots. Hand trembling, her gloves barely brushed his before—

A bright purple light filled everything she could see and Rosy blinked to find herself back on the gunship, this time in the conference room. The near abandoned conference room. She watched Dr. Kintober duck behind a chair with a squeak. Normally she’d punish such overt wimpiness, but instead Rosy just stared at the hand still holding hers. 

“Here,” he offered, holding out her hammer, “Sorry I had to borrow your weapon, a jump like that required more chaos energy than I had.”

Rosy blinked as she accepted it. Giving her hammer back? The one she’d just used to crack several of his ribs. The question was on her lips before she even realized, “Why?” 

He seemed to realize her question was not quite about the hammer, judging by the light in his eyes. Rosy wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen that before, a gaze so…soft. Calm. As if it carried an infinite patience capable only of someone who truly—cared? 

An odd thrum set itself up in Rosy’s chest, like the beating of an organ that had long ago turned hard.  

“Because,” he said, “I made a promise a long time ago to give everyone a chance. And it looked like you needed one.”

Rosy opened her mouth to say something, not exactly sure what, only for the conference room door to slide open. More than several guns pointed out from the doorway. “Step away from Shadow the Hedgehog, Amy Rose! If you do not comply, we will be forced to shoot!”

The dark hedgehog in question scowled at this, turning towards the doorway. “I told you I had this handled! There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.”

“You got hurt,” Rosy pointed out. A strange feeling accompanied the words, an unfamiliar clench in her gut.

The hedgehog - Shadow? - didn’t even look away from the nozzles of the gun, still firmly planting himself between them and her as he answered, “I’m a living weapon. It doesn’t matter.”

Rosy furrowed her brow, something about his words hitting her weirdly. She didn’t…like them? She also didn’t like the guns, but somehow the fact that they were pointing at him was…bad? 

Well, only one way to fix that.

Huffing, Rosy shoved past him, moving to the front of the conference room. The guns followed her only to pause when she did, sitting herself into the chair originally marked for her. There was a short silence.

“Well? Don’t we got an alien invasion to stop?” Rosy called out, crossing her arms. She pouted at the clear sounds of disbelief from beyond the doorway, only stopped by Shadow clearing his throat. 

“Yes, there’s new intel we need to review. It’s rather time sensitive,” he said, folding his arms and managing to look like he'd hadn't just returned from an impromptu skydive. Rosy touched her own spines in a rush of insecurity, flattening the ones that stuck out the most. How did his already go back to normal? 

Rogue was the first to come out, tripping oddly over the first step. Rosy paused from her grooming to snort. Knuckles probably pushed her, the wuss. He got his comeuppance by being the next shoved through the doorway, courtesy of Miles. Who was still brandishing his gun. She raised a hand and wiggled her fingers at him. He sneered. Lovely kid.

Dr. Kintober slowly rose from under the desk, still shaking. He looked between her and Shadow quickly, something calculating in his gaze. Rosy shot him a sickly smile that sent him ducking back behind his chair to hide. Nice to see she still had it. 

As everyone began to filter in, with the obvious lack of Vanilla who likely knew better than to show her face so soon, Rosy slumped back in her seat and resolved to watch the proceedings. All were sending her strange looks she ignored, except for one. 

Shadow’s face was cast in an odd sheen from the sky outside and Rosy found herself holding her breath when his eyes passed over hers. The light made his eyes glow stronger, that same rare softness staring back at her. He gave her a small smile as the seconds stretched on and Rosy turned away sharply, blood pumping fast. 

Miles continued with his plan and Rosy ignored the odd suspicious glance at her, mind too busy picking apart the swarm of thoughts raging in her head. Red was always the color of destruction, of violence and rage and —

So why was the red of his eyes soothing?

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 007

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: New Year and school is back in session after winter break. Billy starts the grovelling process and observes some new things about Evie. TW: PICA-it's worse. Vomiting. Animal death mention. Student/Teacher relationship in the background. School bullies. Taglist open!!! ​​

Chapter 7: One Bad Kiss Constellation

   The first day back to school was uglier than Evie pictured. Fall of snow didn't get them out of classes.

   Her stomach was already in knots, but that could have been the shiny things she’d eaten the night before.

   Felt like a game. What would pass. What would tie her stomach up. These little trinkets she actually dug for, cleaned with bleach, and stacked on that empty shelf. Organized each item. Admired her display of will and control. Mostly keys and buttons. Couple nuts from a toolbox in their garage.

   So far, everything came out. So far. Evie wondered what her insides would look like and tried to slow. Tried despite all the noise.

   Calculus was first. Thankfully, she shared it with Heather who was all smiles. Chattering about her surprise mini trip with her parents. 

   They had it with Tommy and Carol too. All the fucking grins and looks Evie got burned. Tommy peering then shifting to Carol’s ear so she could giggle.

   Evie’s pencil snapped within her fist so Heather glanced aside to see the pieces roll away.

   “Okay, muscles.” She chuckled, passing a freshly sharpened one over.

   “Thanks.”

   “So, what’d you do for New Years?” All the scratching of lead on paper was driving Evie insane. Grating like an out of tune orchestra of vibrating strings.

   “Just some lame party, the usual.” Evie was rubbing the back of her neck. Eyes glued to the page.

   Carol giggled again. Fingernails sunk into the skin of Evie's hairline.

   “Don’t know what her problem is.” Heather remarked to herself.

   Evie shook her head. Lips pressing with no sound. Trying to focus on the problems along the page and not the ones fizzling in her life. Her desk was pressed into the far right wall next to all the campy posters teachers loved to decorate their rooms in.

   About how there's always a silver lining and chase the morning.

   Evie rolled her eyes at the thought. Caught sight of a sleek thumbtack there sticking out. Shiny and chrome. Lungs pulsed and she wondered about the weight on her tongue.

   Strange how her mouth watered for it.

   Two fingers subtly snatched it from the wall when the bell rang.

   Second period was usually what she was excited about. English with Bowers and the sly smiles they beamed at each other across the room. Carol always looked between them. Jealous she wasn’t the hot teacher’s pet. She noticed a great deal there.

   Evie shared the class with Steve also. And Billy who sat in the next row over just behind her. He stared at Evie, trying to read every twitch and shift of her body. A note hit her desk from Steve.

   Brown eyes peered up as if to ask who it was being passed to, but he cocked his chin at her.

   Fredrick sat quietly at his desk as they worked separately today. He didn’t see her unfold it.

   What’s up with Hargrove? Looks like he’s trying to vaporize you with his laser eyes.

   Evie hitched to stop herself from laughing at a picture with a stick figure and a mullet. Lasers blasting out of the eyes. She added some comically large muscles. Cleared her throat and wrote back.

   He’s a creep.

   Steve quirked a darling smile at her.

   Billy saw a flash of stark, bloody red. Harrington made her grin without force.

   “Okay, class, let’s see who read the material. Pass your papers up.” Fredrick stood to collect. “I’ll be reading these tonight and- Ah, Mr. Hargrove. Thank you for the scribbling of your Camaro. I hope the essay question is as detailed.”

   “Been thinking about upgrading my girl, sir. Say, what do you drive?” Billy tapped his pencil, lazy as can be. “Cool guy, I bet.”

   “Just a Plymouth. We muscle cars have to stick together.” Fredrick was pulling stacks of papers from the front. Billy didn’t drop it.

   “That orange one? Yeah. I’ve seen it around.” Blue eyes drew to Evie at that. She felt a chill and peered back with a stony expression. “Bet the girlies all line up.”

   A few classmates chuckled for their glorious king.

   “It gets me from point A to B. That’s all I ask for.” Bowers only laughed.

   "I'm sure it does." Billy mused coolly, fingers twisting his ring which caught the light.

   The bell blared.

   “Alright, class. We’re starting a new unit tomorrow. I hope you all have your Shakespeare hats ready.”

   A collective groan sounded.

   Evie rushed out to Yearbook with Jonathan, Nancy, and Heather. Only class she had where Seniors and Juniors mixed. Besides lunch if that counted. Got lost in dark rooms so the world couldn’t see her hands shaking.

   "Here." Jonathan caught her trying to clip some photos up, fumbling with a stack.

   "Thanks," Evie sighed, "too many pages for our losing sports teams, right?"

   He chuckled at that.

   "My thoughts exactly."

   Jonathan went to help Nancy order some drafted pages when Heather crossed over. Eyes on Evie working.

   "Something the matter?"

   "Bourbon's not doing well. I expected it, but...he's just been with me through all of it. You know?" A frown etched. She didn't want to cry. Heather paused to hug Evie from behind.

   "He's our little prince still. I'm sorry."

   Her friend shifted out, pressed a smile and went back to work in silence. Groaned because Billy was in half these basketball photos. Alight and intense.

   “Hey, I’m going to the library for lunch.” Evie spoke after that bell rang. “I’ll scarf my sandwich on the way.” 

   Heather observed her again. Watched how Evie avoided her eyes.

   “Was...something else going on? I feel like I-”

   “No, just missing the break.” Evie flashed her teeth to make it convincing. 

   She did manage to get half the sandwich down and tossed the rest out. Patted cold water on her cheeks once she was alone in the bathroom as everyone went to lunch. The hallway got quieter and Evie looked at her flushed face. Shuddered and reached for the pin in her pocket.  Small. Deft. Dainty.

   Stark point. Catching the light. 

   She washed it with soap. Opened her mouth to stick her tongue out. Cradled it there. Chrome and out of place against pink flesh. Lips closed. The point pressed down into her tongue. Evie winced. Tried to swallow and choked it back into her hand. Saliva dripping.

   A spot of red welled. Loud and obscene and horrible. Tasting metal. Shame. Tears pooled.

   So she pushed it back in like she’d done with the key to drown the noise out. Evie Fenny wasn’t a fucking quitter.

   Swallow. Swallow. Swallow.

   It scratched going down. Working around clenching muscles. Pangs fluttered. Fingers grasped the sink to bite a groan back.

   Evie thought she heard the little plink of it hitting her stomach. Gasped to breathe. There wasn’t shame anymore, only pride. She powered through it. Had utter control.

   Eyes locked with the mirror. Calm. Collected. Not in this body. Rust turned to sweet strawberries and rose petals.

   Imagine stabbing something several times until it was beautiful.

   Exhale.

** ** ** 

   Carol and her gaggle still kept the laughter up in the cafeteria. She sat upon the table with Tommy next to her. Animated stories kept them hanging upon dripping syllables. Heather couldn’t stand it anymore. Pushed up to cross right over.

   “What’s your problem today?” She cocked her hip.

   “Oooh.” Carol clicked her glittery nails on the table. “So touchy, sweet pea.”

   “What’s your problem with Evie, she didn’t do anything to you?”

   “Other than her being a tart for Bowers. Nothing to me. In fact, she provides us with hours of entertainment. Had a hot date with the Keg King.” Carol nodded toward Billy across the way, sitting alone and clicking his lighter. Annoyed, he got up and went to sneak his usual lunch smoke.

   “What? What are you talking about?”

   “Uh, isn’t Fenny your BFF?” Tina chimed in. “Shouldn’t you know?”

   “Aw, that’s so cute, she didn’t tell you.” Tommy added with his crooked smile. “Must be so embarrassed. Poor girl.”

   “You have five seconds-”

   “I’m gonna tell you.” Carol decided. Finger curling to bring Heather in. “Only because it’s just too good.”

** **  **

   Billy got one puff in before Princess Heather Holloway was smacking the cigarette from his fingers. Snarling and bright red to match the cute bow in her hair.

   “Hey!” 

   “Hey yourself, what the fuck?” She pushed Billy clear into the brick wall. Chilled him more than the breeze. A new flutter of snow began to fall with no peace in sight. Her face was flushed cherry with anger. “I know about your little Skirt Safari bullshit! You tricked Evie! You hurt my friend...you’re an asshole.”

   Billy just sagged at her. Reached to pluck up his cigarette and got it slapped again. Heather crushed it with her expensive shoe for good measure.

   “You had no right to do something so disgusting! Carol and Tommy filled me in.”

   His brow lifted.

   “...Evie didn’t tell you?”

   “The last thing Evie wants is for people to see her in pain, so I know you hurt her bad.” Her arms crossed. “Well?” A cold breath puffed.

   “It wasn’t supposed to-”

   “You mean, she wasn’t supposed to find out about the bet. You’re so selfish. You’re a selfish little prick. Stay the hell away from my friend.”

   She turned and a hand snatched her wrist.

   “Heath-”

   “What?” She shrugged with some extra ire. Eyes flickering like flames. “I think you’ve done enough.”

   Billy let her go, looked elsewhere. No syllables to make her stop fuming. Heather huffed at him and marched back inside to find Evie at her locker. Shoulders dropped.

   “Hey…” Heather’s slow approach still gave Evie a fright. Huge doe eyes looking far too somber.

   A sigh.

   “Who told you?”

   “Carol and those jerks.” Heather pressed her lips. “Just scared Hargrove shitless, I think. I’m sorry, I wish you told me. You said you'd tell me things.”

   “This thing... It doesn’t matter. He tricked me, whatever.” Evie’s arms went out then dropped. She faced her locker. Toyed with the handle and pressed her book closer. “It was all stupid. For a moment, I thought he… I thought a boy might-”

   “He’s a little prick.” Heather turned her friend around.

   “We had fun. We danced. I kissed him first. Did Carol tell you that part?” Evie sucked in some air.

   "Oh?"

   “Yeah, I kissed him and I was going to screw him too. I was gonna go to a motel with Billy Hargrove for New Years and, you know, I...I wanted to. I really wanted him... But, it doesn’t matter. They can talk about it all they like.” She moved to go, slamming her locker shut. “I don’t care. It won’t bother me. It's stupid. All of it.”

   “Evie, don’t shut down, please.”

   “I’m fine.” Sneakers skidded when Heather stepped in front of her. "Boys like Billy Hargrove don't go for girls like me. He doesn't want me. That's not news."

   Evie remembered all the hot bodies jumping around. The crowds and fireworks blasting along with a musical beat. Moments where she'd felt incandescently delighted next to Billy and the lingering of their starry eyes. Like they'd been meant to find each other all this time.

   "Getting mad about this is the same as being upset about the pattern of stars. It's pointless." Evie swallowed a thicker lump down.

   No, that's what ached. Billy made her believe they could be rewritten. Made her want to defy the stars.

   “Let’s hang out this weekend. A no boys party for both of us.” Heather smiled, taking Evie's hand. “He’s not even a boy, Eve, he’s a little prick. Let’s just have some fun. Friday? Sleepover. You pick the first movie.”

   “I’m fine, Heath,” the words sounded funny now, “but okay. Sleepover.”

   “Good.” A brighter smile crossed so Evie matched it. She let Heather hug her and managed to make it through classes all the way to her free period avoiding Billy’s eyes on her skull. Sneaking out was an art form she’d perfected. Quick steps to her locker and toward the door. Stopping only to see into the theater when stage lights turned rose red.

   Evie peeked in. Beamed.

   “Mr. B.” She shuffled inside after checking the hallway. "Fredrick."

   “I’m alone, Evie, come sit with me.” He patted the table next to the lightboard he was working on. The glow changed to a softer pink. Made it all less menacing. Bathed in blush, she crossed the illumination and scooted up onto the cool surface. Skirt shifting over black tights. “Bad day?”

   “Bad start to the year.”

   "Classmates? I can always fail them for you." He'd joked.

   She smiled, head shaking so he continued.

   “They’re intimidated by you, Evie, because you’re too ahead and mature for them. Soon, you'll be out in the world and they'll be left stumbling.” He peeked up behind a pair of glasses. This was old times. Encouragement. Nurturing. “Much like the director of the winter show who asked me to fix this damn thing last minute.”

   She giggled then, touching her lips. 

   “You look pretty in this light. You should wear pink more often, instead of red.” He remarked and she crossed her ankles. Hands gripping the edge.

   “Red makes me look and feel older.” Evie asserted herself.

   “What about that wet gloss you used to wear in class?” His finger brushed her knee before he was picking up a screwdriver. 

   “Thought you didn’t like to kiss me with gloss on, you said it was too sticky.”

   “I appreciate it more now that I’ve lost it. Just like you, Evie. You were there for me. It's something special to have a person. Don't you think?” He winked. Fredrick Bowers made her laugh and smile. Listened to her and gave back. Most days.

   All she longed for was to impress him. Please him. Be enough for someone.

   "It's not fair that I cannot kiss you here." He uttered. "Now. I'd like to."

   "Just kiss me?" Evie flicked some curls, drew her fingers across her collar so he fixated there.

