#i know this is far-fetched (in regards to the prompt. and i apologize) but hear me out-

[imelht]

Day four: Music.

An album cover featuring the characters Meta Knight and King Dedede.

“In a desperate attempt at returning to humanity, Meta Knight takes his fangs out. King Dedede looks on at the ordeal with guilt, ashamed he could not convince Meta Knight to do otherwise. King Dedede’s guilt is emphasized via the imagery of a bleeding heart. Said heart is his.”

[shes-an-oddbird]

Sunflowers, Snapdragons, Roses and Daisies

Dousy Week Day 2 - Prompt : AU - A Flower Shop and Fake Dating AU in one

Actually a little Multichapter AU fic I’ve been working on for awhile. Enjoy :)

Summary: While covering a shift at Jemma’s flowers shop, Daisy must help a customer with an unusual request. When they discover flowers may not be the right thing to solve Daniel’s problem, they work out a new solution.

AO3

The custom of bringing flowers to a date, while once a staple, has become an outdated practice and is regarded as an old-fashion tradition, now considered unnecessary outside of special occasions. To avoid social faux pas these occasions should be limited to anniversaries, holidays and birthdays; never first dates where the gesture may come off as creepy or overstepping.

Seriously, Daisy thought. Of all the creepy things men do, bringing flowers to their date hardly qualified. Why did Jemma even have her reading this book? That was that kind of mentality that was going to put her little flower shop out of business.

“Excuse me miss, I could use some help, when you have a chance.”

Daisy nearly falls off her stool. She looks up to see a handsome man standing on the other side of the counter looking around uncertainly. How long had he been standing there? She hadn’t even heard the door open. She wants to swear, mostly because she’s already messed up but also because she really doesn’t want to help anyone. Despite what her name might imply, she knows next to nothing about flowers. She was only supposed to cover the desk and phones while Bobbi was out today.

She falters, trying to assess the situation quickly. She could do this, it was just flowers. She looks the customer over, thinks again that he’s a good-looking guy, wearing a nice, if a little stuffy, suit. He probably just needs flowers for his wife or girlfriend. She glances at his hand. Girlfriend then.

“Of course, I’m sorry, I was just caught up in my book.” She closes the book, giving the impression of her full attention. “What’s the occasion, anniversary?” She hopes it is. You give roses on an anniversary, even she knew that. It’s funny, she thinks in the back of her mind, at another time, when she wasn’t trying to save Jemma’s shop from a horrible review, she might realize it was odd to wish for the good-looking guy with the polite smile to be taken but Bobbi has already warned her about that. All the decent guys who come in are already spoken for.

“I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple.” He answers sheepishly.

“Ok, well, let’s hear it, I’m sure we can find the right thing.” Her fingers curl around the edge of the book. Where was Jemma? She was supposed to be back from the greenhouse by now.

He seems to consider his answer carefully before replying. “It’s more of a congratulations.”

“That’s not so bad,” she flips the book back open, prepared to check the index. “What are we celebrating?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s probably not in your book.”

Daisy shakes her head. “This book comes with the Dr. Jemma Simmons stamp of approval, if it can be said with flowers, it’s in this book.” Or so she’s been told.

“My ex-girlfriend is getting married.”

Oh.

“That’s – well that’s, kind of passive aggressive, but some of these flowers do have pretty cruel meanings, I’m sure we can get the point across.” It makes him laugh which is great because that’s what she’d been going for. He was right, that wasn’t an easy one and she didn’t have a clue where to start. “OH! We have some great discount bouquets!”

“No, no, um, I’m happy for her, for them, really.” His shoulders are still shaking from laughing and she notices his eyes crinkle a bit at the corners, but after a moment of quiet he does let out a heavy sigh. He still needed something.

She gives him back a sympathetic smile. “My friend, she’s the owner, she should be back soon, if anyone can figure it out, she can.”

“No more faith in your book?”

“Umm.” Daisy flips the book to the list of flowers and their meanings. It was an insane amount of information, most of which was irrelevant according to Jemma. Customers who didn’t have much to spend asked for something pretty and simple. Customers with money to spare asked for something different. Nine times out of ten they didn’t care what the flowers meant, they either wanted a deal or to make a statement. She assumed in this guy’s case it was less about saying the right thing and more about not saying the wrong thing. He certainly couldn’t send roses to his ex to congratulate her on her wedding. But maybe some flowers with no romantic connotations. She could probably manage that. “You know what, I think we can put something together.”

He smiles back at her gratefully and follows her to the worktable set up in the middle of shop. Strewn across the table are rolls of red and blue ribbon from where she and Jemma had been finishing up some wedding flowers earlier that morning. She pushes it all aside into a messy pile and can hear her friend’s scolding tone about a neat workspace being a happy workspace.

“Does she have a favorite flower?” Daisy asks as lays out some paper the same way she has seen Jemma do.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay, no problem.” Daisy looks around the shop. “Okay, what about – yellow!”

“I’m sorry?” He asks, not understanding her outburst.

“Yellow flowers, there are usually no romantic undertones associated with them.” She recalls as she grabs bins of yellow sunflowers, carnations, and daffodils, deposits them on the table and goes back around for the daisies, roses, and tulips. Eventually the table is full and Daisy returns her attention to the book.

By this point the customer has taken a seat at one of the stools by the worktable. He’s watched her shuffle around the store with amusement written across his face and now as she settles down to sort out his request he finally speaks again.

“Have you ever done this before?”

She looks up.

“Even once?”

“No.” She answers truthfully. She’s been caught, no point in lying about it. “But I’ve watched Jemma do this a million times, it’s not that hard.”

She expects him to stand and leave. Find a flower shop with a competent salesperson and a shelf dedicated to flowers for awkward occasions. Instead he remains seated. “Alright, where do we start?” With a surge of confidence, she continues.

She looks at the flowers. “Which do you like?”

 “Damn.”

“Still no good.”

“Disappointment and rejection, probably not going to work.” Daisy sets aside the yellow carnations. “I thought for sure, I mean we sell a ton of these.” So far, they have had to discard the marigolds, the roses, the chrysanthemums and nearly everything else she’s familiar with. The sole survivors are the daisies, the tulips and the sunflowers, and even those were on the fence.

They’d been at this for nearly an hour now. Daniel, he had eventually introduced himself, had made himself comfortable, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He was happy to fetch and return whatever she requested. Daisy, twice, had to stop to help other customers and each time he apologized for taking up too much of her time and insisted he could come back later.

She refused. They would figure it out even if it took all day.

“Who even decides these things,” Daisy groans as she rearranges the flowers in front of her. “Dark thoughts, false riches, who looks at bright yellow flowers and thinks that?”

“Sounds like someone with a broken heart.” Daniel replies.

“Maybe.” It was the best explanation she could think of. She scoops up the flowers and drops them into a vase so she can see them standing up. They flop lifelessly. She grabs up some of the filler greens to support them, but it still looks a mess. “This would be so much easier if you just hated your ex like a normal person.”

“She’s not the problem, if I could just go to the wedding I wouldn’t need the flowers at all, I could just bring a toaster oven or a blender or booze, like they registered for.”

Daisy sighs and shoves the vase away. “Why can’t you go to the wedding?” He must have been invited it he has the gift registry.

“I can, I want to,” he pauses, “you don’t think it’s weird, to go to your ex’s wedding.”

She shrugs. “Not if you were invited and as long as your happy for them, and you know, you’re not still in love her with her or anything like that.” Now she takes a moment to pause. “You’re not still in love with her, are you?”

Daniel’s expression turns soft and his tone is nothing but genuine when he answers. “No, I care about her, truly, she’s one of my closest friends, but I am happy for them.”

“So go, I see no reason why not.” She encourages. “Please go, because this is a disaster.” She gestures to the flowers.

“I don’t know, its growing on me.” He pulls the vase towards him and adjusts some of the flowers. Daisy immediately realizes he’s avoiding the ‘why not’ and while its not her place to pry, she’s curious now.

“What is the real reason you don’t want to go?”

“It’s that obvious?” She nods. “It’s really not them, it’s everyone else who will be there, we all work together and they know that when things ended between me and her it was really more on her and I was the one left with a broken heart, if I go, I just know I’m going to get that look, that poor pitiful Daniel look, all night long and I already get that enough of that as it is.”

“Why is that?”

“Hmm, oh.” Daniel stops fussing with the flowers. He turns on the stool and tugs up his pant leg to reveal a metal prosthetic.

“Oh well that will do it.” Her surprise gets the better of her and she doesn’t realize till after the words are out how they may have sounded. “Sorry, that was rude.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, it’s okay, I rather people didn’t make a big deal of it.”

She understands. Not what it was like to have a prosthetic leg of course but to have attention for something connected with less than pleasant memories.

The bell above the door jingles, pulling Daisy out of her thoughts. She looks up to greet the customer and instead see Jemma entering the store, a slight squishing sound following her as she trudges to the counter and dumps her bag and keys across it.

“You will not believe – “

“It rained?” Daisy interrupts.

“No, it did not rain,” Jemma runs her fingers through her damp hair trying to make it presentable. “The sprinkler system in the greenhouse went berserk, drenched my phone so I couldn’t call out, I had to run to get Fitz and drag him back there to fix it, I’ll be lucky if everything isn’t ruined.”

“That’s sounds terrible.” Daniel’s sympathetic reply catches Jemma off guard. She spins around with a look of horror on her face that fades just a bit when she sees them.

“Oh! I didn’t realize, Daniel Sousa – ” She surges forward, hand outstretched and a wide grin on her face. Daniel jumps up from his seat to meet her halfway and shake her hand in hello.

Daisy looks back and forth between them. “You two know each other?”

“Daniel is a regular customer.”

“Flower shops have regulars?”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “It’s so lovely to see you again, its been a bit since you’ve been in – “ She trails off, her eyes going wide as she spots her pristine workspace in perfect disarray. Daisy stands and attempts to position herself in front of the table to hide the mess. “What brings you in today?” She asks distractedly.

“It’s a long story.” Daisy is forced to move aside as Jemma steps forward to examine the bouquet Daisy had only moments ago deemed a disaster.

“Oh, I think I’d like to hear it if it somehow ends with this.”

“It’s my fault really, I wanted to send flowers to Peggy and her fiancé, as a sort of apology for not attending their wedding, Daisy was trying to help me put together something that would properly express that without sending the wrong message.”

“I see.” Jemma collects the last bins of flowers and returns them to their homes.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Daisy whispers to him.

“I feel like I just got you in trouble with the principal.”

Jemma returns to the table and inspects the bouquet again. “Well I can see where you were coming from here Daisy, but I told you, most people don’t read much into the meanings behind the flowers.”

“You’re the one that gave me the book!”

“Yes, and in that book, it also tells you that it’s not customary to send flowers for a wedding.” Daisy frowned. She hadn’t gotten to that part. “That said, I’m afraid flowers aren’t going to solve your problem Daniel.”

“That’s okay, it’s probably a sign that I just need to suck it up and go, let everyone whisper over their cake about poor single heartbroken Daniel a little bit longer.”

“That does sound truly awful.” Jemma says gently.

It does, but in that moment Daisy is struck by an idea. “Hey wait, why don’t you just bring a date?”

Daniel looks sheepishly at the ground. “I, I haven’t got anyone to bring.”

“Perhaps you could go out and meet someone new.” Jemma suggests.

“I don’t usually connect with people that fast and the wedding is this weekend.”

“Well it’s not like she has to be the love of your life or anything.”

“Daisy makes a very good point, you could always invite a friend.” Jemma suggests but Daisy already knows that won’t work either, a friend won’t eliminate the look of pity from his colleagues faces. She has only known Daniel for an hour but she’s already on his side. She wants him to have it all, to attend the wedding for his friends and to give a proper screw you to his coworkers. “What you need is a fake date, someone who you can pretend to be invested in just enough that they know you’re over your ex but not enough that the next time they see you they think to ask about her.”

“OH! You should take Daisy!” Jemma looks absolutely giddy, as if her sudden exclamation is a stroke of genius and hasn’t caught her best friend completely off guard.

“Wait what?”

“Well why not, she’d be the perfect fake date, no one will know her, you two clearly don’t mind spending a bit of time together, unless you made this mess all in five minutes,” she gestures again at her worktable. “And I promise under this apron she’s a total babe, no one would look at you and feel sorry for you, I promise.”

Daisy does notice that she is not the only one embarrassed by this proposition; Daniel looks flustered and unsure how to handle having a date just tossed at him. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“She wouldn’t mind, she really needs to get out more anyways.” Daisy slaps Jemma’s arm.

“I get out.”

Daniel shifts uncertainly. “Still, this wedding is kind of a high profile event.”

“She cleans up really well.”

Daniel’s eyes go wide. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” He looks frantically back and forth between them, “I’m sure you do, it’s just there is going to be a lot of people there and possibly media.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe how ridiculous the notion is and again Daisy finds herself wondering who exactly this woman is. In fact, it has gotten to the point where she kind of wants to meet these people.

“Actually, it might be kind of cool.”

“What?”

Daisy considers for a moment longer before confirming her answer. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind, besides I feel like I’ve got to see this through to the end now, since the flowers were kind of a bust.”

It takes him a full minute to catch up. “Um, the wedding is Saturday, if you’re free?”

She nods.

“Okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “You’re really sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be great, we can give those gossipy coworkers of your something to really talk about.”

“Alright, great.” He looks at their flower project and turns to Jemma “Can I still buy these?”

“You don’t have to – “

Daisy cuts Jemma off. “Oh my god no, this is, it’s really my problem, you can take the cost out of my pay Jemma.”

“No really, I actually kind of like it.” Daisy doesn’t believe that for a moment, but she also can’t think of any other reason why he’d want to keep the sad little bouquet.

Maybe Jemma does though? She smiles happily and scoops up the vase, “let me wrap them for you.”

[boned-spy]

TF2 Secret Santa 2019!

Merry Christmas/Smissmas @trashiny-draws​!!! I was your Secret Santa this year! I heard you really love Scout and specifically fanfics of Scout so I did my best to make sure you got exactly that this holiday!

