#i think Margaret is different from her coworkers in that she was never the one kidnapped or imprisoned - she's traumatized differently

[caracalliope]

REALLY GOOD THOUGHTS, apologies in advance for how rambling this is going to get.

Gabi and Sir are both convinced that he is necessary to her solving cases, and I joke that she can replace him with a magic 8-ball or daily horoscope or something, because he just gives her a general insight into humanity, and then she solves the case. He barely offers a nudge.

It's possible this is just because TV writing requires compromises, and it's more dynamic this way than if Sir delivered the solution Poirot-style. BUT what is fandom if not an excuse for overthinking? So what I read into it is that Gabi needs him to think her darker thoughts for her. His insights are often cynical, they are about humanity's selfishness, even if it's just as basic as "older siblings get jealous and destructive sometimes". It's not like Gabi is naive, but maybe she is more efficient when she can outsource those thoughts. Plus, the cases often reflect something she's going through emotionally, and Sir tells her things she knows but doesn't want to admit about herself.

But! I love that her shadow self cares about her and protects her too. Like, sometimes in a terrible and dangerous and jealous way, but he is still on Gabi's side.

One thing that stood out to me in S1 is that Gabi doesn't - didn't - have a private life at all. S1 Gabi is always On, always working toward her goal of protecting the whole world from suffering like she suffered. All her friends are her coworkers, and she talks to them in the same measured, passionate way she talks to the cameras [well, except that time she was avoiding Lacey, but that was deeply uncharacteristic]. She has feelings for Trent on some level, kind of, but she's also happy to use him to further her goals -- and to keep him at a distance outside of that, always aware of how easily he could turn against her. And it also works in the other direction: she doesn't have the luxury of keeping her personal history personal, when she's such a well-known kidnapping survivor, so she is ruthless about turning that personal narrative into something she can use to help people. She also can't stop being a famous Black woman specifically, and she uses that too when she can, if it can help her get people home. There is never any respite for her.

But in the basement, it was different. She could be FURIOUS in a non-useful way, she could be horny, she could be unfair and cruel. She could put aside all the very correct things she knows about self-acceptance and recovery, and she could be chaotic and vulnerable instead. And this gnawed at her constantly, a source of guilt, a thing she tried to deny but kept coming back to.

And Sir never judged that part; he never even left the basement of his own volition. It was only when she decided to end things, and to sacrifice herself, that he started tormenting her this way. So, if he's her shadow self, then getting rid of him and making herself a martyr in the process: definitely not the way to go.

I've never seen Star Trek, but I love the example you described about Kirk! I genuinely have no clue whatsoever what Gabi is eventually going to do with Sir. Kill him? Put a ring on him? Put him back into the basement? Watch him die to save her? Will it remain ambiguous? Whatever happens to him personally, I think Gabi will be Changed, and her soul will become less fractured in some way. And darker in a healing way, perhaps.

[as an aside, I think that ambiguity over Is It Ever Going to Be Canon and What Would That Even Look Like makes it Hannibalesque in a way I find pleasing. Like! It's not a Sleepy Hollow situation, I trust Nkechi Okoro Carroll to always keep prioritizing Gabi, and if a love story is the best way to do that, then that's what will happen. But the genre and tone of the show is all fascinatingly chaste, and Sir wants Gabi primarily to be his family instead of his lover, and it lands in that pleasing grey zone of mounting Tension and Desire that's also mired in metaphor and intense rituals (the shaving). It's rare for a het ship! It's irresistible to me!]

It's tempting to get completely absorbed in the unhinged premise of Found, or to get caught-up in the chemistry and tension between leads Shanola Hampton and Mark Paul Gosseler. Many fans are intrigued by the potential of a dark romance between their characters, but if you don't take a moment to analyze it a little further you'll miss that something rare and unusual is happening on the show.

And that's a female character exploring her relationship with darkness in a way that's often reserved for male characters in shows like Hannibal, Interview With The Vampire or You.

As someone who has watched all four shows I often found myself wondering why don't we rarely see dynamics like this with women --I couldn't get into killing Eve-- and what I landed on was that well no one wants to see a woman in that kind of toxic dynamic with a man because of how frequently that happens IRL and the terrible consequences.

But Found manages to create this toxic dynamic by starting the story with its female lead in the position of power. She has Sir her former tormenter locked and chained in her basement. She controls his food, his entertainment, and his life. She has the power whether she feels it fully or not.

Starting the story this point levels what would otherwise be a very unlevel playing field and allows the story to linger in the tension and uncertainty of who Gabrielle Mosely is as a person. Whether or not she can heal from the trauma she suffered as teenager and integrate her dark and light sides or if she will be forever tormented and controlled by this aspect of herself.

I want to write a longer meta about this comparing these stories and the relationships between these characters and how fascinating it is to have a female character exploring her dark side on screen in this way. I have to watch the latest episode of Found first though along with at least reviewing some of the plot points of the shows I mentioned.

But Found, Gabrielle Mosely and this idea of Sir as her shadow-self is sort of living rent free in my head right now and something has to get out on paper.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Steve Rogers

Summary: It's only your first day on the job. That's way too soon to have an office crush. Right?

Warnings: Workplace stress and bullying. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Part 1

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Bucky sits across from Steve, a cocky smile on his face. Steve raises an eyebrow and Bucky says, "I gave her my number." Steve doesn't know that it wasn't about a date, but he doesn't have to know.

"You didn't."

"I did," Bucky smirks. "Which means, it's your turn."

"It's...it's not the same," Steve tries to argue. "You've known your Sweetie for months now, right? This girl is still a newbie. She's barely been here a month!"

"Deal's a deal, Punk," Bucky shakes his head. "One of us gives our number, the other one has to as well."

Steve's cheeks are incredibly pink from embarrassment. He's never been good at flirting, always stumbling over his words. Sure, his body attracts attention, but inside he's still the scrawny kid who always got laughed at when he tried to talk to a girl. Especially a girl as sweet and pretty as you.

The two of you had run into each other in one of the break rooms a few times. Every time Steve talked with you, he found himself getting lost in your eyes, but that led to him not knowing what you were saying. His face would turn red and he'd quickly run out of the room. Another time you'd complimented his art and he got scared you'd see one of the drawings he did of you so he quickly closed his book and you felt bad, like you had overstepped.

And now, thanks to Bucky, Steve needs to admit he'd like to spend more time with you. Admit that he thinks about you every day. Admit that he likes you. He can do this, right?

You were crying in the ladies room for the third time since you were hired. There was so much, so fast and your coworkers were already blaming you for things. Especially things you didn't even know were your responsibility. No one had told you or shown you how to do them but they still blamed you! It's not like you were entirely new to this kind of work, but the systems were very different and, most importantly, you didn't know what was and wasn't part of your job because they hadn't told you! When you finally calm down, you head to the sinks and wash your face, trying to hide the tears.

As you tiptoe back to your cubicle, trying not to draw attention to yourself, you end up literally running into Steve, the dreamy guy from the IT Department. He manages to catch you before you fall, bringing you in for an accidental hug. You find yourself instinctively hugging him back, squeezing him tight.

"Are...are you okay?" Steve isn't going to complain about being hugged by you, but he's worried you're not in your right mind.

"Oh, sh-shoot," you break the hug and jump away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...I'm just..." you fight a resurgence of tears and run to your cubicle. When you get there, Maggie, your least favorite new coworker, is glaring at you, arms crossed.

"Really, Newbie," she admonishes, "you've been here a month and you still don't know how to update the most basic fields in the database?"

"I...every person does it diff--"

"Enough!" she cuts you off. "Really, you should be able to do this. You're killing our metrics!"

"I'm...I'm sorry," you hang your head, trying to not cry again. "I keep getting told different things about how to do the updates."

"Empty apologies and excuses!" Maggie retorts. "I don't know why you got hired. You're bringing us---"

"Margaret," Steve interrupts her. You jump, not realizing he had followed you. "Tell me, Margaret, how do you think your boss would react if he knew you'd been spending half your day on Facebook?"

She fumes at both of you for a minute before going back to her own cubicle.

"I really wish you hadn't done that, Steve," you whisper. "I'm already on their sh-crap list. This is only going to make it worse."

Steve takes a breath, "you're right, I'm sorry. I just really hate bullies."

"Me too," you nod. "But right now I've gotta make these bullies happy, okay?"

"It's not okay," Steve shakes his head. "But I promise I'll be more careful."

"Thank you."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen;

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly

[majorbaby]

Isn't Trapper's nickname a euphemism for rape. I think that could have been explored more in depth in the show. And Hawkeye's hookups aren't always the paragon of enthusiastic consent either.

CW for rape mention and sexual harassment

I haven't read the MASH book and I'm not sure how it is represented there but in the movie:

John McIntyre, Trapper John. Only man to find fulfillment in a Boston Maine Railway, in the- in the ladies can! Conductor opened the door, the girl looked out and yelled "Oh, he trapped me! Omigod, he trapped me!"

Unless I'm missing some historical context for the term that's used, "trapped" I don't know that this is rape. With that said, Trapper (and Hawkeye) in the film sexually harass Margaret, no two ways about it, so I can't say it would be OOC for movie Trapper. I'm not sure where the word "rape" came from in this instance but in my opinion, it's ambiguous. I'm totally open to being wrong if there is concrete evidence.

The incident is retconned out of the show, along with much of the cruelty they subject Margaret to - the primary target of public humiliation and shaming in the show Frank Burns (who in the movie is Margaret's only ally and exits the movie halfway through) and with how much character development Margaret gets, to me it seems a deliberate choice to reduce the volume and severity of abuse her movie counterpart endures. You would never catch movie HawkTrap helping Margaret sober up (Hot Lips and Empty Arms) or hide a body (Iron Guts Kelly). In Bombshells Trapper pointedly respects Margaret's "no", that's the crux of the whole episode. He also doesn't seem to enjoy or return her advances when she's blackout drunk in Hot Lips and Empty Arms.

Personally I don't see the value in this stuff being explored in the show. It's sort of addressed in Hepatitis when Margaret asks for "respect" and Hawkeye folds.

I'd actually argue there's more canonical proof from the show of Hawkeye not respecting consent than Trapper. They both kiss Margaret without her consent, Trapper in Rainbow Bridge and For the Good of the Outfit, Hawkeye in Dear Dad and There's Nothing Like a Nurse. I can't think of any more wrt to Trapper but Hawkeye kisses Frank once on the lips without his consent (twice if he caught him in For the Good of the Outfit - it's still sexual harassment even if he didn't), in Ceasefire Hawkeye seems to have promised himself romantically to multiple women, deceiving them so they'll sleep with him.

(I just wanna note that the Ceasefire example seems like a misstep - he's never actually shown misrepresenting himself that way, he's normally pretty up front with his casual hookups, and it never happens again. Seems like a bad subplot rather than something I'd call a recurring flaw)

I know we all love the 'pegging scene' in Carry on Hawkeye but making a big show of dropping your pants so your female coworker can give you a shot is harassment, he does it because he knows it'll make Margaret uncomfortable and he does the same thing again in Hepatitis when she calls him out.

But honestly I can't think of a single example other than Ceasefire where his hookups aren't enthusiastic on both sides. Like part of my problem with the Ceasefire example is that Margie Cutler is one of the women who thinks she'll be marrying Hawkeye after the war she flirts with both Trapper and Hawkeye in Requiem for a Lightweight, pimps out Hawkeye to her friend in Edwina like... girl you knew what this was??? So prior to that episode, she seemed to be pretty enthusiastic.

And honestly I push back pretty hard against the hookups being seen as unenthusiastic. There's plenty of nurses who happily make out with Trapper and I don't believe they're all unaware that he's married, he talks about it openly in OR - yeah that's infidelity and it's morally wrong but it doesn't mean there aren't two consenting adults.