   Played this version of herself that came out around him. This woman in red with cool words. Always game. She bit her lip and he paused to see her again. A smile crossed before they were interrupted.

   Evie looked up as the door opened and Carol stood there. A glare already on her pouty face. Fredrick scooted a good few inches from Evie. Quickly.

   “Sorry, I just had some questions about the reading. Mr. B.” Carol flashed a smile.

   "Of course, Carol. My door is always open. Evie, thank you for the inquires. I'll be getting back with you. Soon."

   Evie perked and got up. 

   “I'll hold you to that... We just finished. Thanks, Mr. B. For all the help.” She seemed all too chipper at Carol going green with envy. The redhead knocked into her shoulder passing, but Evie gripped her bag and went out. Frowned at the snow piling because she’d ridden her bike in. 

   Still, Evie was stubborn, so she got on and pedaled down the street. Sleet making it more difficult when a fucking Camaro revved down the way behind her. Billy honked once and got ignored. Pulled up in front of her and skidded over which sent Evie into a pile of frosty, dead leaves. Tumbling.

   “Hell.” She just laid there until Billy Hargrove was in the line of sight. Craning to see her and utterly stunning against the opal skies. “What’s it going to take for you to leave me alone, huh? Three hundred bucks?” She untwisted from her bike and Billy yanked her up, brushing snow aside until he got smacked off with two heated expressions penetrating.

   “You’re screwing Bowers, aren’t you?” He’d hissed it.

   Oof.

   “You’re delusional.” Evie charged past him. Legs aching as she pushed her bike.

   “Max saw you in his car. He’s always looking at you. Is that where you go when you sneak out your window three times a week?”

   “No!” Evie swiveled. Breath ghosting.

   “But, you’re still fucking him.” Billy slid in front, hands on the bike handles to stop her again. There was a struggle. Her cheeks puffing as she feebly tried to push him back. Teeth clenched.

   “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Will you just move?” Her entire face scrunched together. All daggers. Slowing, Evie spelled it out for him. Drew closer. “And no one will ever believe you.”

   “You think I’m trying to make your life worse, Angel? I just want you to admit it.”

   "Admit, what? You have major issues? Fine! Easy! Now move!" She barely got a few inches forward with his muscles buldging. Two immovable objects.

   "Open those pretty lips and say it. You're fucking our teacher. I wanna hear it from that mouth." Billy paused, chest shuddering. "You went to him after what I did. I should have stayed with you."

   “I don’t owe you any of this. You're obsessed!” She shoved into him. No budging, the boy was made of steel.

   “He’s a fucking pedophile. We had those in California too, chica. Maybe they don’t like the term round these parts. You think he's making you feel good, but he's setting you on fire to warm himself. That fuse is creeping, babe.” Billy pushed back until she was sliding toward his car. Slush wetting their shoes.

   "You're unbelievable!" 

   “I’m not looking to tell anyone, got that?" Billy caught her gaze in the teetering. Held it. "I’m just saying you don’t have to do it. Anyone ever tell you that you don't have to do something, Evangeline?"

   Evie stopped pushing to stare with bigger eyes as he continued. Expression crestfallen because something resonated.

   "Being a good girl has a cost, you do everything people tell you to do until your organs start spilling.”

   “I'm not the only one with a front. Fuck you!”

   A beat.

   “You almost did that night.” Billy cocked his head. "I would have made you moan so pretty. I wanted to." Evie’s mouth dropped before she shoved him into the snow. Bike falling away. He looked thrilled. About to pitch a fucking denim tent. “There you are. I would have fucked you so hard and so good, babe. Bet you even taste like heaven and stardust. Yeah? Fucking hit me.”

   “Hit you?” Evie stilled over him. “You’re just trying to make yourself feel better. Fuck off, Billy.” She yanked at her bike again. He puffed there, chest sinking before he shot back up. Newfound vigor.

   Growled.

   “I’m sorry.”

   Even the snow stilled with him. She swerved and saw him crack.

   “Evie, I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’m shit at this and I‘m sorry. I’m sorry I took you to that stupid dance and screwed you over. I'm sorry you got hurt. I am sorry, got it!”

   “You’re sorry that you got caught.” She pointed.

   “I’m not leaving you alone.”

   “Listen, Billy,” Evie spun and dropped her bike, “I don’t need anything from you. Nothing. Okay? Just let it go, I really don’t know why you can’t. Be sorry somewhere else. The stars are where they are. Life goes on.”

   “Fuck the stars! They're too far away to stop us. I kissed you after midnight. I gave the fucking money away. I wanted out of it and I fucked up. I did. I'd change that, but I wouldn't change the night with you. Hear me? I didn't lie about that much." He strained to catch those brown eyes.

   She opened her mouth and closed it quicker. Almost softened.

   "I didn't fake that and I was shitty to take you to that place. That fucker Tannen used me to get back at you and I’m fucking sorry about it.” Billy seemed to rage the thoughts out. “You liked it too. The kiss. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

   "If you call that a kiss." Sarcasm seeped out.

   "Yeah, I recall us sharing a couple." Billy laughed. Dry and disbelieving. "I was drunk, but I remember every damn second of how you felt."

   “You’re not fooling me again.” Evie crushed in on herself, pressed onward. Skidding to go away from Billy Hargrove. What the hell could he possibly want out of this?

   “I’ll leave you alone,” Billy sprang forward and grabbed her back wheel, “if you kiss me again and tell me it’s nothing. Just one more. Redo it. Yeah? To hell with the stars, we'll change them.”

   She looked in awe at him. Shoulders dropped.

   "It wasn't even that good of a kiss."

   "Then, what do you have to lose over another bad one?" Billy's head tilted up. Wild as can be. Evie matched it. Both of their curls moving up against the sweep of cold winds. Hungry looks about them. Billy undid her with a damning utter. "Prove me wrong, Angel."

   He fucking triple dog dared her.

   Evie practically kicked her bike aside, stomped toward him, and grabbed his face to smash their lips together. Billy pounced back with a barely there sound. Shoved Evie into the side of his car.

   Another vehicle honked and went around them. Probably too shocked to do much else with teenagers unable to control their hormones in the middle of the road.

   Moaning like he was in a porno, Billy made this one count. Hands palmed at her ass, bringing Evie up a few inches. Tongue down her throat near ready to prick himself on the pin she'd swallowed.

   She hitched as he pulled her hair to see lush hooded eyes again. But, briefly.

   "Yeah?" He twisted those curls around, both of them moaned. Challenge dancing. You like that, Angel? Evie's fingers were clutching at his jacket. A nod followed. She let him trail his tongue against her lips and opened her mouth for it again. Tasted spearmint.

   Drunken bodies kept moving and smacking back into his car. Billy even tried to pull her shirt up out of her skirt to touch the flesh underneath. Evie jolted out from him, having not been ravished like that by a boy so unafraid to touch her.

   And she shuddered apart. Kept her eyes closed so Billy did too.

   It was the only way to prolong this. A softer kiss where their noses brushed after. Foreheads pressing together. Ardent and lovely. Total silence was a thrill. Billy nuzzled his nose into her own again, pulling her body into his. Fingers crept barely under her shirt. Caressed the tender skin. Lungs and hearts needy beyond repair.

   Constellations twisting together until a single question dawned. Can I keep you?

   Evie quaked for air and saw him. Lashes long and too beautiful. Freckles. Snow falling like confetti. An ache flooded back. The pin pricks in her tongue jabbed. Arms pushed up at him. Felt the thumping in his chest.

   Holding his jaw steady, lipstick smeared to damn them both.

   “Do you always kiss the same way a thirsty dog laps at water?” She shoved him backwards. A spit trail left their mouths. Red glistened on Billy’s lips and chin. A sleazy grin cracked, tongue wiggling out to taste her still on him. Neither could breathe right.

   “Haven’t had complaints.” He gasped for air. “Are you judging my technique?”

   “Yeah, it sucks.” Evie puffed with more force. “And I felt nothing. Got it? Nothing. Leave me alone now.”

   “You’re a shitty liar.” He watched her swerve.

   “And you’re a shitty person!” She wiped her mouth. Billy stopped dead, dropped everything he was feeling to let that pierce him. “I felt nothing! Leave me alone.”

   “No.” Billy decided as she plucked her bike up.

   “No?"

   "You heard me." A child. "No. Nope. Nada."

   "But, you just said-”

   “I fucking lied and now you know how it’s done.” He went around his car. “Maybe I’m a shitty person, but at least I don’t hate myself enough to lie and screw-”

   “Spare me!” Evie screamed over him. Chilling. She got onto her bike and went down a dirt path so Billy couldn’t follow her. 

   “Fuck.” Billy slammed his car door getting back in. Revved up again, hitting the wheel. “Fuck!”

   He’d made it worse.

** ** **

   Billy made an attempt to leave Evie Fenny alone. Sorta. Didn’t even stare at her in school. Didn’t bring up Bowers. Pretended he didn’t hear her sneaking out to wherever. 

   He even tried screwing other girls. Drinking and partying to forget.

   Another problem came with that.

   He couldn’t keep his shit up. Tried everything. Got into bed with two girls and stayed soft. Pretended he was just too smashed. 

   All he saw was Evie Fenny looking at him with her huge, sad eyes. It made him furious and he tried to hate her. Tried to jerk himself off and only thought of her lipstick smearing his skin. Her amber perfume drowning his senses. Her body flush against his.

   Then, he was coming.

   He felt like shit about all of it and that turned to rage. No hate came, it just burnt.

   Meanwhile, Evie was lining pins and screws up for her collection. She wrote down every little thing she ate and what came out.

   It was supposed to all come out eventually and she'd be there to control it.

   She thought of the amethyst gemstone sparkling inside her and wondered how such a thing could make her feel so happy and alive.

   Even when her stomach began to ache with little pricks through the day. Even when her appetite was often ruined. Even with she tried again at times to stop it for good. The cravings undid her.

   She smiled through the pain just like she was taught. A woman's disposition. 

   I am fine. This is fine.

   Something collided distantly. Two arrows through the same heart. Spitting blood everywhere.

   One night, Evie wasn’t sneaking out.

   Billy still heard her scratching around the side of the house. Couldn’t help peeking to see her dragging a shovel. Holding a painted square under one arm. She set a decorated shoe box aside and started digging a hole just at the back corner of her house. Struggling to break ice and snow. Head bowed so wet curls covered her chilled face.

   He opened his window.

   “Hey.”

   “Go away.” She sniffled. Crying. 

   Billy hadn’t heard or seen her cry. Not even over him and what he did. Not for anything. The sound jarred him, he thought she might have been holding in laughter.

   Blue eyes drew to the box again and he realized it. Bourbon. The strange cat hadn’t been spying on him lately.

   “Please,” she turned her neck to barely peer at him through red rimmed eyes, “just go away.” Evie wiped her nose and let a fresh sprinkling of snow melt on her cheeks. She still looked pretty there, utterly fatigued. Wispy, wet curls framing her splotchy expression. 

   "You took good care of him." Was all he said. Evie turned back. Shoulders lifting.

   Billy did the only thing he could do for once.

   He left Evie alone. 

   Listened to her hum and dig to bury the beloved cat. Billy didn’t see Evie stuff a handful of soil into her pocket and go back inside to her empty house because her mother was always out with friends or working. She went to the phone in her bedroom. Luckily, Evie got her own line two Christmases ago. She dialed.

   “Hello?” Her prince.

   “Can I come over?” Evie sniffled. “Bourbon died.”

   “Who?”

   “My cat.” Dark eyes narrowed before she started to pick at some peeling wallpaper. “You remember?” She talked about the little ball of fuzz all the time.

   “Oh, that’s unfortunate, Evie.” Fredrick sighed for her. “I’m not sure after what happened last weekend. I still think you need time.”

   She spazzed out as the teenagers say.

   “I just...wasn’t comfortable doing that. The ropes freaked me out, I can’t explain it.” She shook her head. "I can try again, can I come over?"

   "So, now I'm just pushing you into it? Don't make me the bad guy, Evie, I won't be that. I'm here for you, but I want to go at your pace. You know that."

   "No, no, you're not pushing," came the protest, "I can do it. I'll try. I just wanna see you. I need to be touched." That sentiment got her welling again.

   “Evie, it’s like you don’t trust me to look after you.” He replied in a clinical sort of way. “I’m risking everything to be with you."

   "I know."

   He said it often.

   "You couldn't stop crying," he sniffled like he might weep over it, "you make me feel so helpless at times. Do you realize that?"

   "I"m sorry..." Evie crushed into the phone as he made it about him. His needs. His inability to keep her happy. That was her fault.

   "Too often, I think your head is just up in the clouds. These nightmares you have and the way you press into the wall when you sleep. Like you don't want me to touch you. And last week, dear, you just...wouldn't stop crying."

   "I promise I won't cry anymore." She's promised her mother that as well in silence. "I swear. I'll stop."

   "This fixation on your little poems. We used to have adult conversations about the future. It's like a part of you is locked away. You don't want me to touch it. What’s the matter with you?”

   “Songs.” Evie replied flatter.

   “What?”

   “They’re songs, not poems.”

   “I just mean, you should be more practical."

   "I don't know what's wrong with me." Evie decided at last. Clutching the phone cord in her shaken fist. Haunted. "I can't stop."

   She didn't know if she wanted to. This cycle that was eating her.

   "I got back into this because I wanted you. I see a future with us. Do you want me just as bad? Think on it. I'll give you the time. When you're ready, I'm here.” Bowers advised. He wanted her to want him so bad. “We’ll talk another day. Next weekend maybe.”

   "Fredrick, please-"

   The line cut.

   She'd been too needy, he like that on his terms. Liked when she crawled and when she needed him so bad. When she gave into everything he desired without a fuss. Fredrick wanted Evie, but he wanted a specific version of Evie. The bouncy girls on television game for anything, who had every answer. Fizzling emotions unsettled him. They were childish. But, he wanted her lips to be glossy and pink. Wanted her to be an adult woman in a spring breaking teen's body.

   You'd think he was still married to his uptight wife and fucking the damn babysitter.

   Evie set the phone down. Stuffed a handful of dirt into her lips. Smothered herself with it. Gritty, it stuck to her teeth like an Oreo cookie. Tiny stones shifted as she tried to swallow too much at once. She got another handful in before her gag reflex choked her. Feet scrambled to puke brown and bile into the toilet. 

   The Lego she ate earlier came up too. Found it helping Claudia and Dustin clear their basement. Shiny and blue. 

   Her stomach curdled. A few tears squeezed before she was scooping that up. Slippery with acidic bile. Pushing it back into her mouth. With her throat raw, it hurt worse the second time but it went down.

   Control. She was in total control. That’s what she told herself. Curled up next to the toilet. Scalp heating while her lips hung slack.

   “Nothing is the matter with me.” Evie told herself because stopping meant that thudding ache in her chest would glow all neon and rose red.

** ** **

   Billy wasn’t going to leave Evie alone. He decided that after a wet dream one morning. These things were not to be taken lightly by teenage boys. 

   I’m sorry. It didn't cut it. Actions, that’s what Susan advised, not that he’d admit prying advice from his chirpy stepmother. Vague as can be, Billy hung out in the kitchen doorway dropping rough hints.

   Maxine was more blunt when Susan asked her later.

   “Oh, yeah, he’s totally crushing on Evie and he messed it all up.” She said between the lazy crunching of salty chips.

   “That’s what I thought.” Susan sighed. An hour of Billy barking and hiding around the doorway told Susan that much. She was young once.

   “But, he did something. She’s mad at him.”

   “Well, Neil works late tomorrow, I asked Billy if he’d take me to Mona’s salon. She wanted me to go out with her friends. A dessert and wine thing she likes to host.”

   “Did you tell Neil?” Max was fixing a wheel on her skateboard and snacking. Poor thing wasn't getting use with all the snow fall. Susan only smiled.

   “Would you like to go get your hair done?”

   “Ick.” Max cringed at the thought of those huge rollers and hairspray. 

   “Max.” Susan replied carefully. “Evie works tomorrow, doesn’t she? Saturday.”

   She got the idea with her eyes lighting up.

   “Oh!” Max blew air out her lips. “Just this once, then.”

   “That’s my girl.” Susan figured if Billy was convinced it was all her idea, the day would go smoother.

** ** **

   Something else Billy Hargrove learned about Mona was her hair changed with the seasons. Locks big and bold but now a strawberry blonde. A head start for spring despite it still being January.

   Evie peered up at reception and noticeably, her face fell.

