#i gotta be attached to a fic like this in every media i view

[sgrimp]

Fanart of Arcee from an 🔞AO3 fic: Little Red Riding Bot by @tigressaofkanjis

[mattzerella-sticks]

Caught (a 9-1-1 fic post-s3 finale)

Photobooths are prime for catching special moments and making them last forever, even if they are less both and more open spaces with a backdrop. When Athena, Bobby, and Michael stumble upon one such moment between Buck and Eddie, what will they do?

And how will it affect Maddie and Chimney?

T, 3.7k, Athena/Bobby, Buck/Eddie, Maddie/Chimney

           Athena finds operating a laptop with only one hand maddening. Typing up an e-mail takes double the time, she needs breaks when shopping online, and scrolling through social media becomes dangerous when she accidentally likes pictures she didn’t mean to. If she had her choice, Athena would be on her phone. But the hired photographer from May’s party e-mailed the pictures from the photo booth, both Bobby and Michael nearby when her phone pinged. Instead of having her husband and ex-husband crowded at her shoulders, Athena pokes her password into the given space while the men gather snacks. When she finally has the first picture loaded, Bobby places the bowl of popcorn by her sling and Michael hands off a soda.

           “I think we’ve never looked better Bobby,” Michael laughs, pointing at the screen.

           Athena snickers into her drink, studying the picture. Bobby’s jaw dropped in a faux yell; guitar hugged tightly against his chest. Fingers hooked as if he were playing something. Michael’s expression mirrored his except the tinsel wig on his head making it immensely funnier. “Don’t you be trying to steal my man from me, Michael,” she warns, attempting severity, “You already got a doctor eating out of your hand.”

           “Okay you two,” Bobby settles his arm across Athena’s chair, chuckling, “we’ll never get through these if you two are bickering. Athena, click onto the next picture?”

           They kill the next half-hour like that, pausing every so often to laugh at a few pictures. Like Maddie with May, the two women back-to-back and imitating an old spy poster. Or Chimney and Hen battling with the inflatable guitars like they were axes. Although not every picture was funny. Michael and Athena thought May and her boyfriend gravitated closer than necessary for a simple photo. And Athena needed a moment, collecting herself from the sheer adorableness of Buck and Christopher’s faces pressed cheek-to-cheek.

           The next few pictures included Buck as well, except Christopher’s father joined in the fun in his son’s place. Eddie sipping a drink while Buck played the guitar. Him raising a leg mid-kick while Buck locked eyes with the camera. Smoking on a corncob pipe as Buck runs wild behind him. Flexing, playing the guitar, and jumping. One picture had half of his face cut off.

           Buck must have landed closer, because Athena clicked on and they occupied the same breadth of space. Eddie, non-plussed, while the younger man messed with him. Grinning, swinging beads in his face. Then wincing when it struck the soft spot between his brows. Brushing gently over his nose in a cursory inspection, too close. Followed by –

           “Oh, my,” Athena gasped, hand over her mouth. She felt Bobby tense at her side and Michel mutter a curse under breath.

           The photographer, with perfect timing, captured the briefest of pecks. Buck’s lips on Eddie’s, both puckered. Expectant. None of them can decipher who initiated the embrace. Only that it happened and there was no mistaking the intention

           “Well I’ll be damned,” Michael says, “this is…”

           Athena glances at her husband, “Did you know about this?”

           Bobby shakes out of his stupor, turning to her. “No, I… I had no idea,” he says, “I mean, they’re close but I always thought it was more like… brothers?”

           Michael snorts, drawing Athena’s attention. “Do you have anything to add?”

           His mouth thins, and he inches back. “No, I’m as shocked as you both are… A little intrigued… and embarrassed I didn’t notice those boys swung on my team before… But shock is at the forefront.”

           She sighs, sagging in her seat. Her finger scrolls onto the next arrow except she cannot continue. Athena finds herself staring at the picture again. “What should we do?”

           Bobby hums and squeezes her shoulder. “We can pretend this didn’t happen and let them come to us in their own time?” He nods at the screen, “For the first month at least. If they don’t say something past then, I will have to bring it up anyway seeing as fraternization between coworkers requires tons of paperwork.”

           “Okay, then I guess we keep this to ourselves until they own up on their own,” she says, moving on, “or you need evidence if they try and deny it altogether.”

           “Always thinking like a cop,” Michael laughs, nudging her, “you’ll be back on the streets soon enough.”

           “We’ll see.” She finally clicks onto the next picture, another Eddie and Buck. More bashful and with ruddy cheeks. If there were any confusion about the prior scene, this added the final layer of context. “They do make an adorable couple.”

           “And a hot couple…”

           Athena elbows Michael with her good arm, scowling. “Hush up. Think about your doctor.”

           The mood returns, not at the same level it was before the discovery but there the same. They finish viewing the album and then spend more time dividing it. Creating folders for their friends and family so they can have their pictures. Athena finds the kissing scene again and immediately puts it, and the accompanying aftermath shot, in its own folder. She forgets it when they start compressing the files for ease of sending.

           Unfortunately, when attaching Buck’s pictures to the e-mail, his zip file contains two folders.

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

           Buck find Eddie in the kitchen, pouring milk into two bowls of cereal. His heart skips a beat at the scene of pure domesticity. The way sunlight streams through the thin curtains and makes Eddie glow in its beams. Makes him look more irresistible than he already is. He tugs his shirt down over his chest and walks over, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s chest. “Breakfast? Really?”

           “What – not a fan of Fruit Loops?”

           “I love Fruit Loops,” Buck chuckles, kissing at the bruise on Eddie’s neck he made earlier. “But I don’t know if three o’clock is the perfect time for them.” Still, he takes the bowl from off the counter and opens a nearby drawer.

           Eddie grabs spoons for them both. “Breakfast isn’t a meal… it’s a state of mind. It’s the first thing you eat when you get out of bed. And since we haven’t left the bed since now…”

           “We could’ve left earlier,” Buck reminds him, “If you weren’t so damn horny.”

           “I wasn’t the one practically crying for dick in my ass –“

           “Hey, hey!” Buck cuts him off, cheeks burning hotter the longer Eddie laughs. “I wasn’t crying, I was… heavily suggesting.”

           “Sure…”

           He scowls, sticking his spoon in Eddie’s bowl and stealing a bite. “If you didn’t want a second round, all you had to do was say so. But don’t go complaining because I was making sure you were having a great time while Christopher’s at camp.”

           “Oh, no,” Eddie shakes his head, grimacing, “please don’t quote my son’s card while we’re talking about sex.”

           “You started it,” Buck smirks, pointing with his spoon. “Your fault if you can’t handle the heat.”

           Eddie shoves at him, jostling the milk and spilling some onto his shirt. A soggy Fruit Loop dove from his bowl and landed on his foot, near his big toe. Buck retaliates with a push of his own, although Eddie catches his wrist and drags him into a kiss that makes him forget about the milk stain, dropped Fruit Loop, and Eddie’s teasing.

           They break for air, foreheads pressed against each other. “We should really be eating.”

           “Yeah.”

           It’s another five minutes standing there. Balancing bowls of cereal and trading kisses. When they finish, Eddie guides Buck into the living room. They cuddle on the sofa, Buck crossing his legs under him and flicking the television on. Flipping through channels until he finds a cartoon he likes. Halfway through the SpongeBob episode, he feels a heavy stare. Buck turns, cheeks stuffed with cereal, to find Eddie watching with a small grin. “What?”

           “Maybe I should have sent you to camp alongside Chris,” Eddie says, “that way you could have had fun with all the other kids.”

           He swallows, glaring. “Shut up…” Eddie leans forward and brushes his lips across Buck’s cheeks, halting any further protest. Unwilling to let Eddie win, however, Buck redirects his attention elsewhere. Namely his blinking cell phone, resting on the coffee table since last night. Buck must have forgotten it sometime between Eddie kissing him and Eddie carrying him out with Buck’s legs around Eddie’s waist.

           Buck opens it, wincing at the number of messages.

           Eddie peers over his shoulder, spoon in his mouth. “Popular?”

           “Something like that…” He scrolls through the notifications. At the tagged pictures on Instagram and the missed calls, choosing his texts first. Sees five from Chimney asking about where his is and if he can come over. Then twenty from Maddie progressively growing angrier the longer Buck didn’t respond. Buck types back on the last message. Answers her ‘Buck I am not kidding you better answer me asap we need to talk’ sent at one-twenty-three with a ‘Sorry b there soon’ at three-thirteen. “I gotta go to Maddie’s…”

           “What for?”

           Buck scans through the texts again, shrugging. “Doesn’t say. But it must be important if both her and Chim were on my case.”

           Eddie knocks shoulders with Buck. “Want me to tag along?”

           “I’d appreciate it,” Buck tells him, “but if we’re supposed to keep this low-profile, I doubt showing up together will help.”

           “But we always show up together,” he argues.

           “Not after having fantastic sex.”

           “You’re right,” Eddie concedes, thoughtful expression transforming into one more devious. His fingers tickle Buck’s thigh before he squeezes Buck’s cock. “I’d rather show up after mind-blowing sex.”

           “Eddie, you’re killing me,” Buck whines, “I’m too tired.” Except he lays his bowl on the table alongside Eddie’s and happily relaxes onto the couch. Lying underneath the other man while he licks at his collar bone. Buck giggles while his friend’s stubble rubs against his skin. Absentmindedly Buck looks at his phone, scrolling through more apps. He opens his e-mail and sees the message from Athena labelled: ‘May’s Graduation Party Photos’. “Hey Eddie, the photos from May’s party are here.”

           “What?” Eddie asks, rising momentarily for air.

           “Pictures!”

           “Another time, Bucky…” he presses a sloppy kiss at his jaw, smirking. Toying with Buck’s shirt. “Be with me now.”

           “Let me take a quick look.” Buck ignores Eddie’s pleading, opening it. Downloads the file and clicks the icon, switching apps. He opens the first folder, a photo of Buck and Maddie greeting him. “Oh, these came out nicely…”

           Eddie continues dropping kisses on different points of his body while Buck scrolls through each picture. “Really, Buck,” he gasps after sucking a mark onto Buck’s hip. A feat that usually leaves him panting, sweaty, and writhing in Eddie’s embrace. “Can’t this wait? Feeling unappreciated…”

           Buck threads his hand through Eddie’s hair, patting it. “Almost done,” he tells Eddie, “There’s another file here… looks like it’s only two –“ He cuts off, eyes widening.

           Startled, Eddie raises a brow at him. “Buck? You okay?” Nothing. Eddie crawls up and forces Buck’s gaze away from the phone and towards him, tilting at his jaw. “Speak to me. What is it?”

           He cannot speak. So he shows Eddie his phone, watching the blown pupils retract as the mood shifts.

           It’s a photo from the party, one they hadn’t realized was captured. Their first kiss. When Buck was so overwhelmed with happiness and warmth and, staring at Eddie, crossed the divide without thought. A quick peck that left them stuttering and blushing and unsure where they stood. Buck ran away, not waiting for Eddie. Moving until the other man dragged him into an empty room to explain himself.

           Buck had nothing. No reason why he kissed Eddie except that it felt right. Which he proved by pressing him against the wall and kissing him again. Eddie answered in kind, flipping him around and hauling his leg up. Thumb brushing his kneecap.

           They broke, muted sounds of the party filtered through the door. Eddie cleared his throat, “We still need to talk about this.”

           “Definitely…”

           Both men said their goodbyes, five minutes after the other. Promises that when Christopher left for camp, they would restart their conversation. Eddie drove straight over, card still in hand when he knocked on Buck’s door.

           Buck hung it on the fridge before they tripped up the stairs in hurried excitement, shedding clothes and tumbling on the bed.

           Talking came after the sex.

           “What do you think it means?” Buck asks, “Why would Athena send this?”

           Eddie shrugs, mouth flapping worriedly. “I don’t know,” he finally says, “Maybe she… maybe she sent without looking?”

           Buck rolls his eyes. “Karen and Hen had their photos taken but I don’t have any of theirs. She definitely saw this.” His mind works double time, connecting loose threads into a makeshift sweater. “Wait,” he says, pushing Eddie off him and onto his knees. “Wait, hold on… do you think this is what those texts were about?”

           “Texts? What texts?”

           “Chim and Maddie,” he reminds Eddie, “the urgent texts that – that didn’t mention what made them so damn urgent. Do you think… Athena sent this photo to them, too? To Hen? Everybody?”

           Eddie sighs and runs his hands up and down Buck’s shoulders, added warmth like a candle fighting an iceberg. “Athena wouldn’t do that,” he says, “I’m sure this was nothing. Maybe even a… a simple way of letting us know she knows and she supports us?”

           “Still…”

           As if seeing the smoke billowing out his ears, Eddie stands and offers a hand. “Come on.” Buck squints up at him, curious. “You think Maddie and Chimney know about us. You won’t know by sitting here spinning out. When we get there, we can see what they have to say.”

           Buck fights his smile, but a tiny smirk still appears. “We?” he asks.

           “Yes, we,” Eddie tells him, “So let’s move. I think I have a shirt that’ll fit, but it might be a little short?”

           “What about my clothes from yesterday?”

           “Please,” Eddie matches his smirk, “we’re not sure if they know about us. Why make it obvious by doing that.” Most of the tension from moments ago disappears with their laughter, Eddie ridding him of the rest by hauling Buck into a tender kiss. “Hurry,” he whispers, “because if we stay here any longer, I won’t want to leave the house until tomorrow.”

           “Tempting…” Buck pushes off, smiling. “Very tempting, but I already promised Maddie. She’s mad enough at me as it is.” Eddie tries catching his wrist one more time but Buck, aware of this trick, dodges at the last second and bounces off. The other man chases with great speed.

           The playfulness helps distract Buck from the impending appointment with his sister and their friend. And leaves him grateful that he and Eddie crossed over in their relationship, onto the next level. Into what it was always meant to be, what it kept building towards over the years. Abby’s return the final push giving Buck the clarity he needed in understanding his feelings.

           When the hurt finally stopped, the loneliness he expected to follow didn’t. Because Buck had his sister. The one-eighteen. Christopher and Eddie.

           Especially Eddie. Especially when his lips tickle his neck, and delays them further.