Similarly I have a hard time believing that the nurses don't see Hawkeye with a different girl on his arm every week, they know what they're getting. One of the things I like a lot about early MASH is the sex is enjoyed by all - I value positive portrayals of female sexual pleasure in the 70s over fidelity to offscreen wives because of the historical context. Hollywood is still terrified of portraying cunnilingus and Hawkeye is constantly shaving for his dates. Could it be because he's very enthusiastically kissing women? I suppose. But knowing this show and Alan Alda in general, I dunno.

MASH did try to explore misogyny, it responded to early criticism and dropped some of flourishes it relied upon. That's good and bad imo. It's nice to not hear so many 'honeys' and 'sweethearts' in the OR, but I miss the casual fucking and sucking when it goes away.

We have Inga which gives us a very OOC Hawkeye imo being put in his place. Hepatitis which muddies about with some comparison of Hawkeye to Margaret's in-laws but is ultimately a sweet moment for Hawk-Margaret (really he comes to respect her over a longer period of time but I'll take it). Who Knew where Hawkeye whines about sleeping with Millie in lieu of acknowledging her interiority as though these are two entirely mutually exclusive things - a swing and miss imo. But then you have season 10's Cementing Relationships where Margaret spends the whole episode being sexually harassed and it's played completely for laughs - just because it isn't Hawkeye doing it anymore doesn't mean it's not wrong.

I do appreciate the attempts at addressing misogyny, even though I think it led to some big missteps, but I don't personally feel I missed out on anything by there not being an in-depth exploration of sex and consent. Sex and romance aren't really given much focus in general, so I don't think it would make sense to explore it very deeply.

[thebreakfastgenie]

📕📗📘📙

okay so when people send me multiple emojis I try to do one fic idea for each book so uh. this may get long.

📕

I have this fic idea I'm in love with but haven't been able to take the time to sit down and write because it requires some kind of careful writing to make it work.

After he got home from Korea, Trapper started working as a general surgeon at Boston Mercy. Once he get settled, he wrote a letter to Hawkeye, but it came back marked "recipient deceased." I don't usually use the "Trapper thought Hawkeye was dead because of The Late Captain Pierce" trope but I did this time. So Trapper thinks Hawkeye is dead, mourns, and doesn't talk about him much. A year and a half or so later, the Korean War ends, and Boston Mercy gets a new chief of thoracic surgery. Trapper has to go to this hoity toity reception for him and he's miserable and he's gossiping and one of his coworkers tells him Winchester only got the job because a nurse named Houlihan pulled some strings with Harwell. Trapper says "Hot Lips Houlihan??" and then Charles, who's standing right behind them, says "well, when I knew her, she went by Margaret."

So Trapper and Charles figure out they were both at the 4077th and start talking about it, but Trapper just assumes Charles was Hawkeye's replacement (they have the same specialty after all) and when Charles talks about his annoying roommates he thinks one of them is Frank. This goes on for a while where they're having two completely different conversations (which is why it's so damn hard to write!) until finally Charles mentions Pierce by name and Trapper practically shouts "Benjamin Franklin Pierce???" and Charles says "his friends called him Hawkeye. I did not." And Trapper finds out he's alive and in Crabapple Cove and he's like I have to go to Maine right now immediately.

It will probably end when Trapper shows up at Hawkeye's door.

📗

I want to write about Hawkeye getting Sometimes You Hear the Bullet published. He gets home and mostly he wants to be left alone, he's not ready for all the small town socializing yet, but he goes to see the Gillises. He sits with them and Mrs. Gillis serves him bad coffee and when she leaves the room Mr. Gillis gives him liquor to put in it and tells him it's the only way it's drinkable and he's never done this, not even when Hawkeye visited as an adult, and he realizes Mr. Gillis sees him as a man now in a way he didn't before because he's been to war. Mrs. Gillis comes back with Tommy's manuscript of You Never Hear the Bullet, which was sent back to them along with the rest of his personal effects. She tells him they don't know what to do with it, and they were hoping he could do something. So he takes it home and he tries to finish the book but he can't. So finally he just writes an afterword, explaining who Tommy was and what happened to him and why the book was called You Never Hear the Bullet and isn't anymore. Amy Clark (the teacher friend from Letters) drops by to see Hawkeye and he shows it to her and asks if it's any good and she says it's perfect. She asks him about visiting her class from last year, since they enjoyed the letters so much, but he's reluctant and she doesn't push. I may or may not leave this part in (it may be a separate fic instead) but Hawkeye goes to Boston to see a publisher but panics. He needs to talk to someone who understands both Korea and Tommy, even a little, so he shows up at Trapper's doorstep (they haven't spoken since Trapper left). And Trapper is home and they talk and things are okay with them. Also, Trapper asks "what happened over there after I left?" and Hawkeye says "same war as before" and Trapper says "I mean what happened to you" and Hawkeye tells him he was in the hospital but he doesn't tell him why because he sees Becky and Kathy's baby pictures in the living room and he just can't. He gets the book published as Sometimes You Hear the Bullet by Private Thomas Gillis with afterword by Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, MD and he hates that but the publisher insists on it. He doesn't tell anyone else from the 4077th about it, although he does mail Father Mulcahy a copy since he did Tommy's last rites, and everyone else finds out when they see it on the bookshelves.

📘

Changing gears to The West Wing, I always wondered about Stanley talking to the rest of the cast about Josh, but this fic isn't actually that, it's the lead up to that, where everyone kind of gets together and says yes, they're all seeing the same thing, and Leo tells them ATVA is coming. Toby sees Sam after the Oval Office meeting and asks how it went and Sam distractedly says fine and Toby asks if he's sure and Sam says yes and kind of blows him off insisting nothing happened. And then later Leo gathers them all in his office, late, after Josh has left, and asks them what they've noticed and tells them about ATVA and that the ATVA guy will be asking them too. And Toby looks directly at Sam and says "something happened" and Sam says yes and Toby asks why he didn't tell him and Sam says "because if it happened to me I wouldn't want anyone to know and neither would you."

📙

I'm trying to avoid saying too much about this one because it's next if I ever finish ghost AU, but I have a GFA time loop fic in mind, where Hawkeye relives the Fourth of July again and again trying to make it come out right. It's a time loop that resets when he dies, rather than being tied to a specific time.

[alliedbiscuit]

msr fic / s7 post-closure but pre-all things / wc: 3398

Scully takes Maggie out for a birthday dinner, and you'll never guess who they run into.

************

“So, how are feeling about dessert?” the waiter asks hopefully.

Maggie Scully scoffs. “Oh, no. I couldn’t eat another bite. Maybe just a cup of coffee? Decaf, please.”

“Mom, are you sure? You should get dessert,” Dana Scully prods, stopping herself short before she could let it slip, “It’s your birthday!” The last gift her mother would appreciate is a gaggle of underpaid waiters singing some public-domain-compliant version of a birthday song while the whole restaurant turns its attention toward her. Like mother, like daughter.

Well, the daughter made an exception and found that kind of thing charming exactly once. But at least she got a nice keychain out of it. All her mother would get was humiliation and a chocolate lava cake.

As soon as the waiter leaves to fetch their after dinner coffees, Maggie reveals her true intentions.

“I was thinking we could go to that ice cream parlor down the street. If I’m going to indulge, I think I want a hot fudge sundae. Or maybe we could split a banana split?”

“Or you could get a hot fudge sundae and I could get a banana split, and we could split both,” Scully suggests.

“See, that’s why you work for the FBI.”

“Dessert Conflict Resolution was part of my training at Quantico.”

Both Scullys giggle.

“Does Fox have the same specialty? Or is that what you bring to the team?”

“Mulder’s dessert strategy is just to eat everything and then swim a mile and run five the next day. No, he’s a Takeout Menu Marksman, though. He knows where to order from and what to order so it travels the best and doesn’t get cold and congealed by the time it arrives. Might sound like a trivial skill, but it’s a lifesaver on movie night.”

Maggie continues smiling but cocks her head slightly. Dana realizes why almost instantly.

“You have movie night?”

“It’s not a set thing or anything. We just…if we’re not busy with a case.”

“You just watch movies? As coworkers?”

“As friends.”

“Just friends?”

Dana lets out a long sigh as she stares her mother down. Her mother, maintaining that gentle yet challenging grin. Dana considers her response carefully. She could offer a simple yes because that is the fact of the matter. They are just friends. She could criticize the wording choice. “Just” friends? Why does it have to be “just” friends? As if friendship isn’t somehow enough or isn’t valuable?

She could realize it’s her mother’s birthday and she’s the only other Scully woman left to confide in about matters of the heart, and although she doesn’t want to bring up the New Year’s kiss because she still doesn’t really know what it meant, maybe they both need this little gift of honesty, filled with tempered excitement and promise.

“For now,” Dana Scully finally admits.

Maggie’s grin grows as Scully just shakes her head and manages to keep her slight eye roll from reaching embarrassed teenager level. The waiter does bail her out a bit by choosing that moment to deliver their coffees.

“How is Fox doing? After his mother…” Maggie trails off, but her daughter knows not to expect any more specifics.

“Better? I mean, as well as can be expected. The thing is, right after that, he found out some more about his sister. About what happened to her. It was just so much all at once. I was really worried…”

Maggie reaches across the table to lay a hand on hers.

“But, it was almost like he was ready for it. He finally had some answers. Like it brought him some peace.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah. He needed that.”

“We all do.”

*************

Maggie is the one to spot him first as they’re heading for the door.

“Is that- is that Fox?” she asks her daughter.

“What? No, he wouldn't…” Dana trails off as she looks straight ahead to where her mother was indicating and confirms that it is indeed Fox Mulder, standing with his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained to the floor as he appears to be waiting near the vestibule for the restrooms.

“Mulder?” Scully questions as she approaches, her voice giving away her confusion and growing concern.

His head darts up in surprise, but a beaming smile of recognition quickly overtakes his face.

“Hey, Scully! Mrs. Scully, it’s so nice to see you!”

“You too, Fox,” Maggie kindly replies, although a quick glance to her daughter confirms her suspicion that Dana is still very confused by his presence.

“Did you…did you need something?” She suddenly feels silly for presuming that he must have come there with urgent news or a case or something, but why else would Fox Mulder be at Petrino’s on a Saturday night? Did his informants trade in clandestine meetings in parking garages for family-style Italian?

“Hmm?” Mulder asks.

“You didn’t come here to find me? I told you I was bringing my mom here for her birthday, didn’t I?” He didn’t look like he had rushed to the restaurant from the office or his apartment as she had originally assumed. He had clearly shaved and combed his hair nicely. He wore an olive green sweater with dark blue jeans and a black wool pea coat rather than his leather jacket. He had definitely made an effort.

“You did, but I thought you were going out tomorrow night on her actual birthday. Happy birthday, by the way, Mrs. Scully.”

“Thank you, Fox. I’m going to have lunch with some ladies from church after mass tomorrow, so I asked Dana if we could do Saturday night instead.”

“Ah. What a weird coincidence then. I can’t believe we didn’t see you at all during dinner.”

We.

Oh God.

Mulder was on a date.

Mulder was on a date in this restaurant on the night he thought Scully wasn’t going to be there. Mulder was on a date right after Scully had confessed to her mother (and herself) that their “just friends” status was in the process of changing. Mulder was on a date right after he’d been through so much pain but seemed to come out lighter and more open and he wanted to share it with someone…who wasn’t Dana Scully.

“So, you’ve already eaten then?” Maggie asks since her daughter appears unable to form a coherent statement at the moment.

“Yeah, we just finished. I’m just waiting for her…” he seems to trail off just to motion towards the restroom rather than say anything indelicate, but then he notices Maggie’s poorly masked look of concern toward Dana, and then he notices Dana’s completely unmasked look of shock.

And then he gets it.

“Oh, no! It’s not…I want you to meet her,” Mulder insists as he grabs a hold of both of Scully’s elbows and then glances anxiously toward the restroom door.

Dana Scully looks like she might be ill.

Thankfully Mulder only stammers a moment longer until the restroom door opens and he finds reprieve when a tall, thin woman appearing to be in her mid-60s walks through the door.