   Susan figured whatever happened had to be bad. She’d never seen such a reaction from a teenage girl to her drop dead gorgeous stepson. Hell, Billy Hargrove could bat his lashes and have eggs dropping in every uterus within a fifty mile radius.

   Might have been why Neil preferred to lock him in his room like he was the dirty tomcat about to impregnate all the neighborhood strays. Although, Neil had a list of reasons for how he treated Billy. None of them valid.

   Mona went right for Max. Squished her cheeks in smelling of lavender hand cream. 

   “I’m so glad y’all are here! Maxie, I promise I won’t shock you. Just a wash and freshen. Make your hair nice and bouncy. It’ll shine. I always say: the higher the hair, the closer to God.” Mona took Susan’s hand. “C’mon over here. My new girl, Shelby, will get you started too. Little pampering does everyone good.”

   “Hey.” Evie piped up, twirling a pen around. She’d eaten the cap an hour ago. Not much for chewing. Always up to the task of swallowing whole because she was a big girl.

   Big girls sucked it up and swallowed. 

   Billy thought to go back to his car. Swayed on his feet there looking around at all the plants.

   Actions.

   Actions. 

   They speak louder than words. Billy was a screamer.

   “Miss Mona, I was thinking we could… Uh, for me.”

   “You want a wash too, Billy?” She perked, hair bobbing as her little platforms clicked excitedly. “Come, come, sit down. Evie can get you shampooed to start.”

   Evie’s entire body locked. Billy smirked at her, but noticed an opportunity reach her eyes. The pen stabbed back into a cup. Lips spread in a devious way. He saw horns spring out of her big curls.

   Fuck, she looked hot though.

   It drove him wild. Evie with a fire behind her eyes. All plush curves and lingering allure. That amber perfume melted him.

   “I’d be so happy to help.” She gripped Billy’s leather bomber and jerked him into a chair. He had a semi at this point. "Get comfy."

   Hell, the girl was plotting a murder with that smoldering expression. Still, Billy was game because she was giving him attention. His tongue swept pink lips. Peachy skin glowing.

   There was something off about Evie too. This sunken manner like her energy had been sapped. The slightest dark circles under brown eyes. Skirt Safari was barely three weeks ago. He removed his jacket when Mona reached for it to hang it with Max’s and Susan’s.

   Dead boy walking.

   Max snickered from her chair across the way. She and Susan sat with little floral capes, already getting their pampering. Evie moved Billy’s hair and pulled a lilac cape around his neck.

   “Ack!”

   “Oh? Too tight. My bad.” She snapped a button. “Put your head back. Into the sink now.”

   Billy thought to pray for mercy, tilted back into the porcelain. He asked for this. The sink went on. Ice. 

   “Too cold?”

   “Nope.” Teeth chattered. Evie had that devilish look still. Decided to make it warmer. Lifted the nozzle and hit his face.

   And Billy took it. Sputtering.

   “Oh, so sorry…” Her tongue clicked. Didn’t even try to sound sincere.

   “Just a little water. No big deal.”

   Her bottom lip pouted. She sprayed his face again. Billy snickered through the coughing, fists held the chair tight.

   “You’re fucking waterboarding me, Fenny.” He'd spat, blinking rapidly.

   “What?” Evie paused then kept spraying him as he tried to reply.

   “You’re-”

   “I’m, what?” She came off and Billy snorted before the water splashed again.

   “Ngh-ffff- ”

   “Can’t hear you, Billy.” Evie caught Max losing it across the way.

   The boy took all the torment like a champ so she let up. He didn’t even snap when she pulled his hair shampooing it. 

   “I like it rough, Angel.” Billy hissed at her fingers pulling so she sprayed him again. Made him buck like a mad feline. He seemed to almost love it. This was foreplay to him.

   “Creep. Don��t pitch a tent in that cape.” Evie stuffed a towel in his face. Smiled cheerfully. All syrup. “We're done, mommy.”

   “Let’s see what I can do for these curls, Billy.” Mona let Claudia work on Susan while her new hire took over for Maxine. “I hope Evie gave you a good start.”

   She certainly revved his motor, but he wasn't going to tell her mother that.

   “So nice. I feel even more relaxed now.” Billy twitched a stressed smile. Earned himself a few good boy points.

   Evie cracked a grin at him, arms crossing before she went back to reception. Unbelievable.

   Mona had Billy chattering about his car and school and how he'd just turned eighteen in December. Life was coming his way. Evie took to doodling song lyrics in no order and tapped her pen. Mona either talked Billy into hair curlers or just started doing it. Which was another bout of amusement.

   And Billy stared at Evie the entire time. Even when she made it a point to face away. Sat on the stool with her legs crossed, leaning forward to jot her little lyrics down. Susan swept her eyes between them.

   Both relentlessly stubborn.

   “Mona, I’ve been wanting to repay you back for the dinner this month. How about tomorrow? Our place this time.” Came her voice when a hair dryer shut off.

   “We’ll bring the dessert.” Fingers played with Billy’s curls. Reminded him of his mother. Fluffed some life into them. He decided this salon was better than the places he used to go. 

   Music played, songs changing as time continued. Evie decided her luck couldn’t get any worse when Carol’s red hair appeared in her line of sight. Walking with her little friend group without Tommy. Likely headed to the nail place down the block.

   Carol spotted Evie behind glass and whispered something that had her friends howling before they went. 

   “Bitches.” Billy sauntered up behind her. Golden hair sparkling.

   “As if you had nothing to do with that.” Evie smacked her notebook shut. Sat straighter as he shook his locks out. Curls shining with lift. Like the sun just kissed them.

   “How do I look?” One brow rose. Teasing.

   “The same.” Gorgeous. 

   “Lunch?”

   “Already ate.” Evie’s lips pressed when she said that. They spoke out of earshot under the music. Not noticing the glances on them.

   “Guess I’ll still be seeing you for dinner tomorrow.” Billy counted some bills out. Snatched a pen and scribbled a note on a single. Dropped the money on the counter and pushed the one he’d written on into her pocket. She lifted an arm and glared, but let him. “We'll do this again some time. The back and forth. I pull your hair and you pull mine."

   "Unlikely."

   "Hm. Invest in waterproof red lipstick. Don't they have waterproof makeup now? Looks better on you than on me." His voice dropped.

   "Wow. Cocky now, are you?"

   "I just think it'll take us a lot of tries to get to a bad kiss. Don't you, Evie?" He replied pointedly, leaning over to speak in that low baritone. Pure amber honey.

   "I think you're in denial, Billy. Gotta put pride aside." Evie bit her tongue and turned away. Loathed the blush glittering her cheeks.

   "Takes one to know. I’ll wait for Max in the car. Need a smoke. See you around, Angel.” Billy swayed off after grabbing his coat. Out into the cold. 

   Evie put his money in their register and plucked the dollar out.

   “Sorry. -A shithead.”

   Billy had even gone out of his way to draw a little frowny face with a tear. Evie caught him looking at her from his car and rolled her eyes, stuffing the bill away.

   Tried not to smile. Failed.

   “Billy doesn’t do this kind of thing.” Max appeared a bit later. Glowy and red. Vibrant. “Just...so you know.”

   “It shows.” Evie sighed out her nose. Watched Max say bye to her mother since she was staying with Mona before hurrying out into the Camaro. One rev and it skidded off. Snow flurries falling in its wake.

   “She seemed mad,” Max had said in the car, “but, maybe less mad.”

   “It was a big fuck up. She’ll be mad a long time.”

   “And that bothers you.”

   “No.” Billy flicked his cigarette out the window. Watched his sister’s lips press before he scoffed. “Max, I did something evil. You understand? Evie wants fuck all to do with me.”

   And he couldn't throw her from his thoughts.

   “What did you do?” Max leaned in to press the subject. “Just tell me.”

   The gist of it came out by the time they parked at Cherry Lane. 

   Max just blinked at him. Flared. Billy cut the engine and paused, glancing at her.

   “Why do boys do this to girls?” She asked, fists clenched in her lap. Rigid and puffy. “I don’t understand. Are my friends going to be like you when they get older?”

   “No, Max, they’re not. I’m a piece of shit.” His shoulders came up.

   “And you didn’t have to be… Keep groveling, you owe Evie that much.” She slammed the door when she got out. Expected to get barked at and slowed because he made no move. Just flicked his lighter open and closed there. Blue eyes on the steering wheel. 

   Exhaling into the frost, Max came around the car and jerked Billy’s door open. 

   “You suck at this. She doesn’t want you to do this self-deprecating game where you play the asshole victim. She wants a real apology.”

   “I don’t know what the fuck she wants me to say anymore.”

   “Maybe you don’t have to say anything to her.” Max paused. “Those girls and people at school, they’re mean to her. Aren't they? You’re the Keg King. Are you really going to let that happen?”

   “They’re just fucking assholes, ignore them.”

   “Easy for you to say being popular. What happened to Evie during the dance has been happening to her through all of high school. Don’t you see that? If you really cared, you’d do something to stop it.” The door shut on Billy before he could reply. 