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

           Maddie paces the floor, chewing on a bite of pickle. “What’s taking him so long?” she asks Chimney, her boyfriend watching from a nearby couch. “I swear, if he isn’t in this room in the next five minutes…”

           Chimney stands, walking towards her. “I’m sure he has his reasons,” he tells her, “he didn’t answer his phone until – what? Three? Maybe he was busy.”

           “Too busy to answer a text?” She pokes his chest, huffing. “Too busy to get his ass over here and learn that he’s about to be an uncle?”

           “Well, you didn’t tell him he was going to be an uncle in the text so he probably didn’t think it was that urgent.”

           She glares, readying another onslaught. Luckily for Chimney they hear the buzzer for his apartment ring. Maddie shoves the rest of the pickle in her mouth, nodding at the door. “Let them in and bring them into the dining room.”

           “Anything else, my queen?”

           Maddie ignores him, setting at the table with her hands folded. Listens while Chimney speaks into the intercom and lets Buck up. In the minutes between that and Buck arriving, she thinks. About what it felt like seeing both plus signs appear on the pregnancy tests and the cocktail of emotions erupting within like a volcano. Happiness and excitement, but also fear. Worry over whether she was ready, or if she would be a good parent. Memories of her own childhood flooded and distracted Maddie until she broke free from their chains and realized Chimney spoke to her in the living room.

           He tried, but in the days that followed Maddie’s party her nerves only shredded further. She needed her brother. And when Maddie mustered the strength and reached out, he kept her waiting.

           Anger won out when she laid eyes on him, incised further when she notices Eddie. “Is that why you weren’t answering me? Too busy ‘hanging out’?” The exaggerated quotes make Buck flinch in a way he hadn’t in years. Not since he was a little kid. And she finds herself back in Hershey once more. And Maddie’s doubt in her skill doubles.

           “Sorry Maddie,” he says, stepping into the dining room, “time just got away from us and… we came as fast as we could?”

           She glances between them, both men with reticent expressions. As quickly as it arrived, the fire inside fizzled into embers. “I’m sorry,” she says, kneading at her temple, “I’ve just been… a little stressed.”

           “Stressed, why?”

           Chimney answers, “Because of recent developments. Recent developments that we wanted to speak to you about.” He glances at Eddie, frowning. “Eddie…”

           Eddie points at the living room, shrugging. “I can wait in there while you talk –“

           “No,” Maddie stops him, “no you can join.” She looks at Chimney, smiling. “I don’t see why he shouldn’t be here, right?”

           “I guess.”

           Buck and Eddie share a cryptid look, slowly sitting across from Maddie and Chimney. Her brother fidgets, tugging on his fingers in the nervous way he would when mom or dad lectured him after landing in trouble. Although why he did it now, Maddie was unsure of. She reached across and grabbed his hand, waiting for when their eyes met to speak. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

           His brows scrunch up, “Yeah… I get that.”

           “It’s about,” Maddie searches for an entry point, unsure where she should start. “Well… you know at May’s party?” He tenses in his seat. “How we left a little early? That’s because Chimney noticed something and I – I put things together, and we had to go –“

           “Maddie I can explain –“

           “Because all these signs added up and,” Maddie stops, blinking. She pulls away from Buck, “What?”            Buck stares at the table, shoulders hunched high. “Look, I was going to tell you but, well, we know what would’ve happened if this came out so soon after Abby showed up. And the party was the worst place if we wanted to keep this secret, I didn’t mean for it to happen there it just did! We thought it was better to take it at our own pace and – and let people in when we were ready, y’know?”

           “Slow down Evan,” Maddie grabs his hands again. Squeezes until he gives her the floor. “What are you talking about?”

           He pouts. “I was… you brought me here because you and Chimney saw us, right? At the photo booth?”

           “No,” she says, “I wanted you here because I found out I’m pregnant.” Buck chokes, seizing under her grip. “But what are you talking about? Us? You and who else… and why should it involve Abby?”

           “You’re pregnant?” he asks, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Buck tries closing his mouth but he cannot force his jaw shut. “I’m… I’m gonna be an uncle?”

           “Yes, Buck, you are,” Chimney adds, leaning over the table. “But can we go back? What happened at the photo booth?”

           Maddie studies her brother slowly shed his shock. Replaced with cheeks redder than his birthmark, failing at subtlety when glancing at Eddie. Eddie hides his face, Maddie imagining it in a similar state. With nothing there, her attention drifts and latches onto the first clue she finds.

           A circular bruise on his neck near his collarbone. There’s no mistaking what it was.

           “Oh my God,” she says, “Oh my God!”

           Chimney sighs, “What? What is it!”

           “Buck. You and Eddie?”

           “Buck and Eddie – oh,” He sees them in new light, understanding dawning. “Oh my God, you two are dating!”

           Eddie reveals his own ruddy cheeks, hands switching tactics from shielding to squeezing Buck’s shoulder. “And you thought they knew!”

           “I, I – uh…” Buck splutters, cornered. He points at Maddie, “You’re pregnant! I think that’s more important!”

           “But you and Eddie,” she insists, “you and Eddie!” Maddie laughs, stress from the past few days seeping out of her. “I can’t believe – you and Eddie!”

           “Yeah, yeah, me and Eddie…” Buck slumps into his seat, glaring. Clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

           She sees where his thoughts drift, though, and tosses a lifeline. “I think it’s great, Evan,” Maddie says. Waits for when their gazes lock again. “Really.”

           His stiffness eases the longer they stay like that, until a gooey smile spreads across his face. “Talking about great things,” Buck says, gesturing at her and Chimney, “a baby? You’ll be a mother and – and you have to tell me how it happened.”

           “I think you know how it happened, Buck,” Chimney chuckles, “Plus, I think we should be asking that of you two.”

           Eddie rolls his eyes, slinging his arm over Buck’s shoulders and pulling him closer. Buck instinctively leaning into Eddie’s side. Maddie pauses, stunned by how well they fit together. Hindsight makes everything obvious but she should have seen this coming. “We can compare stories,” Eddie says, “but since baby trumps new relationship, you two can start.”

           Maddie nods, sliding one hand free from Buck’s hold and to Chimney’s. Tangling their fingers together. Uniting their family as they take their next steps into unfamiliar territory. Maddie expects the next nine months will be difficult and taxing. Not only with the baby but working while pregnant and then planning what comes after.

           With her family at her side, Maddie feels confident in handling whatever challenge comes her way.

[gumnut-logic]

Parents

Title: Parents

Author: Gumnut

12 Jan 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Gotta love them anyway.

Word count: 4938

Spoilers & warnings: Episode tag for 3.20. Spoilers for Season Three, particularly 3.20.

Timeline: Directly after 3.20

Author’s note: This one is a weird one. It mostly wrote itself and what came out was odd.

I had to do some serious math on the brothers’ ages. Please see the notes at the end of the fic for details.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 for the read through and cheering and @thunderstorm-bay for the wonderful support ::hugs you::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 “I can’t believe he did that!”

John looked up as his littlest brother stormed into the lab. Alan was still in his uniform and obviously fuming.

“Did what?” Apparently, his calculations would have to wait. He straightened in his seat and turned to face his brother.

“You didn’t see it?”

“See what?” Sometimes it took time to get to the point.

“Virgil cleaning my face in front of thousands of people. With his own spit.”

“Oh, that.” John fought the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s just Virgil, you know that.” He turned back to his workstation. He really needed to get these calculations done and sent to Brains. “Oh, and it is more like millions rather than thousands. An enthusiastic Tracy follower clipped the shot and posted it to social media. It’s got raving reviews.” He pulled up the post and flung the hologram in his brother’s direction before focussing once again on that argumentative variable.

“What?!”

John vaguely registered Alan glaring at the hologram and its attached comments.

“Cute? Adorable? Baaaaby Tracy? What the hell?!”

John had to smirk. “Yeah, well, your fans do love you.”

“My fans? What fans?”

That brought John to a halt. He looked up at his brother. “Your fans. The Spacey Tracy Tribute Troop.”

“What?!”

John arched an eyebrow at the shock on his brother’s face. “You can’t possibly tell me you didn’t know.”

But Alan’s stunned expression blatantly said he didn’t. John rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Alan. You have a whole array of fans who love you. And that moment with Virgil is at the top of the charts.”

“But it is so stupid!”

“Why?”

“Because only mothers do that to their toddlers!” Alan’s face was a little red.

“Well, perhaps you will consider that next time you stuff a hot dog in your face before a big presentation. That glob of mustard was visible from space.”

“He could have just told me.”

Patience. “This is Virgil we are talking about. How long have you known him?”

Alan didn’t answer that, because it was obvious. Virgil and of course Scott would always be defacto parents to the rest of the brothers. Hell, John had been twelve when they lost their mother, but he still valued having two older brothers during that time. He had always valued having Scott and Virgil to turn to for support.

His little brother deflated and threw himself into a chair in picture of utter dejection. “It sucks.”

“Really?” John stared at Alan. “Look at the shot and you tell me exactly what you see.”

Stubborn blue eyes looked up and narrowed on the hologram as it replayed over and over again. “I look stupid.”

John sighed. “Read the comments. None of them say you look stupid.” He threw up a few of the better ones. “If anything they say you look loved.”

Alan stared at him.

-o-o-o-

Alan Tracy didn’t remember his mother. She died when he was still a baby. He had stories and photos, but all his life it had just been his older brothers. They were the ones who saw him off at school, they helped him with his homework, they were the ones he went to for help and advice. He still remembered the night he discovered who Santa Claus actually was.

It was their first Christmas on the Island and nine year old Alan had been worried the big red guy would have trouble finding him out in the middle of the Pacific. So, despite the reassurances from both Scott and Virgil, he had set his alarm to wake himself up in the middle of the night.

Two am and he stumbled down the interior stairs of the new building. He could still remember the smell of new paint and wood stain and the slickness of the polished floor under his socks.

At first he had thought the voice was that of his father, but he knew his Dad was in New York for a special meeting. Scott had been rather loud in his argument against the his absence, but their father had left anyway.

Scott had been far from happy and Alan had given him a wide berth for most of Christmas Eve. Virgil had gathered them all for an evening movie, but even that had not fully dulled Scott’s expression. Not that his brother said anything. He just emanated unhappiness from the corner of the new lounge.

As he neared the main living room, he realised it was Virgil talking.

“Dad wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t important.”

“What possibly could be more important than our family?” Scott’s voice had anger in it, but it wasn’t the angry of him yelling, it was more resigned and defeated.

“He’s doing this for Mom.” Virgil sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Paper rustled. “Hand me the ribbon.”

“Grandma is upset.”

“I know.”

“It isn’t right. This is our first Christmas here. He should be here.”

“Well, he isn’t, so we’ll make the best of it.”

“It isn’t fair to Alan.”

“He’s got us.”

“We’re not his parents.”

“May as well be.”

“Virgil.”

“You said it yourself. Dad’s not here. Mom’s gone. He’s got us. He’s got Grandma. Could be worse.” Another rustle and Alan moved closer to the edge and peered around the corner.

Virgil and Scott were surrounded by wrapping paper in the middle of the circular lounge. Several shapes sat wrapped to one side. On the other there was a pile of shopping bags. A rocket kit almost as tall as him sat in amongst them.

It was the rocket he had asked Santa for Christmas.

His brothers were wrapping presents. Virgil stood up and grabbed an armful of gifts and hauled them out of the sunken lounge and piled them up under the tree just beyond the piano.

What?

“What are you guys doing?” It burst out before he could think.

His brothers looked up, stunned expressions on their faces. “Alan?!”

“Virgil?” He eyed his eldest brother. “Scott?”

Virgil recovered first, Scott was still staring at Alan in shock.

“Hey, Allie, what are you doing up? Bad dream?” His brother put down the presents in his hands and walking around the lounge, headed in Alan’s direction.

“What are you doing?”

“Um...” Scott appeared stuck.

Virgil came up to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “We’re wrapping presents.” He squeezed a hug.

“But Santa...?”

Scott looked down at the wrapping paper in his hands. Virgil drew Alan close and walked him into the sunken lounge. He sat him down and took a seat beside him. “Well, I guess you’re old enough now.”

“Virgil.”

“Scott, he’s old enough.”

Alan frowned as his oldest brother’s shoulders slumped and his whole body sagged. He dropped the wrapping paper in his hands and sat down in defeat, running his hands through his hair. To be honest, that freaked Alan out more than anything. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Allie. Scott’s just had a bad day and he’s tired.”

“Then why isn’t he in bed? Why are you wrapping Christmas presents?” He felt he knew the answer, but it couldn’t be right, could it?

“We’re on Santa duty.” Virgil’s brown eyes were wide and honest and kind of caring.

“Santa duty? But where is Santa?”

Sad blue eyes looked up at him. “There is no Santa, Alan. We wrap the presents and put them under the tree for you.”

Alan stared him. “What?”

“There is a Santa.” Virgil was glaring at his eldest brother. “Just not the Santa you think you know.”

“What?”

“Every year we choose presents and under the guise of Santa, we gift them to those we love. You are now old enough to gift presents to those you love, too. You can be Santa.”

Alan stared at him. “But what about the North Pole and the reindeer and the red suit and...”

“A fairytale.”

“Scott.”

“C’mon, Virg, he’s found us out.”

“He’s found out the truth. That we as a family give each other gifts because we love each other. We don’t need to glam it up anymore.”

“You lied to me?”

Virgil’s eyes widened, but then he sighed. “A little.”

“Why?”

Scott stood up, walked around the centre table and sat on Alan’s other side. “Allie, it’s a coming of age thing.”

“Why?”

Virgil answered. “Because it is sometimes nice to believe there is a little magic in our lives.”

Alan remembered the disappointment he felt at that moment and perhaps the loss of innocence, but of that night, the one thing that still stuck in his mind was the sadness in his brothers’ eyes.

Sure, Virgil was cheerful and positive, and even if Scott had been a little tired and grumpy, he was there and an hour later after wrapping first Gordy’s present, then one for John, he had gone to bed with the new knowledge and a sense of responsibility.

The hugs hadn’t hurt either.

Christmas morning had a little less urgency to run down to the main room and Gordon had to be clapped around the ears by Grandma for teasing him about the whole thing, but it had just become another part of growing up.