“Aunt Helen,” Mulder calls.

Somehow Scully’s eyes manage to get even wider as some of the color returns to her face.

“Aunt Helen, there are a few people I’d really like you to meet. This is my partner, Dana Scully, and this is her mother, Margaret Scully.”

Aunt Helen smiles widely in recognition, first shaking Maggie’s hand and then Dana’s. “It is such a pleasure to meet you both. I’ve heard such wonderful things.”

She lingers with her hand holding Dana’s while she says this, and the younger Scully is left blushing. She hazards a look at Mulder, but he doesn’t look embarrassed by this revelation. He holds her gaze with nothing but pride.

“This is my aunt, Helen Briggs. She’s my mom’s sister. She’s visiting for the weekend from Charlotte.”

They all kind of marvel over the fact that they were in the same restaurant and what a coincidence and oh, we were seated near the back bar, that must be why we didn’t see you and Scully is just starting to feel her pulse return to normal as Aunt Helen laments not having a chance to talk with the Scullys.

“Well, Dana and I skipped dessert so we could go to The Big Dipper for some ice cream. Would you two like to join us?”

“Oh, that would be lovely. As long as we’re not intruding,” says Aunt Helen.

“Not at all,” Scully assures her. “There is one catch, though.”

“It’s not real ice cream. It’s that Tofutti nonsense, isn’t it?” Mulder groans.

“It better not be,” Maggie insists. “I don’t know how she eats that stuff.”

Scully ignores her mother and her partner’s bad mouthing of her frozen treats as she returns her attention to Aunt Helen.

“I’m afraid if you want to come along, you will have to reveal a few good Young Mulder stories. And by ‘a few,’ I mean as many as you’ve got. And by ‘good,’ I mean the more embarrassing the better.”

“I’ll start thinking now,” Aunt Helen laughs.

“I knew I should’ve picked a different restaurant,” Mulder says regretfully.

***********

They’ve just sat down to a small, round table for four with their ice cream when Mulder stands up to get them all more napkins, and Aunt Helen retrieves a small, rectangular piece of paper from her purse that she then deftly slides to Dana.

“Oh my god!” Scully exclaims with joy.

Staring back at her from the paper is a very young Fox Mulder. She guesses he must be around 8 or 9 in the school photo. His long, sandy brown hair falls just above his eyebrows. He doesn’t have his distinctive nose yet, but his bottom lip is already a little pouty. The real give away is the eyes. He’s grinning for the camera, but his eyes still have that soulfulness, that slight sadness.

She’s surprised. She knows she shouldn’t be. His eyes didn’t suddenly change when Samantha was taken. His eyes were probably always like that.

But she had always assumed that the great tragedy had flipped a switch for Young Fox Mulder. That before that single event, he had certainly been a perfectly happy child. Funny and athletic, popular for sure. But the humor developed as a defense mechanism later in life. And the sports were a great physical release as well as an excuse to be out of the house as much as possible. She didn’t actually know what he was like before, but now that she thought about it, home life was probably never all that great if it eventually led to a father sacrificing one child and leaving the other to always live with the guilt and loss.

It was very possible that Fox Mulder had always been a little boy with a lot on his mind.

In contrast, present day, adult Fox Mulder looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world as he returns with extra napkins, ready to tuck into his chocolate peanut butter ice cream in a waffle cone – that is until he realizes what his friend and partner Dana Scully is looking at.

“Oh come on. I was gone for thirty seconds, and you have the visual aids out.”

Scully continues to beam as Maggie finally gets a glimpse of the photo in her hand.

“Oh, Fox!”

“Okay,” Mulder said exasperatedly. “Does this meet your embarrassment quota?” he asks, looking pointedly at Scully.

“Not even close! This isn’t embarrassing. It’s adorable!”

Mulder rolls his eyes but can’t hide his bashful grin at her comment.

“It’s only fair, Fox. I know you’ve seen family photos of Dana at my house,” Mrs. Scully says, sounding like a mother well practiced in settling disputes between children.

“Just a couple. I do like that high school graduation picture, though. I still don’t know how you kept your cap on with all that hair.”

“That was the style back then. Everybody teased their hair and used a ton of hairspray.”

“I thought it might be a religious thing at Catholic school. The higher the hair, the closer to God,” Mulder teases.

Maggie and Aunt Helen chuckle, though the latter gives him a good-natured swat on the arm in admonishment.

“See, this is what I need, though. I need something from the teen years. That’s peak embarrassment fodder,” Scully says.

“If you ask our colleagues, I think my peak embarrassment fodder would come from about 1991 to present,” Mulder points out.

Aunt Helen just looks slightly regretful. “I’m afraid I don’t have many stories from those years, Dana.”

Mulder makes eye contact with Aunt Helen. “You didn’t miss much,” he insists. She looks like she wants to debate him, but he just places a hand on hers reassuringly, and they seem to make a silent agreement to not argue the point any further.

Mulder had never really mentioned any other family before. She knew his grandparents had all passed before she met him, but she had assumed, just like with everything else, that any other extended family connections had disappeared along with Samantha. That no one would know how to comfort and console The Mulders in a situation like that, with no explanation.

His aunts and uncles must have had questions, probably even had their own theories. Did his mother’s side suspect his father’s involvement, or did his father’s side blame his mother somehow? Did any of them blame…no, she couldn’t go down that route. Besides, did anyone ever suspect horrific things like that before the days of cable news and supermarket tabloids?

The point is, it was a tense situation, so Scully assumed they had all done what wealthy white people in places like Martha’s Vineyard and Boston and Raleigh did with any uncomfortable subject – they avoided it completely.

And that meant avoiding the little boy with a lot on his mind as he became a teenager with even more on his mind.

Scully had accompanied Mulder to a small burial service for his mother in Raleigh a few months ago. It was just the service. No gathering or dinner after, or at least not one that Mulder told her about. The attendees at the service were all pretty spread out, not much mingling. Again, it was another sudden loss shrouded in mystery. They all avoided particulars as much as they could.

Scully didn’t remember seeing Aunt Helen that day, but maybe she was there and just couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Maybe she wasn’t there because she couldn’t bring herself to go and then regretted it. Dana Scully didn’t know, and it didn’t actually matter. The point is that she’s here now. And that’s exactly what Mulder’s look of reassurance and acceptance seems to say.

It seems to help her perk up because she offers playfully, “Oh, what about that summer on Quonochontaug? I think you were 9 or so, and you were collecting leaves for one of your Indian Guide badges.”

“Oh god!”

“I’m hooked already. Not to jump ahead, but please tell me there’s poison ivy involved,” Scully says gleefully.

Aunt Helen’s bark of laughter and Mulder’s exaggerated eye roll are all the confirmation she needs.

“It was heavily involved! But that’s not the worst part. While he was working on his Leaf Collecting badge, he also earned credit towards his Wildlife badge when he came across a skunk in the woods.”

“No!” Scully shouts.

“Ivyed and skunked at the same time,” Mulder admits.

“Oh you poor thing,” Maggie adds sympathetically, but with barely contained laughter.

“He had to jump right from a tomato juice bath for the skunk smell…”

“Which didn’t work!”

“…into an oatmeal bath for the itching.”

“Which worked better, but I still smelled like a Grateful Dead concert.”

Both Scullys are full on giggling at this point.

“Do you remember what Grandpa Ralph said when he walked in and saw you and mom dunking me in a tub of oatmeal?” Mulder asks.

Aunt Helen pitches her voice deeper and amps up her Southern twang, “Why don’t cha dip him in some egg and flour next? We toss him in the frying pan, we got supper! We’re havin’ Fried Fox tonight!”

Now they’re all in hysterics. Even the man who usually hates his given name can’t help but laugh along, especially when it makes his lovely company so happy.

*****************

Scully enters the basement office Monday morning to find Mulder already there, flipping through an open drawer in the filing cabinet.

“Good morning,” she says cheerfully.

He looks up and smiles. “Good morning. Long time no see.”

“How was the rest of your weekend? Did you guys do any sightseeing or anything?”

“No, we just had a late breakfast yesterday before I took her to the airport, but it was good to catch up some more. She told me to thank you again for letting us tag along for ice cream. It was really nice.”

“It was,” Scully agrees.

Mulder appears to be considering something for a moment before he crosses over to the desk and picks up a small envelope.

“She also told me to give this to you,” he says almost bashfully, extending the envelope in Scully’s direction. “She told me I couldn’t look inside, and I didn’t. But I think I know what’s in there, and if I’m right, you don’t have to keep it. You can just leave it here on the desk.”

Well, now she’s intrigued. Scully opens the envelope to find a small handwritten note at the top.

“I thought you might like these. I have plenty more too, if you’d ever like to see them or want any more stories. Please don’t be a stranger.”

Scully lifts up the note to see the remaining contents inside and finds a small stack of photographs, a mixture of more school photos along with a few wallet-sized family portraits and a couple candids taken on the beaches of the Vineyard or Rhode Island, she can’t tell. But she sees the same set of eyes in all of them.

She looks back to read the rest of the note.

“I’m so glad I got to meet you, Dana. Take care!”

Below Aunt Helen’s elegant signature, she has also written her home address and phone number. Scully will have to call and thank her.

“She tried to give some to me,” Mulder explains, “but I didn’t really want…and like I said, you don’t have to…”

“No, I’d like to keep them,” Dana insists.

Mulder lets her statement hang in the air for a moment, but he can’t help but diffuse it.

“You just want more blackmail material.”

“Something like that,” Scully says teasingly, but there’s no bite behind it.

“I knew I should’ve picked a different restaurant.”

She chuckles lightly as she shuffles the photos into a neat stack to place back in the envelope, thinking that this is the point where they get back to work. Mulder stays standing in front of her and appears to be considering something again. Does he have another envelope that he’s afraid to give her?

“You know it was pure luck that we ended up at Petrino’s the same night as you. I actually gave Aunt Helen a few options and let her choose. I was pushing more for that Thai place in Arlington, just off Old Dominion. The one that’s been there forever,” Mulder explains.

“Oh, the one with the secret menu? I’ve still never been there. Can’t say I’m surprised that Aunt Helen wasn’t up for Thai food, though.”

“Yeah. Fair point,” Mulder nods for a moment too long before continuing. “Would you like to go there sometime? Like this Saturday? With me?”

Scully slowly looks up from the envelope to see Mulder’s face because in all matters, other than the divine, Dana Scully needs to see to believe. And the slightly nervous yet gentle grin that she finds allows her to believe it to be true – Fox Mulder has just asked her out on a real date.

“I would like that,” Scully says gently.

“Good. You wanna say 7:30? Or we can always figure out time later,” Mulder states, aiming for practicality to keep him from grinning like a complete idiot. He ends up grinning like a moderate idiot, but he’s okay with that.

“Sounds good.”

Yep, Scully will definitely have to call Aunt Helen and thank her.

[downondilaudid]

Harmless Flirting

Reader gets jealous when a coworker gets a little too touchy with Spencer. Reader takes it into her own hands to show him who he belongs to.

Requested: Yes

Prompts: None

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: Smut, and SLIGHT angst. Bear with me this is my first time writing Sub!Spencer

“You can only be jealous of someone who has something you think you ought to have yourself.”

― Margaret Atwood

The sight of Samantha hanging all over Spencer made your stomach burn with jealousy, like the shiny new wedding band on his left hand wasn't obvious enough. Usually, you wouldn’t be so bothered by another female flirting with Spencer, he was a smart boy, and would politely decline their advances. But this time was different, he allowed her advances, and subtle touches to his bicep while delivering coffee. Samantha was a newly hired intern, she wasn’t exactly fit for the job, but her father was chief of the department, and that speaks for itself. 

You would be lying if you said Samantha wasn’t pretty, in fact, she was almost gorgeous. It wasn’t her beauty that intimidated you, it was the fact that Spencer allowed her flirting, whether he didn’t notice, or was trying to be professional. It was absolutely infuriating.

