#i should NOT have checked to see if there were tickets. now i am melancholy

[sollucets]

sigh. slaps self across face No you would have a bad time suddenly driving six hours to go to illinois for a faraway seat for a concert thats in three weeks alone. no you cant really afford it even if the ticket’s not so bad, youd still need gas and parking and food and probably to stay overnight. noooo. AUGH

[mateasha]

rendevous 18.6y

summary: chikage shows up at the front door of MANKAI after disappearing from the face of the Earth for 3 years. itaru is not happy. fandom: a3 pairing: chikage x itaru word count: 5516 tags:  original characters for the sake of plot, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, flashbacks, mentions of death, bad attempts at action, bad attempts at comedy

chapter 1: realizations He should be happy for him. Chikage is okay. Chikage is alive, and didn’t… just go somewhere and do god knows what, (which, well, he already did, didn’t he.) but at least it isn’t anything bad, he’s safe and sound and maybe the troupe members will be overjoyed to hear how he’s been doing...

Out of respect, no one has ever taken their spots in their respective troupes.

He observes him even harder from the lounge area in the office, a good break, he thinks, as he grinds some gacha game with his husbando, a little tired from staring at the stupidly “gendered” pink UI with the characters flying across the screen. 

He’s happy. He looks healthy— maybe skin even glowing brighter than ever.

And it’s good for him. It’s amazing to see how happy Chikage looked, “laughing” with his friends, almost heartwarming to see Chikage doing just fine. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s talented, strong, mentally adept, better than h—

He stops that train of thought immediately.

He was happy. So then Itaru should be happy. Even if he was that stupid, unromantic senpai that always was offstandish with just a bit unromantic caring for others when he felt like it.

At least, should be.

He watches as his coworkers walk around him, slinging their arms around each other in camaraderie, as one of them asks him out for drinks after picking up lunch. His smile is almost as wide as he remembers when he figured out Hisoka was alive. And innocent.

He watches Chikage and he doesn’t look back, walking into the elevator without him, because he works on this floor. It’s fine.

But it’s just so fucking funny, when all he wants is just another word, just a reason why he left without even asking Spring Troupe, or literally anyone else for help. He would even trade his life for Hisoka’s, even though he knows that wouldn’t make anyone happy. Well, maybe Chikage. He could go off into some sunset with him and run away from whatever responsibilities he wanted to not deal with. Like Itaru. Izumi. The others. 

He wants to scream out so bad, just for him to come back, but he can’t, like that stupid horror novel that made him feel like shit and all existential for no reason. He feels like he can talk to him about everything, in a sense. Which would make sense, of course, if they were still close. Roommates. But he could only do that in a world where Hisoka is still alive.

—

Chikage knows he’s here.

Why? 

Intuition.

Not really. He looks at him, but chooses not to “look”.

But when he sees his face, almost heartbroken, which is almost questionable. He wants to ignore him so bad. Just move on. Easier said than done, when every week you see him share out information with the company execs.  A Chikage-senpai, no more.

He wants to move on so bad.

But everytime he goes to bed, he can’t stop thinking. He crosses another day off the calendar, it’s been three years, almost three and a half years. 

He tears down his calendar. Who the fuck uses those anyways?

He tries to move on.

But of course, when you have something good, and it gets taken away, you want it back, right? You throw a tantrum like a little child at first, like a baby crying for their pacifier their mom took away from them. Then, you silence yourself, deny you ever wanted it in the first place. But you can’t stop wanting more, wanting it back. You yearn for it so hard that it hurts, almost twists your heart into a fucking pretzel, your stomach bubbling like the filter of the damn fish tank in your too-large-for-one-person office— thanks Boss, not complaining— but you can’t have it. You ignore it.

He knows he wouldn’t be able to deal with it again. It was all his fucking fault. He slams his hand on the desk again, before opening up his work computer.

His vision is hazy, like the only thing he can see is his hands, just a foot in front of him, trying to find his ground, but all that runs through his mind is, “it’s your fucking fault you idiot stupid you shouldve worked harder to protect everyone, cant even do that” it turns out harder than expected. 

But it’s not his first time at the rodeo, of course. He picks up the stack of paperwork, straightening it all into a neat little tower of paper, before typing away with a nasty scowl on his face.

He can’t accept this.

—

It’s his anniversary.

Chikage is on “vacation”. If your definition of “vacation” is sitting in a fancy car in suburban Tokyo, near Veludo Way. He already regrets his decision. Closure, my ass, he thinks to himself as he drives his car. 

He’d already picked up tickets to their show in a month. Itaru is the lead this time. He searched it up, but it seemed not to have anything that Spring Troupe would do. Minagi always changes it up. 

Maybe visiting his grave today wasn’t the best idea, Chikage asks himself with a slight melancholy in his inside head voice which he wants to shut up— so he tells it to shut up with its own voice (which of course, would never work, because he’s telling himself to 

shut up).

Chikage doesn’t know what to say. Do people speak out loud to their graves? No disrespect to them, but not for him.

In their head? He tries it, kneeling down a bit to the headstone, setting down a bag of marshmallows.

Hisoka. I don’t believe in God or reincarnation, or whatever religion. But I want to give the universe, no matter how little it cares, the benefit of the doubt. I hope you’re in nirvana, heaven, or reincarnated into some “cute” baby in whatever country, eating marshmallows. I never understood that. It’s not like I needed to. I guess. But wherever you are, I hope you’re up there. With August. 

He shakes his head, like a dog shaking off water, except instead of water, it’s a somber liquid covering him, coating him in some syrupy hotness that feels like the embodiment of orange with speckles of blue.

He gets up and turns around to head back to his car.

“...Utsuki. It’s been quite a while.” He pulls up the cuffs of his outfit.

 He’s not surprised to see him here. Arisugawa. He looks the same, the same haircut, the same outfit, same everything. He’s happy to see he’s been doing well.

“...I’m not surprised to see you here. You were his roommate, after all.”

“Yes, yes, indeed I was. Was is the word I want to put emphasis on.” It’s like he reminded himself of what happened. “Why? Why come back here after all this time?”

“I was just… reminded.” He straightens his back, as if it wasn’t straight in the first place, almost scoliosis levels of effort into “straightening” posture, as if to become more defensive.

“Are you going to interrogate me, at least? Inquire about the troupe? How well has it been faring?”

“... I don’t think I need to.” He’s reminded of the last time he went to watch a play. Around Christmas time— where he could take enough time off.

Minagi always does well. Sakuma is always just so passionate you can feel it through the character. Usui is always perfect, staring back at the Director in approval. Chigasaki… is…

He interrupts his own thoughts just to respond to Arisugawa, who’s been waiting for another word for 3 seconds at least. “I saw the play around Christmas. Well done. Very much so.”

“We are all aware Minagi-san always does an amazing job. Why, he is at the same level as me. But of course, I must come here and mourn every once in a while.” He walks past Chikage to look at Hisoka’s grave. “These marshmallows were his favorite brand, Chikage.”

“I know.”

A moment of silence ensues as Homare places a bouquet of anemone on the grave.

“Come back.”

“What?” Chikage is almost startled as he looks down at Homare, squatting at the grave.

“Come back.”

“You know I can’t.”

“You can, and you have always been able.” 

“I can’t. Arisu. What am I meant to say to everyone? ‘Oh, I left for 3 years, haha big surprise now I’m back!’ They’re them. I’m me. They don’t need me.” Chikage laughs nervously. Nervously? He calms his nerves— at least tries to, conflicted on what to do, because it’s been a while since he’s been like this.

“It’s what Hisoka would have wanted. We all need breaks.” The mention of Hisoka alarms Chikage, and makes his voice venom tipped.

“Don’t even try to bring up that fucking sleepyhead.”

“My, your language. This place is sacred.” He doesn’t even seem phased by his biting tone or his venomous words, just continuing to talk to him as normal— at least normal to him. “But you must admit… he would want you to keep acting. He was very, practically fully aware that you enjoyed what you did immensely.”

“I don’t care. It was good to talk to you again. See you around.” He storms off before Homare calls out for him again.

“Just… take this.” He hands him a card, Chikage acquiescing halfheartedly, already thinking about throwing away that flimsy card. “Call the number if you ever yearn for us too much.”

Chikage doesn’t say anything back— at least doesn’t feel the need to.

—

“Itaru?” The rest of the Spring Troupe knocks at his door, mostly Sakuya’s voice piercing through the little symphony of voices piping up just in an effort to wake up Itaru. (If he’s asleep of course— sleeping now to save energy for ranking all night.) “We have pizza?” Masumi looks at the noticeable lack of pizza in their hands, which, knowing Itaru, would make him close that damn door again.

Tsuzuru knocks on the door again, Izumi coming by, looking at them with a puzzled look on her face. “...Can I ask what you guys are doing or is it private?”

“Itaru hasn’t come out of his room in like… a week.” Tsuzuru takes out his phone to check the phone date to see if he’s actually not come out of his room for a week. “Yeah. A week.”

“And why is that surprising? He’s probably ranking.” Izumi almost has a visible question mark hovering over her head, that would be drawn over her if they were in an anime. “Although he should be working on his role… he is the lead after all.”

“Yeah, but I know that he has no thanking to do for this week!” Citron looks almost frustrated, going to the door to bang on it before Sakuya holds him back, calming him down. “I wanna play with him…”

“Ranking.” Tsuzuru mumbles through the word, correcting him.

“Ranking!”

Izumi parts them into two to make her way to the door, knocking harder. “Chigasaki! Get out of the room before I break in!” No response. “...Itaru?” Izumi grabs a keychain from her pocket, with the master key. “I’m coming in.” She unlocks the door quickly, opening the door, being blasted with a rank scent— the scent of body odor (which isn’t surprising now that he’s alone) but when it’s festered and accumulated for a month. Which is terrible considering he’s only been in there for a week.

“...Yes?” Itaru sits up in his loft bed. “...Oh.” He gets down from the loft bed, his hair almost matted to his face, with oil stains and chip crumbs all over his t-shirt. “...Hi.”

“Itaru.”

“Director…?”

“Take a bath. Come back here. We are going to talk, because you haven’t let it get this bad in a while.”

“...Whatever you say.”

When Itaru takes a shower, he doesn’t feel refreshed— rather just a clean feeling taking him with the same unidentifiable emotion. Probably a mixture of disappointment, discontentment, and self-loathing; which isn’t a particularly new mixture but it’s almost defeating this time, for no damn reason. Well, he does know the reason, but he refuses to acknowledge the idea, even entertaining it. Calling in sick to work because he just didn’t feel like going isn’t going to last forever, especially when He is practically his boss. He doesn’t want to get fired of course. He did just lose another job, so getting fired now isn’t the best idea.