   Max went up into the house, left him to stew on that until he followed her inside. Away from the snow and Evie’s penetrating eyes that were beginning to haunt him.

~~~~

Tensions are just shooting all directions with these two dorks. Thank you all so much for reading! Feel free to chat or ask about the taglist!!

TAGGED: @80sbxtch​ @nottherightseason​ @orxhidshavana​   @alagalaska​ @alongcamedolly​ @kellyk-chan​ @billy--hargroves​

[let-it-raines]

I’m married, I used to be a wedding planner, I’ve been to far too many weddings. All this said, I still struggle real hard to write a wedding. So, nonnie, I hope you like this! It was nice to get it out of my head and have it put in actual cohesive words, even if it took longer than I intended❤️

found on ao3 | here |

*I’m having to repost because something super funky was happening with the “keep reading” as can be seen in the screenshot of the ask. Sorry about that!*

-/-

June 19th, 2021

Ruth wants them to stay apart tonight.

It’s some kind of tradition or superstition, and as an athlete, Killian gets it. He does. He is all about doing the same stupid thing over and over again because it was happening on a day where something good happened. When he made it to his first post-season, he didn’t shave until the last ball was played. In 2018 when they made it to the World Series, he wore the same pair of socks every day. He washed them, but it was still the same pair of socks.

(He’s too particular about cleanliness not to wash things.)

But those were things he needed in order to convince himself that they were going to win, that he was going to be able to do it, and that everything was going to be alright.

He doesn’t need to spend the night away from his wife the night before their wedding.

The thing is that they can’t exactly tell anyone that they eloped over a month ago. It would break their family’s hearts, and he and Emma are committed to keeping that secret between the two of them.

That was their day, just them, and it’s not something to be shared.

He’s been wearing his wedding ring on a chain around his neck for the past month, and God, he can’t wait to get to put it on his finger tomorrow even if he’ll have to put it right back on the chain for games.

They likely shouldn’t have picked a wedding date right in the middle of baseball season, but this is the date that worked for everyone.

No game happening.

No work for Liam and Elsa.

Ruth could come to town.

And no one was so pregnant that they couldn’t attend.

(Anna told him that if they got married while she was eight months pregnant with twins she would murder him, so they obviously changed the original date.)

“Mom, I’m not doing that.”

“It’s tradition.”

“I stayed apart from David when we got married,” Mary Margaret adds in as they walk down the hallway after paying the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner.

“I’m staying in my own damn apartment,” Emma huffs. “I like my bed and my stuff, and I don’t want to have to sleep on the rock-hard bed in your spare bedroom.”

“Okay, well, you stay home, and Killian can stay at Liam’s.”

Emma stops walking and crosses her arms over her chest before briefly glancing at him. She is not happy, and if she didn’t love her family, he imagines there would be some kind of strangulation happening right about now.

Well, if there also wasn’t the threat of jail as well. That might also keep her from doing it.

“I appreciate you both looking out for tradition and any possible horrible things that may happen to us if we don’t stay apart,” Killian sighs, “but this wasn’t something we were planning on doing and neither of us are interested in it. If down the road we don’t work out, feel free to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Are you serious?”

“As anything.”

Killian glances over at Emma, at the small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. If he looks at her, he can ignore the disapproving stares of Mary Margaret and Ruth. It was Ruth who was insistent, but now, he might be a little more scared of Mary Margaret.

“Emma,” Ruth sighs, “won’t you please do this? It’s tradition, and it would mean so much to me to get to spend this night with you.”

Emma sighs and tilts her head up to look at the ceiling. She’s got on a short white dress tonight, and it flows off her body from the waist down, but it’s tight around her chest where the material barely covers her breasts. He’s been distracted by it all bloody night and the way that his mother’s ring hits in the concave between her boobs, but now as her neck is elongated, all he can focus on is the smoothness of her skin and the way her summer tan accentuates all of her features.

Beautiful.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Emma finally says. “I will see you both at nine tomorrow morning, and you will be with me until I walk down the aisle at six. That’s so much time, and I would much rather spend the night with Killian. I don’t think we’re going to be cursed.”

“Let the woman go,” David yells from the elevator door. “I’m ready to go to sleep.”

“David speaks the truth,” Killian laughs, reaching over to thread his fingers through Emma’s. “It’s been a long, wonderful day, and I cannot thank you both enough for it. Let’s all go home, though, get our beauty sleep. We’re all going to need it. There’s only so much editing the photographer can do.”

Mary Margaret and Ruth finally relent, and David manages to drag them out of the restaurant where they have been camping out for the last several hours, toasts given and delicious food eaten as half of the people they knew came up to he and Emma to congratulate them and talk about their excitement for tomorrow. The wedding has ended up being much bigger than either of them intended, mostly because of the sheer number of people they know and getting carried away with the help of Mary Margaret, Ruby, Elsa, and Anna. It’s honestly been insane and a whirlwind with the season taking up most of his time, and after they got married last month, neither of them have cared much about what this wedding will be like.

It’s a celebration with their friends and family, and if everyone else is happy, he will be too.

Though, he is excited to see Emma’s dress. He’s not seen it yet, but he knows he’ll find her beautiful in anything.

Killian tugs on Emma’s hand, and they start walking to the elevator, heading down to the lobby to get his car from the valet. There are photographers waiting outside, and he hears Emma groan. He squeezes her hand, wishing there was some other way to comfort her from the nuisance that are gossip reporters, but there’s nothing they can do now besides get his keys, get in the car, and go home.

“Was Ruth driving you crazy too?” Emma asks as they start slipping out of their clothes in their closet. “I know she means well, but oh my gosh, I never realized how much of a traditionalist she could be until the past few weeks.”

“I mean, it’s not unheard of for couples who already live together to stay apart the night of the wedding.”

“No, it’s not, but I still didn’t want to do it. I mean, have you slept on the bed in the guest room at David’s? It’s awful.”

“You could take the couch.”

“I promise they wouldn’t let me.”

Killian chuckles and hangs his shirt up before taking off his belt and his pants as Emma unclasps her bra. “Tomorrow you’ll wear the pretty white dress and carry a far too heavy bouquet, and everyone will be so amazed by your beauty that they won’t care that you kept bucking their traditions.”

“Getting a little cheesy there, Jones.”

“It happens sometimes.”

Emma shakes her head and bends over to grab one of his t-shirts. She doesn’t bother to hang up her dress or put away her bra or her shoes, and one day he will stop hoping that she’ll clean up her clothes.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Probably not.

He ends up picking up her clothes and putting them away after he’s changed into a pair of shorts, and he finds Emma in the bathroom taking off her makeup and washing her face. It takes her a little longer than usual to do it, and by the time she’s finished, he’s scrolling through Netflix trying to find something for them to watch as they fall asleep.

“You went ahead and got yourself comfortable, huh?” Emma laughs as she gets into her side of the bed and pulls the covers up to her chest.

“You took forever to take your makeup off.”

“Had to make sure there wasn’t any left. I’d definitely get, like, the biggest zit in the world, and believe it or not, I want the pictures to look nice tomorrow.”

“They could always airbrush it out. As long as it’s not too big. I was kidding about the photoshop thing earlier.”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, reaching over to gently shove him. “Did we bring any leftovers home?”

“No, but I know Scarlet took a box home. You could always call him.”

“Would it be crazy if I did that?”

“Yeah, love, yeah it would.”

“It was really good food.”

Killian puts the remote down and leans over to wrap his arm around Emma’s waist and pull her closer to him. She’s warm, even if her feet are cold, and he breathes in the lingering scent of her perfume as she settles against him.

“We have some food in the fridge. Or I can make you something.”

“None of that will be the same as Will bringing me the leftovers.”

Killian laughs into her neck and then kisses the skin there. “I know for a fact that you’re going to brunch in the morning, so I think you’ll be able to make it.”

“Don’t be jealous that my friends plan on me having better food than Liam plans on you having.”

“Well, maybe I’ll have to attend the brunch as well.”

Emma twists around in his arms, elbowing him and kicking him before she settles so that the tips of her nose brushes against his. “I’m so glad we got married at the courthouse. I mean, I’m excited to wear my dress and to have the big party, but I really liked that day.”

“Aye, me too.”

She presses forward to glide her lips over his, soft and slow, and neither of them are in a hurry to get anywhere. He loves when they get to be like this, when they have time to tease and explore and not be in a rush to get to a certain destination.

There’s always somewhere to be, something to do, a game to play, someone to talk to. There’s always a rush.

Right now, however, the only rush is the beating of his heart and the way that the woman in his arms makes him feel.

Frustrated and exasperated and so damn in love that he’ll pick up her shoes when she leaves them around, which is always.

When they come together, it’s in that same gentle, slow motion that they were following earlier. Emma’s hair is cascading down her back in long, soft waves, and when she bends down to mold her lips to his again, he shifts his hips up to keep their rhythm as his hands settle on her back sides and hold her down to him. Who knows how many times they’ve done this and how many times they’ll do it in the future? It’s the past and present all at once, but he doesn’t care to be in any moment other than this one.

Damn is he glad that she’s not staying at the Nolans’ tonight. He can’t imagine her being anywhere else other than here with him.

When he wakes in the morning, it’s to the softness of Emma’s lips pressing against his chest, her mouth tracing his skin. Slowly, Killian blinks his eyes open, a smile curving on his lips, and while he expects Emma to be still be naked next to him in bed, she’s not. Instead she’s clothed in a button-down and a pair of shorts, her hair freshly washed and her face bare of makeup so he can see her freckles.

They come out more in the summer, and he’s rather fond of them.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He mumbles, reaching over for her and pulling her back to him. She easily falls into him, resting half on top of his leg while his hands reach out for her. “It’s not time for you to go yet.”

“We were up pretty late there, twenty-nine, and you slept in. So, yeah, it’s time to go. Elsa said she’s almost here to come get me.”

Killian juts his lower lip out. He knows Emma will find it ridiculous, which is exactly why he does it. “We’re technically already married. Want to play hooky?”

“No,” she laughs, getting up to lean back down over him so she can kiss him. “I’ll see you at the end of that aisle.”

“Well, technically you’ll see me for the pictures beforehand.”

“Semantics.” She kisses him again, lingering this time. “I love you. I will see you later. You’re going to be the most handsome man there tonight.”

“I better damn well be. I love you, Emma.”

And then she’s getting up and walking away, picking up a large tote bag, a backpack, and her dress before she’s walking out the bedroom door.

What a lucky son of a bitch he is.

Killian doesn’t have anywhere to be until noon. None of his friends or his brother are calling and texting and badgering him to do things, so he gets up and gets dressed to go for a run. It’ll be hot later, June in New York not exactly pleasant weather, but this morning, it’s nearly perfect, even if he has to avoid a few photographers as he makes his way to the park. They’ve been worse than usual lately, the wedding putting them into overdrive looking for gossip and exclusives, and Killian’s doing his best to ignore them. He always has, especially when people are trying to attack Emma.

He is not going to let them ruin is mood today, not when he’s got miles ahead of him and a damn big party to attend tonight.

He runs for almost an hour. Technically today should be a pitching practice day for him, but Al took him out of the rotation so he’s only missing one game while in Spain instead of the two he was slotted to. He’ll have to do some kind of practice, but how many times does a man get to have a honeymoon?

Well, considering all goes well and all that.

He stops for coffee before he goes home, drinking it on the walk back, and he slips in the back entrance of his apartment complex before taking the elevator up and hoping into the shower the moment he gets inside. It’s like it’s any other day.

Except it’s not.

“Where are you?”

Killian jumps at the sound of Liam’s voice, and he quickly turns off the water and grabs a towel to tie around his waist. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re not still asleep.”

“It’s almost noon. Have I ever slept in that late?”

“All the time.”

“Since I was a teenager then?”

“Eh, maybe. Not that I know about, though, unless you had a late travel day. You going to put some clothes on?”

“You come into my place, unannounced, and you’re going to complain that I don’t have clothes on?”

“I’m your brother. That’s what I do. Now, come on, Elsa told me I should take you out for lunch. I apparently didn’t think about that.”

“You’re a spectacular best man.”

He shrugs. “I do what I can, which has mostly been keeping Addy and Lucy out of their dresses so they don’t stain them before tonight. Who puts kids in white?”

“Your wife picked out those dresses.”

“Of course she did,” Liam chuckles. “But seriously, finish getting ready. Robin is getting us some food, and we’re going to eat at the venue.”

“What? I don’t deserve to dine in?”

“Do you want to?”

“No, I’d much rather sit on the couch and eat.”

“Exactly. Let’s go.”

When they get to the pier, Robin, Will, Eric, August, Kris, Graham, and David are already there, food and drinks spread out across the table in front of them. They’re in the middle of some debate about Thursday’s game, Will arguing with Robin about him misreading one of Will’s signs, and they don’t notice when Killian sits down and grabs a bowl of pasta from the center of the table.

“Pleasant, don’t you think?” Killian asks David.

“Exactly how I would want all of my friends to be acting on a day when we’re all supposed to get along.”

“It’s worse if they’re also your coworkers.”

David chuckles and takes a sip of his water. “Did Ruth break into your house in the middle of the night to try to separate the two of you?”

“God, no,” Killian laughs. “And if she did, I’m sure she would have been in for quite the sight.”

“Please remember that you’re talking to Emma’s brother when you speak to me.”

Killian shrugs and smiles. “What? You don’t want to be having this conversation?”

“I want to be having anything but this conversation.”

“Okay, we can talk about last year’s Christmas when you – ”

“Jones, shut the fuck up.”

Killian chuckles and pokes his pasta with his fork. “No, Ruth didn’t come and get Emma in the middle of the night. I was almost convinced she and Mary Margaret would, so I’m thankful that she didn’t. Emma left so damn early this morning, though, that she might as well have stayed somewhere else.”

“A lot goes into them getting ready for today. Though, honestly, I’m pretty sure Ruby has all of them getting drunk on mimosas.”

“Oh, I would bet on that.”

“What are we betting on?” Will interrupts. “Are we betting that Emma doesn’t walk down the aisle tonight? Is she going to be a runaway bride?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Scarlet,” Robin mutters. “You can’t say shit like that.”

“What? We all know I’m joking. Emma is far too good for the man, but she loves him. She’s definitely going to show up…probably.”

Killian flips up his finger at Will and keeps eating his pasta. “I feel like I was much more supportive on your wedding day.”

“Oh, you were, but I like to switch things up. I keep it interesting.”

They keep eating and jokingly arguing and not agreeing on a single thing, but then they turn on the game tapes that most of them are supposed to be watching for Monday’s game. It’s like it’s any other day, all of them messing around and groaning about mistakes, except after a few hours, they start changing out of their lounge clothes and into black tuxes with crisp white shirts that they’re under strict instructions not to spill anything on. Emma is just across the hall from him now, and Ariel keeps walking over to make sure that nothing has been ruined.

Between Ariel, Mary Margaret, and Ruth, none of them have any room for error.

Maybe those three should be their coach instead of Al.

The photographer comes and gets Killian and all of his groomsmen around four, they take all of the pictures on the list that he and Emma made up, and then Killian is told to walk out onto the large deck that’s just outside the ballroom. The Hudson is right below them, an expanse of sparkling blue water that makes a spectacular backdrop, and he tries to focus on it even though he knows that he’s standing out here so he and Emma can take their pictures.

She’s been texting him on and off all day, little updates about how things are going, and it’s been odd knowing she’s just around the corner but not with him. And he would be a liar if he said he wasn’t curious what her dress looked like. He never thought he would be a man who cared about something like that, who thought that a dress could make any difference in how he looks at the woman he loves, but he knows that Emma loves this dress. If she does, that’s enough for him to look at her that little bit differently.

Like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, because to him, she is.

What a day for some sentimental thoughts.

“Hey, handsome,” she sighs, and he immediately turns around at the sound of her voice. “I know you love the water, but I don’t think jumping in is really an option right now.”

“I mean, I could, but this was a bloody expensive tux.”

“Be a shame to ruin it and all that.”

Killian’s finally able to look away from her face and the bright smile there to look down at her dress. It’s not a bright white, exactly. It’s off a little bit, and it hugs her until it gets to her waist where it loosens and begins to flow until it hits the floor. Pearls cover it, a few at the top and then more and more as his eyes scan to the bottom of her dress. It’s different than what he expected, but it’s Emma.

This is Emma.

And she’s gorgeous and radiant, and while he’d marry her again in a courthouse with no pomp and circumstance, he’s glad they get to do this too.

“You look – ”

“I know,” she finishes for him. “We clean up pretty well, Jones.”

“Don’t I know it?” He leans in and brushes his lips over her cheek, lightly so he doesn’t mess up her makeup. “All of our friends are staring at us from inside.”

“Is it creepy?”

“It’s terrifying.”

“Addy and Lucy are very excited. Have you seen them yet?”

“I haven’t had the honor, but I have talked to them on the phone several times. They want to know if they get to tear up your flowers.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I obviously told them yes, so you best watch out for that.”

“I’ll be on the look-out. You want to take some pictures until our faces hurt?”

“Obviously. It’s what I’ve dreamed of since I was a young lad wondering just what this day would be like.”

She gently pushes at his chest. “You had anything to drink there, twenty-nine?”

“I had one small glass of rum, which is nothing compared to the mimosa fest you went on.”

“Hey, now, that was mostly Ruby and Elsa. I, too, only had one glass. Wanted to make sure I’d be able to recognize you. You’re wearing almost the exact same thing as Liam. Wouldn’t want to marry the wrong Jones.”

“Don’t even suggest that.”

“Are you two going to make out now or what?” Ruby yells from the entryway. “Because I need to know which parts of Emma’s makeup I have to fix!”