Your eyes followed Samantha as she held a paper cup full of warm coffee, prancing her way into the room where the BAU had set up. You worked for the SVU, a career choice Spencer had pushed you to try. He thought your compassion and motivation to help others would be perfect for the job, and as always, he was right. You loved your job, it allowed you to make a difference in the world, even if it was one family at a time. Rarely did your job overlap with Spencer’s, but, when it did, the both you swore to keep things professional. 

Granted, it was hard to be professional watching Samantha lean over the table, practically suffocating Spencer with her breasts. You scoffed, crossing your arms and shifting your weight uncomfortably. You weren’t going to say anything, there were more important things to worry about, like the string of missing little girls, who turned up a day or so later, their bodies mangled and burned. 

Samantha set the coffee down on the table, you assumed she had gotten it for Spencer. On the bright side, he was definitely uncomfortable, he pressed his back far into the chair, putting as much space as possible between him and Samantha. Spencer continued to work, his eyes vigorously scanning a hot pink diary of one of the victims. 

Despite how visibly unavailable he was, Samantha continued to lean over the table, trying her hardest to gain Spencer’s attention. Spencer finally responded, saying something you couldn’t understand from your distance. Samantha giggled, smacking her hand against the table in a fit of laughter. Spencer yelped as the coffee Samantha had brought him tipped over into his lap. Samantha’s eyes went wide, rushing around the room to grab some tissues, then running back and very inappropriately patting his lap.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t even looking, this is totally my fault.” She said, hands still pressing against his thighs. 

Spencer attempted to stand up, only to be pushed back down by Samantha, “Y-you don’t need to do that, it’s f-fine, s-seriously.” He croaked, his hands feebly trying to push Samantha away. 

If you weren’t pissed five minutes ago, you were totally pissed now. You stomped into the room, your heels clicking against the floor. Your hand wrapped around Samantha’s arm tugging her off of Spencer, “you’ve done enough, Samantha, don’t make it worse.” You spat, releasing her arm and narrowing your eyes at her. 

Spencer stood, his hands wiping his slacks, “it’s fine, Y/N, really.” 

“No it’s not! I totally spilled hot coffee all over you like an idiot!” Samantha cried, attempting to move forward to help dry Spencer off again.

“Samantha, you’re not even supposed to be working today. What the hell are you doing?” You snapped. Usually you were never this rude to Samantha, she was a sweet girl, but right now, she was testing you. She was practically giving Spencer a handjob when he was obviously uncomfortable and married!

Her head turned to you, eyes widened like a deer in the headlights. “Um, well, I-I thought you guys could use some help.” 

You sighed, trying to hold back your obvious anger, “We’ll call you if we need you, for now just go home, okay?” You softened your voice, trying to sympathize with the embarrassed girl. 

She nodded her head, rushing out of the room to grab her things. 

“It was just coffee, Y/N, it’s not that big of a deal.” Spencer defended, taking the tissues Samantha was using and attempting to pat himself dry. 

You scoffed, an incredulous look dawning your face, “you’re fucking kidding right?”

Spencer huffed, tossing the dirty tissues onto the table, “we're on a case Y/N, be professional.”

“Professional, you’re telling me to be professional? That bitch had her hands all over your dick!” You yelled, quickly covering your mouth. He was right, this argument could wait, those little girls were depending on you. 

The case ended that night, even with your head clouded by anger, you were able to figure it out. 

You and Spencer had driven separate cars, and fortunately, you arrived home first. Immediately, you set your plan into action, stripping your clothes off and taking a quick shower. As soon as you dried off, you began blow-drying your hair. 

Spencer needed to be put in his place, he needed a reminder of who he belonged to, and you knew exactly how to do that. You searched through your bottom drawer where you kept your lingerie, yes, you had your own drawer for that. Honestly, might as well have a separate closet for it, Spencer loved it when you wore lingerie. 

This is why you stood in front of your wooden full-length mirror, glancing over your appearance, adorned in a black lace falbala. Accented by multiple golden rings on your fingers, one of which included your wedding ring. 

Right as you finished admiring yourself, the faint sound of a door closing rang through the house. A sly smile curled your lips as you exited your bedroom, quietly making your way down the hall. 

You rounded the corner, met with the sight of a pant less Spencer, his dress shirt unbuttoned. He probably shed his coffee-stained pants the minute he walked through the door since there was no time to change during the case, he was forced to wear them for the rest of the day. He hadn’t noticed you yet, busying himself by popping a k-cup into the Keurig. 

“You’re home” you commented, making your presence in the room known. 

His head snapped up, his eyes widening at your appearance, “woah, y-you look good.” 

You let out a velvety laugh, walking around the kitchen bar and to where he was standing. “You really pissed me off today.” Spencer groaned turning to you with an annoyed look, “Y/N, you’re overreacting, it was just harmless flirting.” 

Rage bubbled through your veins, that bitch was all over him. She literally patted his dick, his dick! Did he not see anything wrong with that? “It was not harmless flirting, Spencer, she was practically hopping on your dick!”

“She was not… a-actually it’s relatively impossible for a woman to be able to literally jump onto a man’s p-woah” He was cut off from his unnecessary explanation by your hand on his chest, pushing him back, pinning his body between your own and the cool granite counter. 

Warmth spread to your core as his teeth dug down into his bottom lip. “You’re very mouthy tonight, baby” you mumbled as you laid soft kisses to his neck. 

Spencer let out a slight whimper as you nipped lightly at his collarbone. Your hands ran up his chest, pushing the sleeves of his dress shirt down his arms and to the floor. You pulled away, your eyes bearing into his, lips parting with a low moan as you ran your thumb over his bottom lip. “You have such pretty lips” your thoughts wandered as you stared at him, a light chuckle rumbling in your chest as you spoke, “you really are a pretty boy.” 

Your thumb pushed past Spencer’s lips, his eyes widening at the intrusion, but his mouth eagerly sucking on it, allowing his tongue to swirl around it. “Hmm… your lips would look a lot better wrapped around something else. Get on your knees.” Your voice was strong and as smooth as silk. 

Spencer was relatively quiet when he was in a submissive mood, as opposed to when he was dominant he was rather loud. You didn’t mind it, but sometimes, you needed to hear him, it was your reassurance that he wanted this, that he wanted you. 

He fell to his knees, his head perfectly aligned with your center. “Not much to say now, baby?” You ran the tips of your fingertips over his bare shoulder, watching as goosebumps appeared on his skin. You ran them up the side of his neck, sneaking around to the back of his head to tug sharply at his roots.

He yelped, his hands shooting up to rest against your thighs to steady himself. “Use your words, pretty boy.” 

“Yes” he groaned as you tightened your grip in his hair, and his brows furrowed slightly. You hummed in approval, releasing your hold on his hair, causing his head to fall forward, and his chest to heave with an unreleased breath. You presented your left hand to his face, your perfectly manicured nails shimmering in the faint kitchen light. “I think you know what to do, sweetheart.” 

Spencer moved his head forward placing a light kiss to your wedding ring, then moving to pull back. Immediately your hand met the back of his head, immobilizing him. “Ah, ah, you’re not done yet.” You taunted, a smirk on your face. There was nothing better than seeing your man on his knees in front of you. 

His lips found your ring once more, this time, wrapping around the sizeable diamond that perched on top of the band. You watched as his cheeks hollowed, lightly sucking on the jewel. “Good boy,” you praised, pushing some of his chocolate curls out of his face.

“That’s enough” you stated, pulling your hand away from his face. “I want your mouth somewhere else.” You pulled up the frilled fabric of the lingerie with one hand, using the other to slide the little black panties down your legs. 

Spencer’s tongue darted out, running over his bottom lip, “please” his voice was soft and low as he begged. 

You chuckled before lifting one of your legs to rest on his shoulder, your hand braced against the counter to steady yourself. “Go ahead, baby.”

Immediately Spencer brought his head forward, his tongue flicking out to kitten lick at your clit. A light groan left your mouth, “fuck, there you go.” Your encouragement seemed to inspire Spencer as his delicate licks switched to sweet suckling as he wrapped his lips around you. Your eyes fluttered shut, it was so easy for you to get lost in the pleasure. It was no secret Spencer had amazing lips, but they were even better working hard against your cunt. 

“Shit” you cried out, Spencer’s tongue swirled around, his darkened eyes staring up at you. Your hips rocked lightly into his face, your body craving the sweet bliss of an orgasm. The tension in your stomach began to build, Spencer sensed this, his cheeks hollowing more as he sucked harder, the tip of his tongue running over your clit. 

Every muscle in your body seemed to tense as your orgasm overtook you, a loud moan of Spencer’s name leaving your mouth. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and your chest heaved for air. Nothing on earth could compare to the feeling of coming undone on Spencer’s tongue, you almost liked it more than his cock, almost. 

Spencer pulled back as your eyes fluttered open, greeted with the sight of him on his knees, his chin slick with your arousal. “God, you’re so good with your mouth” you stated, causing the both of you to let out a laugh. 

“M’kay lay down,” you said, motioning to the cold kitchen tile. 

His eyes rounded and a red flush covered his face, “what? O-on the kitchen floor?” He stumbled over his words, clearly surprised at your demand. 

Your soft demeanor vanished at his question, your voice hardening with authority, “did I stutter?” 

He shook his head, quickly moving from his position on his knees to laying flat on his back, hissing as the cool tile sent goosebumps down his body. “Such an obedient boy” you grinned, falling to your knees as gracefully as you could. 

“Let’s get these off” your hands wrapped around the hem of his underwear, nails scratching lightly against his skin as you pulled them down. His cock sprung free, the head slick with precum. 

He let out a strangled moan as you wrapped your hand around his cock, your thumb running lightly over the head. “Y/N” he groaned, squirming lightly in your touch. 

But you didn’t want to give him what he wanted just yet, you wanted to hear him beg for you. “How bad do you want it, Spence? How bad do you want me to fuck you?”

“Please, please, Y/N?” He begged, his brows furrowing as he whined when your warm hand left his cock. 

“Who do you belong to, baby?” You asked, moving to straddle his waist. 

A gasp left his mouth, and you almost gave in at the mere sight of him. His body covered in a layer of sweat, hair tousled, and his lips red and swollen. Instead you began lightly grinding into him, your arms outstretched, braced on either side of his head. 

His hips bucked greedily to meet yours, before muttering out “yours, I’m yours Y/N!” 

Your response came in the form of a sudden jerk as you allowed yourself to sink down onto his cock, the both of you groaning in the process. Your hips set a frantic pace, knowing neither of you would last long. “That’s right” you moaned, leaning forward slightly to work your hips faster. “You’re mine, mine only.” 

Spencer’s head lifted from the tile, his neck straining to watch his cock disappear into your cunt. Your hand met his neck, pushing his head lightly back onto the tile. You leaned in closer, your hot breath fanning over his face, “you want me to kiss you?”

He moaned, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. At that moment you wished you could take a picture so you could freeze the image in time. Spencer was so fucking beautiful, especially when he was a moaning mess under you. “Y-yes” he stuttered, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

You granted him his wish, your lips finally meeting. He was close, you could feel it, as were you. You couldn’t wait to see him unravel under you. The two of you swallowed each other's moans, both of you chasing your orgasms like animals. You pulled back to speak before capturing his lips again, “cum, cum for me. Samantha couldn’t make you feel this good, could she?”

It was the last words you were able to force out before you were thrown headfirst into your orgasm, trembling on top of Spencer. The feeling of your walls tightening and releasing around him sent Spencer into his own orgasm, groaning into your mouth. 

Spencer had a point, it was harmless flirting, only because you knew Spencer only had eyes for you. But you would never pass up an opportunity to ride Spencer like there was no tomorrow. 

You pulled off Spencer, and instead of crawling off of his waist you laid down, resting your head against his chest. His heart was still pounding rapidly, and yours was too, both of you still recovering. 