Itaru picks up his phone on his way out of the bath, and turns on his phone to check his waifus this time, at first checking out his Best Girl. Humans are complicated, he says to himself, as he taps though some loading messages and downloading messages. He thinks back to work before getting interrupted by Izumi, who’s staring at him from inside his dorm, picking up trash and stuffing them into her makeshift trash bag, which is really just a plastic bag from the convenience store. “Itaru, come in. It’s your dorm after all.” He walks in unwillingly, hit by the smell he produced himself. He even wonders how he can take it.

Izumi wants to talk, he knows that much, as he feels the type of anxiety coming on when he gets the message, “we need to talk”. He hasn’t gotten it that often, but he does definitely freeze up. He definitely isn’t that stupid to not get a hint. Maybe. Izumi starts speaking after a moment of silence.

“So… Can we talk about this? You’ve never let it get this bad… even you have standards.” She glares at the side of the room that’s basically caked in chip bags, surrounded by an anime summoning circle made of chip crumbs. 

“Do I have to?”

“Listen… this can’t go on forever. Just… talk about it. My lips are sealed!” She “zips” her mouth shut and throws away the invisible key from her hands. Itaru knows she isn’t going to leave without an answer— which is just the type of person she is— determined for no good reason. He can’t understand why Izumi is still here, even “helping” him clean. Helping in quotation marks because Itaru’s splayed out on his couch, head hanging off an armrest.

He holds out his phone to tweet something on his streamer Twitter, like “sorry for not streaming i was sick” which is convincing, until he realizes Banri follows him. Fucking NEO. Whatever. He sends it anyway.

“Can you keep it down? I don’t know what emotion you’re gonna feel when I tell you whatever has gotten me so… down. But I know you’re gonna scream about it, which I don’t want to hear.” Itaru scrolls through his personal, looking at fanart of his main games staring at a couple to just appreciate the artistry. Talent.

“I told you. Lips are sealed!”

He adds a snarky tone to his voice. “Someone with their lips zipped together wouldn’t be able to talk.” Itaru smirks.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“LOL. Do you seriously, most definitely, want to hear me out?”

“Yes. Obviously? I’m cleaning your room just to buy myself time so you don’t kick me out.”

“Good strat. Whatever.” He goes to the training section, sacrificing some of his cards in the name of evolving his best girl. “I got laid off, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“And I got a new job, remember?”

“Mmmhm.”

“So I got hired as an assistant to this high up exec, which is like… hell yeah. Level up from that old company.”

“Didn’t you just get hired? I don’t think being absent for a week is a good look for your Refreshing Handsome Man persona. Trademark.”

Itaru laughs.“I— Well… Yeah? But I just didn’t want to go because of a certain person.”

“Do we have to beat someone up?”

“No. But guess who it was.”

“... Was it someone from highschool?”

“It was Chikage-san.”

“...Chika—“ Izumi puts her own hand over her mouth to shut herself up because of the up and coming scream that is about to pierce the skies.

“You heard me right.”

“...Yeah, I definitely did.” Izumi almost has a solemn tone, a tacit agreement of how they should be feeling about this.

“I just… I don't think I’m ready to see him. Mentally preparing for what shitshow might go on. Seeing him drained all my LP in a split second. And this week is me recharging, and a little more. Like I need it to overflow this time, like when I claim daily login quests for them.”

“Makes sense. Well… nothing you can do about it, right?” Izumi sounds a bit defeated, tying up the trash she’s picked up in the convenience store plastic bag, taking out another one and cleaning up again. “Just… deal with it till you can find a new job. Or… you could bring him back here. I want to— need to talk to him.”

“Mmm. I don’t want to do it.” Itaru sounds even more defeated, like he was born with that stupid Archeops abiltity. 50% HP lost already, and he’s not ready to lose that other half. “But if it comes to that… Sure. I’ll try. Not very hard of course.”

“Yeah, yeah, Itaru. You keep doing that.” She picks up some more trash before Tsumugi looks through the door. 

“Director-san?”

“Tsumugi?”

“Someone is at the door.”

“I’ll get it.” Tsumugi leaves quickly to his dorm. “Itaru. Finish cleaning. Get the broom and sweep that damn pile of chips. We can’t deal with another infestation. Sakyo is gonna get so mad at you and me, and we don’t want another wifi outage caused by him. Also… please remember the play. I know that we aren’t super close to opening night, but this one has to be one of our more intricate ones, okay? Study your role well.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve been doing that in here too.” Itaru follows Izumi out of the room, heading to the lounge to grab the dustpan and broom lying in the corner of the kitchen. Itaru takes it, wondering how much money it would cost for Itaru to get a damn maid around here. 

But he wouldn’t want anyone to see his room, of course, as he gets almost scared of someone walking in, and seeing his shelf of games, and his cute and sexy gamer setup. Not the right choice of words, but it’s cute and sexy to him. (He also doesn’t want anyone to wash his body pillow of his waifu, or see it, matter of fact. Plus, he’s worked to make it so comfortable he can sleep instantly with it.)

Itaru heads back to his dorm, the door still open, sweeping up the chips, and spraying some damn Febreeze in there. Hawaiian breeze, or some other tropical scent will do. He hears frantic footsteps from the lounge, Izumi holding onto the doorframe.

“Itaru!” She stands up straight. “Chikage… is here. At the dorms with us.”

“What?” 

Chikage pops up behind her, with a small suitcase in hand. Less of popping up, but more of fully revealing himself behind her.

“Please don’t tell me he’s moving back in.”

—

Chikage is less than aware of the reasons he’s here, before regrouping himself and making some stupid mental list in his mind. Thanks, self-help/business book that his boss gave him. He leads up the events in his mind.

Chikage gets a call from the landlord of his apartment building. 

The landlord tells him that the rooms are flooded because some guy on the upper floor took such a big shit that it flooded the entire apartment complex. How does one even do that?

He is distressed. He goes to book a hotel.

All the hotel rooms are booked again.

Chikage, understandably, gets angry. He drives back to pick up some non-wet stuff. He can sleep in a car for a night.

He starts it up, and it doesn’t start. His car is broken.

He kicks the tire in frustration, and the side metal plate just falls off. He sighs in the ultimate defeat.

He now has nowhere else to stay— hotels are all booked and reserved for the waves of plays about to be released. His hideout is not an option— he doesn’t have much of a bed in there, or actual facilities he needs. No wifi.

Chikage is reminded of the conversation he and Arisugawa had back at… there.

He comes back with a damn Uber.

He sits down at the couch, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in more than frustration at what situation he’s gotten himself into, already regretting his decision.

Izumi runs back, opening the lounge door. “...Chikage-san!” She goes to the kitchen. “It’s… a pleasure to see you back here. It’s pretty late. Almost everyone has gone to sleep. Tea?”

“Sure. Lavender, thank you.” Chikage is fidgeting, which is super out of whatever character he plays, almost struggling to not have a tone when he says his next words. “I’d… hope no one else is awake.” He thinks back to Itaru, but forces the thought of him out. “How has it been?”

“Not the same without you and… yeah.” Izumi looks down at her own cup, the teabag soaking. “Why are you here anyways? You just… disappeared.”

Chikage swallows his pride for just a little bit longer. “My apartment is flooded. My stuff is fine but I can’t stay there for now. Every hotel is booked here. My car is broken because I’ve been forsaken. I can’t stay anywhere else. I need to stay here.”

“...Well… you’re always welcome here anyways. You’ll always be a part of us, even when you don’t think you are.” Izumi takes a sip of her now finished tea. “Well… I know this might be uncomfy but for now, our only open room is 103.” He gets flashbacks to the number, when he got assigned it the first time he came here. “I don’t want to put you in 205. Homare has been doing a lot of stuff in there ever since.” Izumi pauses. “...And I know how you might feel about it.”

“I see. Well… I’ll take what I can get, no?” He sighs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” He takes a long sip of his lavender tea. Nothing has really changed, he observes, as he looks around slowly taking everything back in. The smell is even familiar, which might just be the smell of lavender tea, but he doesn’t really think so. But an air about it doesn’t have as much life as it used to— which he might attribute to the fact that it’s now 12:30 am, but he knows deep in his subconscious the real reason.

Izumi smiles wide. “Great. I’ll lead you there. Itaru is cleaning right now.”

—

Yes, it is awkward, Itaru confirms to himself— something he doesn’t even need to do when Chikage is literally just typing away at his computer, as Itaru fiddles with his phone up in the air, playing some new KniRoun thing. Great. Lancelot is idly whacking at some large dragon on his phone screen, while Chikage’s loud typing begins to fill up more and more of his headspace until Itaru finally gets over the air that’s as thick as butter. “Can you type… quieter? Please?”

Fuck. That is not how he meant to say it. “...sure.” Itaru is surprised, doing a little “Oh.” to himself. He expected more resistance, especially with his tone.

Chikage can almost feel Itaru’s eyes burn into the back of his skull, which would almost be fitting for him and those damn carnelian eyes. “If you want me to leave, I can leave. I understand you have to do that ranking thing, or whatever.”

“Don’t act like you care, Utsuki.” Itaru just keeps fumbling with his tone, always going a little too biting. Which he should probably stop, when he’s basically talking to his boss. Technically. Not really his boss, because he’s been appointed to Chikage. They’re supposed to be working together. But it’s not like Chikage has power in a setting that is now his. He’s in Itaru’s domain. “You never cared about my ranking in the first place.”

“Can we fucking not today? Be happy I’m even dealing with you.”

Itaru shuts up immediately. He isn’t going to do this today. Or ever. He turns on his side to try to ignore whatever that cabbage head is doing on his laptop. But he doesn’t. He looks at the laptop, already looking for hotels to stay at, and sending out emails, with some decryptor on the side. Itaru isn’t one for confrontation. He knows he’s less than welcome with Chikage’s presence— which he can’t understand.

But Itaru is already tired— be it from the event that just happened, or the fact that it’s 1 am. Which is baby hours for him. He goes to do some final things, use his stamina, the sorts, and lets his body drift away.

—

Itaru wakes up midday, as usual for a weekend, and for some reason, Chikage is still there, typing away. He climbs down from his loft bed, stretching a bit and going to turn his computer on. 

It seems like a normal weekend to Itaru, except for the fact that he’s here now. For whatever reason.

“Have you been awake this entire time?”

“...What’s it matter to you?” Chikage doesn’t even look back or stutter in his typing.

“Nothing, I was just wondering. Jeez.” Itaru doesn’t even want to try to fight back with the man who could snap his neck in 0.5 seconds. He walks out into the atrium, heading to the kitchen to grab some food from Omi, who had probably covered some leftovers from breakfast in plastic wrap, and probably already getting lunch ready.