You offered so many great prompts to pick from so I decided to mash some together for you! I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful day of celebration!

Also, your Secret Santa was super enjoyable for me to write so don’t feel bad for wanting so much Scout content! You deserve it, man! Also, I apologize if my writing is bad. It’s been years since I last wrote these characters.

Prompts I mashed together: “Takes place right after End of the Line”, “Scout is a Dumbass™ and needs help while stuck in the snow”, “Scout completely forgot about Sniper- BIG UH OH TIME”, “Team bonding and being a loving murder-family”, “Dad!Spy”(Strongly hinted)

_ -_-_-_-_-_

“Yo, hardhat! You drifting off on me? I didn’t even get to the best part yet!” Scout tittered, still sitting on the edge of his seat, wide-awake.

“Boy, you’ve been goin’ on about yourself for hours; from how ya woke up to what you ate for lunch. We’ve had a pretty long day ourselves and wanna get some shut eye before we start cleaning up all the debris outside tomorrow.” Engineer sluggishly bit back, cranky from exhaustion but unable to put any real heat into it. His eyes were clearly burning as he pulled his goggles off his face to rest along his neck, pinching the bridge of his nose to dispel the ache bundled there. With a sigh, he tried a little more gently as he met the runner’s gaze again, “You reckon you can wrap your story up soon, son?”

Scout took a quick glance around the dining hall and only then just noticed how worn out everyone looked. Medic, Spy, and Heavy looked bored. Tired bored. Demo and Soldier had settled down with their hands holding their heads, stubbornly trying to beat the sleep threatening to take over them any minute. And then there was Pyro. Scout couldn’t tell if Pyro was sleeping or still awake since they had been resting their head on the table ever since everyone sat down to eat a few hours ago.

If he wasn’t careful, Scout was on the verge of completely losing the group’s attention. And Scout could NOT have that.

“Psh, fine! I’ll get to the juicy bits then. Now where was I…? Oh!” Scout suddenly leaned forward conspiratorially as he began talking with his hands, hoping to get everyone in the room more invested in his story by doing so. “So there I was, freezing my ass off in the lookout. It must have been, like, negative 400 degrees. Probably. I couldn’t feel my toes, my fingers, or my gorgeous face! But did that stop me from my incredibly important duty? Hell no! I patrolled the crap out of that crappy shack like my life depended on it! And it totally did! Cause, ya see, right after circling the perimeter or whatever for like, the two hundredth time, my incredible Scout-hearing picked up the screeching of that train before it even passed by! You know, the one that almost killed us and all those poor, defenseless cat orphans?”

The room deadpanned at the expectant pause.

“Anyways, that’s when I turned to Snipes like the badass I was and told him to get his van started for us to chase it down. The guy was basically lost without me! ‘Was super busy peeing in jars and cleaning his rifle or whatever--“

“And where exactly is Sniper to back up these claims? I’m fairly certain he would have already poked a hole or two in this unbelievably long-winded and far-fetched tale of yours.” Spy cut in dryly, his stony expression largely unchanged since first sitting down earlier that evening.

The whole room stilled at the question, as it was a very good question.

For the first time in hours, the room stirred as seven sets of eyes (and Demo’s single eye) sleepily searched around the room for the Australian. After a moment, however, brows soon furrowed and heads turned at greater angles as they inspected the hall more attentively. Typically it wasn’t odd for the marksman to be missing, as everyone knew how much he enjoyed his privacy, but the team was well aware they hadn’t seen Sniper since the incident that day. Or with Scout afterwards, for that matter.

At the quiet but unified revelation, all eyes leveled suddenly on the Bostonian who was now sitting with his back ramrod straight at the scrutinizing stares, never mind the dawning horror that manifested quite clearly on his face.

“Scout? Where is Sniper?” Medic repeated the question cautiously, slowly. The air felt uncomfortably stiff as mere seconds of silence threatened to deafen them all.

The last Scout had seen of Sniper was when his van crashed into that rundown building hanging off the edge of the cliff after he jumped onto the train to try and stop it. He hadn’t seen if Sniper’s van stopped dead in the building or if it ran clean off the edge. And if it did happen to be the latter…

“Oh, my God.” Scout stood abruptly, banging his knees off the table with a yelp. “Aow! Oh, my God! Oh, sh- I gotta go! I GOTTA GO!”

The runner was already out the door and sprinting for the RED Bread truck by the time someone managed to shout after him to wait and explain himself. Scout had barely registered who it was and didn’t care to as he reached the garage and practically leaped into the driver’s seat to fumble with the keys already sitting in the ignition. He started the vehicle as quickly as he got inside of it, slamming the stick into reverse before peeling out of the base with a loud scream of wheels.

“Oh crap, oh my crap. Snipes, man, you better be super alive out there.” Scout muttered in a panic to himself, foot pressing harder on the accelerator as an intrusive thought interrupted his focus regarding how long the hopefully still-alive Australian had been missing for out in the extreme cold. The runner dared to sneak a peek at the digital clock resting above the vehicle’s transmitter and paled.

Seven hours. If Sniper was alive, he’s been sitting in the cold for seven freakin’ hours.

“Oh, God, this guy’s freakin’ dead! If he wasn’t dead before, he’s super dead now! He complained about the cold the whole freakin’ time and now he’s a Snipe-cicle. The poor bastard barely had a chance!” Scout ranted and raved out his nervous energy, still unfalteringly speeding towards the lookout up the mountain despite the words coming out of his mouth. “I should have offered him my gum, man. Chewing keeps you warm like talking keeps you warm. Now he’s gum-less and frozen to death. Way to go, Scout, you killed a guy by not giving him some damn gum!”

The video transmitter suddenly started blaring from the dashboard, startling Scout enough to veer the van off the side of the road with a terrified scream before hurriedly readjusting right back onto it, foot never letting off the pedal the whole incident. Hardly able to catch his breath from the scare, Scout blinked down at the ringing device before punching the button to ignore it. Whoever it was could wait. It was taking all his concentration to not crash and a conversation was the last thing he needed right now.

The dangerous drive up the mountain towards the wreck site took less than thirty minutes thanks to Scout’s reckless regard for his own safety, the bread van’s engine practically screaming for mercy by the time he wrenched the vehicle to the side of the snow-covered railroad tracks before hopping out.

It was a thousand times colder than it had been earlier in the day, nightfall dropping already cold temperatures to an insanely low degree. Sure, Scout had been spouting about Sniper’s death the whole drive there, but it was only then he realized how very probable it actually was.

The revelation had the runner feeling sick to his stomach, but he still pressed on and attempted to ignore his own hang-ups for his teammate’s sake. Flicking on the flashlight he had hurriedly stowed in his jacket pocket before launching himself from the truck, Scout approached the now dilapidated building with a sizable van-shaped hole. Light snowfall calmly blanketed the ground as he trekked, so thick that the runner had to lift his knees higher from the ground to avoid dragging them through the frozen terrain. Even the air felt harder to breathe from how cold it was.

“Snipes?” Scout called out with uncertainty, shining his light around and wincing at every broken board and tire tread mark he spotted, “You, uh, huddled in a corner around here or frozen to death or…?”

Scout finally reached the end of the destruction at the other side of the building, his flashlight illuminating a hole complimenting the one he entered just moments ago. His heart dropped into his stomach, sure that Sniper really had driven off the mountain and to his death, until his light reflected off a cracked side-door mirror that blinded him.

“Ugh!” Scout squinted with an annoyed grunt, perking up immediately when he realized exactly what he was just blinded by. As fast as he ran on the battlefield, he mindlessly sprinted for the driver’s side with a huge grin of relief, feeling silly he ever doubted Sniper’s survival to begin with. “Yes! Oh, thank God! Sniper, man, I thought you were—“

The runner stopped himself short as he shined his flashlight into the van, the door already kicked open and stuck, frozen solid. Small icicles formed along the roof of the interior, a thin coat of frost encompassing the entirety of the dash, and Sniper…

Sniper was curled in his seat, feet pressed flat against the window, arms braced against the back of where he sat, skin pale and violently shivering. Scout took a step forward instinctively to try and offer help only to squeak in surprise as he caught himself before walking completely off the edge of a cliff. A cliff, he finally registered, that the whole van had been teetering on for at least seven hours now.

“Oh sweet Jesus.” Scout grimaced, placing both hands on top of his head as he took in the puzzle he had to now solve, by himself, in zero degree weather.

He could totally do this.

“Okay. So, time to use that big brain of mine...” Scout muttered partly to himself as Sniper continued staring at him, too ridden with frostbite to speak or move. The youngest had no doubt that if the marksman had control or feeling in his facial muscles, he’d be glaring daggers at him right now.

The van seemed completely frozen, tires included, so Scout was pretty sure it could take a nudge or two without nose-diving off the mountain. Still, Sniper was frozen to the van too, so the Bostonian would need to do more than nudge to get him out.

Okay.

Scout clapped his hands together with determination, his resolution so plain on his face, Sniper’s brow just barely managed to knot in deep concern.

“You gotta work with me here, brotha. Just relax and let the expert get to work.”

Sniper’s eyes widened in alarm as Scout strode closer and leaned his body out over the edge to reach for the huntsman, fingers outstretched with effort before clamping down like vices into the frosty, stiff sleeve of Sniper’s shirt. His weight made the van groan, the vehicle budging by millimeters as Scout placed more of his weight into the front of it in order to get a better grip.

“S-s-s-st—S-top!” Sniper chattered desperately through gritted teeth, seeing more than feeling his van lurching ever so slowly forward towards the void below as Scout strained to gather more of his clothing into his hands.

“I got you, man! Just…! Almost!” Scout grunted with the effort, white clouds from his panting filling the air around them as he finally managed to gather Sniper’s jacket into his other hand. “Gotcha!”

Just as Scout poised himself to jerk Sniper out of the icy prison that was his seat with all his might, Sniper’s van tottered violently forward, dragging Scout with it as he lost his footing from the edge.

Scout screamed from the top of his lungs as he felt himself get pulled off his feet, fingers clenching for dear life onto the still-stuck Sniper in the van as he dangled in mid-air helplessly.

Wait. Dangled? Shouldn’t Scout be at the bottom of the mountain by now, body horribly twisted in metal and covered in broken jars of jarate?

“Well, that was idiotic.” A nasally voice chided from where Scout had been standing just seconds before.

Unable to swivel his head around to see who it was, Scout squawked as he felt the entire van tilt backwards and somehow reverse back onto solid ground, his body half-buried by snow as it was dragged away from certain death like a lifeless doll.

“Danke shoen, Heavy.”

“Mm.”

With a groan, Scout pulled his head from the unforgivingly cold fluff his face had been buried in and blearily blinked up at his mysterious saviors.

“Guys?”

“Guys?” Spy mocked, replicating the runner’s voice perfectly as he glared down in disapproval at Scout shakily rising to his knees, moodily tossing his spent cigarette into the blackness below. “The next time you decide to run off and ignore our calls, I may conveniently forget I placed a tracker on you and leave you to whatever fate your stupidity leads you to.”

“Tracker?!” Scout started patting himself down frantically.

“You will not find it.” Spy informed casually, shaking his head before turning his attention to Medic and Heavy, who had already dragged Sniper out from his van and were carrying him into Engineer’s truck to get him warmed up.

“What in Sam Hill were you thinking, boy?” Engineer came over to bend down and pick Scout back up on his feet, brushing the snow off his shoulders a little too roughly as he scolded him. “Running away without telling a soul where you were going or why, just to end up out here and nearly killing yourself and string bean over there. Did you knock your head earlier today or what?”

“I get it! Jeez!” Scout snapped back defensively, arms flung up in exasperated defeat. “But Sniper’s been sittin’ out here for hours! I had to do something!”

“And you could have done that something more effectively if you simply explained to us what had happened.” Spy bit back, his agitation and concern simmering under a cool, stern façade.

“Alright, that’s enough bickerin’ now. I’m too damn tired to put in the effort and it’s too damn late to be doin’ it.” Engineer wiped a hand over his face before slapping it onto Scout’s shoulder to give a firm squeeze. “We worried about ya, is all. We thought we lost Sniper and you and, well… We already dealt with a lot today, and you runnin’ off didn’t help much.”

Spy refused to meet Scout’s eyes as he nonchalantly pulled out another cigarette, avoiding Engineer’s gaze as well when the laborer glanced over pointedly at him as he spoke. Scout shot the Texan a confused look before Engineer shook his head with a sigh.

“Just don’t do it again.” Engineer patted Scout roughly on the back before moving away to check on Sniper, who was still sitting in his truck and trying to recover. The windows of the pickup glowed red from Medic’s medigun, doing his best to help the Australian along in healing his frostbite. He’d be in perfect health and ready to head back to the base in no time, Scout knew. And thinking back on it all, considering how easy saving Sniper was when everyone was involved, maybe it would have made more sense to bring the gang out with him.

Maybe Scout had kind of overreacted and made the whole rescue mission way harder than it needed to be. Especially on Sniper.

Feeling like a moron now despite genuinely trying to do the right thing, Scout stood and watched with his arms crossed as the other mercenaries milled about around him, rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm himself after rolling around in the snow.

“You’ve got guts, son!” Soldier’s voice boomed suddenly from behind him, causing Scout to yelp when a large, calloused hand slapped his back a little too hard. “Your bravery deserves a medal of honor! No man left behind! That’s what I like to see in this unit! Stop by my quarters later and we’ll celebrate your efforts the proper American way by training! With me! Hehehehe!”

Scout coughed and tried for a convincing smile at the offer, a small part of him appreciating the little bit of praise he was getting that night. He waved half-heartedly after the patriotic man with an uneasy chuckle as he passed him by with a massive grin on his face. “Oh, sure, yeah. I’ll have to try and remember when we get back to, uh, totally do that.”