“Sorry” you giggled, the realization hitting you that you had just ridden Spencer on the gross kitchen floor. 

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling through his chest, “yeah, maybe next time we should try and make it to the bed.” His hands ran up and down your back, lazily playing with the lace of your lingerie, “I’m sorry about Samantha, I-I should’ve said something to her.” 

You nuzzled your face in his neck, enjoying the feeling of his skin against yours. “It’s not your fault she’s stupid.”

“There’s nothing to be jealous about, baby. I only love you.” He laughed.

A lovesick smile made its way to your face as you spoke, “and I you. But you can’t deny, you love it when I’m jealous!”

Spencer pushed off his arms, into a sitting position, taking you with him. “Only because I love it when you get all egotistical and dominant.”

You scoffed playfully, pulling your head back to glare at him. “Excuse me, sir? Egotistical?”

“Okay, we’ll use the word confident instead.” Spencer corrected his lovesick smile reflecting your own.

“You want to take a shower then crash on the couch and watch Doctor Who? I’ve been aching to watch the god complex again.” You offered, stretching out your muscles before either of you moved. 

Spencer chuckled, tilting his head up to peck your lips, “sounds perfect.” 

[thisisawonderfulusername]

let's save the world

season two, episode one

five hargreeves x reader

summary: after getting stuck in 1963, you think you’re alone again, until five comes back with the news of another incoming apocalypse.

trigger warnings: cursing, mental instability

word count: 3k

a/n: it’s a biiiiiit shorter but the first ep of the second season was more of an exposition so it didn’t have much lol. i did my best to get more, but i did cut out luther’s bit at the end, as i’ll be putting it in the next part :P hope you like :D

as you look around at the others, you see their younger selves, and you wonder if the same thing will happen to them, before a large flash blinds you.

suddenly, you’re falling out of the sky.

you land on the ground below you, falling to your knees and barely saving yourself from falling forward by planting your hands in front of you, you feel the stinging on your hands and knees that already tells you that they had been scratched up from the impact.

“holy shit.” you breathe, pushing yourself up to stand, brushing off your hands as you look around you. when you see that you’re the only one in the alleyway, your eyes widen, and you quickly spin around in a circle, willing anyone to be there, but none of the siblings are.

your breath gets caught in your throat as you feel your eyes sting with tears that try to escape. “no.” you whisper, suddenly freezing as you look out at the road in front of the alley, shaking your head. “no. this isn’t happening right now.” your voice cracks as you stumble forward, onto the sidewalk where passing pedestrians look at you with confusion.

“they’re around here somewhere.” you mumble to yourself, wiping away the few tears that managed to fall from your eyes. “i just have to find out where here is, and then i’ll find them.” you nod to yourself, taking a deep breath as you look around.

walking quickly down the sidewalk, you come across a newspaper machine. your eyebrows furrow as you look at it. you definitely haven’t seen one of those in a long while. you lean forwards slightly to get a better look at the preview of the paper inside, your lips parting in surprise when you see the date.

september twenty-third, nineteen sixty-three.

you take in a deep breath, looking up and down the street at all the people passing by. you should have noticed that something was wrong. the way people were dressed was different, the buildings that lined the road were older looking and you didn’t recognize any of them. looking back to the paper, you sigh when you see that you’re in dallas.

“alright, this is fine.” you whisper to yourself shaking your hands out, “everything’s fine. five will show up eventually.”

running your fingers through your hair, you turn on your heel and go back to where you came from, sitting down next to the dumpster in the alley with your slightly bloodied knees pulled to your chest.

“all i have to do is wait.”

-

that was two months ago. two months ago that you fell into this unfamiliar world, two months ago that you sat in that alleyway for days waiting for literally anyone to show up, fall out of the sky as you had.

once you grew too hungry to stay any longer and nobody had showed, you decided to give up. if they weren’t going to come around then, they would find you when they did. or you would find something that lead you to them.

you couldn’t starve on the streets, so you had gotten a job. for the first time in your life, you were working a normal job to earn money. not traveling through time to assassinate people and make sure time went on as it should. it was a small cafe, the nice old lady who owned it, margaret, who was maybe in her sixties, took you in when you asked if there were any cheap places she knew of to stay. there was a small apartment above the cafe, which she let you stay in in return for working there.

you had already gotten used to this life, even changing out of that stupid uniform, replacing it with some clothes that you had found (or perhaps, stolen from a store nearby). you even got rid of the idea that any of the others would find you. you thought that you had gotten stuck in time without five, somewhere far away from him, just like what had happened when you got stuck in the apocalypse.

it hurt to give up hope again, but you couldn’t wait around for another forty years with the fantasy that you would be saved from a nightmare of being stranded in an unfamiliar time without anyone you knew. maybe you still had a daydream that one day five would walk in, asking for a cup of coffee before realizing it was you behind the counter with a notepad in hand.

imagine your surprise when that actually happened. of course, it wasn’t exactly like that, but it was close enough.

it was a slow day, only a few customers in the shop, and you stood in the back room with the other girl on your shift, stacy, chatting about the people that came in. margaret poked her head into the kitchen to see you, a small smile on her face. “y/n, there’s a young boy out there asking for you.” she walks past you to grab something from the pantry, presumably making someone’s order.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and stacy nudged you with her elbow, “you have a boyfriend you didn’t tell me about?” she grins, and you roll your eyes.

“not one that i know of.” you mumble, walking out of the small kitchen, your gaze immediately catching on the young boy she was talking about. your eyes widen at the sight of him, and you believe your in a dream for a moment. “five?” you step past the swinging gate of the counter, slowly walking towards him.

he has a small smile on his face, his dimple showing as you hesitantly bring your hands up to hold his face. “i guess this is where i say, ‘surprise.’“

“holy shit.” you can’t help yourself from planting a kiss on his cheek before you crush him in a hug, unable to stop your laughter from the joy you’re experiencing. “it’s really you!” you pull away, your hands resting on his shoulders, “you fucking asshole! where have you been? it’s been months!”

shaking his head as he looks to the tiled floor for a moment, he chuckles softly. “i just got here. sorry to keep you waiting.” you bite down on your lip, your hands slowly moving down his arms before dropping to your sides.

“i thought i lost you again.” your voice is barely above a whisper and you feel the tears building up your eyes, “god, i thought i would have to wait another forty years.”

you don’t realize that the tears had escaped and were running down your face until he quickly wiped them away. “well, you didn’t. but... there is some bad news.”

sniffling, you look at him with confusion written all over your face, “i mean yeah, we’re stuck in the sixties. that’s pretty bad.”

“that’s not the only problem we have, in fact there’s something even bigger than that.” he stands from the stool and you step back slightly, waiting for him to explain. “we have another apocalypse to stop.”

you stare at him for a moment, your shoulders slumping slightly. “fuck. another one?” you look back to the door to the kitchen, seeing stacy looking through the small, circular window in the wood, before her head quickly ducks down as you look. “i’ll be right back.”

you go back through the swinging gate and push the door open with your hip as you untie your apron, throwing it on one of the counters. “i have to go.” you look between the two waitresses, and they both look at you in confusion.

“jesus, y/n. one boy comes by and your hopping out of here?” your coworker is surprised by your sudden need to leave, and you sigh softly. “never thought you were the type to run away with a guy.”

“trust me, i’m not.” you chuckle, already backing up towards the door, “this is an important one, though.”

margaret sighs, but she has a small smile on her face. “alright, you go then. when will you be back, dear?” she grabs the apron you had thrown without care, taking the notepad out and folding it up nicely.

frowning slightly, you look to the side. “i don’t know.” you tell them softly, fidgeting with your fingers as they practically freeze in their spots.

“well,” the older woman clears her throat, slowly nodding. “i hope it will be soon. wouldn’t want you just disappearing on us.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, giving a small nod. “i promise it will be soon. maybe even within the week, i just have something i need to do.” you sigh softly, “so i’ll stop by some time.” you didn’t know if that was a lie or not. even though it hadn’t been long, they had become your only friends in this place.

with a small wave, you’re out of the room, and you look to five. “let’s save the world- again.” you laugh lightly, following him out of the cafe that you had called home for a few months. “you have any idea where your siblings are?”

“i know where diego is. might be a bit hard to get him out, though.” you look at him with furrowed eyebrows and he pulls out a folded up piece of paper, “check it out for yourself.”

you take the paper from him, seeing that it’s a page from a newspaper that had been ripped out. as you walk, you unfold it, seeing the mug shot of his brother. you chuckle at the text.

disturbed man with multiple knives arrested outside ten twenty-six north beckley

you fold the paper back up and give it back to him. “he made this pretty easy for us, didn’t he?”

“sure did.” he sticks the ripped page back in his pocket, “let’s pay him a visit.” he grabs your hand and you guys disappear from the street, no doubt leaving confused pedestrians behind.

-

as diego is escorted into the room, you grin slightly at his appearance. he had changed a lot. his hair was longer, now down to his chin, and his stubble had grown out into a full beard. he no longer wore his outfit decked out in knives, as it had been replaced by a white t-shirt and pants.

“five. y/n.” he looks between the two of you, slowly taking a seat across the table.

“hey, diego.” five nods at him, “you look good in white.”

leaning back in his seat, the disheveled man gives a bitter grin. “about time you two showed up.”

“how’d you know we’d be back?” five asks, an eyebrow raised.

“because that’s the kind of shit you pull.” he leans forward over the table, his eyes narrowed at the both of you.

“where are the others?” you question, not wanting them to get into some kind of argument if that was where this was leading. it’s not like you could sit here for hours.

he looks at you for a second, “they’re not with you?”

you press your lips together, a bit disheartened from the answer. you expected that the siblings would have found each other, but then again you weren’t hoping for too much.

five sighs, looking to the white walls before turning his gaze to the table. “we’ll find them.” he looks back up to him, “how long have you been here?”

“seventy-five days.” he stares down, tilting his head to the side slightly, “landed in the alley behind commerce and knox.” five says the names at the same time as him, pursing his lips and nodding as he glances to you. diego raises an eyebrow, “what about you?”

“got here this morning.” five straightens his uniform jacket, and the other man looks at you.

“you don’t look like you got here this morning.” he points out your outfit, which was no longer the same uniform you had stolen from either of the girls’ old wardrobe.

sighing softly, you look down at the sweater you had taken for a second. “i got here a few months back. didn’t know you were in here, though.” you chuckle, looking around the visiting room, “probably would’ve come to see you before now. nice place.” you grin.

diego grunts slightly, looking back to five. “how did you find me?”

five lets out a breathy chuckle, pulling the newspaper page out of his pocket. “disturbed man with multiple knives arrested outside ten twenty-six north beckley.” diego falls back in his chair once again, a grin on his face as the younger looking boy pushes the paper across the table. “that’s lee harvey oswald’s house.” he points out, his eyebrows raising. “care to explain?”

diego laughs softly, “let’s just say, dallas law enforcement has not been supportive of my attempt to stop the assassination of...” he leans over the table, his voice dropping in volume, “john f kennedy...”

you roll your eyes, leaning in just as he had. “that’s because it hasn’t happened yet.” your voice is at the same level as his as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“and it’s not going to happen. not on my watch.” he shakes his head before taking a quick glance at the guard standing in the corner of the room, watching the conversation. “look, i’ve been shaving down the bars in my room. another day or two and i’ll be out of this place, then i’m gonna stop oswald and save the president. you want in,” he gives a discreet wink, “say the word.”

five narrows his eyes at him, “listen to me very closely, you gibbering moron. you are not gonna do a goddamn thing.”

“why not?” diego challenges, tilting his head with a grin.

“because we have to stop the apocalypse.” you mutter softly to him, and you realize that you all probably look suspicious with how you’re all leaning so close together. you would question it if you were either of the people watching, but they didn’t so you ignored it.