“Itaru. Good morning to you!” Omi speaks to Itaru from the counter, giving him a smile.

“Thanks.” He grabs the leftover breakfast for a nice brunch.  Izumi comes through the door with some bags of groceries for the next week.

“Itaru! Let’s talk later, okay? Practice is soon. We don’t want you to be absent this time. As the lead, you have the most importance for the play, and we need you to—“

“I know. I’ve been studying this role, okay? I just can’t seem to wrap my head around it.” 

“And that’s why we should talk.” Izumi looks serious again, the look she gave him last night when cleaning his dumpster room. “It’s nothing serious. Just sit down here.”

“I have things to attend to, Director.” Itaru looks smug, and walks towards the door, plate in hand. 

“I swear it’ll be quick!”

“Can’t we just do it in my room? Omi is here, and if it’s so serious, we should talk about it in a private place.”

“You’re gonna be distracted if we do it in your room. Just follow me to mine.”

“Ugh…” He walks over to Izumi, and follows her to her room, pulling out a chair for Itaru and she sits on her bed. “So…?”

“So… guess what…” Izumi’s voice is light, like she’s trying to break something to him slowly but surely.

“Don’t tell me. Is he going to be staying for a while?”

“...Damn.”

“You have to be kidding me, Izumi. Like I can’t believe you would do this to me. Rooming me with my boss.” He puts his back over the chair he’s sitting in, like a standard damsel in distress, woe is him. “Woe is me! All I know is pain and suffering.” 

“You might be an actor but that was not an opening night performance.” Izumi laughs. “It might be for a while so bear with me. It’ll be until at least closing night.”

“... At least closing night?” Itaru is confused. “Why does he even need to stay in here?”

“Well… His apartment is flooded. Some guy took a fat shit in the toilet on the upper floors and now his apartment is flooded with toilet water. Hotels are booked for a while, Godza n’ all the other performances. People do book hotel rooms months in advance here.”

“Well, that’s tough. Why not put him with Homa—“ He stops and realizes what he’s going to say. “Oh.”

“Right.”

“Well, can’t he drive? Like… to a place with hotels?”

“Well, his car is broken. Listen, even if he did get it fixed, it’s the least we can do for him. He tried his best, Itaru. Everyone… grieves differently and it’s not in our place to judge him, no? Even if it was self-destructive…”

“Yeah, by hurting us? That’s his grief? Why’d you even let him stay? He doesn’t act, he wouldn’t do shit around here. Do you think he’ll come back? After three and a half years, no goodbye, just a complete disappearance? I don’t see how you can forgive some old cabbage head like that. He’s not even part of MANK—“

“Itaru, can you shut the fuck up? Like, actually.” Itaru immediately shuts up in almost prey-like fear. ”You of all people should know what it felt like when he left, and after everything that went down.” Izumi is absolutely fuming, like steam is coming out of her ears, getting up and turning away and looking at the bookshelf. “Do you know what it feels like? I worked so hard for this— to build this up from when it was failing to a place where we can stay and lean on each other and you… you of all people should know what the hell that feels like.”

“Izumi, I—“ He gets up, reaching out for a bit.

“I’m not finished.” Izumi is tearing up and getting more red by the second, like she’s going to burst. “How do you think I feel about all this? Chikage is back. It’s overwhelming, Itaru. It reminded me of Hisoka, and what would MANKAI be if he was still here but he isn’t. He’s not back. He won’t ever, and when we find an old member like Chikage, I will always accept him back in, even if he’s not committed to the acting gig. It’s almost like we’re completing ourselves again.”

“I understand that, but—“ Itaru can barely get a word in.

“He’s staying there. I don’t want any backtalk from you, Itaru. Have a good evening.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just go.” She sits back down, her back turned to Itaru as he walks out.

Itaru feels bad. I mean, who wouldn’t, but he didn’t expect Izumi to take it that hard. Itaru has every right to say that he doesn’t want him in his room, feeling no remorse for making Izumi almost cry from pure anger, walking slowly back to the room. Omi stares at him as he goes through the kitchen. 

“...Food?”

“Nah. Not hungry, I want some chips.”

“Don’t overindulge. It’s almost dinner anyways.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks Omi.”

He walks out of the kitchen and back to his room, still thinking about Izumi. Izumi is angry. Izumi is more than angry at him and it was because of him— which has never happened before and he is distraught. 

He walks back into the room and no one is there. Bless. Today his room feels a bit more lonely, even though there’s more stuff in it, looking to his left to see the duffel bag of clothes with his desk underneath the loft bed already set up with tons of electronics. What is he even doing? He takes a look at Chikage’s stuff before he comes back.

Another laptop? A walkie-talkie… and the thing that catches his eye the most is a picture of MANKAI, and behind that, a picture of Hisoka and Chikage. Itaru remembers taking this photo, looking closer at it. Okay, now he really feels bad, he thinks as he looks at the photo more and more.

If he missed us that much then why didn’t he come back?

The door opens and he shuffles as fast as he can to the couch, posing in one of the most awkward positions.

“...H-hey, Utsuki-senpai.”

“Hm.”

He quickly walks past, suspiciously looking at Itaru as if he was a cat that pushed something off a desk while their owner was gone. Itaru quickly skitters to his desk, starting up his computer. The room feels a bit more lively with both of them in it, even if they’re both just trying to ignore each other, something within the room metamorphosing, like something is changing. He shakes the thought out of his head quickly before he slumps into his chair to get into the Gamer Position (trademarked by Itaru himself) and getting his software up.

Itaru needs to stream today. Not really— he didn’t announce anything, but he has to feed his fans some sort of content. He gets ready to film something, anything. He picks a random game and starts filming a bit, Chikage in the room completely tuning Itaru out and vice versa. 

Chikage slowly drifts off to sleep for once, but this time, it’s a deep sleep. chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6

[the--highlanders]

20. Home

on ao3.

Jamie and Polly were due back any moment now, the Doctor told himself bracingly. Soon enough he would hear the door bang open downstairs, and Jamie and Polly would come clattering inside, and his achingly long wait would be over.

Two weeks had hardly sounded like any time at all at the beginning – a mere blink of an eye for someone like himself. Polly had wanted to spend some time with Jamie, and Jamie had wanted to take a trip to Scotland, and he himself had ushered them off knowing that UNIT had a spot of bother that they were not quite qualified to deal with themselves. He had only helped out on a purely casual basis, of course. Nothing so serious as consulting work, whatever the Colonel – the Brigadier, now – had said.

But he had quite forgotten how tedious linear time could be. The trouble had not been so difficult as he had been hoping – just a few alien students, trapped on Earth after a joyride gone wrong, and he had found himself reduced to a glorified translator. And so the days had dragged endlessly on, with little to differentiate them but the changing prices at the supermarket. Once or twice he had toyed with the idea of hopping forwards a few days in the TARDIS, but he had assured Jamie that he would be able to cope on his own, and he was not one to back down from a promise like that. Especially one made to Jamie, who would never let him forget it if he did.

His watch buzzed once – twice – three times. Seven minutes past three o’clock, just enough time for the bus to have arrived and for Polly and Jamie to have walked home. Right on schedule, the door burst open, filling the too-silent house with eager chatter and the taking off of coats. Someone mumbled an offer of tea.

“Aye, why not.” Polly had been the one to ask, then. “Maybe the Doctor’d like some too. Hey, Doctor, are ye home?”

Hauling himself up from the bed, the Doctor padded out of Ben and Polly’s spare bedroom and down the stairs into the living room. “I’m here,” he mumbled, a little blearily – but his eyes could not help but light up at the sight of the pair of them. “Hello, you two.”

“Doctor!” Polly exclaimed, hurrying over to wrap him in a hug. “Oh, it’s funny to come back home to you.”

“So did ye do it?” Jamie asked teasingly, folding the Doctor in a hug of his own. “We wondered if ye would.”

“So did I,” the Doctor said with a touch of rueful pride. “I’ll admit, I was – ah – tempted, once or twice, to skip a few days – but I stuck it out in the end.” Setting her bag down, Polly squeezed his shoulder again before heading off towards the kitchen, leaving the Doctor and Jamie to settle themselves on the sofa. “How was Scotland?”

“Och,” was all Jamie said for a long moment. He hung his head, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Busy,” he said at last. “Big. A wee bit odd.”

The Doctor chuckled. “Odd?”

“Och, I don’t know. Ye know – we went up tae Edinburgh, right. An’ I thought I knew what Edinburgh was like, ‘cause I’d been there before for a wee while, what with – everythin’.”

“He thought he knew his way around,” Polly called from the kitchen. “Kept getting us lost.”

“Whisht, ye,” Jamie called back, wrinkling his nose at her laughter. “It’s no’ my fault it’s all different now.”

“You don’t seem too pleased,” the Doctor said tentatively.

“I don’t think I am.” Jamie shook his head. “It was like – seein’ bits of your life all cut up an’ made into somethin’ else. Do ye know – they have tartans for families now?”

The Doctor did know, of course, but he mustered up a surprised expression anyway. “Really?”

“Aye. An’ I asked where they come from, an’ the wee man at the shop said it was traditional. Traditional. A bunch of Lowlanders runnin’ around in tartan an’ saying it belongs to their families.” He scoffed. “It was just – a wee bit odd, ye know? ‘Spose last time I was there it was still full of Lowlanders paradin’ around like us, but then I knew why. Now – it’s like they actually think our stuff’s theirs.”

“So you didn’t enjoy yourself?”

“Now, I didnae say that.” Jamie tapped the backpack that still sat at his feet. “They had some good music, ye know. Polly bought me a – a record.” He beamed. “Thought I was dreamin’ when I found something in Gaelic, ye know.”

“Oh, good.” Stretching out, the Doctor draped his arm over Jamie’s shoulders casually. The feeling of Jamie’s warmth through his shirt settled something in his chest, and he closed his eyes to better soak it in. He had missed him terribly, after all. Really, he had no idea how he had lasted all those years without him, before he had been judged in need of supervision. “So you found a little piece of home anyway, then.”

“Somethin’ like that. It’s different, but – good different, ye know?” Jamie shrugged – but gently, not enough to dislodge the Doctor’s arm. He wriggled against the sofa cushions, nestling himself down and tilting himself over to rest against the Doctor’s side. The simple motion made the peacefulness that had rooted itself in the Doctor’s chest blossom into full-blown affection. “Doesnae really feel like I’ve been home, though. Just back tae somewhere I recognise.”

“Mm. Maybe things would be different if you – went home properly, as it were.”