“Ach, donnae worry, lad. It’s the wee hours of morning. ‘Ain’t a chance he’ll remember on the car ride home. He’ll be bloody asleep by the time we get back.” Demoman nudged Scout’s arm from behind as they watched Soldier march back to the truck to also check on Sniper. The two stayed standing side-by-side and observed for a few moments as the majority of the team hovered around the marksman just to make sure he was okay. Scout found himself smirking a little to himself at the rare sight.

“Like a fooked up family, we are. Eh?” Demo chuckled, pulling Scout into a quick, friendly side-armed hug. The Bostonian allowed it, but made a bit of a face at the affectionate contact, still feeling out of sorts from the whole incident he couldn’t help feeling was partly his fault. The demolitions expert picked up on it easily, however, and released him with a sigh. “Don’t let this eat’ya up, laddie. Just like I said, right? We’re one bloody mess of a family. If yer gonnae do something stupid, ya might as well include us.”

Scout snorted genuinely at that, shrugging but with a small smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah. I got enough brothers at home. I don’t need a bunch of dads to match.” He replied jokingly to deflect the rather sappy sentiment.

“A family’s what’cha make of it.” Demo shot back easily enough, earning him a look of surprise from Scout at the sincere wisdom from out of nowhere as the explosives expert idly searched his own person for his flask. He muttered to himself in dismay when he turned up with nothing, eyeing Sniper’s van before giving a groan of resignation. “Ach, mother o’ mercy. Must’ave left the bloody thing back home. Guess I’ll be in the van taking a bleedin’ nap until we get back then.” Demo gave a two-finger salute as he turned to leave. “Nighty night, lad.”

“Yeah, night.” Scout called after his shoulder.

The Bostonian turned back towards the loose crowd still hanging around the truck and allowed himself a warm, heartfelt smile.

Man.

Scout really had to pee now.

_ -_-_-_-_-_

[everlarkficexchange]

Unmasked ~ Fourteen

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Also my thanks to everyone else who has offered up their inbox for submissions. I appreciate everyone’s enthusiasm for this story. There are still several chapters to go, so if you volunteered to help post and have not yet, there is still a chance I will need your help! Please enjoy the fourteenth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 14 ~~

That night, I do seriously consider, as mad as it sounds, greeting Peeta in nothing but the mask I wore to the masquerade. I go so far as to strip down alone in our room and put the thing on. Then I realise how ridiculous I look and consider that he might laugh or worse, and put my night dress right back on and hide the mask.

Then I wait… and wait… for him to come to bed. I fume and huff and read. I am about to go in search of him when the door opens and he limps into the room. His movements are the most labored and careful I have seen them yet.

“Where have you been?” I ask and he stops, his shoulders slumping as I rise to my knees on our bed, fists planted on my hips.

“Ah. You are awake. I’ve been in the stables, assisting Joe and Charles with a mare who has been ill,” he says and hobbles over to his chair.

“In the stables?” I ask and fly off the bed.

“Yes,” he answers, doffing his coat and vest, then lowering himself to the chair. I stand before him, furious at his distance and the way I feel in this moment as he rubs his thigh, furious with him and at the sick mare for commanding his attention.

Good lord. I am jealous of a horse for she has received more touches from my husband than I. Truly I have sunk to astonishing depths here.

“And what is wrong with your leg?” I ask, crossing my arms and giving him my darkest scowl.

“It is made of wood?”

“No husband, what is wrong with it is that you have been working too hard and neglecting your health. Take off your trousers.”

“Madame I do not —“

“Take off your trousers this instant, or I shall fetch the shears and do it for you!” He stares at me a moment, his blue eyes wide, astonished. Slowly, he removes his boots, his eyes not leaving mine as I tap my slippered toe to show him my impatience.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I mutter and reach for his trousers. He makes a noise of distress as I help him with the garment, but they are off in a flash along with his undergarments, and I kneel before him. I hesitate then, as it strikes me how close I am to…him.

Oh Lord and mercy, I start blushing and completely lose my thoughts as he thankfully adjusts his shirt and hands to keep himself covered. I started so brave and now find myself unsure. He clears his throat and I tuck my hair back behind my ear before reaching for the contraption that keeps his leg attached. I skim my fingers over it and examine the straps, at a complete loss as to where to even start.

“Have you done this before? Removed a man’s leg?” he asks and my eyes leap to his. He’s smiling slightly, although I can see that he is in pain and I cannot help but laugh a little.

“If I say yes will I be met with your fury or your disapproval?”

“Most likely with my jealousy of the man,” he says and my cheeks warm at the idea that he might be jealous of anyone I paid such intimate attention to.

“I am guessing here. Perhaps some assistance, sir?” He leans forward and shows me how to remove his leg. I set it aside and scowl at the cloth padding that provides cushion between flesh and wood. It is stained with blood and Peeta winces as I prod at the chafing and blisters on his skin.

I begin to feel ill. It is much worse than I thought. Mother and Prim would be better at this, given how much more experience they have in healing. I barely know where to start and need a few deep breaths to order my thoughts. But I refuse to summon either of them. Peeta is my husband and I will care for him.

“It is not that bad…is it?” he asks. I turn my scowl to him.

“Not that bad?” I rise and ring for Mary. She must be close as she answers almost immediately.

“Yes ma’am?”

“I need a healing kit as quick as you can, Mary…and perhaps a light repast from the kitchens.”

She glances past me at Peeta then and hesitates. “Is Mr. Mellark injured?”

“Not severely, but that may change should he decide to be obstinate.”

Mary hides her smile and vanishes as Peeta protests. “Are you calling me obstinate?”

“Indeed I am, husband.” I retrieve the wash bowl and a sponge then sit before him, spreading a drying cloth beneath his truncated leg. I wash the affected area then and glower at each tiny wince of his until he grips the arms of the chair and ceases to show any reaction at all.

Mary returns then with the kit. She brings Sae with her, carrying a tray of food. Slices of bread, pears, goat cheese and honey.

“I apologize for keeping you both so late, but I’ve also need of my sewing kit and several scraps of fabric. I believe they are in the drawing room right now, if one of you could fetch them.”

“Allow me,” Sae insists and both of them leave.

“That thing is useless,” I say with a nod towards the soiled piece of padding.

“That thing prevents splinters or from it being worse than it already is.”

“What were you thinking? You cannot continue like this!”

“And what is my alternative? To whine and complain? Allow others to shoulder the work intended for me?”

“You live in a house of healers, Peeta. To leave these small injuries to fester is both an insult and a poor decision.”

“You have had much bigger wounds to heal. I will be fine,” he says and I can argue with him no more or I might truly lose my temper. How could he not see how irresponsible it is for him to have left this uncared for? That is precisely what led to my father’s amputation, only Peeta does not have much of a leg left to amputate.

“Shut up and eat your pears,” I say. He sighs but does as I order. At one point, he offers a bite to me as well. I take it and thank him. He feeds us both, one morsel at a time, as I finish washing him and then carefully dry his leg.

I set to work crushing together herbs to make a paste for him as he watches me. “This should draw out any infections that may have already taken root and assist in healing the blisters. In the morning I can coat it with an oil that will soothe the chafing. You need a padding with a more open weave, and I think mayhap a sleeve to both hold the padding in place as well as protect your skin from these straps will help. Tomorrow, Mother and I can concoct a paste that will help prevent this from happening again if you insist on being so stubborn.”

“Thank you,” he says and all I can manage is a nod. “You have a talent for this. For healing.”

“My mother and sister are better at it. It is far easier to kill than to heal.”

“And yet you are not a killer either. You hunt only what you need, kill only what is needed. You are more a grower, a cultivator, a provider.”

I pause and scowl at him. “Flattery will not make me less angry with you.”

“Why are you angry? Have I disappointed you in my work? In the fulfillment of my duties?”

“Not in regards to this house and estate.”

“Then in what, Katniss?”

“Had you left this untended much longer, it would have gotten infected, and then what, husband? Would you have taken your silent suffering to the grave?”

“I would leave you with no complaints, I should hope. You would be an exceptionally wealthy and independent widow,” he says it so easily without a trace of self pity or sarcasm that it angers me further.

“I beg your pardon?”

“One of the things I tended to while I was in Capitol before our wedding was having a will drawn up. I signed it the day after we were married and sent it back to my solicitor. It names you the sole beneficiary of our funds should anything happen to me. You will not be left dependent on the Mellark family, nor anyone else for that matter. You can cease being angry at the idea of my passing.” I stare at him, agog for a moment. “Is that not what you wanted?”

It is precisely what I wanted, and he knows it. I work on his leg, gently spreading the paste and apologizing for its chill when he hisses slightly. I cannot meet his eyes, overcome with the knowledge that he so readily saw to such a detail, without my asking or reminding him of the reason I sought out a marriage in the first place, and that he did so before we had any sort of agreement between us at all.

“I have a copy of it and can show it to you if you do not believe me, madame.”

“I suppose I am expected to throw a gala party to celebrate your death,” I mutter.

“Some cultures do so. Why not embrace that?”

“Mourning is a fine time to adopt a new culture!” I practically snarl and he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face as though he cannot even bear to look at me, but would rather look at his palm. Or the ceiling, as when he removes his hand from his face, he tips his head back to rest on the chair and speaks more to the crown moulding than to me.

“There’s no need for sarcasm, Katniss. We both know you would be better off as a widow.” If he tells the truth about the will, then he is correct objectively speaking, and yet something inside me screams in agony at the very idea of having to bury him, of never seeing his smile nor hearing his laugh ever again.

“I would not.”

He laughs bitterly then and lifts his head to look down at me. “You’ve barely been able to look me in the eye the past few days, and I cannot blame you. I am as disgusted with myself as you must be for my weakness in nearly yielding to misguided temptations, for how close I came to breaking my promises to you.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” I secure the bandages on his leg and stand to clean up the mess, too distracted in my rage to actually have any awareness of what I am doing.

“You’ve no idea at all, have you? The liberties I took…when you believed me to be someone else. How much I wished for the way you looked at me that night to be real and… for me, not another. I should burn in Hell or at the very least self hatred for my actions and feelings. Then yesterday with your corset…I nearly took advantage of you! What sort of monster does that?”

“That is ridiculous!”

“It is not ridiculous. It is abhorrent.”

“No, it is ridiculous! I have barely been able to look at you these past days, not because I was angry with you or feared you, but because I’ve barely been able to keep from ripping your clothes off!”

The words fly between us and he sits back as though I had slapped him. I too step back, astonished at my own admission and brazen words.

“What did you say?” He breathes the words and I groan. How humiliating, to just throw such words out into the air. He is too surprised by them. Madge must have been wrong. I move to focus on cleaning up my supplies rather than focus on my careless words, but he reaches out, grasping my wrists. “No. Wait, do not go. Katniss.”

I do not know what comes over me, likely insanity or perhaps simply fatigue. I pitch forward and our lips collide together. His mouth is still opened and our teeth connect painfully, as do our noses, making me jump back and wince. He stares at me, wide eyed as I blush furiously. How stupid of me. I think I may have gotten worse at kissing since my first.

“Why did you do that?” he whispers, his hands still holding my wrists so that I cannot escape.

“I do not do a thing that I do not wish to,” I spit the words out because I am so tired of fighting, so tired of pretending that everything is fine, all is well, and that I am not ready to scream or tear my hair out with frustration. The weight of everything that has happened since spring presses down on me, culminating in this fresh degradation. I cannot even manage one decent kiss.

“You wanted to kiss me?”

“That is what I said.” I shiver slightly as he slides his hands up my arms, up to tangle into my hair as I stand bent awkwardly over him. His thumbs caress over my cheeks.

“And what do you want right now?” he whispers the words, his voice deep and curling through my body, settling as an echo in my blood as it thrums through my veins. EVer so slowly, it dawns on me that Peeta is not looking at me with disgust, nor even with dispassion but rather with great care. I am not sure if I move towards him or if I let him pull me down. Either way, I am drawn to him. Down to his mouth as our lips touch in a tentative caress, folding together in a warm embrace as we stand still like that. My muscles shake with the effort of holding this pose, of noting everything in this moment.

The familiar and comforting scent of his body, magnified in heat. The feel of his steady, rapid exhales caressing over my cheek. The softness of his lips against mine and the heat simmering beneath our touch. I moan and let go. Why should I refrain from kissing him? I have wanted this for so long now. We are married, bound to one another until death tears us apart. Before that happens, I wish to live as a married woman, fully and completely. I wish to know the secrets between husband and wife – between Peeta and I.

I kiss him as I have longed to do, pressing my lips closer to his, lifting my hands to hold his in place on my neck and jaw. Warmth spreads through me, such incredible warmth that I shiver with it. Our mouths move together, somehow familiar already, perhaps because I know him now.

My knees weaken as the kiss continues and I shift to sit on his lap, my legs moving and stuttering with my uncertainty. I’ve no idea where to move nor what to do. I flounder until he pulls his head back. “I am not certain how I should… I am trying not to hurt you.”

“Come here,” he whispers. Letting go of my neck, he guides my legs until I am seated astride him, my knees pressed close to his hips and his warm palms caressing my calves, up to my thighs as I resume kissing him, combing my fingers through the soft curls of his hair, sliding them over the broad planes and angles of his shoulders, down his chest to feel his heart beat beneath my palms. Its steady beat pulls me deeper into the kiss.

Just as I am wondering how he would respond to my tongue in his mouth, he moves his lips, down my chin, lower still as he kisses his way down my neck. I move, restless and spurred on by the delicious feeling of his lips on my skin, of the delightful shivers that wrack my body and the heat growing heavy between my legs, demanding an answer. He murmurs my name, his hands caressing over my back, up to unbutton then drawing my night dress off my shoulder, giving him access to more of my skin.

“Yes, please,” I plead, scarcely knowing what I am agreeing to, but I am caught in a fever and know that only Peeta holds the cure.

“Do you feel pity for me, Katniss?” His question teases a smile from me and a feeling of lightness flutters in my heart.

“None, you obstinate bastard.”

“Duty to your marriage?”

“Heavens no, not now. Duty is for the pious and the righteous.”