“She’ll never change, will she?” Emma laughs, her smile as radiant as he’s ever seen it.

“Never.”

They seem to take pictures for hours, pose after pose with just the two of them before they add in the bridal parties and family and have ticked off everything on the list. Emma wasn’t kidding when she said their faces would hurt from smiling so much, and he knows that she has heels on so he imagines her feet are killing her. But soon enough, he’s having to leave Emma back up in the bridal suite while he lines up at the front of the ballroom, ready for Emma to walk down the aisle with all of these people looking at the two of them.

What a weird tradition.

But hey, he gets to marry Emma twice, and he can’t really complain about that.

-/- -/-

“How drunk is Kris right now?”

“Well, he’s starting talking about how much he loves ice, so I think he’s at least five drinks in.”

“Is it six-drink Kris that gets a little frisky?”

“Babe, he’s a married man and a father of two now. His tolerance dipped, and it’s now drink two where he gets frisky.”

“That would explain why he tried to touch my ass earlier.”

Emma laughs and moves her hand to gently shove Killian. His eyes crinkle with his smile, his summer tan making everything seem brighter, and she idly wonders if his face still hurts from smiling for pictures from earlier. Or, well, still smiling now. It’s got to be getting close to ten, and it doesn’t seem like anyone has left the reception. She can’t even remember a time where her face didn’t hurt or where her feet weren’t killing her despite the fact that she chunked her heels at least an hour ago.

It’s been a good day.

Like, really good.

She’s never really had an idea of what her wedding day would be like. It’s not something she imagined in much detail. Maybe it would be a small crowd, just her closest friends and family. This isn’t some extravagant thing, but it’s definitely much bigger than any sane person would call a small crowd. That’s all thanks to Ariel and her constantly coming up with people they forgot or Ruth asking if they could invite some of her friends since they all wanted to see her daughter getting married.

Emma’s heart still flutters every time she thinks about Ruth calling Emma her daughter.

But the extra people and flowers and lights really just make it one better, bigger party, and despite the fact that for awhile she kept getting pulled away to talk to everyone, she really hasn’t had to have that much interaction with the people who aren’t in her close circle.

That’s been nice.

Being able to dance with Killian and eat in a hidden room and not constantly be pulled apart at the seams has been that way too. Half the reason they got married at the courthouse was for fear that they wouldn’t be able to enjoy their wedding day, but that’s not at all what’s happened.

She’s happy. That still, somehow, surprises her sometimes, and she doesn’t want to take it for granted.

“You’re ridiculous, Jones,” Emma laughs, her hand sliding back to rest around Killian’s neck. They’ve had two slow songs in a row, and she’s enjoying the change of pace. “How much longer until I can get you out of this tux?”

His brows raise, and his smile turns salacious. “Look who’s getting frisky now.”

“I mean, I am expecting to get lucky tonight.”

“As you should be. Though, I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to get you out of your dress. Are you sewn into it?”

“There’s a small zipper on the side. Don’t break it.”

“Why? You planning on wearing this thing again?”

“I am obviously going to lounge around the apartment in it. No more sweatpants for me. Only gowns.”

“Seems practical.”

“I am always practical.”

Killian dips down and tugs her close as his mouth closes over hers. She can taste rum and cake on his tongue, and she appreciates the mixture of sweet and spice. His kiss doesn’t linger for long, but the feeling of it settles somewhere deep in her belly.

“I love you, my wife.”

“You just love calling me your wife.”

“I do. It’s got a nice ring to it. Makes me feel far more responsible than I am.”

Emma chuckles and shakes her head. He’s an idiot.

“I love you, too. Do you want to – ”

“Hey,” David interrupts, “can I borrow Emma for a minute?”

“What, mate?” Killian laughs, already letting go of her. “Do you not want to dance with me?”

David winks. “We’ll have our time later.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“Never, love.” Killian winks and starts stepping away. “Do you want another glass of wine?”

“I do. Oh, and one of those popcorn bags. The – ”

“The cake flavored kind, I know.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a popcorn bar at a wedding before,” David says as he takes Emma’s hands in his and pulls her close. The song is changing to something faster, more upbeat, and while everyone else is changing how they dance, they don’t. “That’s kind of ingenious. I’ve always thought most wedding food was stuffy.”

“Says the man who had the most classic wedding menu in existence.”

David shrugs. “I can’t help it that I didn’t know I could sneak in some classic stadium food but put a gourmet twist on it so we didn’t seem cheap.”

“Eh, screw wedding traditions. Most of them are outdated anyway.”

David smiles and then spins her around, gently letting her go before pulling her back in as laughter rumbles in her chest. Never let it be said that David Nolan doesn’t know how to dance.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way. I don’t remember if I got the chance to tell you that.”

“You did, but thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“What a roundabout way to say I am the most handsome man in this room.”

Emma rolls her eyes. Her brother is also an idiot.

“Maybe to Mary Margaret.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, “I guess I can allow you to think that your husband is the most handsome man in the room. How’s that feel, by the way? Any different?”

Emma hums and looks over David’s shoulder to see Killian already holding a glass of wine in one hand, some rum in the other, and a small bag of popcorn sticking out of his shirt as he talks to Will and Belle. He looks ridiculous, and she really should have thought more about having him carry three things.

“Not different,” she answers, trying to figure out what to say. She’s technically been married to Killian for over a month now, and she still hasn’t quite been able to articulate the feeling in her gut. “I don’t really know. I mean, we’ve been pretty much committed to each other from the beginning, and we’ve been living together for a year and a half. I feel like everything is the same, but it’s like…I don’t know. It’s like it feels more permanent that I get to have this family that I found.”

And that, she thinks, is exactly what she’s been trying to say this entire time.

Family.

She’s had David, Mary Margaret, and Ruth for a decade and a half now. She’s had Ruby and Graham for a little less time than that. Then came everyone from the team and all of their partners, including Liam and Elsa and their kids.

And Killian.

He’s her family. She’s known that for a long time now, but there’s something nice about it being official.

Mr. and Mrs. Killian and Emma Jones.

Some kind of official unit who pays joint taxes and argues over what’s for dinner and who has pictures of the two of them on the bookshelf and on the walls.

Never in a million years could she have imagined her life going this way, but it did.

And it really all started because David took her to a Yankees game when she was a teenager. It’s funny how life works like that.

“You deserve all of it and more, kid,” David whispers as he leans down to kiss her forehead. “Tell Killian I’ll steal him for a dance later.”

“Oh, I promise you he’ll somehow find you first.”

David lets go of her hands, and Emma maneuvers away from the dance floor to go get Killian. He’s still talking to Will and Belle, and when she walks up to him, he hands her the glass of wine, and she takes a sip while trying to figure out what the hell they’re talking about.

“He fucking misread my signal.”

Never mind. She knows exactly what they’re talking about.

“Scarlet,” Emma sighs, “just for tonight, let it go. You and Robin can keep having your lovers spat tomorrow when I am not in the country to hear about it.”

“I have an international plan. I can still call you.”

“He is not going to call you,” Belle promises. “I will make sure of it.”

“I know he still will, but maybe I won’t answer.”

“And after all the nice things I said about you today.”

“What nice things did you say about me today?”

“I said you looked beautiful and that you are definitely Killian’s better half.”

Emma smiles into her glass and glances over at Killian. He is simply shaking his head.

“That was last night,” Emma tells Will, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Emma,” Lucy interrupts, tugging on Emma’s elbow. She’s miraculously still got no stains on her dress, but her flower crown is a little worse for the wear. “Anna says that we can throw the confetti soon.”

“Yeah? Did she tell you what time, kid?”

“In thirty minutes.”

“Well, I will be sure to be ready for you to throw the confetti at me in thirty minutes, okay? Make sure to get a little on your uncle.”

“That’s what Daddy said too.”

“Hey,” Killian grumbles, “tell your father he can – ”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Emma laughs, turning back to Killian. “Do you think we can get Ariel to pilfer us a few more bags of this popcorn and send them home with us before we leave?”

“I’ve already had it arranged.”

“Ah, you’re knocking it out of the ballpark already, babe.”

“I see the awful sports-related puns never stop.”

“Never.”

Emma’s not really sure where the time goes. One minute she’s talking to Killian, and then the next she’s being pulled away by Ruby and Mary Margaret for some pictures. Then there’s another bite of cake and half a glass of water, and she somehow talks to everyone she knows in half an hour before they’re all throwing little pieces of confetti up in the air as she and Killian walk down a hallway on their way to the car that’s going to take them back to the hotel they’re staying in tonight.

Even the ride to the hotel seems to go in the blink of an eye, like they’re carefully putting a seatbelt over her dress one minute and then trying to figure out how to get her out of the car without the material dragging against the concrete the next.

Time does seem to slow, though, when they get inside the room and Emma can feel Killian’s lips against her neck. They’re warm, much like he is, and a shiver runs down her spine until it settles deep in her belly so that she can have some of Killian’s warmth as well.

It seems to be never-ending.

“On the side, you said?” Killian whispers against her skin.

“What?”

“Your zipper? Where is your zipper?”

“Oh,” Emma laughs, craning her head back against the door, “yeah, it’s on the side. Don’t yank on it. We don’t want a pearl disaster in here.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Emma’s chest heaves with want and with laughter, and it makes it difficult for Killian to get her zipper down. There was some kind of complicated part, and she ends up helping him, cursing under her breath when it gets stuck before they both get it down.

Team works makes the dream work and all that.

She really has to stop with the sports puns tonight, but her brain seems to always have them now.

Consequences of her job and her husband’s job, she guesses.

After her dress is finally off and carefully draped over a chair, they easily get Killian’s tux off, Emma’s fingers fumbling with the few buttons that are remaining before she tugs his pants down so that everything is resting on the floor. The bed is soft when she lands against it, but she really doesn’t have that much time to think about it when Killian’s head is suddenly between her thighs and she’s reduced to having no thoughts at all.

Damn, he’s good at that.

He’s also good when he sinks into her, warm and steady, and his hands interlace with her above their heads. It’s a gentle rhythm, loving and slow, and she savors the push and the pull, the give and the take, the want and the need.

The way that they fit together in some kind of far too cheesy, puzzle-like kind of way.

And tonight, there’s no added meaning to the way Killian thrusts into her. It’s the same as it almost always is, as it was when they first got together, when they fell in love, when they got married for real. It’s got her gulping for air as Killian kisses her and her hands squeezing his to hold onto the feeling of him for as long as she possibly can.

They’ve got forever, though, so maybe she doesn’t have to hold on too tightly.

Then again, why wouldn’t she when this is everything she never allowed herself to wish for?

-/-

-/-

As always, if you have a prompt for this universe (or another kind), send it to my inbox!

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[scribbling-stiks]

AAR - XXXVIII - Torturous Research

It can get intense and graphic, so read with caution after the "BOOM".

Also, there is a bit of a time skip. Only a day or so.

Russia wakes up slowly to a sliver of sunlight shining on his face. He had fun with the kids for the past few days.

But today, he and America had to leave to start their mission. 

Russia sighs.

At least they had some of their own fun before they lost their private room.

America shifts next to him before pulling him down into a kiss. Russia sloppily kisses back and runs his hands down America's back, tracing his spine down to his lower back and thighs. Russia enjoys messaging America's behind and America hums, feeling up Russia's chest before pulling away.

"You wore me out last night," America mumbles, staring up with half-open eyes.

Russia smirks. He admires the marks he'd left on America's collar bone. He pulls America back in for another kiss, and America returns the passion.

"It was fun," Russia teases

"A'course. You're good~," America purrs.

Russia smiles back and closes his eyes. America takes a deep breath before sinking against Russia, slotting his legs in between Russia's. America lays that way for a second before pulling away suddenly, sitting up quickly on the bed.

"S***!" America exclaims, the blankets pooling around his waist, "we need to get going!"

Russia nods and sits up. America grabs Russia's hand and pulls him up.

"Come on!!" America exclaims.

America pulls him into the connected bathroom to the room and they quickly clean up before America drags Russia downstairs to where Texas is waiting for them.

"Who is coming with us?" America asks.

"Dixie's in his truck with Netti right now. Then once we get in, we'll be on our way," Texas replies, "it'll be a while before we get there, so we'll have to figure out a game plan."

Russia nods.

"All y'all's stuff is already in the back of the truck. You'll have to thank Ginny and Pig-Pen for getting your bags packed and all that. Now come on, let's get going," Texas says, waving them forward.

America hops into the passenger seat and Russia sits in the back with Texas and Connecticut. Connecticut gives a welcoming smile which Russia returns.

"Hey, Dix. Didn't know you would decide to come along," America says, pulling on the seatbelt.

"Georgia can handle the house," Dixie says, gripping the steering wheel, "and I ain't gonna be standing back no more. Can't have y'all getting hurt and not being able to do anything about it. Now, where are we headed?"

"The closest one from here is a good few hours North," America says, summoning the glowing map he had drawn in the warehouse, "So just start going north and we'll be good. I'll figure out better directions with an actual map."

DIxie nods and pulls away from the house. After just a few moments of driving, the entire building is hidden from view. Russia smiles before turning back to see America excitedly talking Dixie's ear off and Dixie gently shaking his head with a bemused smile.

"Okay," Connecticut says, crossing their arms, "we need a game plan before we start storming bases. Otherwise, it's just gonna end badly."

"Damn right," Texas agrees, turning to face Russia.

"What?"

"You are the only country who might actually be able to plan something," Connecticut says, "Dad has never been a 'planner' and Dixie doesn't get any father than 'shoot now, questions later'. We were hoping you could help."

Russia goes quiet and stares out at the passing scenery.

"We should go to search for missing countries. We have basic maps, so we know where to start," Russia says.

"And how much damage are we causing?" Texas asks.

Russia shrugs.

"Do not get caught," Russia warns.

"Yes!" Texas celebrates, fist-bumping the air.

"Who are we looking for?" Connecticut asks curiously.

"Ukraine. There are others we will look for, but I want to find my brother," Russia replies.

"Sounds good to me," Connecticut says.

Russia looks back and spaces out.

"We're close."

"Hey, what's with the black car?"

"DAD!"

BOOM

...

Russia sits up a little and groans. He rubs his head, trying to ignore the pulsing headache, and he looks around only to see that he is completely surrounded by a thick glass reinforced with metal bars with small windows 3 meters above the ground with some deceiving slots in between some of the bars for sound to carry. There is a metal exam table bolted to the ground in the middle of the room, and it looks like it has spots of rust on the restraints. It smells like blood.

Russia looks around more and sees that each of them were in large, and separate cages. He looks a little closer and sees a brutalized Dixie curled up on the ground and covered in blood and bruises. Connecticut looks like they're about to cry and Texas looks beyond angry, but also scared.

"Who's next?" a voice asks.

Russia whips around to stare at a scientist that walks into the hallway in between Russia's cage and America's.

"NO!" America screeches, "DON'T TOUCH THEM! PLEASE!"

Russia looks up and sees America's arms hanging from chains, his wrists bound to the ceiling, and his ankles shackled. Blue magic audibly snaps around America's eye, but America shrieks in pain and his muscles seize. America howls before going limp, and blue-ish black smoke drifts up from the shackles. America's breaths come in ragged gasps.

The horror builds in Russia's chest a lump forms in his throat.

"Me. I'll go," Dixie says, sitting up, his face bloody and one of his eyes swollen shut.

"Oh, no. Not you. You've been beaten. You don't need this," the scientist says with a sickly sweet tone, looking back down at his clipboard.

The scientist looks up at Texas, "What about you?"

Texas glances at Connecticut with a conflicted gaze. The reality of the situation hits Russia like a truck and he leaps to his feet before he gives Texas the chance to answer.

"NO! No. Take me," Russia says, throwing his hand in the air.

The scientist hums for a moment before a smirk appears on his face that disappears quickly. Russia steels his face over and the scientist walks off.

"What's going on?" Russia asks Texas, who looks away.

"We're at one of the bases. They ambushed us," Dixie chokes, "They caught us by surprise and restricted Amy's magic. Amy already tried to escape, so they have him restrained, and Connecticut's magic is blocked here."

Russia examines the area and sees they aren't the only ones here, but that most of the other inhabitants looked almost catatonic in their own cells. Russia flinches when he hears the door squeak open. His eyes go wide and sprint for the exit.

But before Russia can make it out the door, he's struck in the stomach by something that sends bolts of electricity through his veins. He flys back and his legs shake violently. The scientist tsks and writes something down on the clipboard. Russia tries to push himself back to his feet, adrenalin rushing through his system and his heart skips a few beats as he tries to stumble around the scientist.

The scientist jabs him in the stomach again with what looks like a cattle prod and Russia collapses into a heap on the floor.

"You will learn to stay down," the scientist sneers.

Russia ignores the words and tries again to scramble to his feet, only for his legs to go limp against his will. Panic ravages his mind and he tries to crawl his way forward. Then several people walk in dressed as guards. They pick Russia up from the floor and strap him down to the table. Russia thrashes against them, but his arms are hard to control and his legs had gone numb.

"I will take another one to experiment on," the scientist suggests with a smirk.

Russia's frantic thrashing calms and he forces himself to lay back.

'Better me than any of them.'

"Good country," the scientist coos, stroking Russia's cheek.

Disgust fills Russia and he swallows back the nausea that follows.

"Where am I?" Russia spits, and the scientist chuckles.

"You're with me!" The scientist cackles.

"Who are you?" Russia asks, biting back his growing anger.

"I am the main researcher for our cause, of course! Now, lay back and keep quiet~"

Russia shuts his mouth and tries his best to look around until the scientist grabs a strap and yanks it. Russia's head flies back and hits the table with a CLANG.