“Maybe. I dunno.” Jamie glanced over his shoulder, checking that Polly was still in the kitchen, and for the first time a hint of discomfort appeared on his face. He leant closer to the Doctor, dropping his voice. “Polly wanted tae go – almost bought us some tickets up north, but I didnae want to. I’m not sure I – want tae see it, ye know?”

The Doctor was quiet for a long moment, tapping his fingers against Jamie’s shoulder as he thought it over. “You wouldn’t want to go home?” Jamie had always spoken with such fondness of his home, and his people. He had envied him, in a way, to carry such affection with him. He might have missed it, but at least he had something to miss. “I thought you loved it there.”

“Aye, I do! ‘Course I do. Which is why – ye know. I wouldnae want tae see it changed. Houses knocked down, an’ gravestones, an’ all that. But ‘specially not if it was like – that.”

“Well, I dare say Edinburgh is – ah – rather more of a tourist trap than your village would be. But I still don’t see what’s so terrible about people liking tartan.”

“It’s no’ so much that. Aye, it’s a bit funny to see a bunch of Lowlanders paradin’ around like they like us, but I said, I’ve seen that before. An’ -” Jamie began to tease at the hem of his kilt, ducking his head in an attempt to conceal a grin. “I did get a couple of compliments, ye know. It’s no’ every day that happens.” His smile faded again, as quickly as it had come. “But it’s more like – bein’ in Edinburgh before was one thing, right, when they were all cheerin’ for us, ‘cause they thought we’d win. But it’s a wee bit odd tae have been through a war, an’ have it mess with your head, an’ then ye turn around and see pictures of it on sweets tins.”

“Ah.”

“Aye.”

“I seem to remember you didn’t have a particularly high opinion of your prince.”

“No’ exactly. I didnae go along for his sake.”

“So seeing pictures of him looking rather charming on shortbread tins… Yes, I think I see what you mean.” The Doctor drew his hand over his face. “Do you regret going?”

Jamie hesitated, but shook his head firmly in the end. “I’ll just feel a wee bit strange about it for a while, that’s all. I’ve got tae think about it.” Polly bustled back into the room, balancing a tray with three cups of tea. “We had a good time, didn’t we, Polly?”

“Oh, it was fantastic.” She set the tray down on the coffee table with a crash. The contents of one cup sloshed over the edge, and she grimaced, watching it slowly soak into the wood beneath it. “Oops. Good thing Ben’s still away.” Her eyes travelled up from the table to the rest of the room, still in undeniable disarray. His own frustrations had hardly helped in that regard, the Doctor thought with a twist of guilt. For the first time, he regretted not accepting the Brigadier’s offer of money. Perhaps then he could have paid to send someone over to help Polly clean things up.

“Ah – when is Ben’s ship due back?” he asked instead.

“Next week.” Tossing her fringe away from her eyes, Polly collapsed into the chair opposite them. “I’ve got time to get the house in order.” She threw them a self-deprecating smile. “I’m not exactly the perfect housewife.”

“You’re not a housewife at all, from what I gather,” the Doctor countered. “But Ben doesn’t mind, of course.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Polly agreed. “But his mother is a different story. You should have seen her face – she came over, last month, no warning whatsoever, and the place was in an absolute state because I’d been so busy with work...”

She chattered on, and the Doctor let himself relax back into the sofa. Jamie was laughing at something that he had not quite caught, watching Polly pull faces along with her story, and a wave of comfortable familiarity washed over him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that they were back on the TARDIS – that they were not all older than when they had first parted ways, and that the joy of sharing each other’s company could stretch on forever. That there would never have to be an ending.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that troubled sort of melancholy settle over Jamie’s face again, and he held his hand out for him to squeeze.

I’ll tell you later.

He did not know whether he had caught the thought drifting over to him through their pressed-together palms or whether it had simply been intuition, but he pushed a thought of his own to the forefront of his mind, willing Jamie to understand it.

It’s my turn to pretend that things don't change.

[thequeenofcronuts]

Justify My Love - Chapter 5 - Never Forget You, Power Over Me

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Book: The Royal Romance

Word Count: 3,270-ish

Pairing: Maxwell x MC (Kristina Hampshire), Hana, Drake, OCs

Warnings - Language

A/N In this TRR Series (Where books 2 and 3 are thrown to the wind): Kristina (MC) decides she cannot stay in Cordonia after the events of the Coronation Ball. Not so much caring about her own reputation, but caring for the life of the man she has been falling for, which is not the prince. She returns to New York and is faced with her heartbreak and regret while Maxwell is left in Cordonia struggling to understand the truth behind his feelings. Will they let each other go?

**All characters and named places are owned by Pixelberry Studios. Rights to the songs lyrics and  titles in this series belong to:

Justify My Love (Madonna) - Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, Reach Music Publishing, BMG Rights Management

Never Forget You (MNEK and Zara Larsson) - Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Power Over Me (Dermot Kennedy) - Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group

Series Tags @littleblossom357 @alj4890 @cosigottahavefaith

——————————

Kristina’s POV

- Never Forget You -

“Atlantic City look out because we have arrived, and you’ll never be the same after us.” Stephen proclaims as he stretches before helping Daniel with the bags. “I, Lisa, am your leader for this excursion. Follow me to check in and we will drop our stuff off into our rooms. We leave in twenty minutes on the dot. We’ve got Steel Pier to conquer! Now march!” Daniel narrows his eyes while he looks to Kristina. “This itinerary planning and leading the group has gone to Lisa’s head and I completely blame you.” As Lisa overhears the comment she just shrugs, “Keep up, don't wander from the group, and don't get lost.” Kristina lets out a small laugh, “Heh, like Maxwell would totally do.”

The three stop in their tracks and whip around to face Kristina. “Maxwell, eh? Oh, do tell.” Daniel smirks with his comment. Shit, I just fucking said that. Out loud. And I meant to. What the hell is wrong with me? Gotta change the subject, fast. “People wander off all the time. More importantly I have been promised greasy boardwalk food and funnel cakes.” Stephen turns around to walk into the hotel lobby as he brushes off Kristina's attempt to change the subject. “I’m letting you off the hook Kris, for now since since you're actually going out with us, but we will circle back to this, Maxwell guy.” If he drinks enough, we won't remember to.

After check in Kristina and Lisa change into bikinis and short jean shorts. “I can't believe I let you pack for me, Lisa.” “Technically you didn't let me, I had to handle it while you were fruitlessly throwing out all of your silly protest. Consider this as a sort of punishment. Oh, and wait until you see what I packed for you to wear tonight as we hit the clubs.” No, oh god no. Absolutely no intervention by entertainment. “You know Lisa, I won't be able to go tonight. I’ll have to wash my hair.” Lisa cackles “Bahahaha! This isn't the 1940s Kris. Although you do get points for pulling out the reference.” Kristina put her hand on her hip obviously looking for another excuse. She smirks, “I’ll probably have a headache.” Lisa guffaws. “Kris, we both know what that excuse is for and it most certainly is not for going out clubbing.” “Fine, just drag me out on your ridiculous waste of my time. The sooner we leave the sooner we can be back here.” After an eye roll from both girls, they meet the guys and head to the boardwalk.

“Looking nice ladies.” Kristina glares at Stephen. “Compliment your wife, but don't try and butter me up for this foolish frivolity.” Oh my god, I sound like Bertrand. If their is a higher power up there some where, please help me! “Where first, Lisa? This reminds me of Coney Island, and I can't remember the last time I was there.” “Why Daniel, you don't look too excited.” Lisa lets out sarcastically. “And you, Kris, don't either. So I guess with you two grouches and Lisa and I we balance the group out.” Stephen snorts as he ruffles Kristina's hair and puts his arm around her shoulder like a big brother would. She immediately crosses her arms, tightening her lips into a thin line. That's only for Maxwell…“Don't ever do that again, seriously. Never.” and she storms off to the nearest restroom. “What the hell was that?” Lisa and Stephen watch while Daniel asks out loud with confusion written all over his face. He continues, “This is what I’m talking about guys. The most mundane things just set her off. I never know what to say or do anymore.” 

“Hey babe,” Stephen pipes in, “maybe you should go check on her?” Lisa takes a moment to contemplate her husband’s words. “I think she needs a little space, but if she's not out in ten to fifteen minutes I’ll head in there.” But about ten minutes later Kristina emerges from the bathroom, her eyes a little red and puffy. Too much. This is all...Too much.

“Ok,” Lisa goes on as if nothing happened. “I got how this all works. Tickets for the attractions are a dollar each, and then most attractions require anywhere from one to five tickets.” “Actually,” Kristina interjects. “That's affordable.” “I know right, Kris?” But Daniel shakes his head, “We haven't talked food yet. There's the money pit.” “Oh Daniel hush. There is no room for negativity in my painstakingly perfectly planed itinerary.” Lisa retorts with a smile and playfully smacking him on the shoulder.

The group spends the afternoon riding the attractions, shopping all the touristy shops, and getting that funnel cake Kristina was promised. Slowly Kristina's mood switches from a tad bit of enjoyment, then back to melancholy quickly. No one can see if there's pattern, but the three are watching her trying to figure the out puzzle. The piece of the puzzle they don't know is when they do things that make her think of Maxwell, she immediately falls back into her pit.

They end up having a late lunch early dinner at the Landshark Bar and Grill, taking a table outside. Just a few minutes after they arrive their waiter, Tony, is at the table. He takes their drink order first, Kristina orders a Tranquil Waters. It's Rum, blue curaçao, pineapple juice and mango pieces. The three friends, notice how Tony listens intently only to her order with a huge smile on his face.

“Oh my god Kris, he’s totally into you!” Lisa squees. Kristina looks at Stephen and Daniel with wide eyes. “Yep, Kris. Lisa is right.” Lisa cracks a smile at Daniel. “Thanks, Daniel, I know I am. But I don't hear that often.” She nudges Stephen’s foot under the tab. “No footies you two married or not, and he is absolutely NOT into me.” “Riiiiight. Lets test it Kris. We’ll pay close attention for the rest of the meal and give you the verdict.” “Whatever. If it amuses you all so much, I could care less Stephen.