He kisses over healthy and scarred skin. His hands grip my hips and pull me down. I gasp at the feeling of something hard pressed to my intimate skin, beneath the fabric of his shirt still caught between us.

I have seen a handful of naked men, although never in an aroused state. It is sometimes inevitable with a healer for a mother. While some part of my mind knew that for copulation, a man’s sexual organ would become engorged as an animal’s does, I have never been impressed with the sight of a flaccid one, to be honest, and had no idea of how such an odd looking organ could incite desire in a woman…or anyone for that matter.

Feeling the reality of Peeta, however, hard and present, insistent and pressed tightly to my own sex, is another matter entirely. A small spark of fear, curiosity, and yet mostly desire, dances to life inside me. I am overjoyed at the evidence that Peeta does in fact desire me. I find further relief and also torment in the movements over him as I discover exactly how such a thing could incite desire in me.

“And this is certainly not pious, husband,” I whisper and tear at his neckcloth until his shirt gapes open for me. I grab hold of his hair to pull his head back that I might taste his skin as he has tasted mine. He must enjoy it as I kiss and suck at his neck, if the curses and moans he releases, his tightened hold on me, are any indication. I smile in pride to myself. It appears that I am improving at this seduction business.

“Tell me to stop. I will stop if you demand it,” he whispers then curses as he buries his face against my breast. His exhales burn through the fabric of my nightgown, caressing over my heated skin and a stray thought of his mouth there has my breasts feeling heavy, the peaks tight and aching. “But God in heaven I do not want to stop.”

I push myself into him, heady with the groan I receive and lost in pleasure as his hands slide beneath my nightgown, his palms scorching, soothing, and pleasing all at once, guiding me to a place I do not know and desperately wish to experience.

“You would make me wait longer than I already have, husband?” He laughs against my skin, lifting his head to smile up at me with swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and wide, darkened pupils. “I will not allow you to stop now, Peeta. You have denied me our wedding night for too long.”

I take his mouth with mine then, sliding my tongue past his lips, uncaring if he is shocked at my boldness. His moan vibrates across my tongue along with his taste as his arms tighten around me, holding us together as I writhe, seeking release for this pressure mounting in my core. A brief flicker of familiarity in the movement of our kiss seeps through the haze of desire and need, a calling out of a memory and a taste and scent that tickles the brain. It whispers of starry nights and exquisite kisses shared between red stained lips.

No, not now.

I do not want the intrusion of a third party in my thoughts as I kiss Peeta. I stiffen in his embrace, but before I can break the kiss, there is a knock on the door and it opens.

“My apologies for the wait, Mrs. Mellark, I had a bit of a time finding it. Picked up Miss Primrose’s first then saw the fancy stitching and knew it couldn’t be yours,” Sae says as she enters and I leap from Peeta’s arms, hands frantically repairing my appearance as she takes note of our faces, the way we cannot look at one another and the way we shift clothes back in place to hide away kissed, flushed skin. “And my apologies for interrupting.”

Sae’s smile is as poorly disguised as our activities. She sets the sewing kit down on a chest near the door, curtsies, wishes us a good night, and leaves us in awkward silence. How humiliating, to be caught in the act of mauling my own husband. Undoubtedly the entire household will hear of this by dinner time tomorrow. The mere fact that Sae and others will know exactly what we are doing behind our doors now cools the ardour that so recently burned through me. Her knowledge saps my body of desire and replaces it with fatigue.

“I am…going to sleep now,” I say and move towards the bed. “In the morning, I will design a better sleeve and cushion for your leg.”

“As you wish, madame,” he says, his voice hoarse. I settle in the bed and he does not move.

“Would you cease being obstinate?” After a few moments of him moving about, tending to the fire, the room darkens. Then I feel the bed dip as he joins me.

“Satisfied, wife?”

“Perhaps a little, husband,” I mutter.

He releases a sigh, sounding beleaguered as he moves and wraps his arms around me. “Better?”

I shift to find a more comfortable angle, my backside brushing against him as I do. He sucks in a sharp breath and I pause. Push back into him and grin at the feel of him still hard. His response to me tonight gives me courage to ask something I need the answer to.

“Do you desire me, Peeta?”

“You’ve no idea,” he whispers, holding me tight so that I might feel him and his kisses as they whisper over my neck, up into my hair as he inhales and then releases his breath in a tortured groan. “But you were right. In my efforts to avoid you and the temptation you present, I have exhausted myself. I would not last ten seconds before humiliating myself and disappointing you.”

“So you admit to avoiding me?”

“Please understand, it is not meant as an insult to you, Katniss,” he says. “I am…used to being unwanted. A bastard is never truly wanted. Neither is a cripple. I am both. Even when it seems I am close to earning acceptance, something always arises to remind people of what I am.”

I lay still then, contemplating his words for a moment. He says them with no trace of self pity or sadness but rather states them as a fact. “Has this anything to do with the letter from your family a few days ago?”

His body turns rigid against mine and I know I have struck upon the truth. “Amongst other things.”

“Bad news then?”

“In a manner of speaking. We are expected to present ourselves at Vale House at our earliest convenience,” he tells me in a sardonic tone.

“The Marquis cannot be bothered to attend our wedding but we are to answer his summons at the drop of a hat? Why did you not tell me?” I ask and Peeta turns me in his arms to face him, his hand caressing over my cheek.

“Your father and your family need you right now, Katniss. I would not ask you to leave them under such circumstances. Therefore, it is not our earliest convenience and the Marquis will have to wait. I have already told him so.”

“That does not change the way he has ordered us about!”

“I like it no more than you, but he has provided us with a generous income as a wedding gift—”

“A start! It does us no good if we mismanage it in the coming years.” Peeta lets go of my face and shifts uncomfortably in the bed.

“It would be one visit, Katniss. I would not enjoy it any more than you. One visit to bow and curtsy and pretend that we’re eternally grateful and then he would leave us alone.”

“How can you be certain? What is to prevent him from–”

“Read it,” he says, rolling away and lighting the lamp. He retrieves a letter from the drawer on his side of the bed, shoving a few scattered papers back in before handing me the letter. “He makes it quite clear he sees our marriage as a chance to be well rid of me, since my time in the infantry did not do the job.”

I snatch it up, eyes darting over the words. My skin crawls at the domineering tone and veiled insults – at the implication that Peeta would never have managed to convince anyone to marry him anyways and so it is lucky that Sir Robert eloped, thus leaving me available to manipulate into a marriage with Peeta. The implications that I was not good enough for Robert, but Peeta is an acceptable substitute that I should be grateful for. I am not sure how he manages it, but the man simultaneously insinuates that neither of us are good enough for the other and also that we should both be grateful we were fortunate enough to find someone to marry us at all, all while congratulating himself for raising Peeta to the point that he no longer needs a father. The message is clear. Come visit and be grateful and then never bother me again.

“Who did Robert elope with anyways? The queen of Panem?” I say and at this, Peeta laughs.

“Not even close.”

“Well this pompous ass makes it sound like he did. At least tell me I was left for the daughter of a Duke, a minor princess.”

“No, the Marquis would have rejoiced in such a thing, not tried to hide it,” Peeta says and I wait for a real answer. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You remember I told you that my mother worked for the Marchioness’ birth family?”

“Yes,” I say, impatient to hear the truth.

“That means that once I was living as a Mellark, I was invariably dragged back to that estate along with the rest of the family.”

“Why?” I ask, astonished that they would demand such a thing of Peeta. To be forced to return to a place so full of both happy and miserable memories for him must have been devastating.

“To prove that the Marquis is merciful and generous because he provided for his bastard? To control Lady Tabitha through humiliation? Remind me that I was forbidden to so much as speak of my birth mother anymore and why? Perhaps to remind me that with a snap of his fingers, I could be back in the kitchens or worse. Or to use me as a warning for everyone else in his circle of influence that he could do the same to them as he had done to my mother and I. Who knows how truly twisted that man’s cruelty is, for surely I do not. But that is not the point. The point is that…Robert was already used to visiting there and with my presence as his brother, there were now…new friends and playmates he was forbidden before. We were careful never to be caught of course.”

“His aunt then, or perhaps a cousin,” I guess and Peeta sighs.

“Were it that simple, although he did have a brief romance with one of his cousins. That was the trouble. Robert was always in love with someone, convinced that she was the only one for him. It was impossible to tell fondness from infatuation from real love where he was concerned. I think… in a way, he was desperately seeking the sort of love and affection he was denied as a child, always expected to act like a lord before he was even a man.”

I glance down at the pillows beneath us as guilt rises in me. At the callous and business like marriage I proposed to him. I was attempting to be honest and instead perhaps hurt him more than I had realised. No wonder Robert ran away with someone else. He knew that I did not love him even a little.

“I suppose he asked this unsuitable girl whom his father now wishes to hide to marry him at some point in the past?”

“She refused Robert’s proposal, insisted she could not bring him down so. It left them both broken hearted. The Marquis purchased my commission shortly after and I had no choice but to leave. At first, Robert’s letters to me showed his pain, but they gradually grew increasingly optimistic, and by the time I returned, Robert seemed to have recovered from the heartache. He was back to his old self, falling madly in love at every dance.

“Then he started courting you, and I thought… I thought there was no chance for him. How could he not develop a real love for you?” Peeta says it so tenderly that a strange sort of giddy feeling permeates my body, all the way to my fingers and toes. His belief that Robert would not be able to keep from falling in love with me suggests more about Peeta’s feelings for me than it does Robert’s, in this case. “But I knew of your family’s situation and the real possibility that it was Robert’s fortune not himself you were truly interested in. I thought to protect him from disappointment or from falling in love too fast by accompanying him on every outing, but in the end it did not matter. He was clearly not over his former love and ran off with her the night of the masquerade, although I’ve no knowledge yet of the details how exactly that came about. I am simply sorry that you were left hurt by it.”

“You still have not told me who she is, Peeta,” I say rather than confront the lingering feelings in my chest at the memories of those last few days in Capitol.

He takes a deep breath and releases it. “Delilah Cartwright���Delly.”

I stare at him, unblinking. He’s waiting for a reaction, and yet I’ve no idea how I should react. I search through feelings and attempt hurt. That no longer seems to fit. In truth, the only thing hurt by Robert’s elopement was my pride. My vanity. And perhaps my sense of control over my life.

But… I did not love him, and I have no way of knowing if I would have come to love him. There is also the fact that it matters little if I would have. I am married to Peeta, and as much as I try, I cannot summon any regret over the outcome, despite my lingering misgivings about the methods.

I finally manage a shrug. “Is there a bargain price for family members on those excellent boots she makes?”

Peeta blinks twice and then his lips curl up in a fragile smile. Ridiculous the way my heart flutters at this small expression of hope on his visage.

“You are not angry?”

“I am perhaps…confused about a few details,” I say and then a massive yawn halts my next words. I am exhausted as well, apparently. “But you can remedy that in the morning. For now, you will hold me and you will see to your health or you will regret it. I have grown rather fond of you, husband.”

“Rather fond of me?” I nod and close my eyes, prepared to sleep.

“Yes and I am now used to having you about. You can be most helpful at times. I will be quite aggravated if you die on me due to your own stubborn neglect. Such an inconvenience. And you will not even think of doing something so ridiculous as sleeping in that chair, ever again.” I crack one eye open and catch him smiling down at me. “Unless you are drunk.”

He laughs, extinguishes the light and wraps me up into his embrace. “I would not dare over indulge nor die prematurely for fear of your retribution, wife.”

“Good.” A smile stretches across my lips and I am grateful for the darkness, for surely my expression is quite feral in that moment. “Then rest with me. There is always tomorrow, husband.”

To be continued….look for chapter fifteen on the blog of @stjohn27

[whence-and-whither]

a brush with death

(Note: simultaneously posted with perspective counterpart here)

Three had been tasked with escorting the exiled death knight out of the Shadow Vault, and Cauld waited until they returned to their posts to venture outside. He had filched a pail from one of the storage areas, and had even thought to grab an ice pick to reinforce his alibi: if anyone stopped him to ask what he was up to, he'd simply been sent out to fetch some chunks of ice to be melted into water.

Maybe it was a foolish idea that had wormed its way into his head, but he couldn't help wanting to meet the knight he'd had an unwitting brush with before, and with whom he'd since discovered an unlikely connection.

"He's dangerous. Steer clear of him." Ky's warning remained anchored somewhere between his ears - the gravity in his thin voice had ensured that the words wouldn't merely float into one and out of the other - and yet, curiosity prevailed, its prodding louder and more insistent than paternal admonition and his own caution combined.

It's now, or not at all. You're probably never going to see him again.

And so he ventured after the exiled knight, every muscle tense under his cloak as he trod with care upon the frostladen road. Piss, but it was cold outside the Vault.

At least he didn't have to travel far in his search.

The death knight, an imposing form even from a distance, stood in stark contrast to his surroundings, a blot of dark armor against bleak ice. He was standing still, many paces from the road, his head canted skyward.

Nervousness threatened to wobble Cauld's legs as he picked his way toward him, as if the ice streaking the road didn't make the journey treacherous enough. He's dangerous. And the Ebon commander who called himself Reaper had threatened to throw him into a cell with him. Still, his voice rang out clearly. "Dregan! You're Dregan Clare, aren't you?"

The knight turned to regard him, a withering glare on a gaunt, gray face. A moment's scrutiny, and then a cold voice rasping without inflection against chill air. "What do you want?"

Cauld's feet came to a prompt halt -- or would have, had the slick slope underfoot not stolen his footing. Heels splayed, then his feet flew up in front of him as he crashed onto his backside, joined by a clatter and a clang of borrowed supplies.

"Ow, shit -- Wait, wait, don't hurt me! I jus' wanted--" Frantic words came blurted in the wake of a groan, and then more still as he writhed his way to his feet. "I used to-- I knew your wife!"

The knight's glare remained steady and severe, but he didn't advance. "What of her?"