That his mother and father had missed.

He didn’t hold it against them. Mom, he never knew, and Dad had to make the sacrifices so other families didn’t have suffer the loss of a parent like they had, but it really just was another example of his two eldest brothers being there for him.

Which really sunk in when he was officially orphaned two years later.

-o-o-o-

Alan continued to stare at John.

“Do you have a problem with being loved?”

“What? Nooo.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m eighteen! They treat me like I’m still a kid!”

“You are still a kid.”

“No, I’m not!”

John held back the instinctive rebuttal and bit the inside of his cheek. “Alan, look at it from Scott’s point of view. He has been your guardian for eight years. Technically he is almost old enough to be your father. It has been his responsibility to look after you for even longer than that. That isn’t something that just switches off.”

“I’m not talking about Scott. I’m talking about Virgil. He’s not my guardian, but he treats me like he is.”

John’s lips thinned. “Don’t you ever say something like that to his face. In fact, don’t bother saying it in front of me again either. We’ve all made sacrifices, Alan, but none more than Scott, and Virgil isn’t far behind. You’d be better to recognise that and be grateful for what you have.”

Alan grumbled. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. They’re great, it’s just...so frustrating.”

“Then perhaps it is your turn to show the patience that has been offered you all these years.”

-o-o-o-

In 2055 the world lost the brilliant entrepreneur, billionaire business man and founder of International Rescue, Jeff Tracy.

Eleven year old Alan Tracy lost his Dad.

He also lost a part of his biggest brother. Scott had been forced to sit idle in Thunderbird One while his father tackled the Hood. He hadn’t been able to do anything but watch the Zero-X explode in front of him.

The whole family had been shattered, but no more than its new head. Scott was driven wild, determined that their father was not dead. The world disagreed, the explosion had been too final, too definite, to be anything but fatal. But Scott refused to believe.

There were arguments. They tried to hide them from the youngest brothers, and yes, at sixteen Gordon was almost as under-aged as Alan. But the pair of them could hear Scott’s strident and commanding voice echo through the house, followed by Virgil’s bellowed contradiction.

The day Alan found Grandma crying in the kitchen was the last straw.

“Grandma?” Did his voice have to sound so small?

She startled and turned. Her eyes were red and wet and, oh god, there were tears on her cheeks. “Grandma? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Umm...I’m just not feeling right at the moment. I’ll be okay.” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder, but the smile was so forced his heart broke.

“Is it because Scott and Virgil are fighting?”

She shook her head, but didn’t seem to be able to say anything.

“Is it because of Daddy?”

And there were tears running down her face and he found himself wrapped in her arms. To his shock, he found he was almost her height, her head resting easily on his shoulder. “It will be okay, Allie.” But her voice was sobbing.

Eventually, she straightened and her smile became brighter and she sent him on his way. Told him to go clean his room, in fact, but Alan had a better idea.

He found them facing off on either side his father’s desk. Holograms hovered over it and his two biggest brothers were glaring at each other through the flickering images.

“It is what Dad would do.”

“You are not Dad.”

“Somebody has to be.”

“Why?! Why Scott? Why can’t we be ourselves?”

“Because this is what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I do! I knew him better than you!”

Virgil took a step back, eyes widening.

Scott echoed his expression as if realising exactly what he had just said. “I didn’t mean that, Virgil. I’m sorry.”

Plaid clad shoulders straightened and squared. “Yes, you did. But regardless, International Rescue was his dream, not ours.”

“So you want to give it up? Just like that?”

“No! As I have said multiple times, we just need to do it differently! We’re down an operative. Gordon and Alan are not old enough to take their places on the team. Hell, they may not even want to! We can only do so much. Give John some time to find his feet, for goodness sake.”

“Time is something we do not have. People will die.”

“People will die anyway! I just want to make sure no Tracys are on that list!” Virgil was leaning over the desk, his big shoulders wound so tight, his shirt look fit to bust a seam.

Alan had intended to yell at them, maybe scream a little for what they had done to Grandma, but instead their words scared him and suddenly he had tears on his cheeks, just like Grandma.

“Allie?” Virgil caught sight of him and within a split second was kneeling on the hardwood in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

It took him a moment to find his voice but he found himself wrapped in soft plaid flannel anyway, big hands rubbing his back.

“You hurt Grandma.” It came out as a sob.

“What? What’s wrong with Grandma?” Scott was standing beside them, his stance immediately ready to go and fix whatever problem Alan was able to point him at.

Unfortunately he was part of the problem.

He pulled away from Virgil and turned on both of them. “You. Both of you. You made Grandma cry. All you do is yell and fight!”

Both brothers froze and his eleven year old heart beat an extra beat in just a tiny bit of triumph. Perhaps they would listen? “Since Daddy died, you’ve done nothing but fight. I hate it when you fight and so does Grandma. Gordon hates it too. He goes swimming to get away from it. I don’t even know where John is. Please stop.” His throat caught again and he almost strangled on a sob. “Please.”

To his horror he realised Virgil had tears in his eyes and that, of course, only set Alan off more. Once again he found himself wrapped in his big brother’s arms. Virgil’s chest rumbled with words, but Alan didn’t understand what he said.

When he surfaced, Scott was no longer in the room.

“Scott has gone to find Grandma, to make sure she is okay.” Virgil wasn’t letting him go and his big brother had red rimmed eyes. Virgil’s voice was little more than a rumble. “I’m sorry, Allie. We’ll try to do better.”

His brother held him for a long time. Eventually Scott and Grandma found their way into the comms room, John was called out of his hidey-hole and Gordon dragged out of the pool. There was much family talking, hugging, a little more crying, but ultimately they worked it out enough to keep going.

The arguments stopped.

Well, mostly. Virgil still brought them out on very special occasions. Usually when Scott was being a pig-headed moron which fortunately wasn’t very often.

Life went on as best it could.

But then Gordon had the hydrofoil accident.

-o-o-o-

There was silence in the lab after that. Alan wasn’t happy, it was obvious, but he didn’t say anything so John just let him stew a while. Let him take the next step in the conversation.

After all, these calculations weren’t going to calculate themselves.

He just made it into that comfortable zone where he knew exactly what he was doing and had to be done, the numbers flowing, the equations dancing to his tune, and...

“What was Mom like?”

John blinked. That came from left field. Numbers dissolved in his head. “What did you want to know?”

“You know, things.”

“Things? You’ve seen the videos.”

“Of course, I have.” Their father, Scott and the budding artist, Virgil, had made many home videos over the years. They still did, knowing exactly what could be taken away in a flash and without notice. So there was plenty of footage of their mother.

Virgil was the brother most often found delving into those files. John had done his fair share of watching late at night when the Earth so far below just didn’t give him what he needed. Eos knew those files well and often offered them without prompt when John was feeling down.

But Virgil was the one who had the most affinity for their mother. Not to devalue any brother’s grief, but as Virgil had been the closest to her, the most like her in both appearance and interests. Knowing her must have been like learning about himself, his art, his music and answering all those questions their father just couldn’t answer.

John had a few of those himself. He had no doubt Virgil had more.

“She was a lot like Virgil is today. If you’re asking if she would have wiped the mustard off your face, I can tell you right now, she did the exact same thing to me on multiple occasions.” It had been quite gross actually. Fortunately, he had learnt fast and removed the stimulus for such an action at an early age.

His musician brother had been fifteen to John’s twelve and Alan’s one year when they had lost their mother. Alan had no memory of her. Gordon at age six had been just old enough to know what he had lost but not really why. John swore that the close bond between Gordon and Virgil had been forged in those early years as their older brother had responded when Scott couldn’t, tied up with the ball of grief that was their father.

It had been a bad time, but they had struggled through it.

“She used to sing a lot. She and Virgil sang together every Christmas.” His brother hadn’t sung much since, the tradition lost to grief. “She was more open than Dad. Less of a stickler for rules, more willing to be flexible.” Their father was military and he fell back on discipline when at a loss.

Scott thrived under his father’s regime.

Virgil did not.

And his resemblance to his mother didn’t help in the slightest.

“Mom knew how to make Dad smile. She loved a good joke. Heh, I swear Gordon gets that from her. Once she put a jack-in-the-box in Scott’s lunch box. He nearly had a heart attack in the school cafeteria.”

“Why would she do that?” Alan frowned up at him.

“She believed in experience being the greatest teacher. She caught Scott boasting about his parents to another kid who was far less fortunate. About all their successes. She didn’t appreciate it and figured Scotty could come down a peg or two. She succeeded.”

“Wow. Scott did that?”

John snorted. “Scott was a kid as much as any of us once. He’d prefer you believed he sprouted fully formed, but no, he had to grow up and make the same stupid mistakes we did.” Half a smile. “He’s far from perfect, but he tries.”

“He certainly does.” Alan grinned a little fondly, but then his face fell and he sighed. “You’re right. I’m being an ass.”

An arched eyebrow. “I never said you were an ass.”

“No, but I am. You guys have been great. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Except maybe a little less saliva?”

“Eww, yeah, Virg had garlic bread for lunch.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

John couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.

Alan stared at him a moment longer before his face cracked too.

“Gotta love him anyway, I guess.”

A snort. “Yeah, we do.”

-o-o-o-

Gordon’s career was a fast one. Straight out of high school and into the Olympics. By the time he was eighteen, he had a gold medal hanging on the wall and had started his career in WASP.

Alan missed his fishy brother, but he was ever so proud of him. There had been talk of him joining International Rescue and activating the final Thunderbird once his training and tenure was done. Alan had seen his brother hovering around the slick little yellow submarine and Scott had been heard to wish for the full complement of Thunderbirds to finally be deployed.

The fact John was flying the ‘bird Alan wanted to fly more than anything was beyond frustrating.

Virgil was helping Alan with his physics homework when the call came through.

A familiar face flickered up on the holoprojector at the end of the kitchen table. “Aunt Val. Hey, how are you?” Virgil offered her a smile as Alan surfaced from under the details of pressure, torque, momentum and velocity that were required to tackle the problem at hand.

“Good morning, Virgil. Is Scott available?”

“Unfortunately, no. He’s out on a rescue. Can I help you?”

“Hey, Aunt Val.”

“Alan.” Her expression was grave and something in Alan’s gut twisted.

“What’s wrong?”

Beside him, Virgil sat up straighter. “What is it?”

The Colonel sighed. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news. Your brother Gordon has been in an accident...”

And their world dissolved there and then.

Alan didn’t remember much of those early days. There had been frantic calls to brothers, John limping around because he had crashed to Earth too quickly for his own health. The fear in Scott’s eyes had been terrible.

The sight of his fish brother decked out in medical equipment.

The not knowing.

The terror.

Virgil holding him in the hospital corridor while Alan cried his eyes out all over his shirt.

Scott sitting at his brother’s bed, head bowed down to the sheets clinging to a limp hand.

John, vacant eyed, staring into nothing the night they thought they were finally going to lose Gordon.

Virgil crying in his grandmother’s arms.

Scott kicking a hole in Gordon’s door and making enough racket to wake up the dead.

Gordon answering the call and faintly scolding Scott to keep it down.

The hope that followed.

That first week, their lives froze. Everything stopped. School, IR, regular meals, everything. The outside world kept moving around them, ignoring their pain, but within their family everything stopped, narrowing only to the hospital and their desperately ill brother.

Once Gordon woke up. It started to move again.

Life slowly came back.

It became full of odd moments. Brothers in places he didn’t expect to find them. Gordon’s illness brought out aspects of Alan’s family he didn’t expect.

He had to say that the most unexpected was the day John walked into Gordon’s hospital room with his red hair spiked in all different directions. It was as if he had stuck his fingers in a power socket and sprayed gel into his hair at the same time.

Gordon had laughed himself silly and considering there had been tears half an hour prior, this was a major thing.

Apparently Gordon had dared him once to do it and John had saved it for a special occasion.

Alan made sure he took pictures for history’s sake.

Another day he found Virgil curled up asleep in the chair beside Gordon, his head on his brother’s pillow. The engineer was still in his uniform and covered in dirt. The hospital staff were going to have a fit.

Alan stopped in the doorway and Scott collided with his back with a “What?”

“Shhh...” And Gordon was holding up a very shaky and uncoordinated hand that clearly said ‘Leave him be.’

“What’s he doing here? He’s supposed to back at Tracy Island.” Scott’s voice was a worried whisper.

“B-bad rescue.” Gordon’s voice was as shaky as his hand. “Think he w-want to ch-check I’m ‘kay. Cos they weren’t.”

“Shit.” It was little more than expelled breath.

His big brother disappeared out into the hallway and a moment later they had the full story from John.

A boat. A teenage boy. And a flood. Virgil did his best, but there were limits.

They sat together until Virgil woke up, groggy and miserable. Scott took him out of the room and Alan was left alone with Gordon.

“I should been there.” His brother’s speech was patchy. The hydrofoil he had be travelling in had been at travelling at a ridiculous speed. When one of its foils collapsed, he was very lucky he wasn’t killed. There was a long, long road ahead.

“Wasn’t your fault, Gordon.”

“No, but should be there for him.”

As if that was the starting point. His brother picked himself off the ground and drove himself back to health. It took a lot of work and no small amount of pain, but a year later Gordon Tracy presented himself to the Commander of International Rescue ready for action.

It took another six months and Gordon’s birthday for his brother to be drunk enough to mention to Alan exactly what had happened that afternoon and what Virgil had said to him.

His fish brother held up his glass, grim and serious. “Our big bros are THE BEST.”

Alan smiled, hoping to god Gordon wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning. The fact Virgil had come off a hell of a rescue, exhausted and upset, and flown in to see Gordon just to sing him a lullaby was baffling. But it had apparently done something for Gordon and for that Alan would ever be grateful.

-o-o-o-

“So what happens when we find Dad?”

John started, suddenly thrown out of old memories. “Uh, whatever needs to happen?”

“Do you think he will be okay? It has been so long.”

Eight years alone in space. “I don’t know, Alan.”

“How did we not work this out earlier? That capsule was sitting down there all that time. Dad has been waiting so long. He’s missed so much.”

John closed his eyes and touched his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have the answers, Alan. I’m sorry.”

“I know.” His little brother swallowed. “It’s just that I can’t remember much about him anymore. He’s going to be a stranger.”