Tony returns with their drinks, placing Kristina's down last as he leans in and asks her if it's looks okay. She takes a sip and tells him it's perfect. He leans back as he comments to her, “I’m so happy it's perfect for you” with same smile as before. He looks at Kristina first to take her order, and of course tells her it's an excellent choice. After all them order he up the menus while he just glances at the other three and turns to go put the order in, Lisa can't help but let out a giggle. “Seeeee” “Oh come guys, he’s just flirting for a tip. Oldest trick in the book.” “Well the way I see this is, we have two guys at this table,” Stephen points to himself and Daniel, “and two ladies. Would he so obviously flirt with just you if it was only for a tip? How would he know if myself or Daniel are your boyfriend and we’d rip him a new asshole for flirting our girl?” “Would you all just let it fucking go for gods sake. It's not like that.” Everyone is quite until their food is served, and no mentioning of Tony’s still obvious flirtations. Daniel goes to pick up a fork when Kristina points out, “That's a salad fork, not for your meal.” Oh shit, really Kristina? “Fork etiquette Kris?” Daniel gives her an incredulous look. “Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” “Can't a girl just like to have manners?” They all eye her with suspicion.

Tony comes back to pick up the plates and ask how to spilt the checks. He is clearly enthusiastic when Kristina says she is on her bill. Once he's gone she shoots the three a focused and frigid stare warning them to not say a word. Tony returns with the completed receipts and gives Kristina a wink while he hands her the little portfolio it is in. As she pulls it out she groans. ‘Call me’ and his number is written on it. Stephen quickly grabs the receipt from her hands and shows a shit faced grin. “We win! Man, we should have gone for a bet.” She grabs back the receipt back and storms out of the restaurant. As soon as they're all are outside she rips it up and throws it away. Stephen and Daniel each let out a long heavy ‘that's cold’ whistles at the same time. “Guess poor Tony just got a ‘no’”. And Daniel just shakes his head.

Lisa looks at her friend and hooks her arm though Kristina's as she bounces along the path. “Don't pay any attention to tweedle dee and tweedle dum over there. Let's head back to the room and get ready for the club. Dance,Dance, Dance!!” Why? What have I done in my life to be so tortured? Oh Maxwell! It's going to suck without you.

Kristina looks in the mirror as Lisa finishes getting ready. The outfit Lisa packed for her is way more sexy than she wants to appear tonight. It's a little, definitely little, tight black dress with a plunging neck line which is covered with see through black mesh over lace. The thin black straps connect the front of the dress to the V shaped bare back, which comes to a point barely above her ass. The dress has a short skirt with a slit allowing just enough for club dancing moves.

Her makeup is demure with the exception of the fiery red lipstick gracing her perfectly cupid’s bow plump lips, and a beautiful shade of blue eyeliner setting off the shape of her deep blue eyes. Lisa has fastened Kristina's long wavy light brunette locks in low, lose chignon with a slight twis instead of a plain style.

As Kristina examines herself in the bathroom mirror she gives a deep exhale. For the first time in months she is going out after that sudden withdrawal out of Cordonia. As she turns to leave the ensuite she is feels a bit of a sour stomach. Leaving the room to meet the guys in the hall she stops dead in her tracks as she realizes what she is about to do. A split second later she has slumped down the wall to the ground sobbing until she can barely breath.

——————————

Maxwell's POV

Power Over Me -

Hana and Drake knock on Maxwell's hotel room door, but there's no answer. He and Hanna wait a minute with no sounds of stirring in the room. Drake knocks louder, still nothing. Finally letting his anger begin to get to him he pulls back his hand to pound on the door. Before he can connect his fist Hana puts a hand on his arm and shakes her head no. “Drake, do you really want to wake up the entire floor? It is rather early” “Ugh, why are always you so reasonable, Hana? Maxwell knew what time we were heading out. How can he not be ready? This is kind of important. So where the hell is he?” Hana pulls out her cellphone and swiftly taps out a message. Right away it buzzes back. “Well Drake, he’s already down in the lobby and has eaten breakfast. So I think he is on the same page as us in the importance of all this, plus I think you need to start giving him more credit.” “Well, I’m kinda feeling like an ass right this second. Hana, I’ll apologize to you for me expecting the worst of him, but I’m not changing my opinion of Maxwell.”

Hana sighs sweetly as they walk towards the elevators. “The three of us want Kristina back, Drake. Each one of us just as much as the other, so can we please stay positive and work together?” Drake treats it as a rhetorical question as they get on the elevator. Hana presses the lobby button and on the way down Drake keeps his hands in his pockets and lets out a stream of air. “Yeah, for Hampshire, and you, I can manage dealing with him. Although I presume there will be whiskey along the way.” Hana places a hand on his shoulder with a slight laugh. “This is for Maxwell and Kristina too. If he can make her happy don't you want that for her?” Drake looks over to Hana, “Hana stop being so right all the time. It's obnoxious.” He smirks and she giggles. “And,” she goes on, “Maxwell has been your friend for a long time. You two may have a … unique… dynamic, but don't you want him to be happy too. You know he would do the same for you, for any of us.” Letting out another sigh and taking a hand from his pocket to rub the back of neck and says in a bit of a playful tone, “Ok Hana, you win. Again, just stop being so damn reasonable all the time.”

The elevator door slides open and there is Maxwell in the lobby bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet wearing a massive smile. “Good morning kids! Do you need breakfast before we head out on this first leg of our adventure?” Hana can't help but smile at Maxwell's returned enthusiasm, even Drake has a lopsided tiny smirk while he looks on. “I could use some coffee and maybe a bagel.” Hana tells him with an affirmative nod. “Really easy to get that Hanna. They've a grab and go section here in the hotel. Drake?” Maxwell is still bouncing, but now alternating from foot to foot. “Just coffee.” Maxwell smiles wider. “You're orders are too easy my friends. Let's go grab what you want and head out.” Maxwell turns and bolts towards little foot mart. “Wait a second, Maxwell,” “What Drake?” “How much caffeine have you consumed already today?” “One cup of coffee.” Drake quirks a quizzical eyebrow. “Just one cup of coffee. Seriously Maxwell?” “Yep my man, this is me on just one cup, a colossal amount adrenaline, and both are mixed with excitement. So let's get this show on the road.” Maxwell slides from foot to foot to his own rhythm as they walk.

Drake calls for the car and in a few minutes a black Cadillac Escalade pulls up to the drop off/pick up line outside the hotel’s entrance. The car barely stops before Maxwell hops in calling far a window seat. Hana follows knowing sitting by Maxwell may very well keep Drake from any rash movements. “Riding in style, I see. Lets get some music pumping.” He pulls out his phone looking for the road trip playlist he created last night. “So how have we scored this ride?” He asking over his music. “Let me explain, “pipes up Hana trying to speak over his music. “but first please stop your tapping your feet so hard. Your making the floor shake.” “But it's the perfect rhythm of the music. Feel the music Hana.” It's nice see him a coming a little back to himself. “Okay Maxwell, I feel the music.” He jovially gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Hana begins to explain to Maxwell, “ First I flew in from Cordonia on a separate flight from you and Drake so if anyone happened to notice us leaving court it hopefully wouldn't appear remiss,” Drake cuts in, “Not like anyone will actually notice you and me not being around. You've locked yourself up in your estate and I’m me.” Hana tries to comfort Drake, but also with a bit of sarcasm. “You’ll be missed. People can't resist your signature brand of grumpiness for too long.” Maxwell claps, “Good one Hana!!” “Ok you two, no more comments from the peanut gallery. At any rate, Liam wants to help us as much as he can without raising questions or suspicions from the press and court. He and Kiara are newlyweds and even though she doesn't mind Kristina’s return, obviously the crown can't be seen directly helping in her name being cleared or her return. But if her best friends find Tariq and Kristina it would seem perfectly normal.”

Hana tries to continue but Maxwell begins to get lost in the beat of the music’s baseline. He taps the rhythm on his thighs while he is still tapping his feet. “Focus Maxwell. So Liam let Bastien work with us in locating Tariq’s last three locations after he came to LA. That actually was a bit easier than expected. You know Bastien has his �� ways of getting information, of well information of a personal nature. We were able to just follow the money from his accounts. He stopped in a few different states, but ultimately settled in LA. At least for now he is still here. So that's why we got here as fast as we could.” Maxwell stops the tapping and looks pensive. “I can see it. A perfectly rich area with amazing designer clothing. Really a perfect place for him.” “True” Hana agreed and went on, “Liam is paying for the investigation and our trip.”

“ Bastien has everything set to get Tariq back to Cordonia once we find him. He also has everything set to get him back to Cordonia and make his statement. At the same time Tariq is traveling we'll on our way to New York.” “Assuming we can get him to help clear Kristina’s name.” Drake states and sighs. “But I do believe we have numerous ways to convince him to.” Maxwell's mouth drops. “Geez Maxwell, nothing illegal. Calm down.” “Ok, it now all  makes sense to me. Oooohhhh, I wanted to ask, can we eat at an ‘In-N-Out Buger’ while we're here? I researched food places last night, and apparently it's a must do!” “Maxwell, this isn't a vacation. We aren't tourists.” “I know Drake, but adventures need sustenance! Aaaaannndddd also how much longer to the first stop, Hana? Are we close yet?” She looks at the direction app on her phone. “Well, in LA traffic, your guess is as good as mine.”

Maxwell felt like they were driving for a million years when he spots the beacon of culinary hope. A sign for an ‘In-N-Out Burger’ is ahead of them. His eyes light up an he begins to ask, “ Ohhhh, pleas, please, please. It's one of the meccas of what they call fast food here. Come on, when will ever be back here? Pleeeeeaaaaassssseeeee?!?!?” Hana's laugh chimes while Drake complains. “You sound like a whinny kid begging to open his gifts two days early before Christmas. But, if it will shut you up, lets go.” Drake caves in. “Yes!!! Sweet! And Drake, I won't tell anyone that you let your half American side take you over and that you really want this American greasy goodness for yourself, and not just shut me up. Ha!”

Maxwell insists on the entire experience and he leaps out of the car turning around to hurry along to yell at Hana and Drake to move faster. “Come on guys!! You're so slow!” And he proceeds to moonwalk through the parking lot. As he enters the restaurant it smells like an American heaven, or at least what he thinks an American heaven, should smell like. Unlike the cronut experience during the Social Season he stops, gets in line, and looks at the menu. With wide eyes he can't even begin to decide. According to what he read online, this is a momentous occasion, and he doesn't want to screw it up.

He goes with (whatever a “Combo #2” means)  which is a cheeseburger, fries, and a drink. Then he adds a hamburger, and 2 milkshakes, because he couldn't decide between the chocolate or the strawberry. After having to make two trips to get all of his prizes to the table he finally sits down and rubs his hands together. With a maniacal laugh he looks at the bounty before him. “You, my tasty adversaries, are no match for Lord Beaumont’s gastrointestinal fortitude!” Back in the car he falls asleep after the ‘In-N-Out’ defeat of his war with lunch. “Hana,” Drake whispers, “if this all we have to do to keep him unconscious, I say we eat at every fast food joint from here to New York.”