"I, uh-- I- I know what you did! I saw-- I mean-- I know you didn't mean to." Indiscriminate words continued to stammer out of him, as though they might insulate him from an impending assault. Or dig a grave for him. What are you thinking? Just shut your mouth! Stop talking! He managed to stem his babbling in the face of that icy, unblinking stare, and as uneasy seconds passed under those inscrutable lichlights, his trepidation distilled into self-consciousness. "..What?"

"You're that cripple's boy."

Cauld's heart skipped a beat as he fumbled for a response to that unexpected remark, and then anxious adrenaline sparked boldness. "Yeah, I am! An' you shouldn't have hurt him!" There it was - the steel that had left his legs when his feet went out from under him.

Even if he might come to regret his brazenness.

"He took a good deal of interest in my eye socket," Ky had said. An uncomfortable allusion to a recent injury, uttered as a hasty afterthought to some other matter. He hadn't been willing to speak more of the incident, and Cauld had been left to imagine what transpired. At the time, that had been enough to put an end to his thoughts of seeking him out.. And yet, here he was. And already, it was too late to retract his impertinence. He managed not to start shuffling backward -- his ass was still smarting something fierce, and he didn't need to fall on it a second time -- but an unsettling thought needled his mind. If Dregan decided to do the same now, he might not hesitate to gouge out one of his eyes right here. He started fishing his Scourgestone out of his pocket. He was still close to the Vault, but it could probably transport him back from here. At the first sign of the death knight drawing back a fist, or conjuring forth some wicked magic, he'd simply --

"Send him my apologies. The others were starving me."

Taken aback again, a knot of nervous anticipation unraveled between Cauld's shoulders, to escape as a huff of a sigh and a shaky, slack-jawed nod. Whatever he'd expected out of the knight, that wasn't it. "Oh-- Alright." A swallow, and a dart of a tongue over dry lips. "I will."

"See that you do. Now, leave me be." The death knight turned away then, one half-gauntleted hand rising as he began to tear a death gate into existence.

Relief, in spite of the violent black crackle that cast the rift open, and the deathly gale that howled within it. Further questions swirled in Cauld's mind like the shadows in the death gate, but this would suffice. He could part ways knowing that, for all of Dregan the exile's fearsome reputation, he was perhaps not a monster. And that would be enough. "You know, Miranda said you were nice. I'm glad she was right."

A ghost of a word escaped the death knight, too hushed to be heard distinctly amid the wailing that echoed from the death gate, but he seemed to have no further response to give. Not until Cauld began to pick his way back toward the road did he hear Dregan speak again; he looked to see the knight facing him, a thoughtful crease etched into his grim visage.

"I have a task for you, if you would agree to it."

Cauld hesitated, caught between misgiving and inquisitiveness. Could he get in trouble for carrying out a request from a knight who'd been ousted? But he still had his curiosities about this elusive knight, and wouldn't turn down the opportunity. "What is it?"

"Consider it a final matter I wish to resolve with the Ebon Blade. Merely a letter to be delivered."

That seemed simple enough. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Good. I'll see to it that you return here. Now, come along." With that, the death knight swept an expectant arm in the direction of his grim portal.

He had his own way back. With a surreptitious pass of his fingers across his pocket to ensure his Scourgestone was still where it belonged, he paused before the gate, before the steady, cold stare of the exiled knight, swallowed a breath, and pressed through.

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

Pokémon Black: The Novel - Chapter 10 (Back to You)

Prologue and more info

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Pokémon Black: The Novel on FFN

Pokémon Black: The Novel on AO3

Pokémon Retold the series on AO3

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

While Hil, Cheren, and Bianca were contemplating leaving and coming back later, a young man scurried from the museum and approached them apologetically. He had deep, dirty blond hair and wore a dark suit. He waved at them. “Are you three here for the gym?” he asked in a hushed tone as he neared them.

“Well, my friend is,” Cheren answered. Hil cast a look at Bianca as she took a few steps away from them, drawn toward the crowd gathered in front of the Team Plasma display.

“You should just hurry up and come inside,” the young man said briskly. “We do apologize for the gathering, they’re… they’re really quite peaceful, even if they get fairly… boisterous,” he reassured them. Or at least, he tried. Hil wasn’t feeling very calmed by his unconvinced tone.

“You could say that again…” Cheren muttered. “Anyway, thank you… Are you the Clyde?”

“Yes, sir,” the young man smiled back at him. “Follow me.”

Cheren motioned for Hil to follow, and then hissed at Bianca, “Bianca, c’mon, we’re heading in now.”

“I’ll catch up…”

“What?” Hil found himself squeaking before he even realized it. He cleared his throat and repeated himself more clearly, “What are you gonna stay out here for?”

“I want to hear what he’s talking about,” Bianca told them, sounding a little agitated. She looked at them and sighed. “They may be acting a little crazy, but… I think they may have a point, you know?”

Cheren opened his mouth in a way that made Hil think he was about to say something he might regret, so Hil walked in front of him and nervously fiddled with his own hands. “C’mon, Cheren, let’s just go inside. We’ll catch up with her and her conspiracy theory buddies later,” he joked with a wink aimed her way. “I’m ready to go and earn my next badge.”

Cheren frowned in her direction, not that she could see it, and sighed. “Okay,” he finally breathed a little sadly.

Once inside the museum, the Clyde nervously explained the situation. “That’s Team Plasma out there, as I’m sure you recognized,” he mumbled, “they have recently been picking up the heat on their stance about fossil revitalization. It’s gotten so bad that Hawes and Gym Leader Lenora had those services called off until further notice.”

A receptionist behind a cool tan and white counter just within the entrance of the museum nodded from behind the glass shielding her small office. “It’s true,” she said through a small gap in the glass. “Gym Leader Lenora’s called the police on them a few times for fear of them getting violent, but there’s really nothing anyone can do. They’re allowed to gather like that, and they may be loud, but they’re not being violent.”

“Anyway,” the Clyde focused back on the topic at hand, “Which of you is it going to challenge Gym Leader Lenora?” He put that polite smile back on his face and clasped his hands behind his back, standing straight. He looked so clean and proper. It made Hil, in his sweatpants and raggedy blue and white hoodie, hat lopsided from where his swooping, wild hair pushed it up off his head at an awkward angle, feel embarrassed. The entire museum was just as posh as the Clyde.

“M-me,” Hil murmured. He made an attempt to smooth his hair out some and shove the hat on straight. Noodle cuddled up to his neck in the process. “I beat Gym Leader Chili of the Striaton City Gym and now I’m here to challenge Gym Leader Lenora.”

“Splendid!” the Clyde exclaimed. “May I see your badge case?”

Hil nodded and clumsily pulled it from his bag, dropping it on the floor once and having to fetch the Trio Badge from where it clattered away next to Cheren’s feet. He replaced it in its depression in the case and then awkwardly held it out to the Clyde, who scanned it carefully for a few seconds. Once satisfied, he nodded. “That’s a real Trio Badge alright,” he said and clapped his hands together. He then pulled an Xtransceiver from a pocket on the inside of his black suit’s jacket. “I’ll just call Hawes and let him know you’re here, and he’ll take you to where Gym Leader Lenora accepts challengers. What’s your name, young man?”

“Hil. Hil Whitacre.”

 ------------------------------

“Ladies and gentlemen, Team Plasma appreciates your recognition today,” Gorm said as he dipped his head respectfully to the crowd. His ears rang and his hips ached. He had spent the better part of two or more hours in front of that crowd, and fatigue was evident in the grunts assisting him as well. The flagbearers twitched with the effort of holding their position for so long, and the guardsmen grunts behind him were growing antsy and impatient. He couldn’t be happier to finally be leaving the stage, but he knew their work was not quite done yet for that day. Oh no, this was just the beginning. “For now, we bid you farewell, and insist that you continue your passive efforts. The museum already fails to offer any more revitalization services. Please, keep your fellow pokémon in mind, and keep the heat on them so this service is not offered again. Respect for pokémon is not just a fleeting phase.”

He was met with whoops and hollers of approval as he turned to the grunts gathered about him. They looked to him with pleading eyes. With a curt nod, they eagerly formed a protective barrier around him, leading him through the crowd and to one of the studio apartments further down the road, well away from the museum. The crowd happily parted for them.

Gorm, at the orders of Ghetsis, had temporarily rented a studio for their purposes in Nacrene City. It was helpful to store some of their items, such as flags or spare uniforms, as well as provide their members somewhere to rest between rallies. But this would be the last rally for this particular day. They had bigger interests in Nacrene than simply drumming up public support. That, too, was very important: they truly did find the practice of fossil revitalization disgusting.

However, there was a gem the Nacrene City Museum held: a massive, draconic skeleton said to have come from a Dragon-type pokémon which flew around the world some thousands of years ago. Its size and stature reflected that of the pokémon Team Plasma was researching in its own laboratories and as such, they had reason to believe it was related to the ancient Dragons of Unova. This theory had led them to an unfortunate conclusion.

As they reached the studio apartment, everyone entered except for two grunts, who wordlessly understood their duties. They had been the flagbearers at the rally. They placed their flags on either side of the stairwell leading to the studio’s front door and stood tall, stilly keeping guard over the entryway. Outsiders may have wondered how the flagbearers did it, but those within Team Plasma’s allegiance knew that flagbearers, or, as they were more accurately known, ‘defensemen,’ held some of the most important jobs in Team Plasma’s organization. They were the most devoted of individuals with the steeliest of hearts. They were the eldest of all of Team Plasma’s fold. Standing at attention for hours alone at a time did not faze them. Only the most dedicated of Team Plasma became defensemen and part of becoming one included proving one’s commitment under the guidance of a Sage.

Within the studio, the grunts stripped down to their thin, white undershirts and tossed on various, more inconspicuous outfits. They fluffed out their hair and some put on glasses. Others sported jewelry. Gorm himself did not change his appearance whatsoever, but he had no reason to. He would not be taking part in this exercise. This was someone else’s mission to lead.

Once the grunts had finished, he cleared his throat, and they aligned in perfect formation in front of him without need of further prompting. He focused on one of the grunts in particular, a tanned, toned man with wild blue hair and deep, sapphire eyes. “Brother Marlon,” Gorm said quietly, “you have been a valued member of Team Plasma for over five years now. As the eldest of this flock, you will lead today’s excursion, and I will oversee your operation.”

Marlon nodded briskly and swallowed hard. “Yes, sir, Sage Gorm,” he choked out.

“It is understandable to be nervous,” Gorm conceded, “but you must remain level-headed. This is your test for becoming a defenseman. I understand this may come as a surprise to you, but I have chosen you after careful consideration of the value you have brought to Team Plasma thus far.” Marlon had always been intended to lead the heist, but the grunt had not been made aware it would be his test for the rank of defenseman. Rarely were subjects informed of the test beforehand. “As for the rest of you, you remain valued members of Team Plasma regardless of your position. Remember, every single one of us has a role to play in the protection of this world and its creatures, pokémon and human alike.” Gorm regarded each grunt carefully and was satisfied at the mix of emotions on their faces. Hopefulness, anxiety, determination. No matter what it was, nobody looked as if they regretted where they were. That was what was important. A chain was only as strong as its weakest links, after all. He turned his attention back to Marlon. “Are you ready?”

Marlon, dressed in a black tank top, baggy black pants, flicked a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. “I am,” he answered in a deep, booming voice. The anxiety in him at all but faded. He then put a dark blue bandana around his mouth, effectively covering his face. The rest of the grunts achieved similar success in hiding their true appearances in their varied attire.

“Good,” Gorm nodded. “Go. Bring forth the skull of the Dragon of Unova. Meet me at the deepest recesses of Pinwheel Forest, as we practiced. Go!”

 -------------------

“We’re so glad to have you at the gym!” Hawes was gushing as he led Cheren and Hil further into the museum. He had paused at just about every exhibit in the museum to tell them about it, but Hil had honestly tuned most of it out. A giant Dragon-type pokémon skeleton, some rocks, a fossil or two, maybe… Maybe it should have intrigued him more, but he found it difficult to appreciate the models and their wordy descriptors. At least, he was bored until they came across the final exhibit.

Ironically, it was the smallest of them all, and had the shortest description. He looked over the tiny glass box, a gleaming, perfectly round stone situated inside on a velvety red fabric. He cocked his head at it. Noodle peered intensely as well. The plaque on the side of the pillar holding up the display said that it was “just an ordinary rock.”

“Oh, that,” Hawes laughed, “that’s just an anomalous rock given to us from some excavation at the Relic Castle in the desert. We can’t find anything remarkable about it, other than its perfectly spherical and, well, we keep it on display because it’s pretty.” He shrugged.

Hil leaned in as close as he could get and took in the roundness of its form. As he did, it lit up in a pale orange glow, reflecting off its glassy case. He jumped back hard, bowling into Cheren and sending them both to the floor in a cascade of fabric and arms. Noodle hissed loudly at them and leapt onto Hawes’ head prior to the landing, knocking the curator’s glasses ajar, and peered down at Hil and Cheren crankily.

“Hil, get off of me,” Cheren spat, shoving at Hil’s left arm.

“Hey, ow!” Hil batted his hands away. “Your leg’s on top of mine! You know, there’s easier ways to let me know you’re—”

“You fell on me!” Cheren shrilly cut Hil off with a murderous glare. He squirmed free from under Hil and brushed himself off once he staggered to his feet. After a few seconds, he begrudgingly reached a hand down to help Hil up. “What’d you go falling over for, anyway?”

Hil glanced back at the round stone in the display case. “You didn’t see that?” he asked dumbly.

“See what?”

“I hate to interrupt,” Hawes mumbled, “but…” He fought to replace his glasses properly and then tried to move Noodle off his head, but the Snivy growled and lashed its tail at his hands, whipping the leafy extremity across his fingertips with an audible slap. Hil rolled his eyes and plucked Noodle off Hawes’ head easily, tucking him into the hood of his jacket. Noodle trilled contentedly and snuggled into it.

“Sorry, he’s a bit anxious,” Hil apologized.

“You two really are a match made in heaven,” Cheren commented under his breath.