“no shit,” he speaks through gritted teeth, “but that doesn’t happen for another sixty years.”

five sighs softly, “not that apocalypse. this is a new one, it followed us.” he glances to the table, “i’ve seen it. nuclear war, in ten days.”

diego grins after looking at him for a moment, laughing softly as he sits back in his chair. with his arms crossed over his chest, he looks between you two. “and i’m the one they locked up, huh?” he shakes his head, “fine, i’ll play along. what causes it?”

five scoffs, “i don’t know.” he tells him in exasperation, taking in a sharp breath through his teeth, “maybe some looney-tuned asshole with a hero complex tried to save the president and screwed everything up.”

“so you’re saying it worked?” diego raises his eyebrows, a triumphant smirk on his face, “i saved the president? i knew i could do it.” he nods as he looks back and forth, his eyes wide. he really had gone crazy in here, and it showed. he balls his hands into fists as he looks at the two of you, “okay, okay, i’ll help you-” five is about to sigh in relief, but he continues, “-after i save the president. then you swing us back a few decades so i can slit hitler’s throat with a butter knife.”

you nearly bang your head into the table, not wanting to hear all of his nonsense. “this is why you’re locked up.” you mutter quietly, barely audible to either of them.

five clicks his tongue, “you know what?” he stands from his seat and you quickly follow suit as he grabs the guard’s attention, “my brother is plotting an escape, the bars in his room have been shaved down.”

the two men don’t waste any time in pinning him down when he tries to jump across the table at you two, seething in anger. you almost felt bad, hearing his cries for them to not use ‘the needle’, but then again, he had gone crazy.

five leans towards you, “we’ll be back for him.” you nod, sighing softly as the crazed man passes out.

-

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[let-it-raines]

Prompt - David and Mary Margaret discover this great groupon deal for an autumn leaf changing tour and cabin rental in Vermont, but the catch, it's for 4 people. Enter in the reluctant best friends that can't stand each other. (And you know, the cabin only has 2 rooms)

🍁 found on ao3 | here | 🍁 

-/-

Here’s the thing about Killian Jones: Emma doesn’t hate him.

She really, really doesn’t. Hate is a strong word that she saves for people like Neal and the asshole who took her parking spot and made her lose her skip and her bigger paycheck last week. It’s not a word she uses to describe her opinion of Killian Jones. That would be better described as mistrust or slight animosity or dislike. In the nicest of terms, it could be described as nonchalance and uncaring, maybe a little bit of annoyance, but those are only true when she hasn’t seen him for awhile and has forgotten how annoying he can be.

Right now, annoyance is the exact word she would use to describe her relationship with him, mostly because his appearance was unexpected and unwelcome.

A month ago, Mary Margaret called Emma and told her that she and David won a trip to Vermont for a weekend of walking trails to see the leaves changing. It included free lodging, free dinners, tickets to a farm where you could pick your own apples and pumpkins and sit at their restaurant on the lake and drink the cider brewed at that very farm. It sounded nice, like the plot and setting of a Hallmark movie Emma only watches when she’s at Mary Margaret’s loft, and Emma told Mary Margaret that she hoped they had a good time.

Then Mary Margaret told her the trip was actually for four people, invited Emma and their mutual friend Ruby, and Emma figured why not? Her job has been stressing her out lately, and it’s a free vacation. Who passes up a free vacation?

Ruby Lucas apparently does in order to go to help her grandmother with the catering of a last-minute wedding, and Emma didn’t know about that until she got in the back of David’s truck and saw Killian Jones sitting in the spot that was supposed to be Ruby’s.

She feels cheated.

This was supposed to be relaxing even if it was going to be spent watching David and Mary Margaret be overly affectionate with each other, and now she has to deal with Killian for an entire weekend.

That’s two days and twelve hours too long if she includes today…which she definitely is.  

They’ve been in the truck for a little over three hours, which means they should be at the lodge soon, and Emma’s trying to focus on the scenery outside. It’s gorgeous, much more rural than what she’s used to living in the central part of Boston, and from what she’s heard of the lodge and the trails surrounding it, it’s only supposed to get better.

This is good. This can be a good weekend. Maybe she can go off on her own for most of it, and she won’t have to be with Killian or the lovebirds. They’ll be too busy getting lost in each other’s eyes, and he’ll be too busy flirting with every woman around. There’s definitely got to be opportunity for her to go off on her own.

If not, she might fling herself into a pile of leaves and never emerge for air.

And she’ll definitely blame it on Ruby for not telling Emma about her last-minute cancellation.

When they do eventually arrive at the lodge – after thirty minutes of Killian complaining about one of his coworkers – it turns out to look more like a small castle than anything else. It’s made of gray stone and covered in ivy and weeds while still being maintained. There’s a round fountain in front of the entryway, and behind the building, Emma can see the path that leads down to the lake and the hills that are full of trees behind it. Every tree is a different shade of red, orange, green, and yellow, and Emma has never wanted to take a picture of nature so much in her life. She’s about to live out the life of one of those girls on Instagram who only do things for the aesthetics, and for a weekend, she can’t say she minds.

What she does mind, however, is that when David hands her the key to her room, he hands Killian a key to the same room.

The same room as in her room.

Her. Room.

Hers.  

“No.”

“Why are you saying no?” David asks, tilting his head in question.

“No, as in no I will not share a room. I thought I was getting my own room.”

“It’s a couple’s weekend, Emma, and I bet you would have been fine sharing a room with Ruby.”

“Yeah, because Ruby’s…”

“Ruby’s not me,” Killian interjects, wrapping his arm around Emma’s shoulder. She tries to shrug it off, but it doesn’t move anywhere. It’s deadweight up there, and Killian has unfortunately turned so he can’t see her death stare. Not that it would have any effect on him. “You see, Dave, it’s just that Emma is wildly attracted to me, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to contain herself knowing I’m only a few feet away from her, especially when she discovers I sleep in the nude.”

“Oh my God.” Emma moves from underneath Killian’s arm, her strength coming back to her, and moves toward her – their, ugh – door. She turns the key, which is for some reason the old fashioned kind and not a card. “Please stop talking, Jones. I am not wildly attracted to you, and I can handle sharing a room. I’m not a child.”

“See, I knew the lass could do it.”

He winks at her and does this ridiculous eyebrow thing at David, and Emma is seriously considering paying thousands of dollars (she googled this place when they walked inside, and it is not cheap) for her own room.

“We’ll meet you guys in the lobby in thirty minutes, okay? We’re going on a tour of the grounds with our guide and then dinner, so dress for both.”

“When is the hike?” Emma asks, lingering in the doorway.

“Not until tomorrow. I’ll get Mary Margaret to send you the itinerary.”

“She already has. I just haven’t looked at it.”

“I’m not telling her that,” David laughs. “See you soon.”

Emma waves, smiling at David, and turns into the room, dragging her luggage behind her. It doesn’t take long before she’s stopped in her tracks, her sneakers snagging in the carpet, as Killian runs into her back.

“Bloody hell, why’d you stop like that?”

She opens her arm to the bed – singular – in front of them, which would look cozy and soft and all of the good things if she had it all to herself. “If you didn’t bring clothes to sleep in, you’re sleeping in your fucking jeans,” she mumbles before turning toward the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

This is fine.

This is all fine. Emma has been through a hell of a lot worse, and maybe Killian won’t be an ass. Maybe he’ll be the gentleman he always claims to be.

She’s never believed him for a second when he’s said shit like that.

Emma changes out of her leggings and sweatshirt into a pair of jeans and a thick sweater, grabbing her red plaid jacket and a beanie and placing them to the side for when she leaves. She puts on some mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and brushes out her hair. This is as good as it’s going to get, and she doesn’t mind that. Mary Margaret will tell her that tomorrow or whenever they go to the nice dinner that she’ll have to dress up, and Emma is giving herself a break on the makeup until then.

She had to pile it on every night this week for work, and her skin is screaming for a break.

Killian knocks on the door, telling her to hurry up because he has to get ready too, so she takes five extra minutes…out of spite…because she knows it’s just petty enough for it to rub him the wrong way. She doesn’t feel bad about it either. Killian would do the same damn thing.

“You look nice,” Killian tells her when she opens the bathroom door and he’s standing on the wall opposite the bathroom, leg propped up and arms crossed over his chest. His eyes trail up and down her body, and Emma moves out of the doorway. A shiver runs down her spine, but she ignores it.

Definitely, definitely ignores it.

It’s cold up in Vermont, even colder than in Boston, and these old walls aren’t helping.

Killian takes approximately two minutes to get ready, all of which is probably spent getting into ridiculously tight jeans, and then they’re begrudgingly walking to the lobby where David and Mary Margaret are waiting for them already talking to the guide, a peppy woman named Anna who is like the redheaded version of Mary Margaret when Mary Margaret is in one of her “everything is a fairytale” moods.  

Anna takes them throughout the property, giving them the history of the place while offering up different amenities that are not included with the package they won but still accessible if they’re willing to pay. There’s a spa, a gym, three different hiking trails, an option to take row boats out on the lake if the weather is nice, and there are two different restaurants on the property. They also offer drivers to several places around town, including the grocery store and the farm they’ll be visiting tomorrow after their hike, and Emma is sure several other things are said. She zones out about halfway through, distracted by the view of the trees and how they’re reflected on the lake. Everything is in an orange glow right now, one that brings comfort to Emma.

She’s always liked sunsets. It’s cheesy and she’d never admit it out loud, but she likes the predictability of them. They don’t always look the same, but they happen every day, even if she can’t see it. She likes that, having that constant. It’s not something she has a lot of, constants that is, and she takes every one she can get.

Maybe this weekend won’t be so bad.

If she says that enough, she just might believe it.

-/-

Dinner is nice.

The food is good, the wine surprisingly good since she was pretty sure it was going to be some funky homemade stuff, and even more surprisingly, the company is great.

When she thinks that, she wonders if the alcohol content in the wine was higher than the server said it was.

All the good thoughts about Killian go away, however, when they’re back in their (still so awful to have to think) hotel room, and Emma is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing lotion on her arms. Killian, thank goodness, is in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt, so he’s not even going to attempt to sleep naked.

She was 100% sure that he would try, and she’s honestly kind of sad she won’t get a chance to slap him.

On the cheek.

On his face.

She doesn’t want to slap him anywhere else.

Okay, that wine’s alcohol content was definitely higher than it should have been.

Killian plops down on the bed, the mattress shaking beneath him, and tugs the covers over him. His movements jostle her, and she grits her teeth as she finishes moisturizing. He turns on the TV, puts it on some show she has never heard of, and Emma tries to keep calm. She’s tired. She’s going to fall asleep quickly, and the TV won’t bother her. She falls asleep every night with the TV on, so this is nothing new.

Emma turns down the corner of the bed on her side and slides underneath before flipping the switch for the light. The room darkens except for the TV and the glow of the alarm clock, and Emma closes her eyes. They’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, and she doesn’t want to be walking around wishing she had an IV of coffee to keep her awake.

Slowly, sleep comes for her, tugging at the corners of her eyes, and just as she’s about to succumb to it, the comforter is tugged off of her, leaving her foot exposed to the cold air of the room.

What the hell?

Emma tugs it back, shifting her leg to have it covered, and for a moment, she’s warm. Warm and cozy and not even the too loud laugh track on the TV is disturbing her.

The fact that Killian pulls away the comforter again is, however, disturbing her.

Actually, it really freaking annoys her, so she pulls it back. Hard this time, and Killian grunts in response and rolls over. she feels his foot brush against her calf, and she kicks out, moving him back to his side. It’s only a queen-sized bed, so there’s not a lot of room for them to stay separate. She’s about three seconds away from finding pillows or their suitcases and putting them in between the two of them so he stops encroaching on her space.

And taking her comforter.

Because it’s definitely hers. Just like this room was supposed to be.

Killian wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip. It was supposed to be Ruby, who definitely would have stayed on her side of the bed. Better yet, she probably would have met someone and would be staying with them, and Emma would have this entire bed to herself.

It’s so comfortable that it’s a shame she has to share it. She’s not used to that anymore, and she likes to stretch out.