"Now, let's explore the healing you countries have. Oh! I have been so excited to get my hands on another one of you!"

Something rolls into the room that is loud with clanging and metallic sounds. He can hear muffled shouting.

"What are you doing?!" Texas shouts, his tone horrified.

The scientist shoves a gag into Russia's mouth and Russia swallows back the vomit creeping up his throat.

The cloth tastes like old blood and vomit.

Russia stares with wide eyes and tries to figure out what was about to happen, but the metal things that he hears clambering around remain out of his view. Then something pierces the back of his hand. His back arches in agony and he screams. The smell of burning flesh permeates the air.

It feels like his hand is being thrust into a flame, and he feels nails being buried into the back of his hand. His thrashing had loosened the restraints enough to turn his head and he sees the scientist with a sadistic grin poking a red hot nail into Russia's hand and fingers. The scientist puts the nail aside and begins writing while closely examining the wounds.

"Interesting..."

The scientist prods at the throbbing wounds with gloved hands and pushes the flesh apart as it tries to stitch itself back together. Muffled screams fill Russia's room and Russia's face streaks with tears. His hand burns horribly and throbs with every heartbeat.

"Flex your fingers," the doctor demands.

Russia tries, but stars dance in his eyes.

"Do it!" the doctor demands and a piercing pain burns through Russia's hip.

Russia wails and his vision goes white. He clenches his hand and the burning recedes, and the hole throbs as it is exposed to the air. He wheezes and tries to blink away his tears.

"Russia!" Russia hears America cry out.

Russia's head whips around. To his left was America, who screams and cries hysterically. To his right is the doctor. In front of him is the frozen faces of the states staring up at him horrified.

'I can't let this happen to them.'

He bites the cloth in his mouth to keep from crying out while the doctor puts the nail back on the table.

"Bring it in," the doctor calls.

Someone walks in and he hears America shrieks. Russia spins around to stare at one of the guards walking in with a large, steaming pot. Texas begins shouting obscenities and Connecticut begins trying to bargain with the guards.

"Stop," the doctor says before leaning over Russia's face, his eyes dead except for an evil, sadistic gleam.

"Well, you have two choices. One, you're drenched in boiling water."

Russia's heart drops.

"Or we could make one of the others take your place."

Russia begins hyperventilating at the thought of the pain.

"So, what'll it be?"

"Russ!" Texas shouts desperately, "I can take it! I'll take it! Please!"

'No. I will not let you get hurt if I don't have to.'

Russia stares the doctor in the eye.

"Option one?" the doctor asks, and Russia nods, determined.

The doctor giggles.

"Alright!" the doctor cheers, a horrible smile on his face.

Russia is blinded by searing pain as the scalding water begins burning away the skin on his chest and stomach. He screeches and thrashes as the burning tunnels into his skin. The doctor begins scratching at him and Russia throws his head back against the table, not seeing anything but stars.

Russia can faintly hear America screeching incoherently. He turns his gaze to America, who looks inconsolable, sobbing and thrashing against the restraints.

'Better me than them. Than him.'

Russia's surroundings begin to fade away as the doctor begins taking samples and taking notes. Russia feels his chest and stomach skin go completely numb and the doctor continues to prod at the injuries. He stares blankly, his mind spinning with pain.

'Want to find him.'

Russia stares up at America, who cries and screams into the empty air, the cuffs around his wrists smoking.

'He's sad.'

'I don't want him to be sad.'

"Meri?" Russia tries, but the cloth muffles it to the point that it doesn't make any sense.

America looks up at him and more tears gather in his eyes.

'Oh no.'

'Am I making him sad?'

"I'm sorry," Russia tries to say.

America's head whips up and stares forward with tears before America begins to throw himself around the room against the chains, screaming in rage. Russia's eyelids grow heavy but he forces them back open, trying to watch through his double vision.

The chains snap and Russia is blinded by a bright blue light and he sees America slams against the walls. The doctor didn't seem concerned at first until the glass shatters and Russia hears a horrible scream. A scream of anger, pain, and grief.

America summons his scythe and slices the cages open, breaking Dixie, Texas, and Connecticut out of their restraints before rushing into Russia's room. The guards try to take him down, only to be sliced in half.

Their pieces scatter along the floor and they ooze blood across the floor.

Connecticut summons throwing knives and pins the doctor to the wall by his hands. They laugh sadistically.

America leans over Russia and begins pumping magic into Russia. A thick sheet of magic surrounds his injuries and Russia stares up, watching America's magic begin to flicker in his eye. America's eyes begin to fall, but he scowls and continues to shove as much magic as he could manage into his efforts. Russia feels his pain begin to fade and the waxy skin on his chest began to rebuild itself.

Connecticut cuts Russia's restraints and removes the gag. Russia turns over and vomits before falling back onto the table. America begins shaking.

The cuffs are vibrating and smoking horribly.

"Are you okay?" Russia mumbles.

America's breathing is labored and he trembles, his eyelids fall unevenly. The magic flickers, but the sheets of healing magic remain consistent.

"Dad, you have to stop!" Connecticut demands.

"No! I let this happen!" America wails.

"You're killing yourself!" Dixie yells, trying to pull him away, "STOP!"

America refuses and continues forcing magic into Russia, but the magic that had been in his working eye fades away.

"*America?*" Russia mumbles.

America's magic begins to spark wildly and America sways. He leans against the table before crumbling. Russia tries to sit up, but screams. The hole in his hip throbs and his skin burns. He falls back and breaths heavily.

"We have to go!" Connecticut says.

"No," Russia interrupts, "we have to find anyone else who is here."

"But-"

"No!" Russia screams, biting back his cry of pain, "this can not be for nothing!"

Texas and Dixie glance at each other and nod.

"Go," Dixie says with a dark look, "and take care of them. They deserve it. And grab the guns."

The states smirk and run off, and he hears screaming and gunfire under their running footsteps. Dixie stands over them, trying to prop America up in a more comfortable position.

Russia lies back, trying not to aggravate his injuries any further, feeling completely helpless.

~

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[thewhumperinwhite]

FBI AU: Rescue

Okay so. I wasn’t gonna post this because it’s an au of a work I’m planning to actually finish and publish, but then I thought, hold on, this is several thousand words of whump that will otherwise not see the light of day, so why the hell not.

TW for: Aftermath of noncon, bad gun safety practices 

Inside, the warehouse is not open like he had expected; the front hallway is dark and close and snakes off into the darkness in opposite directions.

“Left or right?” Rona hisses, pointing her gun down the right hallway.

“I’ll take left.” She salutes him half-mockingly with the hand holding the gun, which is a stupid fucking thing to do, but he’s too pumped up with adrenaline to focus on scolding her. “Meet me back here in fifteen minutes and don’t engage if you can help it. I don’t like this.”

Rona scoffs a little, and takes off running before he can yell at her. He growls and starts down the hall, concentrating on staying as light-footed as possible.

He tries two doors and finds them empty and also--baffling. The hallway is dank and dirty, but each room is sparse but elegantly furnished, sparklingly clean, and filled with candles.

The room at the end of the hall is bigger than the others, with a huge black-draped bed and a marble tile floor, and he thinks it’s empty too until he sees the still pale shape against the far wall.

There’s a teenage boy shackled to the wall across the room. His arms are bound above his head and his face is a mess of bruises and blood. There’s a thick leather collar around his throat but other than that he’s naked.

“Jesus Christ,” Simon chokes, shoving his gun back in its holster and stumbling forward.

The boy doesn’t move when Simon kneels in front of him, but when Simon reaches out a shaking hand to look for a pulse his head jerks back and then he folds in on himself, raising his knees to his chest and lowering his head as much as he can--Simon sees that the collar around his neck is attached to a heavy chain, though it currently hangs slack halfway down his bare back before leading up to a hook on the wall above him. His throat is a mess of bruises and cuts.

He tries to say something through his ruined and bloody lips, but it comes out as mush, and Simon realizes with a sick jolt that he’s crying, his eyes half-shut and glued to the blood-caked marble floor.

“Shh, kid, it’s okay, I swear it’s okay,” Simon says, and the boy stiffens immediately at the sound of his voice. “Listen, I’m an FBI agent, I’m gonna get you out of here. Can you walk?”

The boy looks up jerkily, but his left eye is swollen shut and his right so glassy Simon doesn’t think he can see through it. He’s shaking.

 “Can you understand me,” Simon says, trying to keep his voice steady. The lower half of the kid’s face is torn open like he’s been punched in the mouth more times than Simon wants to think about, with fucking knuckle-dusters or something. He tries to say something again but it comes out as almost a gurgle, and Simon forces down a wave of panic because him losing his shit now is exactly the last thing this kid needs.

“Okay,” he says, and he tries to sound gentle but he knows he’s speaking low and fast and the kid is still shuddering and breathing in harsh gasps. “Okay, I’m gonna get you out of here, we’re gonna get you all taken care of, you just stay with me and don’t pass out, aright?” He looks up at the manacles around the kid’s wrists, thick metal and caked with blood, a lot of it dry but a lot of it still dripping wet; the skin of the kid’s upper arms is torn open from struggling, hard, for a long time. Simon’s panic kick’s up a notch under the mental barrier he’s hastily thrown up around it. How long has the kid been here? He’s too thin, Simon thinks, but so bloody and beaten Simon can’t tell much else for sure. There seem to be bruises and cuts over every inch of him--the boy makes a faint noise that’s almost a whimper and curls in on himself like he can feel Simon’s eyes on him, and Simon feels a rush of sick shame, feels dirty and shaken. He snaps his eyes back onto the boy’s bloody wrists.

The manacles are thick, too thick for him to break safely, not without tools, but they’re held to the wall by a clip with a simple release and Simon opens it with shaky hands and pulls the boy’s arms free of the wall gently--but the boy reflexively tries to yank his arms down and then makes a horrible wet sob of pain and Simon has to catch him before he collapses over sideways.

“Shit, okay, don’t rush it, I think your shoulder is dislocated,” Simon blurts, and the boy curls in on himself, making a low harsh noise in the back of his swollen throat, his head falling on Simon’s chest. Simon freezes for a second and then forces himself to stay in his skin and yanks his suit jacket off to drape it around the boy’s shoulders. The boy’s working eye goes even wider and fills with tears in earnest; if anything, he’s shaking worse now.

“Can you walk?” Simon says urgently, keeping a hand on the shoulder he thinks is doing okay and trying to maintain eye contact, though he’s still not sure how much the boy is seeing.

The boy’s wide glassy eye clears a tiny bit and he tries to speak again, but all that really happens is more blood dribbles down his chin. Shaking like he’s about to fall apart, he shakes his head and chokes out, “M--muh---mmm---” Simon can see him slipping back into complete panic and he shakes his head quickly.

“You’re okay, it’s okay, I get it, don’t try to talk. Kid.” He looks the kid in the eye, and tightens his hand just a little on his shoulder until the kid looks back. “Will you let me carry you? I want to get you out of here but I’m not going to touch you in any way you don’t want me to, do you understand?”

For a second the boy just stares at him, bloody lips parted, and Simon thinks he’s going to have to grab him without his explicit consent and he really, really doesn’t want to do that--and then the boy reaches out to grab at his shirt front with his bound hands, almost sobbing.

“Please--”  he chokes out, “Please, please.”

“Okay, thank you so much,” Simon says, trying again to be soothing but realizing that there’s no way he can do this without having to put his hands on this boy in places that are going to make them both miserable. “I don’t want to hurt you, but we have to get out of here now, do you understand? Can you help me out?” The boy nods desperately. “I’m going to move you, and I think it’s going to hurt, but I need you to be as quiet as you can, even though it’ll be hard, can you do that?”

The boy nods, and clutches hard at Simon’s shirt, all his muscles visibly taut in expectation of the pain Simon knows he’s going to cause whether he wants to or not. Simon takes a deep breath, holsters his gun--he feels naked without it, and then realizes that he’s probably never felt really naked in his whole life--and scoops the boy up as carefully as he can.

The boy doesn’t make a sound, but his hands tighten convulsively on Simon’s already-bloody shirt and any slight color that might have been in his face immediately leaves it; he’s shaking hard.

Simon loops an arm around the boy’s back, wincing at the sharpness of his spine, and the other arm around his hips, and he knows that’s the worst; he can feel the blood soaking through the jacket draped over the boy and knows he’s been hurt in places Simon doesn’t want to think about, badly. The boy’s hips are already too bony because he’s visibly starving but one of them is too sharp and jagged and feels out of place; it’s either broken or dislocated and Simon can’t not jostle it.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly as he gets to his feet, and the boy doesn’t respond, just lets himself be lifted, holding onto Simon’s shirtfront like it’s a lifeline, which it kind of is. His good eye is clenched shut and his face is contorted in pain, but he still isn’t making a sound.

Action heroes always know how to relocate limbs, Simon thinks desperately, but in real life they only teach you how to kill people. The boy weighs less than Simon’s gym bag does, almost less than his gun, and moving fast is the only help he can offer right now.

Rona buzzes in his ear, and Simon jumps slightly, having forgotten she existed for a second. The boy goes stiff as a board at the sudden noise; Rona has never had a comforting voice, even divorced from radio static, and it’s probably loud enough for the boy to hear but not understand.

“Got the girls; they’ve got a key to the brother’s room somehow. Haven’t seen the leader, can’t guarantee he won’t be in there. They think the brother’s life might be in danger. What’s your status?”

Simon swears. “Rona, you need backup. There’s a kid in here; he’s in bad shape. I’ve gotta get him out, now.”

 “They didn’t say anything about any kid,” Rona says, sounding alarmed, and Simon hears her relaying the information to the girls who’ve been in contact with the bureau, though he can’t hear their response. It kind of doesn’t matter. Simon lowers his head and half-jogs back to the door of the room, careful to look up and down the hallway before he ducks into it; no sign of anybody, they must all be where Rona is. 

“What’s he look like,” Rona says sharply in his ear.

“He looks like he’s dying,” Simon hisses back, “what the fuck do you want me to say?”

Rona says something in reply, something about the girls thinking he was dead, but Simon doesn’t hear it because the boy is clutching at his shirt again, his good eye slightly clearer than before, and trying to speak. Simon leans in to hear him; his voice is still garbled with blood.

“Did you find Karim?” the boy says, Simon’s pretty sure; he sounds younger than he did before, less pained and more scared. “Tell him--tell him Micah didn’t--kill me,” he rasps, and Simon can see the effort draining what little energy--possibly what little life--he has left. There’s still blood coming out of his mouth.

Simon didn’t get a good sense of the names involved; he’s trying to remember if Karim was the name of the brother and that’s why he passes the doorway without looking and something hits him in the face like it wants to cave his head in.

Simon falls against the wall hard, just able to keep his feet by bracing himself with his arm; he hears a strangled scream that’s probably the boy hitting the floor broken hip first and because he’s an idiot he scrambles for his gun before he can see and the thing that hit him hits his arm next, hard; Simon doesn’t think it breaks but it goes entirely numb and when he stumbles and gasps the gun disappears easily from his hand. When his vision clears the first thing he sees is the muzzle of his gun, pointing at his forehead.

Behind the gun is a giant, pale-faced and white haired, like an albino. He’s wearing a crisp suit and his shoulders are cartoonishly broad. He keeps the gun trained on Simon and while he’s regarding Simon with nothing but blank curiosity he reaches down without looking and takes the chain attached to the boy’s collar and hauls him up to his knees, lifting his weight with easy cruelty.

The boy follows the collar upright, since he has no choice, clutching at it with his bound hands, just barely able to hook his fingers over the leather; Simon can hear his breath coming in harsh gasps and he jerks forward without thinking, and the big man very calmly pushes the gun forward into Simon’s chest; Simon forces himself still, staring up at him. The man is half-kneeling, and Simon is half-collapsed against the wall; the man is holding the chain just high enough that the boy cannot rest on his knees, and Simon knows the boy can barely breathe.

“Who are you?” the man says, sounding only mildly curious.

Simon blinks blood from his eye. He had been assuming the man had hit him with a crowbar or something, but in the absence of a visible weapon other than Simon’s own gun, he realizes it might have just been his fist.

“Put him down and we’ll talk about it,” Simon says, his heart thudding against the muzzle of his gun. 

The man eyes Simon speculatively, and then he drops the chain without warning and the boy falls to the floor in front of Simon, gasping; his head is almost touching Simon’s knee, and he immediately tries to push himself up onto his hands; Simon can see blood splattering on the floor when he coughs.

“Don’t move,” the big man says, directed down at the boy, who goes still, not looking at either the man or at Simon. “Did you call this man? How?”

The boy doesn’t look up; he coughs again, either because he’s trying to answer or just because his throat must be an utter ruin by now.

“Listen to me,” Simon says, trying to keep his voice flat and not move suddenly. “I’m with the FBI. We have backup coming automatically if we don’t check in every fifteen minutes. You don’t want to shoot me.”

“Fifteen minutes is a long time,” the man says, not moving the gun from where it sits against Simon’s heart. “Little boy,” he says, still making eye contact with Simon, “do you know why he is here?”

The boy lifts himself off the ground with his bound arms, on one elbow to keep weight off his dislocated shoulder. He doesn’t seem to be able to speak--blood is pouring from his ruined lips--but he manages to shake his head slightly.

The big man looks down at the boy, and sighs slightly. “I told Trent not to keep you. Knew you’d bring trouble.”

Trembling with the effort of holding himself up, the boy lifts his head to look up at the man. Simon starts slightly at the sight of his face, ruined lips twisted in hatred; it’s more lucid than he has been so far.

“Shithead,” he snarls around a mouthful of blood, “like you didn’t like fucking me as much as he did.”

The big man doesn’t look offended; his face doesn’t change when he raises his fist--Simon swears and jerks forward but not nearly fast enough--and slams it into the boy’s temple like a hammer. The boy goes completely limp, on the floor in front of Simon, blood still pouring from his mouth. The man looks down at the boy for a moment, and then raises his hand again.

Simon can’t help lunging forward to catch his arm. “Bastard, don’t--”

Simon doesn’t really hear the shot; there isn’t enough break after the muzzle flash and then the pain tears the world apart; he rocks back against the wall, clutching at his shoulder as blood spurts from it.