“He’s our father. We’ll make it work.” They had to make it work. The guilt was tearing Scott apart. Eight years. Eight long years just because they had missed one piece of the puzzle. Dad could have been home years ago.

The yelling had started again. Scott angry and hurt, Virgil battling to keep him on the straight and narrow and tackling his own guilt at the same time.

John felt the guilt, too. He had looked at everything after the incident. Everything. He had even combed space. Eos had been looking for their father from the day she joined him despite John’s heart telling him it was a lost cause, that Scott was wishing for the impossible, that it had been too long. She had been scanning for three years they still hadn’t found him. Until now, and from a clue that could have...should have been found so long ago.

“I wonder what he looks like.”

John closed his eyes.

“Johnny? You okay?”

“Don’t call me Johnny.”

He received a snort for that. “Yeah, well, I guess it will be good to save Dad and bring him home.”

A frown. “You guess?”

“Well, yeah, it will be great. But you are right.”

The frown deepened and he looked over at his little brother. “I right? With what? You’ve lost me.”

“Well, Scott and Virg are really the ones who’ve been there for me, you know?” Alan rubbed the back of his head. “So, like, they are the closest I have to parents. They were doing that gig even before Dad went missing.”

John stared.

His little brother didn’t notice. Instead he stood up. “Well, I guess I should get out of this uniform. Getting a little ripe, I think. Anyway, thanks for the chat, bro.”

And with that Alan bounced out of the lab as fast as he had bounced in.

John blinked and turned back to the calculations he had been trying to wrangle this entire time.

But the numbers ignored him.

Dad.

Scott.

Virgil.

If they found their father, things were going to change.

John frowned and rubbed his face.

Damn.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

 Notes on the Tracy brothers’ ages in this fic:

The conclusions I have come to are based on three things – Alan’s estimated age of 16 in season one, the number of years ago they lost Jeff as stated in season three and counting back using each season as a year with season one being set in 2060, and also the need for the eldest three boys to be adult at the time of the loss of Jeff in order to keep IR running and for Scott to take guardianship of the younger two. So my calculations with a few estimates thrown in are that in 2060 Scott is 31, Virgil 30, John 27, Gordon 21 and Alan 16. I know this is older than generally recognised for TAG and the only age I can be vaguely sure about is Alan’s but there is logic behind these calculations. It does merge it slightly better with TOS, so I think I’ve balanced the two.

Jeff was 24 when Scott was born. Lucy was 22.

Lucy died age 38 when Scott was 16, Virgil 15, John 12, Gordon 6, Alan 1. Jeff was 40.

IR started and they moved to the island when Scott was 24, Virgil 23, John 20, Gordon 14 (not an operative), Alan 9.

Jeff (aged 50) was lost two years later when Scott was 26, Virgil 25, John 22, Gordon 16, Alan 11.

In season three this would make Scott 33, Virgil 32, John 29, Gordon 23 and Alan 18 which is where this story is set.

I generally see Kayo as the same age as Gordon, but in this case she may be a little older, perhaps between Gordon and John.

(It should be noted that in most of my other fics I had the boys generally much younger, but with the canon mention in season three of Jeff having gone missing eight years ago, I have since had to recalculate things otherwise the boys would be too young to keep IR going. In Warm Rain, for example, Virgil is 24 and Kayo 20. This is not possible with the new information of Jeff being missing for eight years because Virgil would have only been sixteen when he disappeared).

[out-of-this-dimension]

Hey you've been quiet for awhile, everything okay?

So I had this huge thing typed up then Tumblr deleted it in typical Tumblr fashion. I’m gonna be posting a bit of a brief version of what the OG draft said under the cut.  I wanna be up front about this because I think it’s something that everyone in fandom spaces encounters at some point:

I am absolutely going to preface this by saying that I’m not upset at anyone and no one really caused this except me.  I have some issues I gotta work out so I’m doing my best to work them out.  

I’ve been a bit distant on all social media for two reasons.  I guess you could say I’ve been feeling a bit weird about Star Fox, though more specifically my own contributions to the fandom.  I’ve been feeling a bit disappointed in my SF-related works (fics, theories, headcanons-- although the fics have been the biggest thing lately) and a bit in myself as well.  I started to feel probably around January that my works were starting to get a bit... stale.  Like maybe I was being a bit redundant in my writing, maybe my headcanons weren’t as interesting as other people’s, etc.  I do write mostly for myself and for my own satisfaction-- don’t get me wrong, I didn’t come up with these headcanons and stories for the purposes of getting “attention” or anything like that.  I wrote them because I wanted to.  But I started... slipping into a bad mindset about it.  A toxic mindset.  I started comparing views/comments/likes on my stuff to other people’s works on sites like AO3 and FF.net. And there were times when I’d read these fics that had huge followings and I’d be upset.  And what’s stupid is I’d read them knowing I’d probably get upset because I’d read them and I’d feel like I’d put more effort into my stuff than this other random person put into their stuff.  Talk about yikes, right?

And I don’t like to think of myself as a bad person but what I was doing was very bad.  And very toxic.  And I realized it was turning me into a person that was irritable and judgmental.  

I also started getting worried that I was being too pushy with my ideas in fandom spaces.  I am aware that there are Discord servers out there that I’m not a part of that have talked about my theories and headcanons... and that level of “fame” (I mean is anyone in this fandom really famous LOL) had me worried that maybe people were taking everything I said and like... treating me like a Lore Authority, which I’m definitely not!  I may research stuff but tbh, I’ve gotten stuff wrong before-- it happens.  And that fear kind of made me think that maybe I was being pushy, in a sense.  When people talk about their headcanons regarding a character, sometimes I wanna talk about mine too because they inspire me... I felt like maybe I was being a bad listener.  And I was getting worried that people were looking at my headcanon posts and just assuming that because I’m passionate, I was trying to be that Lore Authority figure that I definitely am not.  I’m so scared of coming across that way because I don’t want to stifle other people’s creativity and make them think that if they’re “around me”, then they have to adopt a certain set of ideas for the series-- I’ve been around people like that, trust me, it’s awful.  That’s why I made that post ehhhh a month or so ago about it being okay if an idea doesn’t vibe with you.  I never want people to feel that they have to agree with me every time.  I like invoking conversation, not dominating it and I got scared I was dominating.

So overall, both of those things kinda left me feeling a bit bad regarding the fandom and I thought it would be best to pull away from social media for a bit.  I’m steadily getting over this funk I’ve been in.  I just need to figure myself out before I engaged with other people because I want to make sure I’m in a healthy mindset.  

So uh here’s the tl;dr for that segment -- I was worried I was being pushy and I was feeling inadequate and maybe boring and I was doing a bad thing by comparing myself to other people.  I feel like just about everyone who creates content goes through this in some way shape or form... so I just wanted to be candid about it.

The second reason I’ve been gone is less depressing and less of me being a dumbass.  I’ve been working on an original novel since mid-February.  The idea literally hit me at 3am one night and I started writing.  It’s... pretty much consumed most of my focus, I won’t lie.  If I write, it’s usually on this novel and I spend probably minimum 3hrs a day on it.  It’s sitting at 70k words atm with two chapters left before the first draft is concluded and editing begins.  And after that?  Probably will start looking for a literary agent!

I... can’t even verbalize how excited I am about this project.  I’ve had lots of characters I’ve created that I’ve felt very attached to but this particular cast feels like it has something special.  They’re near and dear to my heart and so is the story.  I’ve been enjoying the realization that every headcanon I make about these characters is canon because I’m the creator.  Oh the power.

Anyways, I do apologize for being gone but I figured it’d be better that I kind of go quiet than me being in such a bad mindset and engaging with people.  I think a break has been very good for me.  I certainly feel a bit more in-tuned with myself.  I’ll make a triumphant return when I feel like the time is right-- hopefully much wiser than I was before my break.

[justatiredghost]

Unsolved Academy Ch12

I know I said this fic was done but I guess I’ve got a couple bonus chapters for you all! I have some ideas for Klaus and Dave settling into homeownership and living alone together (and maybe their wedding? Maybe?) but I don’t know if it should be it’s own fic or just flavor in between their ghost hunting adventures. Thoughts?

-

They’d gotten a hammock after all and set it up by the window so they could curl up together on it and stare out at the busy street below. Most people wouldn’t really consider it much of a view but they could see the sky as well as people watch, so what more did they need? It was a bit precarious, getting them both situated on the hammock without tumbling out, but they’d finally figured it out and could do it with ease now. 

Today as they lounged in their favorite spot, Klaus couldn’t help but stare around at their apartment instead of out the window, properly taking it all in for the first time since they’d furnished it. Sure, it was small and cramped and everything was second hand and not in the best shape, but that didn’t matter. It was all theirs. 

They had the freedom to fill this space with whatever they wanted and they were having too much fun with it. Every piece of furniture and decoration had a story behind it and it all made him smile. They’d started a competition to see who could find the most terrible or ridiculous addition and at the moment Dave was winning with an old coffin-shaped coffee table, but Klaus had his eye on a set of second-hand landscape paintings someone had added silly-looking monsters to that might just win him the week. Ben came in as the final judge when there wasn’t a clear winner.

“We’re actually doing it,” Klaus said, his voice full of awe.

“What?” Dave said, mouth full of the last bite of toast he’d been munching on.

“I’m holding down a job, I’ve got a home that has nothing to do with the fam, I’ve got an absolutely gorgeous boyfriend,” Klaus added and Dave gave him a playful shove. “And I’ve been off the hard stuff for, what, a year? Maybe more?”

“Yeah,” Dave said. “I’m proud of you.”

“I never thought I’d live past my 20s, I guess I’m just kinda shocked that I ever managed to get my life even a little bit together.”

“Me too,” Dave said wistfully.

“You also didn’t think I’d ever get my life together?” Klaus said with a grin.

“What? No, no,” Dave laughed. “I’m a bit of a disaster too, you know, my life wasn’t exactly going anywhere even before the war. This all seemed pretty impossible. And I’d say we’ve done better than ‘a little bit.’ I mean, have you seen my boyfriend?” Dave wolfwhistled and Klaus laughed. 

“I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get used to this,” Klaus said. “I’m just gonna constantly stop and look around and realize how wild all of this is.”

“You deserve it,” Dave said, squeezing his kneeaffectionately. 

“Me? Never!” Klaus gasped, mock scandalized. 

“Too late, I already said it so it’s true.”

“Fine,” Klaus said with a laugh. “So long as you get over here and kiss me.”

“Yes, sir.” 

-

Making this place a home had been easy for Klaus. After all, wherever Dave was, felt like home, even when they’d been in hell fighting for their lives. There was still plenty they had to get used to, though. Their lives were changing, a layer of stress and urgency added onto their work now that they had rent and utilities among other things. Really, that urgency had always been there as they tried to just prove to themselves that they could support themselves, but now they had a bill attached to it.

Figuring out how to deal with that stress was a large part of adapting. And on top of that, Klaus had to deal with even more ghosts as they moved into a more active part of the city and he had had just about enough. 

The last few days he’d been getting more and more on edge, every last bit of patience drained from him as the ghosts got louder and louder, invading his privacy and interrupting at the worst possible moments. He finally snapped when a faceless man started screaming in the middle of his favorite show. He and Dave had been waiting all week for the new episode and he’d been looking forward to it and to have it ruined like this was just the last straw.

“Oh my god, that is fucking it!” he yelled as he jumped to his feet off the couch.

Apparently Dave either saw this coming or just knew him well enough not to be too alarmed because he just paused the show and waited for him to explain. Muttering under his breath about endless noise and annoying ghosts, he grabbed their camera and hit record, turning it on himself first.

“Today we have a very special episode brought to you by this fucking asshole,” Klais said, turning the camera in the direction on the faceless ghost who happened to be standing near Dave who pointed at himself in confused amusement. “No, not you, Dave. The ghost behind you. This dick has been doing nothing but screaming every time I sit down to enjoy some quiet time. What does he have against TV? And how does he even manage to scream without a face?”

He turned the camera back on himself. 

“So, we’re going to take a tour of our apartment here and I’m going to introduce you all to the assholes I have to live with. Since they usually follow people around I sure hope none of our neighbors are murderers.”

“I have my suspicions about that little old lady down the hall,” Dave chimed in. “She’s way too friendly.”

“Right,” Klaus exclaimed, pointing at Dave. “pkay, so, let’s do this. Time to put some ghosts on blast.”

He marched down the hall and into the bedroom where a woman was crouching in the corner, sobbing quietly.

“This ghost here never stops crying,” he said, exasperated. “It really is a buzzkill. We’ve all got problems, lady.” He turned the camera on himself again, hand shielding his mouth from view of the ghost like he was sharing a secret with the audience. “Honestly, some days I feel like joining her.”

He headed to the bathroom next, to where a ghost was screaming and pounding against the wall.

“And this ghost likes to start acting up the moment I’m trying to enjoy a nice bubble bath. Apparently I’m not allowed to get any down time around here, they always gotta be the center of attention. It’s a good thing I’ve never accidentally manifested this one, we’d probably have a hole in our wall.”

He walked into the hall again and stumbled backwards in surprise when a ghost phased through the wall and continued on into the kitchen.

“And then there’s this guy!” he exclaimed, gesturing. “He just wanders around, popping through walls at the worst times, but he never even acknowledges me which is unusual. Seriously, dude, what do you want?”

It went on like that for some time as he went over every ghost in the house. Dave already knew about them all, Klaus mentioned any time a new one showed up or one of the old ones finally disappeared. He said he didn’t want Klaus to go through this alone and encouraged him to, so at least he didn’t look upset when he finally clicked the camera off with a heavy sigh, feeling slightly better. Instead, Dave was watching him fondly and came over to pull him into a hug big enough that he lifted him up off the ground, causing them both to laugh. 

“Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but what was that for?” Klaus said as he caught his balance once Dave put him down again.

“What? Can’t I hug my boyfriend?” Dave said, putting his arm around Klaus’ shoulders, pulling him into a playful headlock, although it was one he was easily able to slip out of and repay the favor, ruffling Dave’s hair in the process.