“Now, I’m laughing,” Hil said as he giggled, pointing a finger back at Cheren, “but that was very hurtful. Very rude. Bad Cheren.” He smirked and licked his lips. “Bad Daddy.”

“…We’re in the presence of a gym leader’s husband, can’t you have a little class?” Cheren hissed in a poor whisper, his cheeks flushing red madly. Hil thought for a fleeting second his friend might faint from embarrassment.

Hawes cleared his throat and that jerked their attention back to him. His face was sweaty and flustered. “Perhaps we should skip the rest of the exhibits and just have you challenge Lenora now,” he mused. “Lenora, honey!” he cried as he led them up a stairwell past the exhibits of the main part of the museum. He pursed his lips at a lack of a response and then pushed through a large, wooden double door and Cheren and Hil followed suit.

They had entered a library. Tall shelves lined with encyclopedias and other nonfiction material filled the room. Hawes hummed to himself as he disappeared down one aisle and flicked his wrist against a book. Once it sat ajar, he quickly strode out of the aisle and protectively put a hand in front of Cheren and Hil. The floor beneath them shuddered slightly, and then the bookshelf began to slide across the wooden floor. Hil and Cheren both eagerly peered around Hawes’ frame, awing at the dim stairwell it revealed.

“Sorry it seems so weirdly secretive,” Hawes laughed, “ah… We have had to step up security some, and my wife does most of her work in the gym battle arena nowadays. Anyway,” he moved to the side and held out his right arm in a gesture telling them to move forward. “Your battle awaits! Good luck, Hil!”

Hil and Cheren both thanked him and then descended into the poorly lit staircase. It looked even darker due to the deep maroon carpet and severe, wooden walls. Within, the room was segmented into an empty area that was primarily carpet, and then up a couple of steps, cluttered bookshelves claustrophobically encased a mahogany executive desk with a black office chair. Gym Leader Lenora was hunched over that desk with such a look of concentration on her form that she didn’t seem to notice Hil or Cheren’s entrance right away.

Cheren cleared his throat and she gave a start of surprise. “Oh, if it isn’t Cheren again!” she exclaimed. “Surprise seeing you again! This that friend of yours you were tellin’ me about?” She eyed Hil curiously and set a pen down, then plucked a pair of glasses from her face. Her voluminous, dark hair whipped and moved with every small motion of her head. She popped up from that office chair and it spun widlly. “I’m glad you could finally make it. I was worried by what you were tellin’ me!”

Hil looked at Cheren and raised a brow. He couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his lips. “Aw, you were worried,” Hil teased. “You love me~”

Cheren narrowed his eyes at him and then, to Hil’s surprise, smiled softly. “Yeah. I was worried.” Then that familiar scowl returned. “Now stop making it some weird joke. It’s not always a joke, you know.”

That ruined his entire joke and made Hil’s mouth flounder for something to say. He didn’t know what to think of that. He never meant his jokes to alienate his friends… Were they really self-isolating as Cheren’s comment had suggested?

Cheren turned his attention to Lenora. “Yeah, we’re happy to be here, Gym Leader Lenora. My friend here is wanting to challenge your gym today, if you’re available.”

Hil, flustered, was snapped back to the present by Noodle chirruping and lightly tapping the back of his head with his tail. “Y-yeah,” he mumbled in lame agreement with Cheren. He inwardly thanked Noodle for helping him focus.

“Of course I’m open for challengers right now!” Lenora boomed with a wide smile. “State your name and your challenge!”

Hil nervously looked up at her. “I, Hil Whitacre of Nuvema Town, challenge you, Gym Leader Lenora of Nacrene City, for the Basic Badge.” Man, these official challenge statements are a mouthful.

“Challenge accepted!” Lenora nodded and planted her hands on her hips. Her baggy, teal dress pants swayed slightly. “This will be a three on three battle. Whoever has three pokémon that go down first is the loser. Cheren, would you like to play referee for us? We don’t need one, of course, but they’re nice to have,” she said and winked at him.

Cheren’s face lit up and he nodded vigorously. “Y-yes, I’d love that!” He quickly cleared his throat and repeated himself more calmly, “I mean, I would be honored, Gym Leader Lenora.”

She giggled and tapped him in the shoulder knowingly. Cheren hurried to the short stairs that divided the room between office and arena, and Hil and Lenora took their respective sides of the battlefield. Just as Hil pointed for Noodle to get off his shoulder and Lenora had selected her first Poké Ball, however, a loud crash overhead sounded and screaming followed. Hil splayed his legs out like a cat catching itself from a fall and Noodle growled at the source of the noise overhead. Lenora roughly shoved the Poké Ball she had prepped to throw into a pocket and hurriedly waved at Hil and Cheren.

“Sorry boys, I’ll have to take this up again later…” she trailed off as she bolted up the stairs and out of the room. Cheren grabbed Hil’s wrist and pulled him along out of the room wordlessly. Hil wanted to bang his head against a wall. Now what? Challenging a gym leader the first time was bad enough, but now he’d have to do it again.

The thoughts were banished as he ascended back into the library. It was chaos. Black smoke billowed throughout the halls, but it lacked the harsh, tangy scent that smoke from a fire carried. It was alarmingly odorless, but he supposed that meant it wouldn’t choke him or sting his eyes at least. A few people that had been reading books from the shelves when Hawes had been showing them around were rushing through the library in a blind panic. One clipped Cheren on the shoulder and both stumbled to the ground. Distantly, voices rose in apparent anger.

“What on earth is going on out there?” Cheren asked the young girl that had tripped him up irritably.

“This group of thugs broke in and immediately set off a smoke bomb,” the young girl coughed as she waved away the inky air. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” she spluttered and bolted for the doors out of the library. Of course, as she opened them, the false smoke plumed from the entryway, deep and blinding. Hil found himself freezing as the stimuli started to overwhelm him. Cheren took note and grabbed him by his wrist, the dragging forcing Hil’s legs to move and snapping him from his stupor.

Once back into the main lobby of the museum, they really couldn’t see. The smokescreen was thick enough to cut with a knife and it was so loud… Hil cringed as he heard Lenora shrieking above what sounded like men barking orders or discussing passionately. Glass shattering then sounded and Hil dropped to his knees, covering his head. Noodle squeaked and began to twirl in Hil’s hood, wrapping the fabric around himself.

“Put that back!” He was able to pick out Lenora saying.

“No, you stay back!” came a deep, demanding voice. “This is for everyone’s own good. Stay back or we will not hesitate to defend ourselves.”

“You’re robbing my museum!” Lenora howled. “You don’t get to ‘defend yourself!’”

“Stay down,” a gentle and familiar voice suddenly interrupted Hil’s concentration. He waved madly at the darkness in the air to try and see the source of the words. He gasped when he saw N. He was leaning on one knee and pressed a hand to Hil’s left arm. He had an easygoing smile on his face though his silver eyes were as intense as ever.

Hil felt a surge of excitement at seeing him again, but almost as soon as he did, he remembered how N had bitterly declared that they couldn’t be friends last time they had met, and how he had intended to take Noodle away from him. He jerked his arm away from N’s grasp and glowered at him. How dare he show up like this and act so friendly! He had made it clear he had no intentions of it before, hadn’t he? “N! What do you want?”

“I don’t want you or anyone else innocent to get hurt in this process,” N explained. Hil once again found himself struggling to keep up with this man’s speedy dialogue. “You, your friend there, that Snivy, other innocents in this museum—it’s best if you remain out of the crossfire. You’re not part of this equation. Extraneous.”

“Okay,” Hil said awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what to make of his warning, seeing as he hadn’t intended to be a hero and figure out what was going on anyway. Part of him wanted to look away from N at that point, wanted to still be mad at him for the hostile interaction back at Accumula Town, but another part of him wanted to blow away the dense, dark fog and look over his entire form and then listen to that melodic, rapid voice all day long. Frustrated, Hil wrenched his gaze away with visible effort and shook his head. He had to focus. “Why care about us now? You were going to steal from us back in Accumula,” Hil spat defensively. Maybe it would be best if N just left.

“This has nothing to do with that,” N said matter-of-factly.

Cheren had knelt next to them and looked at them as if they had both lost their minds. He glared intensely at N. “Some nerve you have,” he growled, “you and your gang of thugs you call Team Plasma are probably behind this. And I have no idea where Bianca is. I swear, if anything’s happened to her…”

Hil couldn’t see N’s expression clearly through the smokescreen, but he didn’t need to. The barbed words told him all he needed to know. “You are very judgmental on first impressions, Cheren, was it? Sometimes there’s more to someone than face value.”

Drawn back to N despite his best efforts, Hil blinked slowly as he spoke. He wanted to snicker at what he had said but knew Cheren wouldn’t have appreciated that. He was also rather worried about Bianca… there was no telling where she was…

Cheren recoiled from N’s statement, grumbling under his breath. “Pompous little… Hil, we need to get out of here.”

“I dunno, he said it’s probably best if we stay put…” Hil looked down at his hands as he spoke. N’s advice had felt oddly soothing and the men were still shouting ahead. He remembered Wellspring Cave. Being a hero in this situation especially seemed like a poor idea.

“Hil, he’s probably at the head of this little stunt!” Cheren practically whined in exasperation. He slapped a hand to his forehead like a cartoon character and then looked around. “Though… I guess most others are just sitting tight until this is over… Fine, we can wait until we hear something from Gym Leader Lenora or Hawes, but then we’re leaving to find Bianca.”

Managing to tear his eyes away from N for a moment, Hil noted that mostly everyone else in the main exhibition room had flattened to the floor, frantically waving the false smoke away from themselves and chattering confusedly to one another. The loud voices Hil had heard earlier had died off for the most part, and to his relief, the blackness in the air appeared to be thinning. He, Cheren, and N sat in silence for a few minutes, hoping for some indication of safety.

“It’s alright, everyone, it’s safe to exit the building now!” came Hawes’ ragged, hoarse voice at long last. He must have been one of the men screaming earlier. “Everyone, please evacuate the premises!”

N was the first of them up. He marched easily and knowingly ahead of them. Hil scrambled to his feet and began to chase him, but Cheren had grabbed his jacket by his left sleeve, bringing him to a skidding halt. He whipped around and glared at his friend. Cheren was really starting to get on his nerves that day. “What now?” Hil hissed.

“Why are you following him like a lost Lillipup?” Cheren asked harshly, throwing his hands up in confusion. “Earth to Hil, do you remember what he said back in Accumula Town? He’d happily steal your Snivy if you looked away for too long, probably. I’m your friend, Hil.”

“Maybe he’s right and we’re being a little quick to judge,” Hil dodged. “I mean, really, with all the chaos, he could have just snatched Noodle out of my hood and that would have been that.” An indignant hiss caused Hil to reach a hand back to pat the Snivy’s head. “Sorry, buddy, not that I wanted him to, just…”

Cheren rolled his eyes as a slight, disbelieving smile crossed his face. “No, I see what this is now,” he groaned incredulously. “I don’t believe this.” Rubbing his temple, he pushed past Hil.

Hil, reacting a little more strongly than he probably should have, scurried to follow him. “What is it, then, huh?”

“Hil, he looks like a grown man, and you’re fourteen. Not to mention he is probably some crazy conspiracy theorist from Team Plasma!”

“What does that mean? What are you getting at, huh? Huh?” Hil demanded. He was once again being disingenuous; he knew exactly what Cheren was getting at, but the frightful idea was shoved from his mind before he had a chance to even consider it. There was no way he was really interested in N, was there? …No, of course not. He was just an intriguing, odd person. Anyone would have wanted to know more about him. He waved Cheren off as they moved to leave. “That’s not funny, Cheren, it’s not like that,” he defended himself with a note of finality, wordlessly telling his friend the discussion was over.

Hil and Cheren exited the building and joined the amorphous blob of people outside of the museum. The rush of sensation caused his train of thought to drop off, forgetting N entirely, to the point he failed to notice N had all but vanished, or that the earlier gathering of Team Plasma had dispersed as well. The false smoke flowed into the atmosphere slowly but surely after them, staining the deep, evening skies above a charcoal gray. Gym Leader Lenora and her husband, Hawes, were trying to raise their voices above the dull roar of the crowd, but between Hawes’ hoarseness and the sheer number of people, they were drowned out. At least, until one kind citizen offered a megaphone to Lenora.

“LISTEN UP!” she hollered. Hil and Cheren both clenched their teeth and winced at the screech of the megaphone. “I NEED EVERYONE TO GO HOME! RIGHT NOW! Police and officials are on their way and I need their assistance, they can’t help if y’all are standin’ around actin’ a fool! GO HOME!”

At her demands, the crowd rapidly fanned out. Nobody in their right mind would have disobeyed a gym leader, especially not one in Lenora’s stressed state. Cheren and Hil had intended to head for the pokémon Center, hoping to meet up with Bianca during all of the chaos, but Lenora’s voice came across the megaphone again and issued their names. Hil cowered at hearing his name said so loudly and glanced back at her nervously.

Cheren urged him over to where Lenora stood with her husband at her side. “Are you two okay?” she asked, without the megaphone this time, having dropped it to her side. As soon as they nodded, she added, “Good. Cheren, would you mind staying here at the museum for me to make sure nothing else goes down? You have my number on the Xtransceiver now, call me if anything new happens. Hawes will stay with you.”

“Uh, well, we were going to look for our friend…” Cheren responded with concern etched into his face. Hawes clasped a hand to Cheren’s shoulder and bent low to whisper something to him. Cheren gave a sigh and then both of them disappeared into the museum.

“And you,” Lenora said as she turned to Hil, “I want—”

“Well, I had intended to come here to relax some, but I see Nacrene City’s buzzing today,” a drawling, joking voice snickered, cutting her off.

Hil and Lenora glanced at the newcomer. A pine green, fuzzy sweater clung to his small frame, as did pink, striped pants to his legs. Thick, tawny, wavy hair spilled around his face, bringing out his pale green eyes. He had crossed his arms and tilted his head at them some. “So, where’s the fire?”