The man is halfway to his feet by the time Simon can see again, the gun level with Simon’s head. He looks very mildly irritated.

“Dunno what’s going on,” the big man says, cocking the gun again. “I’ll figure it out without--”

The big man’s head explodes.

When he hits the floor Simon can see the end of the hallway behind him, and there’s Rona, standing with a pale woman with red hair and a look of controlled nausea on her face. Rona keeps her gun trained on the big man even though he is very clearly dead; the redhead half-runs forward without glancing at him.

“It is him,” she says, alarmed, and reaches down toward the boy’s limp body. Simon knocks her hand out of the way, hard, trying to shield the boy with his body and aware mostly all he’s doing is dripping even more blood on him. Simon’s jacket fell from the boy’s shoulders when he first dropped him; he gropes for it and covers him again. 

“Who the hell are you?” Simon growls, wanting to wrap himself around the boy but not wanting to jostle him. The woman looks at him, like an animal about to flee.

 “That’s Venita Bones, Blake,” Rona says, coming to stand beside the woman. “She knows who he is.”

 Venita is looking down at the boy, like she’s vaguely sick. She shakes her head. “I don’t, really. His name’s Art. Karim loves him. That’s all I know. We thought Father--” Her face twists. “Micah. We thought Micah killed him.”

 “He did his best,” Simon spits, and glares at Rona. “Where’s the goddamn paramedics?”

“They’re on their way,” Rona says, lowering her gun. “I called in the S.W.A.T. guys when it sounded like you weren’t coming. They hauled Micah Trent out already.”

“Did you find the other kids?” Simon says reluctantly, easing the boy up off the floor. He’s limp as a ragdoll, but there aren’t any obvious big wounds to put pressure on, just probably weeks of torture and starvation; the paramedics need to get here now.

Rona nods stiffly. “They’re headed to the station. Karim Mun’s already with the medics; starved himself half to death. Charity Bridges is dead.”

Simon looks up at that. “Trent killed her?”

Rona’s face twitches slightly. Venita Bones is the one who answers, quietly.

“Yes,” she says. “He pulled her in front of him. She loved him the most, so she let him.”

Rona glares at the ground briefly. Simon doesn’t ask what Trent pulled Charity in front of. He gathers the boy into his arms instead and then squares his shoulders to face the task of standing. Rona snorts.

“You’re shot, idiot,” she tells him gruffly, and reaches forward to take the boy from him. Simon doesn’t particularly want to let go--the boy said he could touch him; Rona didn’t ask--but his shoulder is screaming and he doesn’t really have a choice. Rona’s smaller than Simon is but the boy weighs about ten pounds and his weight isn’t a problem, and to her credit he can see that she’s holding him carefully, though her face hasn’t changed. “Get up, we’re getting you both in an ambulance.”

Simon stumbles out into the air behind Rona and Venita Bones; the sun finished going down while he was in that fucking crypt and he takes a second to breathe in the night air before he wades toward the ambulance behind Rona.

There’s four ambulances gathered, which is lucky; Micah Trent isn’t anywhere to be seen, apparently already carted away, but there are plenty of uniformed officers. Simon knows immediately which members of the small crowd are Coven members; they’re all dressed preposterously, and they’re all very attractive, which he guesses is what someone like Micah Trent looks for in a sex-cult member. An old-fashioned blonde bombshell and a pretty girl with ludicrous curly pigtails are seated inside the open door of a big S.W.A.T. vehicle, the pigtail girl with a tinfoil blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and they stand when they see Venita coming; she wades through the officers in their direction. The ambulance nearest the S.W.A.T. vehicle is open, and there’s a boy inside who is very obviously the pigtail girl’s brother; they must be Karim and Selina Mun. He’s hooked up to an I.V. drip already, sitting on the stretcher inside the ambulance, face hollow-cheeked and drawn, but when he looks in their direction he goes white and jerks to his feet, though he immediately stumbles.

“Art,” he says, his voice wild, and the paramedic who hooked him up has to grab him by the shoulders to keep him from leaping out of the van, tubes in his arm or no. He locks eyes with Rona, frantic. “Is he alive?”

Rona doesn’t answer, just hops up into the second ambulance with the boy in her arms, already issuing orders to the paramedics inside despite them definitely knowing more about saving lives than she does. Simon lets the medics come to him, staring up at Karim, trying to read his distress. It looks genuine enough, but that doesn’t mean anything about how much of this is his fault.

“Did you bring him here?” Simon says as the paramedics peel his hand and then his shirt away from the wound in his shoulder, and Karim Mun jerks back like Simon’s hit him, stricken.

“Please save him,” Karim Mun says, before the paramedics glare at Simon and close the ambulance, and it looks like that’s all he’s going to get.

[romana73]

REYLO FANFIC: YIN AND YAN. 3 PART

WRITER: Romana73 TIME: One year after Star Wars. Episode VIII. The Last Jedi THEME AND FANDOM: Star Wars RATING: Explicit TITLE: Yin and Yan CATEGORIES: M / F COUPLES: Kylo Ren / Ben Solo and Rey CHARACTERS: Rey, Kylo Ren / Ben Solo, Anakin Skywalker (nominated), BB - 8, Knights of Ren, Chewbacca, Darth Vader (nominated), Finn, General Hux, Han Solo (nominated), Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker, Poe Dameron, Rose Tico, boys from Canto Bright, Snoke (nominated), various Resistance and First Order fighters WARNINGS: The characters, the world and the stories of Star Wars AREN’T MINE AND DON’T BELONG TO ME, but they are created and owned by George Lucas, Lucasfilm, Disney, J.J. Abrams and Rian Johnson and the actors who play the Star Wars characters and their stories. I’M NOT IN ANY WAY LINKED TO THESE PEOPLE AND CINEMATOGRAPHIC HOUSES. I DON’T KNOW NO ONE OF THEM and I’M IN NO WAY IN CONTACT WITH THEM WARNINGS 2: violence, also at the language level. The starting idea of ​​this story derives from a leaks I read last year and which struck my imagination CHAPTER I can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/189784450126/reylo-fanfiction-yin-e-yan CHAPTER II can be found HERE: https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/189959876431/reylo-fanfic-yin-and-yan-part-2

CHAPTER III

Rey remembered attacking Kylo with all herself, animated by a dull anger, until then, she didn't know she was feeling. Sometimes her vision blurred, while in her mind images of workouts she had spied on boy 's head swirled when they had joined hands on Anch - To, and now her body repeated these moves diligently and precisely. Nonetheless, Kylo dodged her shots with calm, dexterity and precision. A couple of times, Rey had blocked Kylo's lightsaber by raising one hand and using Force, but he had twisted her move against her, blocking her lightsaber. Clash had continued in that way, until a strong pain had flooded Rey's brain throwing her on the ground in excruciating spasms. Rolling on the ground with her head in her hands, she had had time to notice  Kylo was in same condition, before someone lifted her up and took her away. Rey had seen her other companions throw themselves on Kylo, ​​immobilize him and tie his wrists with anti - Force handcuffs. - Where did you get those?- Rey had heard herself babbling before she passed out. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Rey had woken up the next day, lying in her quarters bed. Sitting up, she had looked around until her eyes had fallen on tray covered with a white napkin, resting on bedside table next to bed. Raising cloth, Rey had found several dishes, a bottle of water and a glass with pills next to it. She had shaken her head annoyed. She felt groggy and didn't like it. Raising a hand to her head, Rey had inhaled deeply, until he calmed down and concentrated. Images of clash of last night had infiltrated nebulous blankets occupied her brain, until they became increasingly clear. Kylo Ren! They had caught him! How had they succeeded? Had they really taken it? Rey had expanded her senses and jumped as her eyes filled with tears. Leia's pain had overwhelmed her like a Tsunami. Rey had placed a hand on her chest as her breathing became labored. Swiftly swallowing pills on tray and opening water, to attach herself to the bottle, swallowing enough water to knock them down, Rey had jumped out of bed and rushed to General Organa's door. - Leia! - Rey had run into room, throwing herself at woman's neck, sitting at table in her room, her eyes closed, one hand resting on her forehead. Leia had barely had time to lift her head, open her eyes and turn to side where girl was, before finding Rey in her arms. Old woman had held Rey tight. -…it's true? Is... is he here? - Rey asked hesitantly.

Pain she read in Leia's eyes was impressive. Princess had nodded, silent and sad. Crouching in front of her, Rey had taken woman's hands in her own, looking at her sympathetically. -Where is he now? -  She asked sweetly. - In anti - Force cell, below us. He didn't want to meet me - Leia had sighed tiredly. -All right. He will want to meet me then - clutching Leia's hands once again, Rey had stood up, heading for exit. A step away from door, Rey had stopped, turning to Leia. - Since do we have anti - Force tools? - She asked, frowning thoughtfully. Leia had shrugged. -I don't know about handcuffs. As for anti-Force cell... Luke had built it for safety. Emperor and our father were dead, but nobody assured us there were no survivors or crazy cells... not to mention someone could always fall on the Dark Side... - Leia's voice had cracked, while she had lowered her shiny eyes on hands she held in her lap.

Rey had nodded, smiling.

- Rest, General Organa. I'll take care of rest - Rey had brought an outstretched hand to her temple, slamming her heels before going out. Leia had reacted to hoax with a faint smile and Rey had nodded. Girl had just left room, when a excruciating pain had caused her to crouch on the ground, her mouth distorted in a grimace of pain, without being able to make a sound. Rey had brought both hands to her chest, closing her eyes and tightening her eyelids, waiting for pain to pass. Someone was torturing Kylo Ren and Leia didn't have to know. Woman was too much sad and Rey feared she wouldn’t stand news. As soon as pain had passed, Rey had run to underground prisons. He was in first cell. Rey had widened her eyes in horror at seeing scene appeared before her. C3PO ran from one side of cell to other like a hen, shaking his head and murmuring in agitation what they had done. R2 - D2 turned his head left and right, following C3PO movements. Poe and Finn were standing in front of Kylo, ​​hanging by arms on ceiling thanks to a pair of long and massive chains. Kylo's wrists were tight in thick, narrow iron rings, his head dangled on left side, his long, wavy black hair covered half his face, like a black wing of a crow, his eyes were closed, his skin shone with sweat. Rey's eyes had moved to new Supreme Leader’s cheast, where she had also felt pain. Young woman had jumped. A deep diagonal wound ripped through man's skin. Blood rivulet ran down his skin, smearing belt of his black leather pants and dripping on the floor beneath him. Rey had felt her breathing gasp as she frantically looked around. Eventually she had noticed Finn was holding a long bloody blade in his hand. Acting instinctively, Rey had reached out to cell lock, trying to blow it up using Force. Not only had nothing happened, but a kind of invisible electric shock had hit her palm, causing her to withdraw and scream. These movements had attracted two adventure companions attention . Finn and Poe both turned their heads towards her. - R-Rey ... - Finn stammered, widening his eyes and tightening even more blade he held in his hand. Rey had noticed beige linen shirt worn by man was stained with blood splashes, her friend was breathing heavily and his pupils were dilated. Poe wasn’t in better shape and he had stared at her as if a horn had come out in her forehead. - What are you doing here?- Poe had asked, genuinely surprised to see her in prisons. -Let me in!- Rey had roared. - Now! - She added, narrowing her eyes trying to influence them. - Are you crazy? Were you really trying to manipulate us? Do you remember this area is anti - Force and then... were you doing it for HIM? - Poe had finished, in a scandalized tone, blinking, pointing to Kylo with his thumb, but staring at her. R2-D2 had rushed to Rey's aid, opening cell door. Rey had come in like a tornado. In silence, she had run her eyes over Kylo's hung and exhausted figure. Planting her feet on the ground, legs spread and chest out, Rey had turned to Finn and Poe. -You are mad! Since do we torture people? We must be better than them! - Rey had thundered. -You can't blame us! Kylo has hurt us all! Poe was tortured, I was seriously injured, you ... - Finn reacted animatedly, gesturing furiously.

Rey was surprised.

- Fortunately you aren’t Force sensitive, otherwise ... - Rey had murmured, becoming sad to see her friend in those conditions. Finn's neck veins had swelled, his face was red, his eyes out of his sockets. Rey had a pang in heart when she saw her friend, usually sweet and cheerful, overwhelmed with anger and hatred. This was also Kylo’s fault, ​​of his decision not to end war and First Order. -If he had been Force sensitive, today he would surely have fallen into Dark Side... - Kylo's tired voice had a cavernous and sarcastic tone.

Poe moved threateningly towards him.

- Shut up, damn you! - Pilot had shouted.

Rey stood in front of him, with open arms, blocking him.

- That's enough! He just wants to provoke us! Come back, I think about it - she said firmly.

Rey had half-closed her mouth, with a surprised expression when she saw two men move an inch, staring at her suspiciously.

- Kylo said you have helped him to kill Snoke and you became his ally... - Poe explained, answering her silent question. -That's why I hit him. I know I didn't have to do it, sorry, but I'm tired of his lies! Especially when it concerns you. I thought he just wanted to muddy you, but now you're defending him ... - Finn had spoken ardently, going out on the end, as if he were disappointed by Rey's behavior.

Girl had staggered for a moment to hear Kylo had revealed some of truth so easily, most likely to hurt her friends and undermine her relationship with them. Rey could feel Kylo's lips curl into a satisfied, malicious smile. Her eyes had filled with tears, but she had pushed them back. Sighing deeply, Rey had lowered her arms, relaxing. - I'm defending you ... us - she corrected herself, shaking her head. - I don't like seeing you in these conditions. You aren’t these. Don't let him win, please!- Rey had taken Finn's hands in her own. At that sight, Kylo had made a threatening, snarling sound. Poe had sighed.

- Okay, as you like, but if he does something ... - - Don’t worry. Poe ... General Organa isn’t very well - Rey had informed him, spying out of her eye corner Kylo Ren’s reaction. Suddenly, Supreme Leader had fallen silent and darkened. -R2 -D2 go with him. Leia may need you. Finn - Rey had grabbed her friend’s arm, stopping him. He had turned his sweaty face towards her, staring at her with a serious expression. - Calm down and rest - Rey had lightly squeezed his arm, Finn nodding, had left cell. - ... what about me, Miss Rey? What should I do? - C3PO had intervened.

Rey smiled kindly.

- Come here, help me get he down - Rey had stood on tiptoe, fumbling until an iron ring was released, while C3PO had thought of the other. Kylo had fallen dead on her, threatening to make her fall to the ground. -It seems you have hidden various things from your friends... this is also a Jedi thing, you know? - Kylo had whispered in her ear.

Rey bit her lower lip, refraining from screaming. C3PO had run to help her, taking Kylo by arm and passing it around his robotic neck. Rey had done same with other, transporting Kylo to a corner and letting him go on an old moldy mattress. -Fault of all this is yours, you could have ended war, but you didn't - Rey had hissed between her teeth, with flashing eyes. Kylo had laughed bitterly - Of course, as usual. You have no faults, do you? You could killed me. It would have been easy, I was passed out... you knew choice I had made, but you didn't. You got caught up in sentimentality... Luke, great Jedi hero and master, would have killed me without even thinking about it. Did you tell your friends you saved my life? I think they would have something to say about it ... - Kylo had spoken sharply, though weakened. By end of his speech, Rey's breathing had become labored and this time she had been unable to hold back tears that had started to run free along her cheeks. She had got up and ran away. Kylo's blood had started to boil in fury as he followed Rey's thin, nimble figure with his eyes. For a moment his attention had been drawn to something else. Kylo had inspected place by making his eyes dance between his half-closed eyelids, but it was difficult to focus wounded in way, with cell interference. He had turned on his side, falling into a kind of doze until, through Force, he had heard Rey return to him. She seemed to have recovered and eaten. Rey senses were clear and he had had no difficulty communicating mentally with her. Kylo was surprised when she started to medicate him silently until she decided to drop bomb - What are you doing here? Why did you get caught ... Kylo? -

[clearlyswagmentality]

Mafias sweet revenge Pt 1

What type of justice is this?!

How can you break the pencil in the first day of court?!" I asked shocked from what the judge had decided for my uncle.

"My father is better than half of the higher ups you serve! But you'd rather turn a blind eye to them because you get money with every win they have! Be it using illegal ways or not! How the fuck is this fair!!" Alex shouted, trying to walk towards the judge in sheer anger.

Lexi then stepped forward in the mist of the group of people that were becoming riled up "Don't you have any family? If they were suddenly announced to be hanged for no good bloody reason, what would you do?!" Lexi screamed tears rolling down her face as her brothers tried to calm her.

"Don't worry dad justice will be served!!" Alex said his hand going towards his waste band, which was covered by his blazer to get his gun out but he was to slow in the action, Sam had realised and pulled him out of the court before he could do anything

"You fucking bastards!!" I heard some one in the court shout which brought be out of my trance like state, and my shock turned into pure furry, I moved forward before anybody could stop me.

I gripped the the judges collars with both hands and pulled him down from his all mighty throne  to my eye level.

"Luis !Luis stop!" Michael shouted as he tried to pry my hands of the son of a bitch.

"Luis" I heard the faint voice of my uncle but my anger was too high so I ignored his call.

Looking at the bastard's face "Is this your justice?Do you feel no remorse?! Look into my eyes and tell me! What do you call a man who killed an innocent?! A judge or a murderer! Put your hand on your heart and tell me!!" I shouted the man didn't even look at me, the nerve of this man.

Michael was still pulling at my arms "let go of him man!!"

"sir please let go" Is this BASTARD for real? he isn't even looking at my eyes and he wants me to let go. Not happening, not till I get my answers.

The little minions by his sides also trying to calm me but it wouldn't work, not when this bastard can't even look at my face for doing what he just did "Please be calm sir"

I wanted, no needed a reason "Is there ever justice without humanity?! Did you ever think when you decided, that this man has a family that he loves?! Did you think about us?! Did you?! Look into my eyes! if you have a heart, look into my eyes judge!!"I shouted

"Speak! Who's fucking bitch are you!! Who's!!!!" I waited for an answer or a reaction but none he was just turning his face away from me, avoiding my eyes. Fine.

"Look at me! And look at me good!! Because from this day forward I will NEVER, let you see the light of day again!!!"

"LUIS!!!!" The shout of my uncle pulled to me and I looked at him, the sight of him with soldiers at either side of him, and the sad look of defeat that was shown in his eyes, eyes that once held a crazy, happy look tore my heart to pieces and my arms dropped to my side. My thought were going hay wire as i watched them start to guide my uncle towards the exit of the court room, suddenly a breeze flew right passed my ears, and a heart wrenching screams of the women in the room tore through the place. Our people all unsheathed their hidden guns and pointed it in the direction the bullet came from, windows were breaking with men in black running in, at this point all hell had broken lose and people around us were panicking looking for an escape, it was is though my legs were chained to the ground for a minute.