“No, no, your boyfriend very much approves, it just kinda came out of nowhere is all.” Maybe they said the word ‘boyfriend’ a little too often but they were still enjoying the reality of being a couple so much that they liked reminding each other. Dave in particular always seems to beam at the endearment so of course Klaus couldn’t stop. 

“Then I obviously don’t do this nearly enough,” Dave said, grinning as he took Klaus’ hand, swinging it back and forth, smiling at him and just looking so damn proud Klaus didn’t know what to do. “Although I am really happy that you’re doing so great.”

“What?” Klaus said, a little confused. “I don’t know if I’ll even upload that let alone make it an episode, I just wanted to let off a little steam. Was it really that good?”

“No, no, I mean, yeah, it was good but that’s not what I meant. I know how much the ghosts scare you and it sucks that you have to see them at all, but it just seems good that you’re finding ways to face them. And get back at them, that’s always good too.”

“It is better than being drunk in a gutter,” Klaus joked. 

“Maybe you should start posting pictures like this on our social media. Instead of pet shaming, ghost shaming?

“What, like, post a picture of the corner of the room with just a sign that says ‘I have to scream and wake everyone up at 5am every day,’ things like that?”

“Exactly.”

“Could be fun,” Klaus said thoughtfully. “But I’m all fired up now, let’s get out of here and do something fun tonight.”

“I’m game!” Dave said immediately, looking excited. 

[lazywriter7]

Starkquill Rave - Fic time!

Awhile ago, I’d offered to write one from three Starkquill prompts as a thank you to all the people who’d offered such amazing support to my writing - see post here . 

The people have spoken and the results are in: with no trouble whatsoever, the musical soulmates AU has emerged victorious! A giant Thank You to all the people who voted and reblogged, I love you and I hope you get what you came for ;) The plot ballooned up, hence the lateness - but here’s part one: Prompt:  “soulmate au where no one hears music until they fall in love” HIT READ MORE

1986

 The Chevy’s wheels sizzle on the asphalt, gravel flying off the highway to clatter on its undersides. The windshield is hazy under the glare of the high noon sun. The window panes are half rolled-down, heat streaming into the car under the guise of wind. Poles and railings and the odd warehouse – all flit by in an unending blur, melding into the landscape of the Great American Countryside stretching about him.

Sweat is beginning to collect under his fingertips; he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. It leads to his back losing contact with the sticky leather of the seat, t-shirt parting with his skin to let through a small draught of coolness. The Chevy Camaro IROC-Z probably wasn’t built for a sixteen-year-old driver, though he doubts he’s ever going to grow taller. His legs are over-extended as is, feet half-skimming the gas and brake pedals. He should’ve pulled over and moved the seat up a long time ago, but he hasn’t been able to make himself slow down. The road feels distant, at this speed. Like he’s barely touching the ground, like these straight grey lines are mere guidelines rather than boundaries he can’t cross over.

Something vibrates on the dash – he looks over, sees a flashing screen. In a move that barely registers in his head as careless, he reaches over till his belly skims the bottom of the steering wheel, fingers extending for the scorching chrome-and-plastic of his phone. He hits receive and speaker in quick succession, settles back into the damp groove his weight has created in the seat.

“Tony.”

The word is almost lost as the Chevy speeds under and past a flyover – Tony’s breath leaves his chest slowly. “Hey pumpkin.”

Rhodey’s tone is even, well-controlled. “Where are you? The campus police have been looking for hours–”

“Not on campus.” Tony speaks lightly. The wind is rippling past the hairs on the back of his neck, the ones on his sweat-sodden, taut arms. It’s been two years since they grew in, and they still feel vaguely foreign on his skin.

“…how far?”

“Exact coordinates are a bit of a bust.” He knuckles at the sweat collecting over his upper lip – it’s still faintly tender from the shave earlier this morning. “I’m guessing somewhere in the middle of Bumfuck, Missouri.”

“Missou–” The composure drains out of Rhodey’s voice in a hot second – word sawed off at the end in an effort to bank the panic. “How did you… how?”

“You know, the usual. Bought a plane ticket. And a car.” Tony keeps a hand on the wheel, stretches the other one out the window to be buffeted by the wind. Trails a fingertip ever-so-lightly over the window frame, smoothing over the vermilion-red finish. “The transmission is gorgeous, Rhodes. She handles like a dream.”

The frustration comes through easily over the silence on the line, Rhodey picking and discarding words and trying not too breathe too heavily. Tony waits him out, and sure enough, “You don’t have a license.”

“The showroom owners didn’t seem to mind.” The sky stripping over his head is heat-pale, blue fading away under the encroaching brightness of the sun. “Then again, I left my credit card with them so they probably wouldn’t have minded if I burned the place down.”

Nothing but the white noise of the highway. Tony half-thinks the line has gone dead, the click of the call ending lost somewhere between exits 43 and 44 – it doesn’t even sting that much. His heart kicks up a notch when words come through again, concern softening the syllables. “Media’s flocking the campus. Everyone wants to talk to the youngest ever winner of the 2.007 MIT Robot Design award.”

“How exciting for them.” He doesn’t mean to glance to the left, but the trophy still glints at the corner of his vision – knocked over on its side, cradled in the crease of the front seat. The burnished plaque at the bottom gleams dully: mens et manus. Mind and hand. There’s a name below the inscribed motto, three words long, that’s mostly been scratched out.

Tony looks straight ahead and drives.

“Your.” He doesn’t have to wonder too long to know what’s at the end of that uncharacteristic stutter. “Your dad gave an interview.”

“That’s good, I’m sure he needs the exposure.” The wheel creaks under his grip; Tony loosens it inch by inch, every motion tight and deliberate. “Next time, I’ll make sure to get a journalist pass before expecting him to come see me.”

An exhale. “Tony–”

“Sorry, gas station up ahead. Gotta fill up, talk to you later.”

The brake moves down sharply under his foot, tires squealing as he swerves violently to the right. He barely makes the turn, phone flying off the dashboard to clatter noisily to the floor.

The car lurches into the driveway, fender scraping past the pole of an unlit neon sign. It trundles through, passing under the broad shadow of the station’s concrete canopy. Rolling to a stop beside a self-serve console, Tony leaves the keys in the ignition and kicks the door open.

The gravel crackles under his soles. The air is hot and still. He flicks his eyes towards the fuel gauge – barely an inch below full.

The air whispers listlessly past his lips, skin dry and beginning to crack. His hands are still shaking.

For the lack of anything better to do, he flicks the radio on. Static, static, static… his fingers catch and turn the dial, degree by degree. And then–

 –leave me be

Taking everything in my stride

Don't need reason, don't need rhyme

Ain't nothing I would rather do

Tony’s lips curve, quick and bittersweet. He pulls his legs back into the car, shifts back till the scalding leather of the headrest presses into his hair. Closes his eyes.

Going down, party time

My friends are gonna be there too

I'm on the highway to hell

 Somewhere under the spectacular guitar riffs, he can hear another car pull into the station. The near-inaudible squeal of the engine coming to a stop, the click of a door swinging open. A few seconds, and then footsteps crunching over gravelly concrete, growing more and more distant.

Tony opens his eyes. Through the windshield, he can glimpse the back of a man (judging by the balding pate) in his sixties, disappearing through the glass doors of the attached convenience store. In idle curiosity, he glances over to the neighbouring console. Typical grey Ford Escort – 1981? 82? Whichever, it’s a boring car either way – bumpers turned dusty and brownish courtesy of the road. Both the front doors are thrown open, the driver’s seat desolate.

A flicker of movement – Tony’s eyes move towards the hood, where something…no wait, someone is blocking the view of the front tire.

Wow, that is one tiny human. Even from this distance, he can see the wide eyes, the slightly agape jaw. One tiny human staring at Tony’s car.

He’s clambering out of the Chevy Camaro before he’s fully aware, gangly limbs unfolding and his knees poking out through ripped denim. The boy – it seems like a boy, what with the crazy tufts of hair and general scruffiness – gazes at him for a while, before those eyes whip back to the car.

 Hey Satan, paid my dues

Playing in a rocking band

Hey mama, look at me

I'm on my way to the promised land

 “Bitchin’ ride, huh?” Tony reflects on the wisdom of using slang in front of an impressionable child, before kicking the thought to the back of his head. “You like it?”

The kid stays mute. Tony comes round the hood of the Chevy – the kid somehow looks even more rundown at this angle. Pale, drawn face, eyebags.

Tony reaches through the other window of his car, till his fingers wrap around the warmed metal of the trophy. Pulls it out and turns around to see the kid nervously gnawing at his lip, chin tilted high.

“I. I’m not supposed to be talking to strangers.” Nervous lip gnawing or not, the boy still meets Tony’s eyes, a pale and bloodshot gaze. His voice is slightly deeper than expected, somehow stripped of the traditional lilting tones of a child.

“I promise this isn’t made of candy.” Fingers uncurling, Tony lets the trophy roll slowly out of his hand – the boy’s eyes widen, before his hands dart to scoop it out of the air in an impressive show of reflexes.

Tony can feel his lips stretch out on either side of his cheeks – it doesn’t feel halfway fake. He pulls the Chevy’s door open on the passenger side, ducks in and shimmies over to the driver’s seat. Over his shoulder, he can still see the boy staring at his – dash? stereo? – pallid fingers loosely clasped around the base of the MIT prize.

Tony wraps steady fingers around the sweat-sticky wheel, chest rising and falling calmly. Starts up the engine, a smooth and pitch-perfect purr. Glances left for the last time, curl of the mouth punctuated by a wink. “Stay rad, kid.”

This time, he turns the Chevy with considerably more grace – wheels skimming on the concrete before dismounting onto highway asphalt. His seat is still too far back, but he doesn’t feel half as strenuously stretched out.

The sky sprawls on ahead. Tony hums.

 And I'm going down

All the way

I'm on the highway to hell.

  ~

  “I don’ get it.”

Peter can feel his nose scrunching, which he smoothens immediately.

Too late. “What don’t you get, bunny?”

He shudders. Yeah, not one of his favourite nicknames. “It doesn’ even – okay, listen, here it comes again–”

He-ell

(He-ell)

What’s the matter with your he-ad

“See?” Peter wants to shake the radio a little, but then it might fall off the sill again and Mom hadn’t liked that. “It doesn’ even rhyme.”

“It doesn’t have to rhyme, sweetie.” Mom plucks at the plastic tube going into her hand, almost like she’s strumming. “One of the gifts of modernism.”

“Whazzat?”

“No clue.” Mom smiles a little fuzzily, letting the tube jerk back into place. It looks almost invisible against her hand. “Your smarty-pants cousin used to say it.”

Peter wants to protest the smarty-pants status of Mara – she calls him a dum-dum, and he doesn’t think that’s a very smart insult at all – but then the chorus starts. It sounds, like all music does, like words awkwardly strung one after the other, missing something called the melody. And Mom says that’s the most important bit.

Come and get your love

Come and get your lo-ove

“But.” And Peter can feel his nostrils flaring up again, even though he’s trying really hard to understand, “Don’ you just…have love? Why’d you have to go get it? Did you leave it somewhere?”

Mom laughs – which Peter loves, even if it makes his chest puff out further in indignation. “You’ll understand when you hear it, honey.”

But I am hearing it. He’s hearing the guy say the words, even if they’re pitched weirdly. But Mom, and the world, says that he can’t Really hear music until he falls in love, and that won’t happen until a few more years ‘at least’.

The hospital bedsheet scrunches under Peter’s fingers, stiff and starchy. The nurses still haven’t opened up the windows, and the air smells dead.

He doesn’t want to wait a few more years. He needs to understand what’s making Mom smile now.

He wants to climb up on the bed, tuck his knees under her sides. But Mom doesn’t look up to it, so he just crosses his arms and tries to keep the whining to a minimum. “What if I don’t fall in love till I’m like… twenty.”

“Then you’ll be wiser than any teenager that ever lived.” Mom smirks like she made a really good joke. Peter resists the urge to sigh, Gramps-style.

“What if I can’t hear music even after I fall in love.”

“That means you’re waiting for your soulmate.” Mom’s teeth click together on the ‘t’, eyes creased like paper. “It’s the best reason of all.”

“Dierdre says,” He pronounces it like dray-dray, because no eight year old needed to have that complicated a name. “That soulmates are shi – stuff that’re made up for people who’re too selfish to love anyone.”

“I think it’s kinda romantic.” Mom says, still all wrinkly-eyed. “Your brain deciding to hold off one of the best experiences of life, just to share it with someone important.”

“What if,” And who cares if he’s mumbling a little, toes wriggling in his shoes, “they’ve already experienced it?”

“Then they’ll still value the moments they share with you, Pete.” Mom’s fingers dance across the bedspread, white on white, a delicate tap-tap. “There’s nothing in the world quite like having a tune in your ear. A chorus kicking into full swing. And looking around you, and realising that everyone around you is feeling the exact same thing.”

“You’ll remember the songs you listen to. The songs you sing.” And then, like magic, her spindle-like fingers find his – scrunched tight against the sheets. Coax them loose, encase them in her hand with a gentleness that comes so easy. “It doesn’t matter, if they’re the first ones or the last. What matters is that you remember, and hold them dear.”

The people or the songs, he wants to ask – but the answer’s there, in the shine of Mom’s eyes.

It doesn’t matter. When it’s the right person, the right song. The answer is one and the same.

 ~

 2012

 Peter’s borne several names through his lifetime.

Some he’s clung to with mulish bloody-mindedness – light of my life. My precious son. My little Starlord. Some he hears with such repetitive frequency that the effect’s gotten somewhat stale. Terran. Criminal. Dick.

And some that he would happily do with never having to hear ever again. Presenting to you: man who has lain with an A'askavariian.

Not that he resents being framed as the James Bond type. O-ho no, he is quite satisfied with tales of his exploits being spread throughout the galaxy. Except when they involve tentacles. And teeth.

Not that Rill isn’t an entirely delightful… entity. But they never anything-ed. At all. Remotely. Shy’la ‘caught’ them together, but he was only ever trying to get some info out of her on the Nova archives. Which is why he resents being summoned here by her in some Rigellian dive bar and have people eye him like… it’s goddamn middle school all over again, the time it’d got out that he pecked Molly Sheridan on the cheek. The same surveying with interest. That Shi’ar by the corner doesn’t even have limbs, for heaven’s sake.