[shaneinthehouseofficial]

Friend From College

“A bottle of your finest imported sherry, garcon. And two glasses.” Frasier handed the wine list back to the waiter and returned to nervously staring at the door, as he had been doing for the last twenty minutes. He was in disbelief over how nervous he was for tonight. “It’s dinner with an old college friend”, he repeated internally to no avail. “This is no different than sharing a drink with Sam or Norm”. By the time the wine arrived at the table, he was considering the idea of opening the bottle without her.

Almost trembling with an intense mixture of excitement and panic, Frasier takes one last glance at the door as he hears it open. Speaking with the maître d was the dining companion that the doctor had been waiting all night for. The two’s eyes interlock and she makes her way to the table. “Amy, it’s been too many years”, Frasier exclaims as he embraces her in a friendly hug. “It really has been”, she says as she leans her mallet against the table and they both take their seats.

“I’m still in utter disbelief that you called into the show just to tell me you were in town”, Frasier joked as he pours the wine. “I had no idea how else to contact you” Amy exclaimed. “Here I am in Seattle for a business trip and who’s face do I see plastered on the side of a Greyhound bus but the Craniac’s? I didn’t even know you had a radio show!” Frasier made a face of playful anger. “Firstly, nobody has called me ‘The Craniac’ since freshman year and I resented it even then. Secondly, I’m certainly not upset that you called; I’m just saying it was uncharacteristically audacious for you.” Amy takes a sip of her wine and says, “you certainly don’t know how much life I’ve led since Harvard”.

After what felt like ten minutes of catching up, Frasier looks down at his watch and sees that two hours had somehow flown by while they talked endlessly about their lives. “Where are my manners, Amy?” Frasier inquired rhetorically. “In all this excitement I’ve neglected to ask you about Sonic. How have you two been doing?” “Oh Sonic and I have been doing great. Just really, I don’t know, great” Amy choked out. Amy’s change in body language and tone did not fly by Frasier unnoticed.

“Is something wrong, Amy?” Frasier asked in a concerned tone. “Oh no, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” “You know you can talk to me if there’s something going on between you two”. Amy looks distant for a moment, and takes a long sip of wine. “Have you ever felt like the person you share your bed with wouldn’t immediately notice if you weren’t there one night?” “Amy, any person who would make you feel that way, even if it is the great ‘Sonic the Hedgehog’, doesn’t even deserve to share a chili dog with you, let alone your bed.”

“Frasier, I wanted to tell you-“ Amy began to say before the waiter arrived at the table with the coffee and crème brûlée the two had ordered. After requesting the check, Frasier turned his attention back to Amy, who had just broken into the confection. “I’m so sorry, you were saying before?” “Oh, never mind. I lost my train of thought”. After dessert, coffee, and more comfortable discourse, the two exited the restaurant. “I think after two bottles of sherry between the two of us, it might not be the worst idea for us to call a cab”, Amy suggested. Frasier agreed, and they decided to share a taxi.

The car pulled up in front of Frasier’s apartment building. “Well, I guess this is my stop”, Frasier stated with a twinge of melancholy for the night being over. “You know, Craniac, the way you were describing that original 19th century Zambian sculpture you purchased recently really piqued my interest. I know it’s late, but would you mind if I popped in quickly to see it?” Frasier eyes noticeably lit up with elation. “Oh of course! I have a number of African art pieces I’d love to show you”. The two left the cab with a refreshed sense of magic for the evening.

“This piece is an early 20th century mask from the Nama society, which put me back a pretty penny”, Frasier described to Amy, both now in the living room. “And this, unfortunately, is a microwavable pizza box that my troglodyte of a father left on the mantle”. Amy let out a healthy guffaw while Frasier angrily walked the box over to the garbage bin. “Oh don’t worry Frasier, I’m no prude. You should see what your old college roommate Big the Cat’s apartment looks like. Or more importantly, smells like”. Frasier shuttered at the very idea.

“I’m so sorry, Frasier, I shouldn’t be keeping you so late. It’s already past midnight, and we both have work in the morning”. Amy sighed and grabbed her mallet that was leaning against the front door. “Well, how long are you gonna be in town for? I have tickets for the opera Friday night, I’m sure my father would find it in his heart eventually if I gave you his ticket”. “That’s the thing, we’re leaving tomorrow afternoon after we fight Dr. Robotnik. Apparently Chaos was spotted causing mayhem in San Francisco, so we have to attend to that”, Amy said joylessly. “Well then, I’m truly happy that we got to spend what little time you have here in Seattle together”.

Amy gave Frasier a warm hug, and began to open the door. “Frasier, there’s something that I wanted to say at the restaurant. I just wanted to say, I hope it isn’t 20 years before we see each other again. I really missed you”. “I don’t believe it will be nearly 20 years before we see each other again. And I missed you too. More than you can even imagine”. The two were so caught in the amber of this moment that neither had realized that their hands were interlocked. After noticing, both gave out a nervous chuckle and retracted their hands. “I better head out. It was really nice seeing you, Crainiac. Don’t be a stranger”, Amy said as she walked through the door. “Same goes for you, Amy. Goodnight, get back safe. And give that dastardly Eggman what for”.

Frasier closed the door behind Amy, and walked over to the Zambian statue. He looked at the piece, his mind thousands of miles away. He recalled the long, blissful nights in college the two spent talking about nothing in particular. The letters he would write her years later, only to throw them away at the last minute. What Amy had said earlier that evening about her relationship with Sonic. The accidental embrace the two had just shared that he wished would never end.

“Oh god, I hope I’m not too late. Amy, wait”, Frasier exclaimed as he ran to the door. He swung the front door open, expecting to have to rush outside before the taxi, and Amy, left again. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was what really happened. As he swung the door open, he was greeted by Amy, who had been building up the courage to knock on the door. “Amy, I, um, I wanted to, uh tell you…” Frasier fumbled. “Oh just shut up, you idiot” Amy exasperatedly said as she embraced him in a passionate kiss. In the midst of the theoretical fireworks erupting between the two, Frasier pulled away from the kiss. “But Amy, as much as I’ve always dreamed of this, what about Sonic?”. “Fuck Sonic the Hedgehog”, Amy said plainly as she returned to kissing. “Yeah”, Frasier agreed. “Fuck Sonic the Hedgehog”.

[rpf-bat]

We’ll Carry On

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Request fic for @ellasfandoms1234. “Could you do a Gerard X Reader where he just started to relapse and he's thinking about breaking up the band and the reader convinces him not to and it's so fluffy 😍”

When you first saw him, standing onstage, tossing his beautiful red hair seductively, singing with the voice of an angel to an adoring crowd, you thought, He's a fucking god. But, slowly, as you came to know him, you discovered that Gerard was only human. Trying desperately not to fall into the same addiction that had plagued him in his twenties. Questioning if he was as attractive as the fangirls said he was - and if they would still love him if he packed on a few pounds, if he looked, again, like the fat, dateless nerd he'd been in high school. 

"They only love me," he'd told you, a melancholy look in his eyes, "because they don't know who I am." 

"That's not true, Gee," you'd protested. "I know you very well, and I love you very much."

But, you weren't sure if he believed it. 

You'd followed My Chemical Romance on the World Contamination Tour, and on this cold February night, you were in Osaka, Japan. Frank confided in you that at this same venue, six years ago, before sobriety, Gerard had gotten drunk enough to make himself horrifically sick, and, after the show, he'd spent the rest of the night vomiting into a trash can backstage. 

"That was rock bottom for him, I think," Frank recalled, frowning. "I didn't find out til later that not long after that, he told Brian he wanted to kill himself." 

"But, that was a long time ago, Frankie," you assured the guitarist. "Gerard was only twenty seven when that happened. He's thirty-three, and he's better now. He's happy."

"Is he?" Frank questioned. 

"Why wouldn't he be?" you shrugged. "He's in one of the most successful rock bands in the world." You'd even heard "Sing" get played on Top 40 radio. MCR was popular, rich, and famous. 

"He's just...." Frank sighed. "When we came offstage in Toronto last month, before we started this leg of the tour...he had that look in his eye. Like he did back then." 

"Maybe I should go talk to him, before sound check starts," you decided, feeling worried about your boyfriend. %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% You found him in his dressing room, morosely smoking a cigarette. 

"Those have got to be bad for your lungs, babe," you said, putting your arms around him from behind as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. 

"I've been smoking the whole time I've been in this band," Gerard shrugged. "Hasn't ruined my singing voice yet." 

"Well, don't you want to be able to keep singing for a long time, though?" you insisted.

"I don't know," Gerard replied. "I guess." 

"You guess?!" you repeated, shocked. 

"I just....I don't know if I'll be singing for My Chem that much longer," Gerard confessed. "Truthfully, I didn't think we were going to keep going past Black Parade in the first place. I'm amazed we made it this far." 

"What are you talking about?" you gasped. You couldn't believe Gerard was talking like this. "Why would you quit now? You're at the top of your game! 'Sing' is number two on the Billboard alternative chart right now - it may even move to number one. 'Planetary (Go!)' just got nominated for a Kerrang Award." 

"So?" Gerard shrugged apathetically.

"What do you mean, 'so'?" you protested. "You're about to play a sold-out show tonight! Kids from a country where they don't even speak the language you sing in spent their money on tickets to see you, because they love you!" 

"They don't love me," Gerard argued. "They love a pretty face on a poster. They love their idea of me." 

"Well, I love you," you said, your voice breaking as you felt like you might cry. "And I don't know why you're acting like this." 

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Gerard said softly,  putting out his cigarette and gathering you in his arms. "I've just been feeling depressed lately." 

"Why are you depressed?" you asked.

"Well," Gerard laughed bitterly, "there is the small thing where I have depression. My chemicals aren't balanced right. There doesn't always have to be a reason." 

"But, is there one?" you wondered. 

"The thing is...." Gerard sighed. "All this - the constant touring, the pressure to give the fans the best show of their lives, when I'm tired and my vocal chords fucking hurt and I didn't sleep last night because I was in an airplane seat that made my back ache......it's a lot, okay?"

"I know it is," you said sympathetically, rubbing his back. "Frank's started taking pills just to keep himself awake so he can play guitar properly." 

"He shouldn't have to do that," Gerard frowned. "But, I mean, what are we supposed to tell the fans, who spent all this money to come see us? 'Sorry, no show tonight, my guitarist needs a nap'?"

"You can't do that," you admitted.

"Of course I can't," Gerard snapped. "I've got to be the perfect, pretty rock god Gerard Way, at all times, even if sometimes I want to be anything else." 

"I think you put too much pressure on yourself," you said softly.