This time, I heard the second shot,

My breath got caught in my throat as I see him look at his chest, grabbing it, then looking, his eyes searching for something amidst the battle and land on me, looking straight into my eyes...

"Dad!" I hear Alex scream as he runs into the court room and sees his father, he then ran towards him covering him and shooting enemies trying to get close to his father, who was swaying on his feet.

It was as though everything had slowed down, I forgot about the fight and dashed towards him  pulled out both of my guns and shot the fucker who had hit him.

I let my guns fall out of my hands whilst in shock "No! No! No! N-N-No Un-uncle Al" I teared up, catching him from the front mid fall and slowly kneeling, holding his weight in my arms and hugging him tight the bullet must have exited through the back where blood was gushing out  attempting to cover the bullet hole I cover it with my hands, staining them red. Two men were protecting me and Uncle Al, stopping any one from coming close. His chin was rested on my shoulder, He starts coughing the strength of it coursing through my body too.

" I did good right? Hmm" and a tear leaves my eye, I couldn't bear the thought of him leaving  "You were a reward that god gave to the whole f-family in this life-" another wave of coughs raked his body.

" No! PLEASE GOD NO! Don't leave! I'll take you to the hospital a-and it will be alright! It will all be alright d-don't w-wor-ry!" I said crying; my hands trembling over his wound, my Ming fumbled with trying to fund a solution, anything to help him. "We'll get you to a H-Hospital, d-don't w-worry!" I say tears staining my face. I frantically looked around for someone who wasn’t busy fighting "CALL A DOCTOR!! SOMEONE CALL A FUCKING DOCTOR!!!!" I shouted whilst holding up his weight, he slightly pushed himself away to look at me using my shoulders to keep his balance. I could practically feel his body trembling to stay up.

"Its all right you don't h-have to, It's all r-right ... J-Just p-promis me that you'll look after the fa-family..." he says out of breath and coughing up blood, some of it spluttering onto my face, His tear rimmed tear rimed eyes stared back at me.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! JUST S-SHUT UP!!!!! WHY WOULD I LOOK AFTER THE FAMILY WHEN YOUR HERE?! WHY WOULD I TAKE CATE OF THEM! YOU SAID YOU W-WOULDN'T EVER LEAVE ME AG-AGAIN! S-SO P-PLEASE DON'T LEAVE, YOU P-P-PROMISED!" I said sobbing my hands shaking and grabbing his hand with my stained hands; he smiles again two big tears rolling down his face

"Sssssshhhhh, d-d-don't cry when I leave, I'm not s-sad but h-happy I'll be seeing my family I m-missed-" cough cough " my brother, my nephew, sister in law a-and my beautiful wife" he said a coughing fit taking over, more of his blood splattering on my face... I felt frustrated not knowing how to help him, angry tears roll down my face, he wipes my tears away with the pad of his thumb as a father would do... "take care of A-Alex for me...I L-L-Love you b-both"he whispered giving me a smile as he wiped yet another one of my tears...as I lean into his touch, the warmth of his hands leave me, his head falls back onto my shoulders his hands fall limp to his side, I catch his body trembling under the weight "N-N-NO!! NOOOO! P-PLEASE! NO! Y-YOU C-C-CANT! Y-YOU CANT LEAVE ME!!! WAKE UP!!!" I scream my hands tremble as I push his face back and grab him from the shirt collars shaking him, wanting him to wake up, "YOU PROMISED ME! YOU FUCKING PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T LEAVE ME AGAIN!! OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES PLEASE! IM B-BEGGING YOU! OPEN YOUR EYES!!!!!! ", his once colour filled face, was already turning pale and his lips starting to lose their rosy colour... I hated him, I hated him for leaving me alone in this colourless world....

I slowly lay his body down, holding his head up whilst taking off my blazer and rolling it up and placing it as a cushion on the floor. I suddenly felt a pain shoot through my left shoulder nearly causing me to lose my strength but I then gently lower his head my tears dropping onto his face, mixing with his own. I gently use the pad of my thumb and wipe the tears of his face and close his ghost like glass eyes, and looked at him one last time. I felt numb...numb but furious.

The sound of gunshots were now much more loud and clear, just as clear as the volcanoes that could be seen to erupt any second inside of me. I picked up both my guns from floor, blood soaking into my shirts left arm staining it red, and rose like the grim reaper out to collect the souls of those who had angered me.

The two men protecting me looked hat me " protect his body" my voice cane out cold. Tgey nodded at me and protected him a few others joining to help them. I saw Alex fighting with two men, he had hit one, turned his back towards him and attacked the other guy thinking the first was out. However the man had taken out his pistol and aimed it right at Alex BANG!

"Too slow fucktard" I thought as his brains splattered over Alex, who had knocked out the second man and was looking at me with sorrow and anger as he nodded his head as a thank you, and ran to his fathers bodies side protecting it. As I carried on shooting until one of the guns bullets were finished and I had no more ammunition to reload, the other holding only 3 bullets.

I shot around two more fuckers when the gun was suddenly kicked out of my hand and a fist connected with my jaw jerking my head to the side. And I felt a gun pointed at my head I turned to face the idiot his smirking face raising my shackles, I smiled back catching him off guard and slammed his hand down causing him to shoot my abdomen as a reflex. The pain was there but blocked out by my anger, I started to laugh unable to move my left arm due to the injury,  and pulled my empty gun out with my right hand and whacked the back of it against his head , causing him to fall backwards so I leaned over to him and whacked his face with it over and over again, several times blood splattering against me. With every hit I swore

"You" whack! "Mother" whack! "Fuxkers!" Whack...

"Did" whack "you think you would get" whack! "Away"Whack!  "with" whack! "this"whack!

I raised my head and shouted " ALL YOU MOTHER FUCKERS, BEST START RUNNING NOW, BECAUSE WHEN I CATCH YOU, YOU'LL ALL WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!!" HE was now trembling in pain, his eyes shedding tears, begging for mercy.

“Have fun in hell.” HE shook his head trying to resist his fate, fear taking over as he cried louder. I picked up the gun he droped sticking it into his mouth the fear in his eyes bringing me a small amount of gratification. Bringig a smile to my face

BANG! 

I let his body drop limp and stood with a wide smile plastered on my face, a smile that would racke fear into even the devil himself and shot some of the fuckers trying to escape, killing some but letting the others get away with injuries so that I could find out who was be hind this.

I looked around to assess the situation, and my eyes zoned in on a boy, a young boy surrounded by rats trying to help him rather than shed is blood, how strange. I chuckled as wiped my blood soaked guns against my top, not that they got any cleaner, my shirt was just as bloody. I signaled for one of my men

“Kill them all but the boy, bring him to me alive and kicking” I watched as they killed all the men whilst the boy cried in fear. I reloded my guns sticking one back whilst keeping the other in my hand. Intresting...

I skipped towards the boy and knelt down to his eye level, unable to hide my pleasure at his fear. My smile as broad as ever. The hall had quietened down to silence as everyone watched me like a hawk. 

I looked into his eyes, glistening with unshed tears, he looked either 1 or 2 years younger than me, trembling in fear. Like a cornered white rabit, unscathed, without any stains of blood... how unplesant. He must of senced my change in mood, scooting back, not that it would help his case. I looked at the tattoo on his hand, the sign of that bastards gang. Upon closer look my suspicions were proven true. making me laugh.

“P-please dont k-kill me! I’ll- I’ll tell you anything! ANYTHING! Anything you want! I’ll tell you!” HE begged in desparation kneeling as he did so. I tilted my head... was this kid hit over the head or somthing? I pulled his hair earning a scream, NOPE. No bumps, clean. He’s just stupid. I stood as i contemplated what to do

“Stand.”

He looked at me in shock. BANG! I shot the ground right by him “Id suggest you dont make me repeat myself”

“T-Th-Thank you! Thank you so m-much!” HE stumbled as he stood, repeating his thanks over and over, I could only grin at his stupidity.

“Go.”

“Thank you! Th-Thank you! You wont regret this! I promis! Ill meet you buy the bridge next to Burger King tomorrow at 12pm! I promis you wont regret this” He said slightly bowing and wincing in pain. Probably from one of our punches... I nodded, as he turned to leave, the small smirk he had when he looked down when bowing didnt go unnoticed by me, I could only chuckle, How naive.

“Luis! Why the hell are you tetting him go-”

BANG! BANG! BANG! Click

How annoying I was out of bullets again, so I flung the cheap gun to the side and pulled out mine, I stalked towards the boy who was now facing the floor, trying to turn over, so I, being the kind person I am lent him a foot, kicking him over to face me.

His tear stained face mixing with blood as he wiped them away  “JUST KILL ME ALREADY! WHY ARE YOU DRAGGING IT OU-” 

“Do you think i dont recognise you?” I said as i looked down at him, the question silenceing him immediately. The fear in his eyes reaching a whole new level.

“H-How”

I laughed, and crouched down once again to his level and pulled him in by the scruff, talking quietly

“My family may not have recognised you, or even your people, excluding those protecting you, with your disguise... But your father should have taught you better, his youngest son how to blend into the crowd before allowing you to leave the house... Or even how to tell a decent lie, or maybe” I draged out, In mock thought “maybe you left without his knowledge, with your pathetic friends”

I looked behind me, my families eyes trained on me in confusion, unaware of our conversation. I reached into his pocket and faced the phone towards him

“Password”

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

Part 2 will be posted in a few moments too

[pineaberry]

Fictober: #31

SWTOR

STARRING: Darth Malgus (RETURN OF THE BURNT POTATO!)

This one goes out to @doomhamster and @fluffynexu. I still owe you the rest of this fic, but I hope this will tide you over until I get to it! Also @sunsetofdoom. She’s always down for pron!

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Existence was a cruel, sadistic thing with a twisted sense of humor.

His entire life Malgus had fought for power and control heedless of the consequences. He knew what lay at the core of every sentient being: chaos. Deep down, they were all of them savages and the strongest would rule the weak. War was the perfect model for his philosophy. It was the logical conclusion of everything the Sith represented. To emerge victorious was to hold the chains of fate itself.

Friendships, family... love… he burned them all in the altar of war and cauterized his weaknesses to form a protective callous. After decades in the bloodied forge, he thought himself untouchable. Like the Vitiate of old he saw the rot spreading in the dark halls of the council chambers and vowed to raise a new Empire up from the maggots.

Illum had seemed like child’s play. Unlike Lord Scourge, Darth Marr’s new pet Wrath was young, eager to please, and so helpful it bordered on the naive. His first impression was that she was not worth recruiting. She was a symptom of a greater sickness: the Sith’s waning strength made manifest. He dismissed her as a feeble-minded slip of a girl, prone to manipulation. She had no place in his new Empire save to be used and discarded.

It had been a serious miscalculation on his part.

One of many.

Over the years he had many long hours to contemplate his failure and it all began with that single error. He mistook her smile and amenable nature to be the signs of an idiot. He saw her give her opponents a chance to surrender and thought her soft. He found her wanting and then put her from his mind.

He was too busy claiming his throne; too busy preparing to rule the galaxy to see the warning signs. He ignored her as his allies were decimated; cut down by wheat. Darth Serevin’s death weighed on his mind. While he had believed the wrath to be a flickering shadow, she in turn executed him for his betrayal and kept Talsa-ko’s decapitated head as a trophy. Something about that encounter had ignited the Wrath’s rage and they had paid the price.

He failed to see her splintering his barricades one by one and leaving only corpses behind. He failed to see the Wrath’s wrath.

The irony of it made his lips twist in a self-deprecating smile.

Blinded by his own visions of a throne well within his grasp, he did not act until she stood before him. She had been a strange contradiction of vivid hues and blackened aura. In the end, his own hubris became his undoing. Wasn’t that always the way?

In his defeat, Malgus found a better understanding of what it meant to be in chains. He was not given the dignity of an honorable death. No, he was taken back to Dromund Kaas and dragged into the bowels of the citadel where the council’s butchers awaited.

He learned his lesson there in the darkness amidst a new definition of pain. But even locked away from the stars he could not escape her. The inquisitors spoke in hushed whispers of a Wrath that came thundering down on Makeb and crushed the Hutt and Republic alike. In between his torments, he heard of Rishi and Yavin and Revan. He heard of Marr’s close partnership with her and of Vowrawn’s unlikely ‘friendship’. He heard of an Imperial always dogging her step and her habit of gifting him the severed hands of Sith and diplomats alike that failed to respect his personal space. A blatantly obvious sign that the man was her lover.

He listened and felt the caustic burn of envy.

Perhaps, if he had not been so quick to dismiss her, she might have joined him. Illum would have gone a thousand different ways if he’d had Vowrawn’s silver tongue or Marr’s charisma. It became all the more galling with the fall of Zakuul.

They were more alike than he gave her credit. In a few short years she built her own army and her own loyalists taken from the disillusioned masses. Even the fallen emperor Arcann broke under her grip and came to her on his knees to pledge his allegiance. The throne was as good as hers the moment she reached for it.

It had taken her less than a decade to do what Malgus had planned for a lifetime. It was as though she’d taken a quick glance at his work and then decided she could do it better.

Even her defeat broke differently than his. She still commanded a formidable power. Mere Sith no longer, she was referred to as The Commander and she bowed to no mortal being.

They met again on Ossus, both of them fulfilling the same mission. The difference being, it was her choice to be there. When he stepped out of his living coffin, he expected her mockery and disdain.

Malgus had been completely unprepared for her bright smile and pleasant words. She was as neon hued as ever and greeted him like an old friend instead of a foe she hadn’t quite killed off.

At first he believed she was taking a page out of Vowrawn’s book and hiding her hatred. But the more time he spent with her the more he realized she was genuinely pleased to see him. It occurred to him that the nastiness on Illum had never been personal to her. It was as though she had forgotten all about it.

When Ossus was completed, she praised him and once more left him without a dignified response. Her reasoning was beyond his understanding. What did she hope to achieve?

His thoughts were interrupted when his implants activated. Malgus winced in discomfort. It was time for maintenance on his hardware and he was being summoned.

His body moved of its own accord and he was too weary to fight the programmed obedience. He’d always despised the image of a slave being brutalized and now it seemed he was destined to die in captivity.

Vowrawn had been the first one to ‘visit’ him in his cell. The Pureblood had gleefully noted how they had hunted down his power base as he used medical instruments to forcefully remove Malgus’ cybernetic augments. It was Vowrawn who took away his motor skills and repurposed him with new parts. It was Vowrawn who fashioned his cage and locked him away in a body that no longer listened to him.

It was Vowrawn who made a point to remind him just how low he had fallen with every touch that lingered far too long in between bursts of sheer agony. Vowrawn who reduced him to a cheap whore be it out of spite or boredom.

Marr visited exactly once. Malgus remembered hanging from the ceiling, surrounded by medical tubes as restraints were welded into his skin. Marr’s unreadable mask cloaked his expression, but Malgus could feel the loathing and disgust radiating from him. For a brief moment, Malgus believed Marr would end his existence but the man was never one for mercy. Instead, he ordered the nearest guard to summon Cytharat to the council chambers and was gone without a second glance.

He didn’t know how long he lived in that special type of hell. He was kept alive to serve as an example, as a lesson, as a tool for intimidation.

“This is what happens to traitors.”

“Don’t end up like Malgus.”

“This is your fate if your hubris costs me my victory.”

The days and faces all blurred together. Only his firm grasp of the Force kept him from going insane.

The door automatically closed and locked behind him as he stood defiant as he glared at the medical bed. He had grown to detest the scent of kolto and the cold touch of metal on his skin. Discomfort laced with fear radiated from his form. There was nothing he could do to avoid it; no feasible way to escape his fate.

Acina was the first to realize his potential. Or perhaps Zakuul had simply decimated enough Sith that she was desperate enough to use him. Whatever the reason, it was she who rebuild his limbs and turned him into a weapon. She was not one for finesse and enjoyed letting the droids work on him until he was reduced to screaming in agony.

As his robes and armor fell away, he bore the marks of her handiwork etched crudely into her skin. The pain focused him, it kept his senses keen. Every step, every motion, every breath, felt as though it were cutting into him. To live was a war, and one he constantly won. He had to believe it was so or else he would be driven mad by it.

The last of his armor was cast off and he spared a glance to his captor. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that the commander had taken possession of his obedience codes, after all, she had some of the best slicers in the galaxy under her employ. After their confrontation on Illum, it was understandable that she wished to inflict her own version of punishment. Funny, he hadn’t thought it was her style to be vindictive.

Calm blue eyes stared back at him with an unreadable expression that was unnerving. Cruelty or malice he could understand, but this passive response was beyond him. He broke eye-contact and lay down on medical bed as ordered. It was better than a metal table, but it did little to put him at ease. The sound of his respirator seemed too-loud in his ears as he waited for pain or humiliation or some sickening combination of the two.

Instead he felt a gentle touch on his arm and a pinprick before something warm flowed through his veins. Confusion clouded his thoughts as he felt the constant pain melt away into a blissful numbness.

“That’s better isn’t it? No need to be scared,” she smirked and he eyed her warily as she set aside the injector. Her small hand rested over his chest and it felt like a searing mark against his skin. His throat emitted a sound that was a cross between a snarl and an enraged growl.

“Scared, me? You lack the capacity to inspire such an emotion,” he snarled..

He didn’t need her coddling. He was not a child nor a fool to believe her comfort was genuine.

Tremas didn’t so much as flinch as her touch continued to rest over his sternum. Medical droids scanned his body and displayed readings he could quite make out from his vantage point. Tremas lips curled into a scowl as the results displeased her.

He wanted to say something scathing or acrid to her but the retort died in his throat as he felt her delicate fingers touch his inner thighs and firmly push his legs apart. Adrenaline surged through him but he was not allowed neither flight nor fight as his programming kept him restrained. He stared at the ceiling cursing the respirator that echoed his quickening breath in a deafening rasp.

“Now just breathe. There’s structural damage and this might sting a bit...”

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Read More About Tremas HERE!

Original Fictober Promp List HERE!