The comforter moves again, and Emma grips onto it, holding it where she is and tucking it underneath her ass to keep it as steady as possible. At this point, he has to be doing it to annoy her, and Emma is not going to lose this battle.

She’ll stay up all night if she has to.

“You know, Swan,” Killian mumbles, “normally I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back than fight over the covers.”

Emma groans and rolls over on her stomach, pointedly kicking out at him. “Shut up, Jones.”

“If that’s what the lady wishes.”

Emma mutters into her pillow, and for a few minutes, as the blanket stealing calms down and the TV quiets, Emma wonders if she could feasibly fake some sleeping disorder that has her punching Killian in the face all night.

She can be a pretty good actress sometimes. She could probably pull it off.

She doesn’t do that, though, because she eventually falls asleep, one foot sticking out into the cold air.

Damn you, Jones.

-/-

There’s a warm body nears hers.

That’s the first thought Emma has when she wakes up – after thinking of how annoying her alarm sound is. The body warm and solid and a little hairy, and it takes her two seconds to remember where she is and who she’s sharing a bed with. She knew she should have slept on the floor last night because in no world does she want to have her leg pressing up against Killian’s leg and her ass…

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, eyes blowing wide as she turns and moves her body as much as she can. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my Goooooooood.”

“What are you yelling about?” Killian groans, shifting behind her, which only makes it worse.

“I’m not yelling,” Emma hisses. She pushes away and sits up, and there’s no need to even adjust the comforter because none of it is on her. “What are you doing near me?”

He raises his brow, wrinkles on his forehead popping up. Getting a look at him now, she knows the ruffled look he sometimes does with his hair is natural, and for some reason, that really freaking annoys her.

“I was sleeping until you decided to have a conniption.”

“Yeah, well that’s because your dick…oh shit.”

Emma wasn’t going to say that. She really wasn’t, and from the way Killian’s brow is arching higher, she knows that she’s messed up. She’s given him the perfect set up for all of his innuendos, and knowing him, she’s never going to be allowed to live this down.

What a great start to her morning.

“Usually that’s not the reaction, but I understand your shock, love. You weren’t prepared, and it’s, well, a lot to take in.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She takes the pillow from behind her and smacks him with it as he laughs. He’s getting far too much enjoyment out of this, and she’s wondering how long she would be in jail if she smothered him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Make it cold and bracing. I think you might need it.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one with morning wood, but you keep thinking that.” She gets off the mattress and reaches down for her bag. Killian may have unpacked his stuff, but she didn’t bother to do that, even if it means everything is wrinkled. “Please don’t take care of it while I’m showering. That’s just…we have to share the bed, Jones, and I’ve worked in hotels before. I know they don’t always change the sheets.”

He mock salutes, the cheekiest grin on his face, and this is really going to be a long day.

-/-

It’s a long day.

Before she can even get coffee in her, she’s dragged out to the hiking trail. The sun hasn’t fully risen, and they’re supposed to be watching the sunrise and how it matches up with all the changing trees. It’s beautiful. She knows it is, and she does manage to take some pictures that she’s sure capture about half of the beauty. The thing is that despite her best efforts, she didn’t sleep well, and she’s only running on adrenaline and annoyance.

Mostly at Killian.

He’s been staring at her all morning, a joke on the tip of his tongue about their morning, and he’s started to make them several times before Emma shoots him a look or elbows him in the stomach. Mary Margaret has given Emma several funny looks, and if she wasn’t so wrapped up in David and the romance of the changing leaves and the sunrise, she’d probably ask about it.

Mary Margaret is not one for subtlety or staying out of someone else’s business.

David guides them over the trail, which is somehow all uphill despite no discernible incline, and eventually the come to a perch with a few of the lake and the lodge, miles of trees surrounding it. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything quite like it, and now she can truly see why so many people travel here just to stare at some trees.

“It’s something isn’t it, Swan?” Killian asks as he walks up behind her, the heat of his body making the chill of the air fade for a moment.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t think looking at trees would be your thing. I don’t take you as much of a nature person.”

Emma turns to face him and crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t know me well enough to know if I’m a nature person or not.”

He steps closer, invading her space like he always does, and maybe she’s a bit of a liar when she says he doesn’t know her. “Just who are you then, Swan?”

Emma cocks her head and straightens her back, not letting him overwhelm her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles and nods, lashes fluttering until his eyes are hooded. “Perhaps I would.”

“We better get moving if we want to make it to the apple orchard on time,” David tells them, making Emma jump away from Killian and smooth down her flannel over her stomach. “You okay? You look flushed.”

“Just the walk,” Emma lies. “I’m sure that’s all.”

-/-

“I will throw this apple at your head.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Emma groans, audibly, and plucks another apple from the tree and puts it in her basket. It’s getting a little heavy, and not in a million years could she eat all these apples before they spoil. They’re not for her, though. They’re for the farm and its cider and pies and tarts and all the other apple goods they make. She must admit that it’s a brilliant business plan, having people pick the apples for you and then make them pay for it and the food and drinks.

She can’t believe people actually pay to do this. The hike, she gets, foraging for your own food, not so much.

Emma picks an apple out of her basket, one that kind of looks gross and a little squished, and she tosses it at the back of Killian’s head. It hits, just barely, and she stops as he reaches up to touch his hair.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses, turning around to glare at her.

“You’re the one who has spent the last ten minutes being invasive to my personal life, so what’s wrong with you?”

“Asking if you were still seeing Graham Humbert is not invasive.”

“It is definitely invasive.”

Killian’s shoulders shrug, and he steps closer to her. Really close, actually. He does this obnoxious thing where he’s always encroaching on her space when he speaks, swaying closer and dipping his head down until their eyes are level. He’s doing that now, obnoxious, downright cocky grin gracing his lips, and Emma backs away, dodging some low-hanging apples, until her back is against the tree and she’s putting her basket on the ground. She really hopes there aren’t ants crawling all over her, but at this point, she’s too distracted to care.

For every inch that she moved, Killian matched her. And now, he’s more in her space than ever, the heat of his body warming her more than her jacket. How is he that damn hot?

Only in the temperature sense…not in the other way. She is obviously still a little tipsy from the wine last night that she still maintains had a higher alcohol content than usual.

He chuckles, and his eyes look at her before glancing down at her lips. It’s not even a quick glance. It’s pointed, and Emma knows she was meant to notice it.

“Please,” Emma huffs, “you couldn’t handle it.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She wants to say something back, some smart, snide remark that will make him frustrated, but she also wants to prove him wrong. Emma doesn’t care what anyone else has to say, and she’s heard all the rumors. Kissing Killian Jones is not going to have an effect on her.

So she grabs the lapels of his coat and pulls him forward until his mouth is on hers and Emma’s head is pressing into the back of the tree. The bark scratching the back of her neck would be uncomfortable if she wasn’t so focused on Killian. He’s not kissing her back, his lips rigid against her, and she’s just about to pull back and give him shit over being a horrible kisser when he moves. His hand comes to her hair, yanking on the strands as he tilts her head the way he wants it, and his prosthetic rests at her waist. Every thought she had about him being stiff was wrong.

She’s never felt anyone move like this.

She’s also had some pretty damn good kisses in her life, but she can’t remember the last time one took her breath away and made heat curl over her skin as soft lips moved over her and slightly rough stubble scratched against her skin, likely leaving her red.

Emma can’t remember the last time she was kissed well, and damn, what a shame that is.

She could get used to that.

But she knows that’s a dangerous thought, and this is a dangerous game she’s playing. If she’s bringing cards to the table to play, she has to be open to the possibility that she can lose her hand.

Emma isn’t open to that right now.

So, she pulls back, just barely though, and tries to catch her breath as Killian does the same. He’s panting, and in any other circumstance, the sound would be like heaven to her, a strong indication of what’s to come next. Not in this one, though, and when Killian moves in, she pulls away.

“That was,” he begins, seemingly trailing off in a search for the words to describe what just happened.

She doesn’t know either, but it doesn’t take her long to figure out what she wants to say.

“A one-time thing,” she finishes, knowing she has to say it as she looks at him and the flush of his cheeks. “I’m going to find David and Mary Margaret. Don’t follow me. Wait five minutes and...” she glances down toward his jeans “…calm down.”

He mockingly bows, same smug smile she’s used to back on his lips. She knows how they feel now, and that feels wrong.

“As you wish, milady.”

-/-

The late afternoon lunch (or is it early dinner considering the time?) is awkward as hell. They’re sitting at a small, supposedly cozy table in the midst of the most romantic patio ever created (think of all the string lights in the world and then double it) with wine and cider in their glasses and good food on the table in front of them.

Emma wants to run away.

She can’t.

It really freaking sucks.

And it doesn’t help that Killian keeps looking at her with these big blue eyes that she doesn’t normally see. He looks earnest almost, and she doesn’t think Killian Jones has been earnest a day in his life.

Then again, how much does she know?

“Oh, this is so romantic,” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m so glad we won this trip.”

“Does romance include two of your mates sitting at the table with you?” Killian asks. “Dave was playing footsy with me earlier we’re so cramped in here.”

“Was that you?” David hisses, cheeks going red, and Emma starts to laugh. That’s the best thing she’s heard all day.

“Yes, it is romantic even with you and Emma here. And with David somehow mistaking your leg with mine.”

“In my defense, Killian’s calves are only a little bigger than yours, sweetheart.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered, of course,” Killian says. “I have bloody fantastic legs. Ask Swan here. She felt them up last night.”

Emma kicks out her foot at Killian under the table, not one hundred percent sure she’s actually hitting his leg, but then she sees the slight wince. Gotcha.

“So, what are we doing after this?” Emma asks to change the subject. “Another hike? More apple picking? Second dinner?”

Mary Margaret sighs, “a carriage ride back to the hotel, but they’re going to take us the scenic route.”

“Of course they are,” Emma mutters, stabbing her food and stuffing it into her mouth. She’s going to need more wine.

-/-

The carriage ride is worse than the dinner. For one, the horses smell horrible, much worse than the food, and the carriage is somehow smaller than their table. She’s pressed completely up against Killian, their sides aligned, and he has his arm over her shoulder while they share a blanket. She tried to refuse, but it’s gotten really cold. Her nose and her fingers are going to fall off soon, and she’s as zipped up as she can be.

David and Mary Margaret practically make out across from them, and even though Emma knows more about their sex life than she would ever want to know, sitting his close to it as a horse drags them along the road is not something she’s comfortable with.

“Make it stop,” she murmurs into Killian’s shoulder, half to keep her from having to look at David and Mary Margaret but mostly to keep her nose warm.

“I’m afraid we have to ride this one out, love. If you want, we could share our own kiss…again.”

She hits his thigh underneath the blanket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever helps you sleep through the night.”

-/-

She doesn’t sleep through the night.

She’s too aware of her surroundings, of the warm body a few inches from her own.

It’s all too much, even if he didn’t try to steal the covers tonight, and if she wasn’t so damn stubborn, she’d sleep on the floor. She told herself she would do that tonight, but now it feels like admitting defeat.

Emma doesn’t like to admit defeat.

-/-

They go for another hike the next morning, their last morning in Vermont.

Emma sticks next to David the entire time, asking him mundane questions she doesn’t care about just to keep the conversation flowing and to keep Killian from making any jokes she doesn’t want him to make. It works, mostly, and Emma is even able to enjoy herself and the view for a lot of it. Boston can be gorgeous, but she’s going to miss a lot of this.

It’s the picture perfect dream, but Emma knows perfection doesn’t exist. And in pictures, it’s almost always photoshopped.

Doesn’t make it any less stunning as she stares out at it all, and it doesn’t make her want the picture perfect dream any less. The one where she isn’t so scared of getting hurt again and where she lets herself have fun, lets herself feel safe.

Lets her heart in on the decision making with her head.