“Pew-ter.”

Oh wonderful.

Peter plasters a smile on his face – more rictus-y than usual, but it’s not like these jackasses are gonna be able to tell – and turns around. There, under the Karona lights by the bar. Should’ve figured.

Rill is occupying three of the bar stools, mandibles long and dangling over her lower lip. Her neon-pink skin positively hurts to look at under the lighting. Her voice is garbled, but infinitely pleased. “Pew-ter.”

Peter manoeuvres between the tables till he’s reached the bar, turning in place to cock a hip against the counter. A pink tentacle goes slithering off the stool next to him, leaving behind a slime trail that smells faintly of lavender.

Rill smiles down at him benevolently – Peter keeps his own grin through a valiant struggle. “Standing is fine, thank you.”

It’s difficult to understand her response through all the chirruping; she either says so polite or hubba hubba. Peter tries not to dwell on it. “So you. Erm. Said you found something of potential interest to me?”

“So I did.” Rill strokes her own temple with a proboscis. “My feeder crafts came across–”

“Whoa, whoa. Shouldn’t we be talking about this in a,” He clears his throat significantly, “ore-may ivate-pray…ocation-lay?”

A'askavariians don’t have eyelids – otherwise he gets the impression there would be a lot of blank blinking going on right now.

“What?” Okay, he’s sounding a bit defensive, sue him if Toby McIntosh only explained the rules of pug latin to him once. “Did I not do it right?”

“I would be better able to inform you,” Rill informs him gravely, mandibles wobbling, “if I knew what you were trying to do.”

Maybe A'askavariians don’t have pugs either. Good for them, Peter doesn’t know why you’d want to talk to those wrinkly-looking bastards anyway.

“We are having a secret deal.” He’s doing the whisper-and-lean now, which is super obvious, but What Can You Do. “Shouldn’t we be doing this in a, yanno. Private location?” He’s feeling a little awkward about explaining ‘them rules’ to a mafia lord, but maybe the other mafia lords never told Rill about them. Sexist jerks.

“Oh no.” Rill chirps back cheerily. “Any spy in this bar would be confirmedly strong-bowelled.”

“Nice.” A pause. “What’s that?”

“We strangle them with our tentacles.” Rill demonstrates with a little wave-y motion. Peter waves back at the tentacle faintly. “And then disembowel them with our teeth.”

“Very nice.” Peter realises he’s been nodding for at least three seconds too long, before stilling his head with a jerk. “So, uh. Matter of interest?”

“As I was saying, my feeder crafts came across a decimated Chew-tari mothership–”

“Chitauri?” Peter usually doesn’t like giving away his cards that quickly, but holy shit. Fuck no. He straightens up immediately, ankle knocking into a barstool leg, “Man are you barking up the wrong tree, I want nothing to do with those lackeys or their boss–”

“–in addition to picking up some strange readings. Scans confirm recently lapsed warp-time behaviour, as well as particles from your corner of the universe.”

“Knowhere?” Peter scoffs quietly, but Rill’s beady eyes are twinkling under the lights and– “You mean Terra.”

Rill gathers her tentacles about herself, almost primly. “Have I got the right tree yet?”

Peter… doesn’t really have the brain space to deal with that question, to be honest. His mind is jittering back and forth in part-surprised, part-panicked strains, “Did they…was there… did they attack Terra?”

“I cannot confirm that.” There’s a part of his head still, that lives in a Joplin two-bedroom flat with a radio on the kitchen sill – a part that flinches at these words. “The ship was unsalvageable. We found only one lifesign for several systems, and it wasn’t Chew-tari.”

Peter’s lips part to speak on reflex, before pressing shut – words stilling in their tracks. It’s an age-old instinct that’s served him well over the years, the little voice of self-preservation that’s saved his hide time and again. You sure that stripper is legit, Pete? That’s a whole lotta guns for a lap dance routine. Yeah, that’s your Uncle Bill, but he’s also a Ravager and looks genuinely disappointed every time Yondu postpones Eat-The-Terran day. That slime looks like bad news, do not lick it.

Then again, he didn’t become a magnificent outlaw by not doing anything risky and immensely stupid. This is just a business deal. And he’s managed to walk out every single time, with few scars and fewer blaster burns on his jacket. He can back out before getting in too deep.

(He has to. He’s ridiculously in debt to the seamstress guild on Xandar, and they’re notoriously vicious when it comes to collection. Needles-in-bits vicious.)

Rill ahems politely, mandibles quivering. Peter is reminded that he’s keeping a mafia lord waiting, soft spot for him or no.

Fuck it. He smiles, broad and assured. “I’m interested. Show me what you found.”

 ~

 When Tony comes to, he hits his head on the inside of the helmet.

Clanggggg. His eyes only water slightly – this is far from the worst he’s ever had in the suit. He’s not plummeting to a fiery death, or freezing solid in the stratosphere, or even catapulting to crash against the workshop ceiling. This is good. This is manageable.

Sure, he can’t rub at the bump on his forehead because the suit is dead, but that’s cool. It is. They let him keep his suit in hell, which seems like a cheatcode if there ever is one.

“J? You there?” His lips barely move, but that shouldn’t be an impediment if JARVIS is still functional. The ensuing silence is answer enough.

This is fine. I’m fine. If the suit’s a cheatcode, then JARVIS would’ve been a goddamn walkthrough. If Dante is to be believed, then this level isn’t so easy to cross.

“Stark, you know that’s a one-way trip.”

Tony opens his eyes.

Hell has an… interesting aesthetic. There’s a lot more neon-coloured lighting than the average person would expect, though Tony’s always believed Vegas to be an approximation of the netherworld. It’s more cavern than room; curved walls and no furniture, just oddly-shaped blocks that wouldn’t be out of place in a modern art exhibit. He can’t see any doors either, though his peripheral vision is fuck-all at this point.

Still, he’s got just enough leeway to crane his chin downwards – which confirms what he was already suspecting. He’s suspended in mid-air, his boots at least six inches clear off the ground. It’s like he’s been pinned in place by some kind of maglev effect, but he can’t fathom any present tech that would have the strength to hol–

No. No. Not tech. His heartbeat is beginning to skitter in his chest, pulse rapidly at the base of his neck. He would rather be dead and at the mercy of crazy Hades voodoo than be… lost in some speck of the universe. He refuses.

In typical fashion, the universe chooses that moment to slide open a section of the wall. What proceeds to come in appears to be closer to tentacle-alien than Fury-from-hell, but Tony is prepared to grant some artistic liberties.

Of course, all that is blown out of water when a Han Solo type swaggers in just after.

Maybe I made it to heaven. He’s being over-generous, but there’s something to be said for the clear-eyed, glinting regard of the man who’s just walked in.  There’s the getup, obviously – the jacket, the weapon holstered ever-so-carelessly on the hip, the fleet-fingered tap tap of his nails on his thigh suggesting anything but a lack of care. But what really sticks is the stare: hazel eyes, honest in their shade and undeniably mercenary in intention.

The fantasy comes to a screeching halt when the man actually opens his mouth. “I’d have to sell it off piece by piece, but I can get a good price.”

How dare.

Tony likes to think the suit comes alive through the power of his sheer indignation – but truth be told, he just kicked back his right heel and activated the emergency power supply. The repulsors whine to partial strength – he doesn’t do anything too fancy, just swivels his right gauntlet to point straight at his target.

And imparts devastating words that may or may not make it through his external speakers. “Sell this, you scummy Jawa.”

The repulsors fire, which is good. The man’s irises begin to glow, which is decidedly not.

The impact ripples out from the centre of collision like a shockwave – it catches Tony in the chest, wrenches him free of the maglev hold. It’s like being hooked and pulled backwards, very suddenly; the wall hits his back and he crumples, pain jangling in his senses like a livewire. His vision’s starting to go out.

Through it all, there’s space for one last, resentful thought.

Superpowers. Fuck me.

 -to be continued

[avidfanficwriter]

Unforeseen Circumstances

Jeremy Renner X OFC.

Summary: “How would he explain it to the child? How would he explain it to Willa? Years together and now it’s all gone. There’s no way, Willa would never forgive him. How could she look at him and still feel love. He stands up facing Julienne, his heart in his throat  and words coming out of his mouth before he realizes. “Will you Marry Me?” Jeremy stares at her in silence, unsure of what answer he wants from her. If he even should be asking that question. He had to ask her, it was the right thing to do. Even if she wasn’t the one he loved. “

Rated: T.

Warnings: Unfaithfulness, break up, depression; Language, Baby Mama Drama. 

Authors Note: I actually forgot all about this story, this chapter and the second chapter have been sitting in my drafts for apparently six months. Plus this was suppose to be a Reader fic but god i got so bloody tired of writing in that view so, it’s OFC. Hope ya’ll enjoy. 

Chapter 1. Chapter 2.  Chapter 3. 

Willa’s eyes leave the laptop screen with a wide grin on her lips. “Guess what the new rumor is?” She says, turning to face her boyfriend of ten years, Jeremy Renner.

He doesn’t move or even acknowledge that she spoke. He’s lost in the new script he’s just received. “Babe?”

“Yeah?” He responds, his head lifting from the script to face her, his eyes lighting up when they meet hers. 

“Did you hear me?”

“No.” he says, refocusing his attention back to the script

She chuckles, “Guess what the new rumor is about you?”

‘Hmm?” 

Willa turns back to the laptops screen, reading the title of the article. “Jeremy Renner cheats on longtime girlfriend with dumb bimbo model.” she chuckles finding it amusing. It was one of their shared interests, reading the ridiculous headlines that the gossip articles wrote to attract attention. Now that Jeremy had his name attached to ‘Avengers’ movie he was getting more gossip spreading about him than every before.p>

Jeremy lifts his head from the script, his face goes white as his breath hitches in his throat. His eyes slowly move back to her and he smiles slightly. “Oh?” 

“Yeah, Apparently, you two have been a thing for a few weeks now.” 

“Is that so?” 

Willa smiles, her eyes continue to read the article; her smile never leaving. 

Jeremy’s eyes linger on Willa for a while longer, he’s panicking. Fighting his heart rate and the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. His jaw clenches as he tried to refocus his attention to the script ahead of him. Jeremy stares at the paper desperate to read the words though it’s no use as they blur, each letter going in and out of focus. He breathes deeply, trying to regain his composure. 

“I’m gotta take a shower babe.” Jeremy finally says, tossing the script onto the glass coffee table. Willa nods in response, her attention to still on the article. Jeremy quietly walks up the stairs, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he takes. It’s like a cartoon, his stomach bubbling with nausea, his heart breaking off as he goes up the stairs; his eyes filling with enough tears to fill a pool. 

He didn’t plan this, he didn’t even plan to hide it from Willa. It just happened, plain and simple. A piss poor excuse but that was the truth. A single moment turned into something more. 

From that it continued, A month turned into two and before he knew it, he was a failure. A failure as a boyfriend. A failure as a man. It was his biggest mistake, the biggest regret he would ever find himself committing. He wasn’t a child, he could atone for his mistakes but they continued. One missed date, one missed event and soon after he’d missed their anniversary. All because of another woman. 

A woman that would never compare to Willa. A woman would meant nothing to him.  By the time, he reached the upstairs bathroom, he locked the door, and was resting his back on the cold wood.   He pulled out his cell phone and entered his pass code, a new feature he’d added on. Yet another thing he’d lied to Willa about.

“Where’s your phone, Jer? I have to call my boss and my phone is completely shot.” Willa says coming down the stairs, dressed in nothing but a tank top and yoga pants. Jeremy is lost in her appearance, figure fitting clothing that showed every curve, he face make up less showcasing her natural beauty. “Jer?”

“Oh, it’s on the counter.” He points in front of him to the kitchen. Willa walks past Jeremy who's laying on the couch, passing the time as he watches crappy tv. 

“Since. When do you have a lock?” Her voice forces his eyes to shoot open

“Oh, some of the guys kept trying to go through my phone for the past week so I put a lock on it so they couldn’t get in.” He feels like he deserves a pat on the back for how quickly he thought of that trick. 

“I will never understand men.” Willa says shaking her head. “Pass code is?” “2982.” 

Jeremy scrolls through his contacts, searching for the pseudonym name that he put ‘her’ under.

‘Oscar.’

He stares at the contact information for a while deciding if he should call her or text her. He opts for a text. Fearing that Willa may pass by and overhear a part of the conversation that she never should. 

Jeremy tosses the phone onto the counter, proceeding to start the shower.  He raises his hand to his face, rubbing his eyes while starring at his reflection in the mirror. He pulls his shirt off tossing it on the floor when his phone chimes. He grabs the phone quickly, reading the text message.

He let’s out a sharp exhale, shaking his head

‘Oscar’ responds quicker this time, Jeremy doesn’t even have a time to put his phone down before he received two responses

Jeremy groans, loudly. The small bathroom is beginning to fill with steam, clouding his mirror and his phone screen. He doesn’t have to think of what to say, Willa means more to him than he would ever be able to admit and he wasn’t going to do anything else to mess it up. He responds:

This time before the response is received, Jeremy manages to get out of his jeans. He walks to the shower and grips the waist band of his briefs when the phone chimes again.

Jeremy stares at the phone is disbelief, the woman he’d meet months ago was nicer, sweeter not an ounce of bad blood in her body. He doesn’t argue, he can’t argue, if she’s willingly to inform the media about their relationship who knows how far she would take it, if he refused her again. 

Jeremy tosses his phone into the counter, he hears the sound of glass shatter, not caring at all. 

After Jeremy finishes his shower, he returns downstairs to find Willa sitting on the leather sofa watching television. He walks behind her, wrapping his arms around her chest and planting a kiss on her head. It feels wrong when not even half an hour ago he was talking to the woman he cheated on her with. When here in front of him, the woman whose hands were holding his, the one he called his for ten years, he’d hurt in the worst way possible and couldn’t bring himself to confess to it.

He didn’t want to see the pain on her face. The tears that would fall. How her bottom lip would quiver while she tried to speak. When she couldn’t hold back her emotions and her hands would grip her shirt. He couldn’t imagine causing her pain.  

“Are you hungry?” She asks, nudging her head against his chest.

“No.” He says, quietly.

“I have to stay late tomorrow.”

“What?”