“Burgh!” Lenora exclaimed. Hil flinched at her volume. “How good to see you! Wish I had time for chit-chat, but I don’t, we need help!”

Burgh’s entire body lurched forward as he seemed to halt a bounce of excitement. “Well, what seems to be the problem?”

Burgh and Hil both shrank back at Lenora’s shrill response. “Some thugs just made off with an exhibit of mine, that’s what! I’m goin’ to check to the east exit. Can you take this challenger and check out Pinwheel Forest?” She jabbed a finger into Hil’s shoulder.

“Of course, Lenora!” Burgh clapped his hands together eagerly and glanced to Hil. In an instant, he blanched, and his pupils widened, as if he were only just realizing who this challenger was. “Hil,” he squeaked and then cleared his throat.

Hil tore his eyes away from Burgh as well, staring at the ground instead. Lenora and locals of Nacrene or Castelia City may not have been able to recognize him as the kid of that guy who shot himself in Castelia’s hostel, but Burgh would. Burgh had been at the funeral and Hil remembered keenly how he had made every effort to try and talk to Hil. It had been infuriating and depressing all at once. All he knew of Burgh was his relation to his father and that meant just seeing the gym leader brought a flood of anxious feelings and angry thoughts. A flood he worked hard to keep back most days. “Surely he can handle it on his own,” Hil muttered without looking up. “He’s a gym leader, after all.”

 “There’s two paths in Pinwheel Forest,” Lenora said irritably, “I want you both to go to cover the exits, we don’t have time to argue about this. Burgh, you’re good with kids, get him to get over it? Anyway, I’m heading east!” With that, she waved her arm at them haphazardly as she darted down the dark asphalt streets of Nacrene. Something beige trailed out from her outfit behind her like a cape. Despite what she had said, Hil still refused to look up at Burgh. It felt awkward that they were alone then.

“We should get going, in that case,” Burgh breathed in a quivering tone. He began to walk away and Hil silently lagged behind him.

Truthfully, Hil thought Burgh looked like an enjoyable person to be around. He was bright-eyed and eccentric, lacing his words with subtle Bug-type puns, and his expressiveness meant it was easy to read him. Even at the funeral, he had struggled to quell his exuberance, much to the appreciation of many of Hil’s extended family members. But when Burgh’s attention fell to Hil, it was as if the gym leader was seeing a ghost; his skin would drain of color and he’d stumble over his words. The Bug-type puns would fail to land, and he would fiddle incessantly with his hands. It was so endlessly frustrating.

Making friends is really fucking hard when everyone thinks they know everything there is to know about you, Hil thought fiercely as he padded after Burgh. He heard Noodle chirp and then lean against his neck. He took a deep breath and let the anger filter out of him. “Thanks, Noodle.”

[jaouinedcan]

Sunny Daze [NedCan Week: Day 2 - Sun]

Alternate Title: Internal Screaming, The Fic

I’ll be posting another fanfic for the second half of today’s prompt [Moon] in a while, once I go through a final edit.

I really enjoyed writing this; it’s very silly and cute, so I hope everyone has fun reading :)  It’s intended to take place in the late 1950s, so the Netherlands is mostly recovered and shaking off the last of the war’s effects.

It was Saturday so he ought to have been able to sleep in without a worry, but while it was nice to have a constant companion, the downside of owning a pet was that you actually had to roll out of bed at a decent hour in order to feed them.  Or, in Canada's case, where the pet in question had the strength required to accomplish such a feat, he often ended up getting dragged out of bed via any limb within reach.

"I'm hungry," the polar bear whined, though it was Canada, yanked halfway off the bed by his arm so that his head had knocked against the floor, that ought to be complaining.

"Good morning," he said, instead, pulling himself upright and grimacing a bit as he rubbed the small lump forming on his temple.  It should disappear soon enough, but it would continue to smart until then.  Trying to put the throb out of his mind, Canada retrieved his eyeglasses from his bedside table and put them on gingerly, successfully avoiding the bump.  "What would you like to eat?"

"Salmon," the bear answered immediately, having obviously decided well in advance.  At least he wasn't indecisive, because that would be annoying to deal with before his morning coffee.

Fish was fine for a polar bear's breakfast, but Canada's choice for morning protein was bacon and eggs or peanut butter on toast, or... actually, a bacon and egg sandwich sounded amazing right now, and if he was still hungry after that he was pretty sure he still had leftover pancakes in the fridge... unless a certain someone had raided the fridge overnight, anyway...

With that plan solidifying in his head, Canada walked barefoot into his kitchen and started up his coffee machine first before he was encouraged to finish the trip to the icebox by insistent pawing with the hint of claws catching on his flannel pyjamas.  Well, if he was that hungry, then he probably hadn't nicked the pancakes after all, so Canada allowed the display of impatience without a word.  It wasn't like it was terribly complicated to feed his pet anyway.  He kept that icebox at a reasonable temperature to avoid the fish freezing solid, but even if it did, the powerful jaws of a polar bear would still make quick work of a fish popsicle.  All he really had to do was unlock the box, remove the packaging, and hand over the fish raw.  There wasn't much of a need to even rinse it off, though Canada sometimes did anyway if it looked particularly grisly.

"Thanks," his polar bear said, his manners always better when he got what he wanted.  Canada left him to his meal with a quiet reflexive 'you're welcome' as he walked away to wash his hands at the kitchen sink, then got started on fixing his own breakfast while waiting for the coffee pot to fill.  Bread went in the toaster, eggs and bacon went in the pan, and within a couple minutes, he was seated at his kitchen table, caffeine beginning to kick in just enough to ground himself in yet another quiet, uneventful mid-autumn Saturday morning, wondering what he ought to do that day in between meals until Hockey Night in Canada began its weekly broadcast.

He was halfway through leisurely eating his sandwich when his polar bear finished licking his paws and the floor clean, then began wandering around the room searching for any elusive crumbs he'd missed, only to stop suddenly by the window and turn his head back toward his owner.  "He's been standing out there for half an hour."

Canada was initially flummoxed by the amount of words pouring out of his pet's mouth, used to only a few syllables every now and then until closer to noon, when he got a little more verbal.  Then the meaning of the words sunk in and he nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee but at least he avoided spraying it everywhere.  He quickly rose to his feet, unfortunately hit his knee on the table, grimaced, then demanded to know, "Why didn't you tell me someone was at the door?!" in a voice more like a pained hiss than an actual shout.

"I was hungry."

Canada was so mortified he was certain that his soul was ready to leave his body and vanish into the vast wilderness of the Rockies or the boreal forest never to be found again, but somehow he managed to limp his way over to the door, hastily putting together an apology for not hearing his unusually patient visitor's knocking.  Or had his polar bear answered the door and just left them there with a forgotten promise to fetch him?!  Oh, Goddddd...

Meanwhile,  the Netherlands, who definitely hadn't gotten around to knocking yet, was silently lamenting his inability to hold his Holland Lop while he smoked, but he wasn't about to put her health at risk, and simply watched her contentedly hop around Canada's front yard instead.  Some of the neighbours glanced toward him with concern as they went about their daily lives, but they quickly looked away from the force of his stare.  The glare was borne more out of irritation toward himself than anyone else, but nobody needed to know that.

It was a simple enough plan.  He just had to knock on the door and hand over the box.  He'd done this sort of thing before, with other recipients.  Hell, he'd accompanied much larger gifts to Canada than this one small box before.  Every year since 1945 had brought him to Canada's shores on a ship full of tulip bulbs, and he'd enjoyed the overwhelmed gratitude every time as he paid back whatever slight fraction of the depth of his debt he could afford, bit by bit, even as he wondered if it was even fair to think that he'd ever break out black ink in his books again now that he had the gall to gain any sort of satisfaction from Canada's happiness.  Was it so dramatic of him to not consider ever ceasing sending him thousands of tulips every May?  ...Certainly not now that the Canadian government had decided to match the delivery with an annual tulip festival, purchasing even more to spread among both the public and private sectors.  It was already a tradition he didn't intend to break.

Yet, he'd been bothered to note that, while Canada had happily shared the tulips with all the people who called his land home, it seemed that he'd yet to keep any for himself, and the Netherlands would wonder why that was, if it weren't already so obvious.  It had started with Princess Juliana's initiative, not his, so Canada must have assumed that they were for his people to enjoy and to take even one for his own garden would be a disservice to them.  After all, it was his soldiers that had risked their lives in the war.  Canada himself would have survived under America's protective umbrella indefinitely even if Europe had fallen completely to the Axis Powers.

So.  Here he was, on Canada's doorstep with a box of tulip bulbs specifically for him and him alone to take and plant in his own garden and enjoy for himself because he couldn't stand it any longer--he couldn't deal with Canada never realizing just how important he was to him.

Now if only he could settle his nerves long enough to actually knock on the door.

...Shit, he'd already burned through his whole supply of tobacco.  Now he would have to go buy more, but maybe walking to the closest store and back would help him to calm down?

That was, of course, the moment Canada threw open the door, saying, "I'm so sorry!  I must have missed hearing you knock..." only to trail off and continue on in surprise, "Mr. Netherlands?!"

Canada hadn't expected to see him, and the Netherlands certainly wasn't expecting to be greeted by a frantic male with an impressive case of bed head still in his pyjamas.  As a fierce blush rose up Canada's face, the Netherlands' pipe fell from his open jaw and clattered noisily on the porch, spooking his bunny into returning to his side.  They were caught in an otherwise silent staredown until Canada's polar bear peered around his owner, munching on some sort of sandwich.  "There's food inside if you're hungry," he said, which turned out to not be entirely accurate as his owner would be forced to endure his embarrassment regarding his state of undress in the Netherlands' presence while reheating pancakes and awkwardly making small talk that his guest was far too distracted to respond to properly, but at least it got them moving.

Just as soon as the younger nation placed a small stack of pancakes in front of him alongside a glass of orange juice, a stick of butter, and a jar of maple syrup, he hastily excused himself upstairs to get dressed.  As he left, the Netherlands thought he heard a low keening whine drawn out under his breath, but certainly couldn't blame him for being embarrassed.  He was struggling to recover, himself, and he'd started out already fully dressed.

He turned his head to the side after putting down the box of tulips beside the plate, and found Canada's polar bear upright and staring at him.  "Are you gonna eat that?" he asked, after a long moment, and the Netherlands tucked his bunny under his opposite arm just in case as he used his free hand to spread butter and pour syrup to his taste.  The fluttery feeling in his stomach wasn't hunger but maybe a full belly would help him avoid making a fool out of himself and Belgium had already given him an addiction to sweet breakfasts so if he started feeling queasy then it wouldn't be the sugar to blame.

He let the polar bear lick the plate clean after he was done, hoping that would be enough to avoid any more subtle implications regarding his bunny's snack potential.

After Canada finished his delayed morning routine and got dressed in casual-but-not-too-casual clothes, he had to give himself a pep talk before he was finally able to leave his room again.

"All right, Canada," he said to his reflection in the small mirror hanging by his closet, which he often used to psyche himself up before important meetings and events where he was required to make a speech, "you can do this.  You can walk out there and have a nice and pleasant chat with Mr. Netherlands.  It's not your fault that he decided to visit without calling ahead and caught you straight out of bed, and he wouldn't judge you for your appearance on a Saturday morning.  This should be a day off for him, too, after all, and for whatever reason he decided to share a bit of his time with you even though he probably has a lot more important things to do and oh-maple-I-left-him-alone-in-the-kitchen-with-whatshisface!"  The thought of his polar bear bothering him somehow was enough to get Canada racing out of his bedroom again.  Thankfully, his house was a modest size so he didn't even have a chance to run out of breath, but he did slide a bit on the kitchen tile in his sockfeet, only saved from a disastrous fall by quickly grabbing the door jamb on his way past.

Thankfully, his guest was distracted by a polar bear messing his face with syrup and failed to notice his clumsiness.  That one piece of luck didn't slow down his racing heart, though, and he ended up stuttering a bit through his nerves as he wet a towel to start cleaning off his pet's sticky maw.  "S-s-so what brings you here today, Mr. Netherlands?"  It was a lot easier to talk to him while busying himself with a task that made it easy to avoid looking him in the eye.

However, the Netherlands must have been waiting for his full attention, choosing to take the time to stand and walk over to him, extending a small package into his field of vision before finally responding.  "I came to deliver this," he said in an enviously even tone.

Canada looked up from his crouch next to the struggling bear, who managed to escape the horrors of being cleaned and hurried off elsewhere, and that was a mistake because beyond the lid of the box he could see the Netherlands standing there with his usual impassive expression, and even if he didn't already know that it was a carefully constructed mask designed to keep others at arms length and he was the only one who actually knew that for sure thanks to being the one sent to help him through what was probably the worst disaster in his nation's history, he thinks he would have gotten a hint of something below the surface thanks to the way he carefully cradled his bunny in the crook of his elbow and continuously brought him gifts without even a word about expecting anything in return.  He was pretty sure that the Netherlands wanted to get closer to him because he was feeling grateful for the help, and normally Canada would have had no problem making a new friend, but... but...

The Netherlands cuddling his bunny like that was just way too cute and Canada was seriously starting to doubt that he'd be able to limit his feelings to friendship at this rate!

With those thoughts alongside his still rapidly beating heart, Canada was definitely struggling to keep calm as he forced his body to move, reaching out with one hand to accept the gift as he rose up to his full height again, setting the soiled towel next to the sink, intending to throw it in the wash later.  "O-oh," he said, mentally kicking himself for his lack of composure.  "Thank you, Mr. Netherlands...  Should I open it now?"  He felt silly for asking, but Dominion Day had come and gone and he wasn't entirely sure if the Netherlands was aware of that, and if not, certainly didn't want him to feel guilty about missing it.

"Yes," the Netherlands said, simply, nodding toward the box and shifting the bunny in his arms now that he had both hands free, going so far as to start gently stroking the fur at the base of its ears and Canada had to avert his eyes or die where he stood.  Good thing he had a present to focus on, and he took the opportunity to do so, carefully undoing the twine tying it together, then setting the box on the kitchen table in order to remove the top, revealing a dozen or so tulip bulbs packed in cotton.  The sight of them was so familiar that it immediately helped put Canada at ease.  He really should have known, to be honest.