"It's not just me pressuring me," Gerard shook his head. "It's the label, it's Craig, Howard, Brian, even the guys sometimes! You know how Ray is, he'll have us rehearse the same song fifty times until he's sure we can play it to his standards." 

"I'm sure if you talked to Ray, he'd chill a little during rehearsal," you suggested.

"No, his perfectionism, my obsessiveness - these are the things that made our music sound as good as it does," Gerard had to admit. "But, at the same time, it makes being in My Chemical Romance exhausting. It's not fun anymore. It's work." 

"So, you're just going to quit?" you asked uncertainly. 

"I don't know," Gerard mumbled. "I....I don't know what I'm saying right now. Blame it on the sake I was drinking before you walked in."

"You've been drinking?!" you gasped. 

Gerard did not drink. If the band was at some kind of party, and everybody else was drinking, Gerard would have a diet soda. MCR was not a band that went out and got wasted for fun. They couldn't, because Gerard was an alcoholic. He'd quit drinking (and abusing drugs) in 2004, when addiction had made him depressed and suicidal. 

"I'm not drunk or nothing," Gerard argued. "I just had one or two glasses."

"But, you haven't touched one glass in six years, Gee!" you gaped. "When you're an addict, you can't risk having 'just one', because you never know when it could spiral into more than that. You're.....you're relapsing." 

"I am," Gerard admitted. "What do you want from me, Y/N? I can't do this shit sober anymore! I can't keep going out there and smiling for the cameras like I'm okay when I'm not! I can't keep skipping lunch because I want to look like the perfect rock star they all expect me to be!" 

"You've been skipping meals?" you asked, surprised. 

"Yeah," Gerard confided. "The fans, they need to be perfect. They call me their hero, their inspiration to live. I have to live up to that. I have to be who they need me to be." 

"Just be yourself," you disagreed. "I know the real you, and I love you, Gee."

"Maybe you only love me because I hide things from you," Gerard said bitterly. "You didn't know about the sake, or the starving myself." 

"Well, now I know," you said, pulling him tighter. "And I'm sad, and I'm worried about you, but I still love you, dammnit. Even if you're not perfect." 

"Are you always going to love me?" Gerard asked. "Will you still love me, even if I break up this band?"

"I don't think you should break up," you advised, stroking his red hair. "At least not yet." 

"Ok," Gerard nodded hesitantly. "I'll keep going. For now. I'll go out there, and I'll do this show, the best I can."

"And you'll do great," you assured him. 

"If you say so," Gerard said, trying to smile. "Just know that I'm doing this for you, love."

[memberofthejazzclub]

on a personal note

I’ve had some CD’s sitting in my Amazon cart for a while now that are for my mom. Today I added a couple more and sent them to her.  Two are by Connie Francis and Caterina Valente whom I remember her playing when I was little. The other two are by the Afro Peruvian singer Susan Baca whom I only discovered a year ago. Her lovely, elegant, poetic music reminds me of my mom so much and I thought she would like it.  I’ve had it on for a while now as I was working and I started missing my mom so much -- she lives in southern Cal, I’m up north. I don’t see her very much, partly the distance, partly the timing, she works a lot, and although we are very close, we don’t speak very often. My mom’s not really a phone person and she’s very independent but she is growing older now and I can’t help but worry.  I would like her to stop working and come live with me but she always declines my offer -- she says thank you but not yet. She has a pretty good social life, I think, and she lives close to my sister and my nieces so that’s nice too. But our family is so fragmented and I worry that my brothers don’t check in on her, take her out for brunch or something nice - they’re just not the type - and my sister kinda takes advantage of her for babysitting and driving duties.  My mom had to give up her house a couple of years ago because it became too much for her so she lived with my sister for a while but her lousy husband didn’t like it and she felt so unwelcome that she moved out as soon as she was on her feet again. She lives alone now in a cute studio apartment which I think she enjoys but it strikes me as not right that my sister should have this huge house with an extra room and bath and my mom has to pay rent somewhere else. I know she values her independence but I feel like my family takes her for granted. I want to help her, I want to take care of her, but I don’t exactly know how. I don’t want her to feel like she’s a burden but she refuses even the most minimal of gestures from me -- she says she’ll get her own plane ticket to visit, she never takes my offer to go shopping, won’t let me add her to my phone plan, always says her finances are good but she is a real estate agent, her clients are not wealthy, and I know the business is so up and down. I honestly don’t know if she has savings in social security, if she has plans for retiring. My parents always worked so hard (my father passed away when I started grad school) but they were never really stable enough to plan for those things. I am a first generation daughter of immigrants with a strong as fuck work ethic but the American dream is a called dream for a reason.  

I don’t think my mother has many regrets, leaving my father was hard on her but utterly necessarily for her soul to live.  My brothers don’t understand that and resent her somehow.  She forgives them and they don’t even know it.  She is incredibly wise, strong, kind, beautiful, super stylish, fearless, and talented in so many ways -- she sings, acts (theater and indie films!), cooks, sews, and has insights about people and life and what’s true and worthwhile that are so deep it leaves me in awe.  She is artistic and creative, spiritual but not religious, truly her own full person and if I am anything in this world it’s because of my mother’s gift of unconditional love.  Maybe I need her more than she needs me and that’s why I’m feeling melancholy tonight. I’m so busy busy busy that when I get a little quiet time like now all these things float up and I feel so disoriented and helpless.

 This morning I had a dream of my grandma and grandpa. A funny one, my grandpa was so young like in his 20s and my grandma was old. I dream of them a lot, sometimes separate, sometimes together, but never have they been different ages. I always call my mom when I dream them but today I didn’t. I’ve been super sick, still not 100% but I’ve been cooped up in the house all week and I guess I’ve had some time to think and feel and remember... I should have called my mom, shared the funny dream of my abuelitos, asked her about her day, listened to her sweet comforting voice, and invited her to come visit, pick a date, I’m buying your ticket, no arguments. It’s 3 a.m. so I’ll do that tomorrow at a more decent hour. Only I am riddled with worry that tomorrow is too far away, too late. I just miss my mom so much. Mixed with the beauty of this music took me over the edge I think. My bae is asleep but I didn’t want to tell her this cause I didn’t want to cry.  Here I am writing it all down with my heart full and tears thankfully at bay.  I don’t know what’s happening. It feels important to figure out.  It’s the first day of fall and everything is changing.        

[epicurioustraveler]

March 6th – I sit now beneath the balcony where my Yuneec Breeze lies after an unfortunate crash that most likely ended it’s all too brief life. Roughly 48 hours ago I planned one last flying mission for my drone here in Sevilla before departing to Cordoba, where I wanted to capture some great aerial shots of the famous Mezquita and Cathedral there. The missions we accomplished the night before the crash of the Catedral de Sevilla (uploaded later that night at the hostel) and earlier on Saturday were fantastic. From my viewing screen I had captured excellent footage of Plaza de Espana as the clouds had just broken and the sun was shining brightly onto its impressive tiles and towers. Our second mission of the day, well, it did not go, at all, as planned.

Here is how it unfolded. Upon take off, as the pilot, I had no control. Luckily, the Breeze did rise to its liftoff height of roughly 7′ and that is when all went to hell. The Breeze banked to the right for a split second and then immediately banked to the left at what seemed like Mach 1 (my preset speed was no more than 12 feet per second). It did a semi-circle and approximately 50 meters later it met its demise, slamming into an apartment building wall. Ridding itself of one of its folding legs, it’s undercarriage and the GPS protective cover, it fell violently to a canopy protecting patrons sipping their lattes and eating pastries. As for what remains on the balcony, I wait for the landlord to arrive so I may pick up its remains and properly grant it a worthy burial (in the trivial sense.

My Breeze treated me well, mostly. Only crashing in Ireland (but that may have had more to do with the pints I consumed leading up to that accident) before the horrible mishap on Saturday that in all likelihood has led to its demise.

Update: 

March 29th – My Drone is now en route to Atlanta where it will find its final resting place when I return to the states in the coming months.

Purposefully, I never completed and posted my March 6th post (above) for I needed time to properly communicate this story of both a material and human life, as well as human death. So now back to the day the drone would once again be in my possession.

As I sat outside the cafe on March 6th and a mere twenty feet beneath the resting place of my drone, the lady who owned the apartment showed up with her daughter (the one I began having most communications with as she spoke much better English) to let me in. Her daughter was in her early 30’s I imagine and the mother in her late 60’s perhaps. They were quick to apologize to me for their lack of responsiveness and for any inconvenience to me for my having to come back to Seville from Cordoba. I immediately stopped her and said, “Please. You shouldn’t apologize. I was the one that flew my drone into your building and crashed it onto your apartment balcony. Trust me, I am extremely appreciative you are able to come by and help me. Muchas gracias!”

The mother, who I had originally communicated with, offered me an empty smile weighed down by sadness in her eyes. I could read in her body language that she was going through something hard at the moment but obviously unsure of what it was that was depressing her. Quickly discussing something in Spanish, the daughter mentioned that they were in a hurry, as was I. My bus to Malaga was departing at 15:00 (and it was now 14:20) and I still had to make a 20 minute walk AND purchase my ticket. Looking up at the balcony, they wanted to make sure it was their apartment unit where my drone had landed. There unit comprises three huge balcony doors and my drone was on the far left (far right facing the exterior) balcony. As we proceeded to the front door of the building I did not expect to hear the news that was about to be revealed to me. She began telling me that the reason they had been unresponsive was due to the fact that her father (Reyes’ husband) had passed away 10 days ago. Making our way up the stairs to the unit she also disclosed that neither her nor her mother had visited the apartment since his passing. I was so shaken by this sad news that any frustration I had felt, from having to return to Sevilla or to their unresponsiveness to my texts and calls, melted away at that very moment inside the stairway corridor. For these two sweet women to even correspond with me during such a difficult time was extremely gracious of them.

Adding a bit of humor to the otherwise melancholy situation, the daughter asked with a smile, “I hope you are not afraid of animals.” My initial thought was, “Please don’t tell me that her father had a dog, cat or some other pet inside that hadn’t been attended to in 10+ days.” I began thinking, “Should I hold my nose and pull an Elaine Benes (‘the fleas/fumigation Seinfeld episode – “The Doodle”) and have to run in, open the balcony door, gather my drone along with any broken pieces and exit before being hit with the stench of a dead animal?” But, my response to her was, “no, not at all.” Her beautiful smile gave way to her saying, “Good, because my father was an avid hunter and there are trophy animals all over the apartment.” That was an understatement. She wasn’t teasing. Good Lord! It was an impressive collection. For all the animal activists that might read this I will not offer insight into what animals there were that adorned the interior walls, but there were some I don’t think I had seen on anyone’s walls previously. With this information now hanging out there, she told me that the apartment wasn’t lived in but rather it was her father’s office. This was one incredibly nice apartment. To also serve as her father’s office overlooking the beautiful Metropol Parasol, had to make for a pleasurable working day.