“We have to do night scene tomorrow and they want us to come in the same time but stay late as well.”

“Oh.” Willa says, shaking her head. “I don’t understand actors.”

Jeremy smiles, “That’s what everyone who works in an office says.”

“I enjoy my job. A lawyer’s life is fulfilling and I can be home at normal times unlike someone.”

The rest of the night went by smoothly, the pair sat on the couch for the remainder of the night. Falling asleep in each other’s arms, Jeremy had one hand wrapped with her waist and the other entangled in her hair. The leather couch they owned was their least favorite piece of furniture, it could be comfortable for an hour but after any exposed skin would stick to it. Or there would be an outline of your body imprinted on the couch.l Yet when the two fell asleep on it, the discomforts no longer caused conflict.Willa nuzzled gently into Jeremy’s chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her. Willa is awoken by a constant buzzing, shaking the glass coffee table it rested on. She pulls the phone from the table, reading the name. Her hand softly shakes Jeremy awake holding the phone near him.

“Yeah?”

“Oscar is calling you.” Jeremy nods in response, slowly drifting back to sleep. 

Willa smiles and places the still vibrating cell phone on his chest, Jeremy gasps in response grabbing the phone off his body. He lazily holds the phone to his ear,  desperately trying to not succumb to sleep. A woman’s voice begins speaking and instantly he realizes who he’s talking too. He shoots up, sitting and nearly knocking Willa off of the couch with the movement. He holds her head into his chest as a sign of apology before slowly getting off the couch. Willa watches him as he uses his opposite hand to point to the phone, Jeremy leaves the living room retreating to the Office, he closes the french doors and locks them. He then moves further away from the door as he possible can, backing himself into a corner.

“Why are you calling me?” He whispers, his eyes focused on the doorknob.

She scoffs. “I changed my mind. You need to come over here tonight.”

Jeremy closes his eyes, “Tonight? Are you crazy? I can’t tonight. I already came home.”

“You need to come over here.” She insists.

Jeremy leans his back on the wall and exhales deeply, “I can’t.” He pleads.

“You need to come over here now!” She shouts and Jeremy obliges. He stuffs the phone into his pocket and walks to the door. He holds the door handle in his hand and takes a few deep breath. It’s another lie he has to create another excuse he has to make.

Jeremy walks out of the room and leans on the door frame, he smiles at Willa who’s curled up in a ball, her eyes closed. She looks like she is sound asleep, resting peacefully.

“You awake?” He asks, Willa nods her head ‘No.’

“I have to go. They need us to go over out contracts. So we have to do it tonight while the main producer is in town.”

Willa nods and gives him a small smile, still refusing to open her eyes. She’s tried he doesn’t blame her but he’s glad that he won’t have to look her in the eyes and lie to her once again.

“I love you.” She whispers, quietly.

“I love you too.”

As Jeremy, made his way to ‘her’ home, he felt wrong. The road wasn’t right, the route was longer; his heart beat at a ragged pace. He didn’t feel like a man. He promised himself that the last time he was with her would indeed be that, the last. He wouldn’t associate with her. That was the end of that. 

He arrives and she doesn’t give him any time for warning, ‘her’ Julienne takes little time to hit him with the news. 

“I’m pregnant.” The words stun Jeremy, he steps back, stumbling. He lands on the couch and is speechless. He doesn’t ask her if it’s his or even if she's’ positive shes’ pregnant he was raised better than that. As a child, he was always told nothing happens that you can’t handle. He sits back and begins to panic.

“How far along?” he asks, quietly.

“A few weeks.” Jeremy nods, resting his hand on his chin. He’s happy and disappointed in himself. He’s just hurt the only woman he’s ever loved and now he’s never going to take it back. the news of fatherhood brought a smile to his face but this wasn’t how he wanted it. He’d always pictured it with Willa, that she’d be the one who surprised him with the news. He was going to have a child with the wrong woman.

How would he explain it to the child? How would he explain it to Willa? Years together and now it’s all gone. There’s no way, Willa would never forgive him. How could she look at him and still feel love. He stands up facing Julienne, his heart in his throat  and words coming out of his mouth before he realizes. “Will you Marry Me?” Jeremy stares at her in silence, unsure of what answer he wants from her. If he even should be asking that question. He had to ask her, it was the right thing to do. Even if she wasn’t the one he loved. 

Julienne takes a moment to think, she smiles. “Yes.” The young woman is happy, smiling beyond belief. 

Neither of the two think of Willa or the situation they’ve now found themselves in. It’s the future, he’ll have to focus on now. A future without his true love. A future where, he’s thrown everything he’s ever cared about away for the wrong girl.

It doesn’t take long for a feeling of nausea to hit Jeremy as he holds Julienne in his arm, he loosens his grip on the younger woman and is back on the couch in seconds, she’s speaking about their wedding. Jeremy stayed the night at Julienne’s home, drowning himself in alcohol; begging that when he woke up this would have just been a cruel dream.

The next morning, Julienne tells him about a doctor’s appointment she has scheduled for the baby, that she’s excited for him to go. She’s overly happy, the happiest he’s ever seen. 

He spends three days holding off the information from Willa, every minute he found her eyes on his own, his heart broke just a little more. He loved her, there was no doubt about that, she was his world but he’d ruined everything. 

Jeremy and Willa were in the bedroom, he was watching her get ready for work. Dressing to perfection as she paid little to no attention to him. When she sits down next to Jeremy to put on her heels he feels his heart catch in his throat. 

He watches her, “I cheated on you.” He confesses. Willa expression changes, her eyes grow wide and a look of confusion capturing her face as she slowly turns her head to look into his eyes. 

“What?” she asks in a quiet voice. 

He clears his throat, hiding his eyes. “I cheated on you.” 

Willa mouth drops open slightly, her hand coming up to run through her hair as she stares at Jeremy. “Okay.” She says, slowly she slips out of her heel and rises to her feet standing in front of him. 

Jeremy watches a collection of emotions overcome her face. She puts her hand up to her mouth while Jeremy stares at her. 

“Alright… w-w-we can work through this.” Willa says, nodding her head. 

Jeremy takes a deep breathe, “No.” is all he says, in a low voice. 

“What?” he can hear the sound of her heart break in her voice and the sound of her heart shattering following. 

“I asked her to marry me.” Jeremy says, in another low voice. 

Her breath catches in her throat, her jaw quivering as she stares at him. Her eyes full of tears. “Y-You what?” She breathing deeply, taking yet another step back. “You did what?” Her voice breaks. 

“She’s pregnant with my child.” Jeremy argues. 

“What about me? What about us?” It’s the last word that makes her realize what’s happening. Just  what Jeremy’s intentions are. There was never going to continue on being them. 

That night, Jeremy felt like less of a man. He’d broken nearly every rule he’d set out to have in his adult life. The woman, he’d spend ten years of his life with was going to be left alone to mend the broken pieces of her heart. He listened to her beg, to her hold onto his shirt and beg him to not leave. She tried everything, she could to make him stay. This woman–his woman was fighting for him. 

“Jer… Jeremy, please.” She begs, her tears falling rapidly. Her hands balled up in his shirt as he sits on the bed. He looks at the floor, knowing fully well if he were to look Willa in the eyes, he’d break. He too would cry. “I love you.” She whispers, pulling him into her. Wrapping her hands around his back and leaning her head against his. 

Jeremy looks towards the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears. He lets one hand wrap around her, holding her while she cries. He places a small kiss on her shoulder and another on her cheek before standing up, holding her against him. They embrace one another, Willa knowing she’s lost Jeremy. 

It hurts. The pain courses throw her body and the tears don’t stop. She doesn’t want to let him go, she doesn’t want him to leave, she wants him to stay. To take it all back. She wishes her were a crappy man who didn’t care about his ‘child’ but it’s selfish, even she knows that. Willa just wishes, she didn’t have to loose the only man she’d come to love. 

Jeremy’s hand unravel from her body, his tear stained shirt sticking to his body as he begins to walk away. The sobs from Willa haunting him as he makes his way out of the home. It was their last interaction, she was his weakness. He knew, given the opportunity, he would run back to her but he couldn’t do that. he had a child on the way and needed to do what was best for the child. 

Jeremy and Julienne spent three miserable years together, she was the one to end it. Serving Jeremy with Divorce papers while he was away filming. When he returned home, she was gone along with their daughter, Macy. He tried for three weeks to make her stay, promising he would be a better man but nothing worked. Neither of them were happy and their child was suffering. He knew that but he didn’t want their daughter to grow up in a broken home. 

In the beginning, he dreaded sleeping in the same bed with her, he dreaded having to hold her in his arms at times he hated even the sound of her breathing. Even putting his hand on her swollen stomach when she was pregnant was something he hated doing.  Things had drastically changed the day she left for good, he longed for her. The bed seemed empty, cold even. The house was quieter and he missed the smell of her perfume. 

A year after she moved out, their divorce was finalized, they would share joint custody of Macy, Julienne getting Macy the majority of the time and Jeremy getting her on any of his days off. It worked, Julienne and Jeremy getting along for the most part. 

Of course, they still had their fights as well as the unfortunate moments of passion where they’d wind up in bed together but it meant little to him. In reality, he still longed for Willa. He’d looked into the eyes of his child and wished they resembled Willa’s instead of Julienne. 

This small child who he loved to death, who was his entire world shared DNA with a woman he would never truly love. 

Their daughter nearing six was now school and learning everything there was about the world. Julienne however had married again with her second child on the way and her new husband trying to take on the role of father far more than need be. With a  new sibling on the way and a new stepfather, it meant the young child’s curiosity was peaking in regards to Jeremy and her mother’s relationship. 

This week was Jeremy’s and he was more than happy to spend it with her. She was becoming her own little person, a beautiful personality and a wonderful child. Everything Jeremy had hoped for. They’re getting ready for dinner as Macy sits at the table playing with a set of zoo animals when he pushes the toys out of the way for her food. 

“Do you love mommy?” His young daughter asks as she leans over the plate of pasta, Jeremy’s placed in front of her. His breath catches in his throat at the question. 

“Why do you ask that sweetie?” he asks, sitting next to her. He watches the small brunette use her fork to play with the noodles. 

“Because Lilly said that her mom said that you and mommy didn’t love each other. That you two only were together because you had a baby.” her voice is low. 

It’s another bombshell that nearly causes him to forget how to breathe. He knew this day would come but he hoped that she was older when she posed the question or better yet she wouldn’t ever ask. He held his hands close to his mouth as he stared at her clueless as to what to say. 

“Baby, see…It’s–It’s–It’s complicated.” He says closing his eyes. “You’ll understand when you’re older.” 

“Mommy says she didn’t love you.” she says barely audible. 

“What?” 

“Mommy told my other daddy that she didn’t love you.” Jeremy bites his lip, anger brewing in his body as he stares at his own plate of pasta in disbelief. These past few years weren’t easy, custody battle after custody battle that took it’s toll. It seemed that every time he and Julienne found themselves in a room together a fight ensued and back to court the pair went. Even with her new marriage and her new baby on the way, something was bound to tick her off and he would be at fault. 

As he sat at his dinner table and looked at his young daughters face who was desperately trying to understand the conversation, he had no words. No way of fixing what was said. She was right both Macy and Julienne. 

Julienne didn’t love him. 

And he didn’t love her. 

She was a mistake and a child was born because of it. You can’t explain that to a child, let alone a five year old. This situation that the three found themselves in would never be easy to understand. 

He didn’t answer his daughter, he changed the subject but the words repeated in his mind, just the knowledge that Julienne would confess that in front of their daughter. That her friends parents were discussing their lives. it ate at him.

Their week together seemed less enjoyable, every waking moment Jeremy found himself thinking of what he would say to Julienne, how the situation would progress. Sunday came quicker than he expected and her mother and step-father showed up at his door. 

“Is Macy ready?” Julienne asks with a hand on her stomach. 

He has to bite his tongue to point of blood seeping into his mouth from not saying anything. The things he could say to this woman. It was bad enough her new hubby was forcing his daughter to refer to him as ‘Daddy’ but now she was talking about him behind his back with Macy in earshot. 

Only after her, ‘Daddy’ leaves to put Macy in the car does he mention it. “What are you saying to Macy about us?”

She looks at him with a dead stare, “The truth.”

“Which is?” 

“That we screwed around and Macy was born.” Jeremy was in no way a perfect man, this entire situation had proved that. Yet in the eyes of his daughter, he never wanted her to think less of him, he never wanted be less of  a man. 

Julienne taps her foot, annoyed while Jeremy stands still, Macy’s bag in his hand and trying to remain clam and collected. 

“Why are you telling her that? She’s a child.” 

“She asked about us.” Julienne shrugs her shoulder, oblivious to the issues Jeremy sees. 

“Asked or not, she didn’t kneed to know that.” 

“I’m not going to lie to her.”

“She’s a child, Julienne. She doesn’t need to know how we got together.”

“What you mean that her daddy is a lying cheating bastard?” Julienne says,  turning up her nose. 

If looks could kill, Jeremy’s was close to it. He stared at her with disgust. “Dont you dare pull that card, Your’re just as guilty as i am.:”

The words do little to phase her, she stares blankly at him, almost annoyed. Jeremy doesn’t know what to say or how to feel, there are so many things he could spout at her. The choices are unlimited.

yet like a timer goes off, Julienne rips the child’s bag out of his hand and drops yet another bombshell. “By the way, i need you to sign the papers that my lawyer will be dropping off for you on a few days.”

A look of confusion over comes Jeremy’s face as he chases her outside, “What papers? What have you done now?” he asks, half hoping the answer he receives is nothing actually bad. Yet words fail Jeremy as Julienne confesses, “Adoption, papers… For Rick.” He nearly looses all sense of function when the words spill from her mouth. 

Ricks leans against the car, watching the interaction between the ex-husband and ex-wife. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

“If I sign those papers…” He would never sign those papers, even faced with the option of death, he’d never sign away his daughter. He’s sooner die. “You won’t get any child support.” He hopes with the realization that the money would be cut off, her actions would cease. Much to his amazement, she does the latter. Defending her reasoning, accusing Jeremy of cheating and being a evil husband.

“My attorney will speak to you about the case.” She says, brushing off everything that he’s said.

“You are not serious.” He asks, his heart racing.