He turned back to face the Netherlands with an easy smile.  "The tulips you send me always bloom so beautifully; thank you again, Mr. Netherlands.  My parks and civic buildings just wouldn't be the same without them anymore."  He paused, though, confused about one particular thing.  "But... you've never shipped them this early before...  I'll have to give my warehouses a heads up..."

"No," the Netherlands replied, having turned his gaze toward the window.  Something must have caught his attention outside but Canada couldn't see anything special from where he stood.  "These are for you; for your yard."

"Ah--oh... um..." Canada started, caught by surprise and a significant bout of awkwardness as the smile fell from his face.  "Well, I mean, thank you very much, but I... I have some... bad news...?"

The Netherlands quickly looked back toward him, likely just as surprised as him.

"I... I don't... actually have a flower garden...?"

The Netherlands was thrown so off balance that he ended up turning around and walking out through Canada's back door without an invitation, finding it to be just as he'd said.  It had been impossible to not notice that no flowers grew in his front yard apart from a wayward dandelion here and there, but his backyard was encircled by a fence designed to keep out wildlife, only, instead of flowers like his own yard boasted, all it protected was a large maple tree and a vegetable garden.

Well, the mystery of why Canada never took any of the tulip bulbs for himself was now solved, but the Netherlands found the answer entirely unsatisfying and he looked over the yard, overcome with woe.  Was Canada just... not as interested in the tulips as he'd assumed...?

"I'm sorry," Canada said, having followed him out the door to stand beside him.  "I really do like the tulips you send...  It's just that the growing season here is so much shorter than places further south that I put all my attention into farming crops instead of flowers.  Agriculture techniques, technology, and science have improved to the point that harvesting enough food for everyone is no longer a problem, but... I just never got into the habit of keeping flowers... much less learn how to care for them..."

He didn't think he was imagining the disappointment in Canada's voice, and when he glanced over at him, he appeared crestfallen.  An idea formed in his head and he followed it silently to a workable conclusion.  He'd been planning on spending the day in Canada regardless, so spending the day with Canada wasn't out of the question as long as Canada was fine with it.  Trying not to sound too eager, he asked, "Would you like to?"

Canada's breath hitched in his throat, surprised in the middle of an inhale, but he quickly turned his head with another dazzling smile that melted his insides like the butter on his pancakes.  "Yes!"

The Netherlands was able to endure it a little while longer this time before looking away, this time at the bunny in his arms.  Surely it wouldn't be a problem to carry her around a bit longer?  Hopefully it wouldn't bother any of the shopkeepers.  "You'll be needing some supplies," he explained, though he likely had most of what he needed already to care for his vegetables.

"I have a small truck," Canada offered.  "We can go now."  And that was that.

It was a good thing Canada could drive because the Netherlands preferred bicycles.  He had been escorted by a driver from his embassy when he'd landed at the airport earlier that day but he wouldn't dare dirty one of their vehicles and carrying around a couple bags of soil would have been as unwieldy as it was messy to the point that the Netherlands would have actually preferred to pay for delivery rather than ruining his clothes.  As luck would have it, the local Canadian Tire was only a few kilometres away, and they stocked everything on the list, though Canada tossed a few extra things in the cart he must have needed for other projects along with a wide-brimmed straw hat.  They stopped by a grocery store, too, as Canada mentioned wanting to prepare a fresher lunch rather than more reheated pancakes, and the Netherlands tagged along to offer suggestions, going so far as to mention that the work might occupy them well into the late afternoon so they might need to plan supper in advance as well.  In the end, they were lucky that Canada's polar bear had refused to come out of hiding before they left the house because there was no room left in the cab.  As for his bunny, nobody had asked him to leave either store, but he did end up getting a lot of attention from women and children.  He'd gotten bored with it after a while and started glaring at people to keep them away, while Canada laughed a little, completely unconcerned.

Canada behind the wheel was a far more notable occurrence.  The last time he'd been driven around by the younger nation was just after the war when they'd joined the ranks of soldiers delivering food and supplies to the most remote regions of the Netherlands, and his driving was just as calm, focused, and precise as it had been back then, even as he made small talk.  The Netherlands' own driving skill was not nearly as good, having so little practice.  After all, why pay for gas when cycling was free?  He did enjoy watching Canada drive, however, so he ended up continuing on letting him drive instead of adding to his own experience.

It was close to noon when they returned to the house and unloaded most of Canada's purchases minus the bags of soil, so they went ahead with lunch before getting to work.  Canada pulled a fish out of a large icebox for his polar bear who appeared out of nowhere once food was mentioned, and then went out into his garden to pull up a fresh carrot for the Netherlands' bunny.  As she happily munched it on top of the kitchen table (he refused to release her on the floor since he was still concerned about the bear's likelihood of mistaking her for food), they prepared their lunch together, the Netherlands following Canada's lead since he very rarely ever cooked for himself.  He hated making a mess of his immaculate kitchen.

While they ate, the Netherlands gave him a crash course in caring for tulips along with a general explanation for several other varieties of flowers if he chose to expand his collection at a later time, offering to assist with more specialized advice later on over the phone if he wasn't available in person.  Canada already knew how to contact him and had on several occasions already, always careful to match up their differing time zones to reasonable hours, but the topics thus far had been mostly limited to serious topics such as how reconstruction was going after the war, aside from the yearly discussion about the tulip delivery, so he was looking forward to discussing one of his favourite hobbies in more detail instead.

"Front yard or back?" he asked Canada as they rounded up the dishes from lunch and breakfast, intending to take care of them all at once following supper, wanting to get started on the flower garden while the weather was good.

"Back," Canada replied, easily, smiling to himself as he scraped off a few lingering bits of food from a plate into his garbage can.  "They're for me, after all, and I spend more time in my backyard than out front.  It'll be safer for your bunny, too, away from the street and the fence keeping out the predators that sometimes wander into town."  He didn't mention the predator living in the house itself, but the little polar bear had already wandered off to enjoy an afternoon nap.

Before they got started , Canada fetched some old clothes from his room for them to change into, since the Netherlands hadn't brought any clothes he was willing to get dirty.  The fit was... not perfect, but workable, the denim riding low on his hips thanks to his slimmer frame, and  the shirt not long enough to completely cover his torso when he lifted his arms thanks to his height.  The Netherlands had changed in the restroom, and when he stepped out, he found Canada in a similar outfit topped off with a straw hat that wasn't the one he'd bought earlier, because that one was offered to the Netherlands.

"I know I have a reputation as a frozen wasteland but I still get a lot of sun in autumn; you definitely need to cover your head when you work outside, here."  He smiled in satisfaction when the Netherlands tried it on and found it fit nicely after sweeping his hair back with one hand.  "There, your face should be safe from sunburn now."  It wasn't the first time he'd worn a sunhat to block the sun while planting tulips, but it was the first time he felt blessed for doing so, enjoying the happy expression on Canada's face.

They didn't waste any more time before heading outside, Canada hurrying to his shed to pull out a wheelbarrow to transport the soil from his truck bed, and the Netherlands following him after releasing his bunny to collect a few shovels, trowels, and other tools and supplies.  Canada only had one pair of gardening gloves, but he let the Netherlands borrow them, not minding getting his own hands dirty.  Canada reappeared shortly with the wheelbarrow and they briefly discussed the best place for the garden as they left the bags of soil on the grass, eventually settling upon a stretch of lawn along the back wall of the house, and they got started digging up the grassy earth, filling up the wheelbarrow again.  It seemed as though the earlier warning about the sun was accurate, judging by the spreading flush on Canada's face, though it seemed to be caused by the increasing temperature rather than an actual burn, so he didn't mention it as they moved on to lining the flower garden with a long strip of aluminum to prevent the grass from growing past to take over the fertile new soil that they worked together to empty into the hole directly from the bags.  From there it was simple enough to retrieve the box of tulip bulbs from inside and plant them, carefully leaving the dirt loose beneath them to avoid letting future rainfall drown them.  When that was done, Canada rolled back on his knees to rest on his ankles beside the Netherlands with a content sigh, seeing a job well done, and used his arm to wipe the sweat off his face, unknowingly leaving a streak of dirt along his jawline.

"Canada," he said to get his attention as he pulled off one of the gardening gloves, leaning over and reaching out to brush the grime off with his thumb.  Getting dirty in the process was annoying, but it wasn't like he wasn't planning on washing his hands after going back inside anyway.

Well, that was the plan, but then their eyes met and the Netherlands was frozen between thinking 'oh' and 'oh no'.

When they started the project Canada had no idea just how hard it would be to focus on the job, but then the Netherlands began to shovel dirt into the wheelbarrow and his shirt rode up every time he lifted his arms and suddenly it was a struggle to pry his eyes away and continue working.  He was lucky that the Netherlands was completely absorbed in the task, but if he was caught staring then he was prepared to mumble some half truth about how relieved he was that the Netherlands had healed up nicely from his war wounds and the lingering muscular atrophy had reversed, though he could still use a little more meat on his bones to ensure perfect health, and, oh, that was starting to sound creepy even in his own head so he was glad that the Netherlands didn't seem to notice his wandering eyes in the least.

With sheer force of will, he managed to make it through the afternoon without embarrassing himself, but maybe he let his guard down too soon because when the Netherlands said his name and touched his face and leaned in close and locked their eyes, Canada's heartbeat rushed in his ears and the next thing he knew, his hat had tumbled off, his hands were cradling the Netherlands' face, and their lips were pressed together.  His eyes had shut tight at some point, and after a moment of stillness, the Netherlands' hand drifted down from his cheek to the back of his neck, holding them together more steadily as he began to lean into the contact.  Emboldened, Canada started to move his lips in delicate motions, drawing one kiss into half a dozen quiet smicks and smacks until he felt the Netherlands' hand start to shake, and, worried that had been too much, leaned back to check, allowing them both to take a breath in the process.  The Netherlands leaned forward with him, chasing just one more kiss, but unwisely opened his eyes, probably intending to ensure his aim, ending up freezing upon meeting Canada's gaze, a flush rising all the way from his neck to his forehead.  Canada tried to stop himself, he really did, but between that and the dark smudges of soil transferred from his fingers, the Netherlands looked so silly and endearing that he couldn't help the laughter bubbling out past his lips, and that spooked the Netherlands into backing off, slipping out of Canada's grip as he took his hand back and covered the lower half of his face.  Unable to stop but unwilling to let the Netherlands think he'd done something wrong, Canada leaned forward again, this time to encircle his torso in his arms as he rode out the remainder of the laughing fit on the Netherlands' shoulder, attempting to explain himself several times only to wind himself up again, relieved when the Netherlands began to relax again.

The Netherlands had endured countless social kisses over the course of his existence, sometimes from the overenthusiastic, but mostly wherever and whenever it was considered customary.  This was, however, the first time he found himself enjoying it and craving more, even as he began to start feeling overwhelmed, his thoughts swirling in panicked little circles of 'what now' and 'what next', only to be overcome by a massive flood of 'what if' following Canada's unexpected laughter, before easing down into quiet relief after a short time in Canada's embrace, finally lowering his hand from his face to rest upon Canada's hip, though the other still desperately clenched the removed gardening glove in its grip while all ten toes slowly uncurled in his shoes.

He waited until Canada regained enough control of himself to explain, "I'm sorry, Netherlands, I just--I'm just so happy and relieved and glad and--I swear I didn't mean to make such a mess of you!"

He'd felt like such a figurative mess that he didn't understand that he'd meant it literally until Canada pulled back and tried to use the relatively clean patches of skin on his forearms to brush the dirt off the Netherlands' face, presumably with only moderate success judging by the way his lips twitched in barely contained mirth.  He didn't even know that he'd dirtied his own face first and that the Netherlands only wiped the barest bit off before they'd been caught in the moment, but the Netherlands didn't mention it as he silently accepted Canada's attention until he finally gave up and stood, holding out a hand to help him up.  It was still as dirty as ever, but, again, the Netherlands was planning on washing his hands soon anyway.

"Let's go in and wash up," Canada suggested, stooping down to grab his fallen sunhat.  "I can empty out the wheelbarrow some other time."  Presumably, some other time when the Netherlands was not there to distract him from the chore in favour of better ways to spend time together.

He nodded and followed Canada inside after collecting his bunny.  She had been bold enough to dig up another carrot but he doubted that would be a problem.  He ended up staring at his face in horror in the restroom for a while, then scrubbed himself clean, changed back into his much cleaner clothes, and fixed his hair before returning to socialise some more, finding Canada hanging up both hats by the back door, already seeming to expect more time working in the garden with company.

The Netherlands ended up staying well into the evening until Canada drove him back to his embassy, but before then, they enjoyed more conversation, another meal, and a broadcast of Hockey Night in Canada, wherein the Netherlands finally understood why a shellshocked Denmark had warned him back in 1949 to never ever ever play a game against Canada.

"What colour are they?" Canada asked as he slowed to a stop in front of the building, finally succumbing to curiosity.

He played with the idea of telling him to wait until spring to find out, but it seemed cruel now that his intent had been all but stated outright.  Originally, he was supposed to have at least six months to decide whether to let the flowers speak for themselves or to play it off as simply knowing Canada's favourite colour.  "Red," he said, instead, and Canada, more knowledgeable about flower meanings than most thanks to his earlier lectures, smiled like the sun and kissed him again.

(Notes: Denmark faced Canada’s national men’s hockey team in 1949 where they endured their worst defeat in history with an end score of 0-47, and has never won a game against them to this day.  Damn Canada, cold!  Denmark does win most of his games verses the Netherlands, though, so at least he can count on his buddy for a more even match :) I only found one game where the Netherlands faced Canada in the 1980 Olympics, and they lost 10-1; so they got wrecked pretty bad but at least they weren’t utterly destroyed and managed to score a goal.)