As the balcony door opened, I felt a kind, gentle and loving spirit ride the waves of sunlight that beamed into the apartment for the first time over those 10 days that it sat undisturbed. In my opinion, the unit was wanting to relieve itself of the stale energy of the past that rested inside and needed to find its way to the heavens. These loving rays kissing her face, let her know that everything was as it should be in the spirit world with her father. I think it was good for her to enter the apartment that day and be the first one her father’s spirit met.

“Take your time,” she said. I responded, “I have burdened you enough so I will be quick.” I gathered the mostly still intact body, placed it into its carry case and thanked her for allowing me inside to retrieve it. We exited the apartment and out to the plaza where her mom was waiting for us. I thanked them in both English and Spanish. Thankful that even through the troubles of the world and the sadness in each of our lives that occurs, there are still amazingly great people who display a warm and gracious heart, willing to help others.

Now, what I haven’t yet told you is the good, no, best news of this entire story. There is a happy ending which its genesis lies in a new beginning for her family to share joy in together. Upon initially arriving to meet me, she was pushing a stroller and told me that the reason they had not called or texted me earlier in the day was because they had been at the hospital for her newborn baby daughter’s check up. As fate would have it, just days prior to her father’s passing away from cancer (of which she told me he met the illness bravely & courageously), he was granted a final gift. To witness his granddaughter enter the world in the same hospital where he happened to be spending his last days on earth. As her family was about to lose a life so valuable and precious to them, the circle of life would also grant them the greatest gift it provides. Life!

Her daughter, his granddaughter, was a beautiful little girl. Smiling at me as I peered at her resting softly in her stroller, I said to the new mother and to the widow who just lost her husband, “As sad and difficult as it must be to lose a father and a husband, as one life ends another beautiful life is born and it is embodied in your precious new daughter and lives on with your family!” They each smiled, which I know was very hard for them both, especially the widow.  “Very true. Thank you so much. I hope you can retrieve the pictures from your drone and let me know if you are able to” she said with a smile. The widow simply smiled at me, her eyes filled with understood sadness.

We said goodbye and I hurried to the bus station. But I had forgotten something! I had to memorialize this moment. So I ran about 100 meters to catch them and I asked, “I forgot to get a selfie with you. Do you mind?” They had no problem posing for a picture.

Below is the correspondence that occurred over the next couple of days between us. As you can see, she thanks me for being considerate. But it is I, who am extremely grateful to her and her mother for their consideration to extend help to me. The world is still full of love and this is just one simple demonstration of that.

(March 8, 2017) Me: Hola! Muchas gracias for meeting me on Monday to get my drone. I’m so sorry for your loss but very happy for the beautiful baby girl you welcomed into the world.

I was able to salvage the video and pics from the drone! Thank God! I now am going to try to get it fixed in order to fly again. Again thank you so much! You were very gracious and considerate! God bless you!

(March 11, 2017) Reply to me: Hola! Thank you so so much for texting and being that considerate! It’s amazing (and weird these days) to find people such grateful. It’s a relief to hear that you got the videos and pics from the drone! Thank you for letting us know because we are very glad about that!!Again, we are sorry for not having made it easier to contact us and get your drone back sooner! My dad loss has been the worst experience in my life, but there is room in this world for beautiful things like saving the drone of somebody you don’t know and receiving a blessing back from his polite owner! So thank you for that and God bless you too!

(March 12, 2017) Me: De nada! Thank you for your kind words. You and your mom were the blessing for sure. I’m sorry you are grieving, I can only imagine how hard it must be to lose your father. Mine had a heart transplant 12 years ago and God afforded my family a new lease on his life. I’m eternally grateful for that blessing. We never know what each day holds so i cherish every moment that he is here.

Have a great Sunday and again Muchas gracias por ser tan amable y generoso! Dios te bendiga!

#gallery-0-9 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-9 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-9 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-9 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

 The Sevilla drone pictures salvaged from the wreckage, thankfully.  #gallery-0-10 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-10 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-10 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-10 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Catedral de Sevilla

Catedral from Alcazar

Puente de Isabel

Plaza de Espana – aerial of me at fountain

Plaza de Espana – close up aerial of me @ fountain

DCIM100MEDIABreeze_17

My Drone, A Story of Life and Death March 6th - I sit now beneath the balcony where my Yuneec Breeze lies after an unfortunate crash that most likely ended it's all too brief life.

[the--highlanders]

Reconnection

Two years after leaving the Doctor, Victoria finds herself struggling to fit into her new world.

on ao3.

The ocean pitched and rolled outside, throwing itself onto the rocky shoreline with restless abandon. Victoria leant in closer to the window until her breath turned the dusty glass opaque, watching a long strand of seaweed tumble through the water. It seemed as restless as she was herself, twisting amongst the swell just as she tossed and turned beneath the grey blankets of her bed. The sight of it stirred up memories she did not often allow herself to dwell on – of standing on the same beach, two years before, and playing in the sea-foam with her two dearest friends, with no idea of what was to come.

Her fingers itched to reach under her pillow and pull out the sampler she kept there, as they always did when she thought of the Doctor and Jamie. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself, curling her hands into fists at her side. The scrap of fabric she had embroidered with their names was only to be looked at once a year, she reminded herself sternly. Only after the Harrises had finished celebrating her arrival into their household, when she retreated to her room and let herself cry. The Doctor had taught her how to let people sleep in her mind, and she had succeeded with her father. Now it was his turn to sleep, and Jamie’s too.

She rose from the bed, crossing the room to fumble for her hairbrush on the dressing table. Many months ago, in a fit of homesickness, she had found that if she arranged the table just so, and closed her eyes a little as she worked, she could pretend that she was in her own time, preparing for a trip into town with her father. It was a far cry from her own room on the TARDIS, a recreation of her old bedroom that was perfect in every detail, but it was a small thread of connection nonetheless.

Sitting down heavily in the chair, she propped her head up against her hand, watching her tangled hair fall across her cheek. She was being rather unfair, she told herself. The Harrises had opened up a new world to her, and she ought to be enjoying it, not moping away in her room, longing for the shadows of people she had left behind. At last she had everything she had wanted, before the Daleks had stolen her away – two loving parents, friends amongst the girls at her school, and a comfortable life, even if it was a little remote. But the girl who had been locked away was not the girl who had left the TARDIS for the last time, and she found herself walking through her new world like a ghost, invisible to passers-by.

Her melancholy was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Victoria? A letter arrived for you this morning.”

Victoria almost shoved the chair over in her rush to stand up, her heart pounding. She threw the door open and was met with the sight of Maggie Harris, still in her dressing gown and wearing a tired expression that pulled a twinge of regret from Victoria’s stomach. She knew it was the same every time a letter arrived for her – endless hoping and wishing that this time it would be from him, and then endless disappointment. But she could not abandon the idea that someday, somehow she would hear from the Doctor again. “Who’s it from?” she asked.

Maggie’s sympathetic look crumpled her heart before she had even opened her mouth. “It’s not from him, dear,” she said, patting Victoria’s shoulder comfortingly. “Funny sort of name, though. You’re not in any trouble at school, are you?”

Shaking her head wordlessly, Victoria took the letter from Maggie. When she turned it over, she frowned, silently mouthing to herself the name written there. Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. There was only one person she knew by that name – but why would the Colonel be writing to her?

A faint thought glimmered in her mind, that perhaps he had sent it on behalf of the Doctor, that he was in some sort of trouble and needed her again, and she ripped the letter open.

“Dear Miss Waterfield.” Her frown deepened as she read. “I am writing to you on behalf of one of our contacts, who identified your place of residence after leaving the Doctor -” She leant against the wall, feeling a little unsteady. Maggie watched her with concern, but kept silent. We have arranged a meeting that we feel would be helpful for you. I have enclosed a train ticket to London, to be used on the 12th November…

“The twelfth of November,” she murmured. “It’s today.”

“What does it say?” Maggie asked anxiously.

Victoria thought it over for a long moment. She trusted the Colonel – but for all that she missed the Doctor, she had no desire to be drawn back into the dangers of his world, and the business about a contact tracking her down filled her with unease. Was it right for her to risk casting away her new life so readily? But a part of her ached to take up the offer, to speak with someone, anyone, who knew the Doctor – to speak the truth of who she was. The Brigadier might not be the Doctor and Jamie themselves, but at least she would not have to lie to him and pretend she was just like any other girl.

Turning back to Maggie, she drew in a deep breath. “I’m going to London.”

* * *

Twirling her spoon around her glass, Victoria glanced up at the door for what must have been the thousandth time. She had checked the address on the letter over and over, but she had not seen anyone who had walked into the cafe give her a second glance, let alone recognised them.

What if it’s someone’s idea of a practical joke?

she wondered. A quieter voice, a remnant of her travels and her time with the Daleks, whispered a smaller, darker thought.

What if it’s a trap?

The waitress cast her yet another sympathetic look, and Victoria sighed, burying her head in her hands. The staff seemed to have decided that she had been stood up by a date, and the frivolity of it filled her with frustration. She had shown up for the meeting in the desperate hope of feeling less isolated even for a few moments, but now, more than ever, she felt entirely alien, universes away from the people around her. She had been born decades before anyone else in the room, had travelled from one side of the universe to the other, seen the most beautiful things the world had to offer and the most terrible things too. And yet here she was, sitting in a perfectly ordinary cafe, pretending that she had not spent the last few nights crying and screaming until her throat was raw with the pain of losing family after family, and people thought her eyes were red-rimmed over some boy.

The bell above the door rang again, and she forced herself not to react, instead wrapping her hands more rightly around her mug. Only when she caught a glimpse of someone approaching her table did she look up.

“Victoria Waterfield?”

There were two of them, she realised with surprise, both strangers – a man and a woman, perhaps ten years older than her, wearing equally nervous expressions that she was sure matched her own. She craned her neck, trying to see whether the Colonel had accompanied them, but saw only a dark-haired girl standing behind them. She looked as if she was Victoria’s own age, but her eyes seemed old, more tired than those of any regular teenager. Appearances were not everything, Victoria reminded herself. She had seen the same heaviness in her own eyes, when the weight of pretending to be someone she was not threatened to crush her.

Realising she was staring, she hurried to stand up. “Yes, I – I’m Victoria.”

“A friend of yours told us we should meet you.” The woman held out her hand, smiling warmly. “I’m Polly Wright, and this is Ben Jackson. We were told you knew our Doctor.”