“Rick wants to be her father. We want to be a family.”

Jeremy could feel his heart falling out of his chest, the same feeling he’d experienced the night he told Willa he was leaving her. The realization that he was loosing a part of his life. 

Saying goodbye to: Willa seemed easier than his current situation. They’d been together for ten years but this was his daughter, his baby girl; the five year old that shared his eyes and his smile. The five year old who grabbed his finger just mere seconds after she was born.

“I’m not signing those damn papers.” He says loudly as Julienne attempts to get into the car She’s annoyed at him.

“You will.”

“I’ll take you back to court.” He says angered, his voice rising.

“Have it your way.” She says just as angered.

Rock chimes in much to Jeremy’s disappointment. “Just sign the papers you’ll get rid of the kid, its not like you spend enough time to qualify as a dad.” Rick moves to stand in front of Jeremy, the younger man who was nearing his mid thirties attempting to stand his ground.

Rick was taller than Jeremy, he’s built far from average and looked as though he could knock Jeremy out in one hit but Jeremy was not one to back down. This fight however would be one that he would not loose.

“You’ve been around for what two months and all of a sudden you’re a better dad then me? Because a kid inside of Julienne’s uterus makes you so experienced.” Jeremy says angered. “What the hell did you at about my wife?”

“How about you take care of your own and I take care of mine? Macy is mine.”

Rick once again, attempts to stand his ground. “I’m married to Julienne which makes Macy’s mine. I’m a far better father than you could ever be. At least I can keep it in my pants.”

Jeremy grabs the mans, collar slamming his back forcefully into the side of the car. He grunts in pain before either knew it Jeremy’s fist was raised just begging to hit the mans face. Just moments before his fist crashes into ricks sorry face, he looks over and there behind the glass is his daughters green eyes peering at him. He sees the look of horror on her face and he stops, lowering his fist. The grip he holds on Ricks collar tightens.

“If you think I’d let you take Macy, you got another thing coming, boy.” It was true, Julienne husband was a boy compared to Jeremy.  With he nearing fifty and the husband just barely 33 years old age, he had much more experience in life than him.

He let’s the man go, his threat going straight to the mans core. He watches the broken shell of a man retreat to the car and eventually drive off as fast as he can. The car leaving tire tracks on Jeremy’s driveway.

He takes a moment to contain himself, slamming his foot into a ceramic pot resting near his driveway that shatters to pieces upon impact to the floor. Soils spills to the ground and the Lilly’s he and Macy planted months prior are both smashed And stained by the black dirt.

Not even a day later, the papers and a lawyer arrive. She’s a young female lawyer who looks like this is her first solo case. He recognized the look from Willa. She too shared the same look when a lawyer had her join him in court, she sat at the table with her heart racing and her palms sweating.

Jeremy spent the early hours of the morning, convincing her that she would be fine as well as that she wouldn’t throw up her Breakfast. As he expected, she did it perfectly. There was no trouble at all.

He starred at the young blonde woman, her eyes wide and her words stumbling as she presented him with the paperwork. Normally, he would introduce himself and be polite but now he refused too. He wanted nothing more than to throw her out of his home. His anger was directed at the wrong person, it would be Julienne who deserved the anger not this young lawyer.

She presented her case, telling Jeremy this would go over smoothly if he did simply just sign the paper work or if he wanted to hire his own lawyer and try the case. It’d be a long battle she warned.

He did the latter. Soon as she left, he reached out to everyone he knew in search for a lawyer. He made an appointment for the following week and awaited anxiously as every day passed.

The paperwork mimicked his divorce papers they too rested on his counter, untouched. A sense of denial overtook the man as he would come face to face with the papers. He didn’t believe it was true, that his life had meet this fate. That at the age of 46, he was a divorced single father who was on the verge of loosing custody of his daughter to a teenager.

His actions also mimicked his earlier one, a beer with every meal; a beer every time he was home. A closet alcoholic.

 The day of his appointment, he tried to clean up but there was no will. He didn’t shave, his face was sporting more than a five o’clock shadow, bags were present under his eyes. Even with a decent suit on he still resembled a depressed man, which he was.

“You’re my nine o’clock?” A man says, straightening out his tie as Jeremy enters his office. 

“Yes, Jeremy Renner.” Jeremy says, smiling, reaching his hand out to shake his. 

“You called about a…” He glances down at his desk, “a child custody case?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, here’s the deal.” He says, his hand pointing towards the chair in front of his desk. “I don’t typically take child custody cases. You’re high profile which means you’re going to get a lot of attention and i think you’d be better suit for someone else to handle your case.” 

Jeremy remains expression list, his hand on his side clenching into a fist. “Who would you refer me to?” 

 He takes a look at his computer screen, scrolling a few minutes and mumbling to himself before pulling out a piece of paper and writes on it. “Two floors up, there’s a bunch of lawyers with far more experience in child custody than i am. They should be able to help you.” He hands the paper over to Jeremy who glances at it, His cane number he assumes. “I’ll let them know you’re on your way. Good luck.” 

Jeremy leaves, clutching the paper in his hand and his level of anxiety on high, between his fit with Rick in front of his daughter and now the new fight he was having to prepare himself for. It was beginning to take a toll on his body. 

When he arrives at the second floor, the atmosphere feels different, like it’s damper; heavier up here.There’s people walking back and fourth, pounds of paperwork stacked in their arms and phone going off in every direction, before he has a chance to ask the receptionist for direction she speaks. 

“You’re the guy that Eric sent up?”  She says, stepping out from behind her desk, a smile forming on her face.

“Ye–yes.” He says.

“Follow me.” She walks ahead of him, her heels clacking on the marble floor. “I don’t know whose schedule is free at the moment, so please allow me to ask around.”

He nods. “Please wait here.” she says as she knocks on a wooden door. She steps inside of the room for no longer than two minutes before coming back out with another smile on her face. ‘We’ll have to try the next one.”

The same deal with the next one, he’s busy or he turned her down. While shes’s inside of their third attempt, her news is better than he expected. “Alright, Jamesson said he wouldn’t be able to take you on. His schedule wouldn’t be able to fit you but he thinks our last associate may be able too. Please follow me.”

Once again, the process is repeated but there’s no answer to the door, She opens the door but its empty. “Oh dear.” she says, quietly.

“Callie, can I help you?” A female voice says from behind you.

“Oh, this is the man from downstairs, Eric didn’t have the expertise to help him so he sent him to us. Are you available?”

Jeremy gets ready to fall apart, he’s no way prepared for another let down. He turns around slowly but his entire body language changes when he meets the woman whose responsible to the voice.

“I do–” She starts to say before stopping mid sentence to face him. It’s like someone had gotten a hold of a time machine and set the dial back to six years ago. There standing directly in front of him was Wila. Her eyes the same light hazel, her hair a lighter shade of brown but she didn’t look even the slightest different from the day he left. He stares at her dumbfounded, in a state of shock as her eyes face his again.

“This is the–him?”Willa says as she forces a smile on her face, her eyes quickly leave Jeremy’s to face Callie.

“Yes. Are you able to take him on?” She asks, in a polite voice. Willa nibbles on her lower lip, quickly walking past Jeremy and grabbing Callie’s arm, forcefully pulling her into the office where she closes the door gently. Jeremy however can hear everything that is being said between the two woman.

“What’s his case?” Willa asks

“Child custody.”

“For fucks sake.” Willa says, hissing.

“What is something wrong?”

“How far into the case is he?” Willa asks changing the subject

“Not any, today was his first meeting.”

“I’ll do a consultation with him but i’m not saying that I’ll take his case, okay?” Callie fills the room with ‘thank yous’ as she leaves.

“Okay, Mr. Renner, Willa will see you know.” Callie holds the door open for Jeremy who takes a deep breath before entering. The door closes behind him as his eyes lock onto the woman he once called his own.

“Willa, I–” He starts to to say before she interrupts him.

“Now Mr. Renner, Callie says that you’re here for a child custody case. Please take a seat and tell me what exactly it is your seeking?” She says from behind her desk, her hand extends out to the chair in front of her while she makes little to no eye contact with Jeremy. She glances at her computer and pulls out a notepad from her desk, sitting it on the desk and beginning to write on it. .

Jeremy cautiously sits down in front of her, his heart is racing. “My–my… Are you sure you don’t want anyone else to do this?”

She sighs, “Look Mr. Renner, right now there’s no one else to do this.”

Jeremy’s taken back, Willa is acting as though nothing happened between the two. Like they are simply employee and employer.

“My ex-wife is trying to petition the court to get my parental rights terminated and given to her new husband.” For a moment on Willa’s face as she writes, he swears a see’s a small smirk but it’s quick to disappear.

“How long have they been married?”

“A little over six months.”

“Are you up to date on child support payments?”

“Yes.”

“Child welfare? Are you providing a stable and safe environment for her?”

“Yes.”

“i’m sure you two had a previous custody agreement prior to this correct?”

“Yeah, I had Macy on any day i had off and she had her the other days.” he can tell even with little expression on her face, the words stung.

“Tell me, what exactly it is you’re planning to gain should this go to court?” Finally, Willa’s eyes land on him. He glances at her hand, no wedding ring. Her desk is empty other than a few photos and loose papers.

“I don’t want my rights taken away. I’ll push for sole custody if i have too. His voice raises.

“Just so you know, if this does go to court, it will be messy.” She sets her pen down and crossing her arms over her chest. “Messy for not only you and your ex-wife but the child you share as well.”

Jeremy nods and she continues. “Legal options, you legally do not have to sign your parental rights away. If you can prove that you’re a fit father  then your chances of keeping custody are high. You pay child support and make time to see your child, that plays in your favor as well. However seeing as though this a new husband is trying to provide for his new family that also has some set backs. I’m not saying that it’s going to go in their favor but you have to be aware of all options if this were to proceed.”

“She… My ex-wife filed paperwork to terminate my parental rights, what are my options now?” Jeremy asked realizing how awkward this situation was. he was asking for advice from his ex-girlfriend about what to do with his ex-wife who was his mistress at that time.

“Do you have the paperwork? I assume either she or another lawyer dropped them off with you?”

“Yes…here.” Jeremy says reaching into his breast pocket to pull out the paperwork. She takes the paper away from Jeremy quickly, refusing to hold her hand out near his any longer.

“This says that you’ve failed to meet the standards that a parent should.” She skims through the documents. “That you’re home is unsafe and unfit for a child of her age as well as you’ve been keeping her from school.”

“I haven’t done any of those.”

“Okay, if you do indeed choose us to take on your case, this would be the problem. Not only would we have to prove that your a fit parent but we’d have to open a case with child protective services.  but it could turn into a he-said-she-said type deal. Which is even worse.”

“Is there any way to keep this out of the courts, Willa?” he asks using her name for the second time. immediately, Willa eyes change, threes a hint of sadness in them.

“If you hadn’t of received these papers, you probably could have avoided that but now it seems that court is most likely going to happen.”

“How bad is this going to get, Willa?”

She chuckles and puts her arms on the table, “Mr. Renner, I’m not–”

“Jeremy stands up from the seat, bumping into the table. “Will,  you stop with the whole. ‘Mr. Renner’ thing? I’m not Mr. Renner to you, you know me better than that.”

Willa also stands, “Then what are you to me?”

“Jeremy.” he says almost pleading.

“Not in here.” She says, sternly. “In here, it’s Mr. Renner and Miss Koehler. Nothing more.”

her words catch Jeremy off guard. it’s hostile. As it should be. He sits back and thinks of what he did to her, how she deserved to treat him like crap rather than take the time out of her day to help him. She should have cursed him out the minute she saw him but she simply accepted it and sat down.

“How much do you guys charge per hour?” Jeremy asks in a small voice as he sat back down.

“It’s pro bono, don’t worry about it.” She says, starring at him.

“No… I’ll pay.”

“No, you won’t. The firm needs ex amount of pro bono hours and each associate has a certain amount of hours to meet.”

Jeremy nods in response.  “Please however do me a favor, i need your full name, your address and contact information.” She hands him a piece of paper and reaches into one of her drawers pulling out a business card. “here’s my business card to give to your ex-wife. from now on, you don’t say anything to her unless it’s pertaining to your daughter even then the conversations are to be held to a minimum. If she or her husband have anything to say to you, they will direct it to me or the firm.”

it was less than a normal interaction between them, he wanted to apologize to her, to say something, he wanted to tell her that he never stopped thinking about her. That he missed her every single day but considering how they parted, he didn’t have the right to say any of that.

He left her office without saying another word. He didn’t mention their pas he bit his tongue and walked away. When he was outside, the California air did little to help him relax. he stood outside the building, looking around him like the answer to his problems would just show up. He left in search of a convenience store or gas station some place in where his need for a cigarette could be met quickly. There was no explanation as to why he was craving a cigarette, he hand’t smoked in years. Not since Willa had printed out countless articles, plastering them to the walls about cigarette related deaths.

“What is this?” Jeremy asked, pulling a paper away from the wall as he enters the home, Willa is sitting on the couch, a book in her lap. .

“An article.”

“I see that. Why is it on the wall?” he asked leaning down to kiss Willa on the top of her head.

“I just figured if you want to smoke you might as well know the ways you’re going to die.”

“God, you’re such a sweet woman.” He said, smiling at her. “You know those things wont kill me for at least another forty years?”

“So, you’re saying we aren’t going to be together for another forty some years?” She says in a shocked voice.

Jeremy walks over to the couch, leaning down next to Willa. He rests his face directly in front of hers and smiles. “Maybe I’ll get tired of you after thirty-five.” 

He pays the clerk with a gash in his heart, they hadn’t even made it to thirty-five years. They barely made it to ten. He pulls a cigarette out from the small cardboard box, lighting it with ease. He stares it watching the smoke rise. When he finally takes a small puff, he lets it linger in his lungs, burning away the pain. He looks at his ring finger, remembering the gold band he once wore. The gold band that he once wore, coincidentally the same gold band that he looked at purchasing when he and Willa were together was also the ring he wore to symbolize his ‘love’ with Julienne. 

The tobacco burns his lungs and throat, reminding him of his youth. When the days were simpler, when the only thing on his mind was what party he was going to attend that night. Not fighting for custody for his daughter or fearing what would happen with his future.