-/-

Emma sleeps on most of the car ride back to Boston, and when she wakes up, it’s with a sore neck and tired eyes. It’s also in front of her apartment. She thanks the Nolans for the weekend, and very slowly, it dawns on her that Killian is no longer in the car. They must have dropped him off first, and she doesn’t know why, but it stings a bit that she doesn’t get to say goodbye to him as well.

That’s the lack of sleep talking, obviously.

Emma would never miss saying goodbye to Killian because that would mean she was going to miss his presence. She wouldn’t do that, though. Of course not. Because she didn’t have a good time when he was around. He didn’t make her smile at all this weekend.

He never makes her smile at all.

If Emma was using her own superpower to detect lies, there would be a blaring red light over her head with a little bell blaring in her ears.

She is ignoring it in favor of stuffing everything about this weekend in her bag and not looking into it. It was pretty. Nice pictures were taken, good food was had, and nothing else happened.

(Ding, ding, ding.)

-/-

Life returns to normal. She goes to work, goes to the gym, is occasionally dragged out to bars and clubs with her friends on the nights she isn’t working.

(She does finally get that guy from two weeks ago, and the paycheck is worth the struggle.)

Killian is around a lot more than he usually is. He’s in school getting his degree in software engineering on some scholarship he got from his service in the Navy, and he usually bartends at night. That job fizzled out, though, so when they all have pizza night or go out or meet up for lunch, he’s usually there.

Emma finds it odd, but she doesn’t mind.

She doesn’t pay much attention to him because she’s making a conscious effort specifically not to pay attention to him, not until he misses a fantastic opportunity to make an innuendo, and she realizes he hasn’t been making a lot of those lately. They’re there, sure, but not in as high of a quantity as they usually are.

It’s weird, but the weirdest thing about it all is how much she misses them.

Huh.

When did that happen?

When did the flirting stop annoying her and start making her laugh? When did she start liking it?

Liking him?

The thought comes to her without true warning and without permission. It’s wiggled its way out of the deep caverns of her mind and made it to the surface, gasping for air so it can live out in the open. She has a physical reaction to it, her hands coming to cover her mouth as she inhales a deep breath that has everyone looking away from the TV to look at her.

“You alright?” Ruby asks from her spot on David and Mary Margaret’s couch.

“I’m fine,” Emma lies, knowing her friends won’t push her further. They’ve known her long enough to know not to do that too often. “Just need some water.”

She gets up from her chair and walks toward the kitchen, her mind running faster than Usain Bolt, and she tries to focus on pouring herself a glass of water and on the football game that’s on. She doesn’t even really like football, but it’s kind of a fall tradition around here. She just has to go with it.

Everything is fine. This is fine.

This is…this is crazy. It’s even crazier that she can’t tell if her body is experience fear, joy, or some insane mixture of both bottled up with all of the adrenaline it can muster.

“You sure you’re alright, love?” Killian asks as he walks into the kitchen puts his plate in the sink. Of course he followed her in here. He, unlike Ruby, Mary Margaret, and David, has no qualms about bothering her. “You look a bit flushed. You’ve gone red around your cheeks.”

“Fine,” she lies again. “I’m fine.”

If she says that word enough, it’ll be true.

“Are you certain because I – ”

“Why don’t you flirt with me anymore?” she blurts before she can stop herself. She must be going crazy because this is insane. Who has taken over her body, and can she get it back please? Preferably before she does something stupid like kissing him again.

Then again, that wasn’t all stupid. It felt pretty damn good.

Killian arches his brow, his forehead wrinkling, and she knows she’s about to get some dumbass answer. He scratches behind his ear with his prosthetic. “Because if I’m to win your heart Emma, as I’d like to, I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t piss you off, as much as I do love that. It’s quite entertaining for me, especially when you go red as you are now. It’s a becoming color on you, but I realize my methods of getting your attention were a bit childish.”

Well, okay then. Maybe not a dumbass answer.

This is a weird, weird few minutes.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been doing the adult equivalent of pulling pigtails on a playground?’

He shrugs. “Aye, I guess.”

Emma, once more, doesn’t know what to do or say, so she lets instinct drive her. She steps forward and places her hand on his shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. They’re ridiculously blue, and it’s just not fair. “Asking me to dinner would have worked much better than that. Food has always been the way to my heart, especially if it’s cheap, greasy, and will make my stomach hurt afterward.”

She leaves the ball in his court (or in his possession on the field since they’re watching football and her sports metaphors should make sense, and she’s 82% sure that’s a correct metaphor), and walks away before being pulled back by her wrist until she’s looking at him again.

Once more, he’s earnest, and she’s still getting used to that.

And those blue eyes. Those too. They don’t have to be all devilish all the time.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me, love?” Killian asks, hopeful, kind smile on his face.

Genuine. He’s genuine, and she feels that little flutter that she hasn’t felt in awhile, not since she kissed him against the apple tree to prove a point to herself that she wouldn’t be affected by kissing him.

Emma really is a bad liar, especially when she’s lying to herself.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[lifeinahole27]

Fic Bits 2019

Well, this is a little later than I usually post these, but I’m sure we can all agree that it’s been a hell of a year already. All posted in one go because I had a lot of trouble writing during this last round and did the absolute best I could. I hope you all enjoy!!

Included in this pack:

“Scream and Shout” - Emma wants to find out if mindreading is real. 

“A Regular Pair of Grinches” - They’re mostly impartial to each other, but their friends want them to be more than that. 

Lethologica: Behind the Scenes - Conversations that happen when our lovers aren’t around. 

My Eyes, They Speak for Me: The continuation I always wanted to write but never did.

On the Two: A Peek into the Future - So fluffy and sweet it’ll make your teeth rot.

“A Long Time Coming” - Every year, I write a Frozen Jewel bit for @xpumpkindumplingx because I love her and I know how much she loves them. This year was no different. Sprinkles of CS included so it can be enjoyed by all!

“Scream and Shout”

It’s not that she really believes in the supernatural powers that people claim to have. There’s no definitive proof. People go on talk shows and spout stories but the most they do is a “demonstration” that could easily be some rehearsed nonsense that she chooses to reject as reality.

But the strangest thing keeps happening at work. In the bullpen in her office, she keeps a running monologue of jokes or comments, things she thinks to herself but doesn’t say out loud to anyone because the last thing she wants or needs is HR on her ass. Twice now she’s noticed after particularly amusing comments to herself, she’s heard chuckling across the way. But it has to be a coincidence. She doesn’t believe in telepathy. Doesn’t believe in any of this stuff.

But just for fun, she starts to keep track of the timing. She keeps track of who’s in the room when it happens. And she decides to test some theories. She tries talking to whoever may be listening, but there’s no answer. She tries thinking numbers to see if anyone gets frustrated or loses their concentration.

Finally, she’s standing at the water cooler one day and she goes for the big one: in her mind, she screams as loud as she can –

And there it is. Killian flinches. Killian. The man she’s had an office crush on since he started working here three months ago.

But how can she get him to admit it?

It’s not like she can just walk up to him and ask if he’s a telepath – not without sounding rude, or admitting that she was the one that just screamed in his head. So she bides her time and tries to put it behind her.

It isn’t until one day when they’re getting ready to leave that she has a chance to prove it. They’re the last ones in the office, so Emma starts asking Killian to bring her something from his side of the office.

“Sure, Swan. Do you need the hole-punch as well?”

When he looks around, Emma is nowhere to be seen. His shoulders slump, and he sighs.

“Fine. I’m sorry. I swear I don’t do it all the time, but you come in loud and clear in my head for some reason.”

Emma steps out from around the wall she was hiding behind on the other side of the room. “Why’s that?”

“Probably because I’ve fancied you since the first time I saw you,” he says, pausing and rubbing a spot behind his ear. “Well, when you stopped yelling at me for queueing before you in the copy line.”

“Can you hear me all the time?”

“No. I actively try not to listen, but when I’m not listening to music while working, your comments and jokes come out loud and clear above the rest of our coworkers.”

She wanders a little closer, propping against the cubicle wall as he drops back into his chair. “That sounds awful, actually.”

“Not when it’s you,” he admits quietly, chancing a look up at her. “But only when you aren’t screaming.”

It’s Emma’s turn to look sheepish for once.  “Sorry. I just… I needed to find the proof.”

“Please forget I ever asked if the answer is no, but would you like to grab coffee? You could pick my brain… so to speak.”

For once, Emma takes the chance and says yes.

After a year of dating, he still sometimes listens to her thoughts, but this time he has her permission. At least he gets it loud and clear when she starts hinting that he should propose.

The ring is just as she imagined and everything.

-x-

“A Regular Pair of Grinches”

They’re not really friends – not in a traditional way, anyway. They met through mutual friends and were always the solo ones, so they had to form a friendship so their friends would stop trying to shack them up with each other.

It’s only at mutual functions that they see each other, though, never going out of the way to see each other beyond what their friends put together and invite them to.

During the Christmas party, they get sick of everyone trying to line them up under the mistletoe. Emma is the one that suggests the heist, and Killian goes right along with the plan. When everyone else is occupied with a story that Emma is telling them, he reaches up and snags the little sprig and shoves it in his pocket.

Twelve minutes later (they timed it, after all) Snow realizes her precious little plan has come undone.

Of course, everyone immediately realizes it was Emma and Killian, and they’re soon banished to another room for being general Grinches during the season.

“Maybe if they hadn’t tried this like a million times,” Emma grouses as she flops onto the couch in their “prison.”

“For some reason, Swan, we’re the only ones that seem to realize we are adults with agency and we can choose to do whatever we’d like.”

“Hell yeah we are!” At this statement, Emma produces a bottle of rum from where she’d stashed it away earlier.

“Have I ever told you that I adore you?” Killian asks as he reaches for the bottle.

“Not everyone can be this pretty and a genius. You’re welcome.”

It’s somewhere after the fourth shot that they end up next to each other on the couch, with Emma’s legs thrown over Killian’s lap and his hand gently resting on one of her shins.

It’s after the sixth shot that they end up snuggled together spooning on the – admittedly, very comfortable – couch.

It’s when they wake up that Killian digs the mistletoe out of his pocket and stares at it in the dim light of morning.

And it’s when Emma wakes up and sees him holding it above their heads that she reacts, turning his face towards hers and kissing him with everything she’s got.

They’ve both got morning breath and she’s sure her makeup is fucked up beyond repair, but the way he’s holding her makes her feel… cherished. She’s not sure she’s ever felt that way before.

When they break apart, they’re both smiling. This is normally where Emma would run, but there’s something about it being Killian that stops her from doing that.

It’s only later that they realize that they were covered with a blanket, realizing Snow must’ve come in and tucked them in at some point.

Sure enough, she looks like a cat that got the cream when they finally make it in for breakfast.

The next time they share a bed, it’s actually a bed, and there are a lot less clothes involved.

They’re not really friends – they’re more like… lovers.

-x-

Lethologica: Behind the Scenes

Of course everyone knows long before the wedding where Emma and Killian blatantly make out in the middle of the reception hall. This stems from Mary Margaret and Ruby speculating over their girl-date coffees one day.

Ruby asks pretty early on: “Have you noticed anything weird about Emma and Killian?”

“Oh, thank god I’m not the only one,” Mary Margaret breathes out, making sure to lower her voice as she continues. “I think they’re sneaking around behind our backs.”

“How long?”

“So Killian came to the diner one day with this look and Emma was too smug about something.”

“They’ve been a lot more affectionate on nights out. They hide it really well but they’re almost always touching.”

“Didn’t they always touch before?”

“It has a different feel to it, Mary Margaret. Can’t you see it?”

“I can see it. But do you think they can see it?”

They stare at each other for a solid ten seconds before they both burst out laughing, thankful for the secluded corner of the little coffee house they go to when they don’t want to go to Granny’s.

“Nope,” Ruby says.

“Not a chance. How long do you think before they realize they’re in love?”

“No clue, but it’ll probably take something small to push them over the edge. They’re really just…” she trails off, seeing David approaching and knowing that he doesn’t need to know anything about this yet. “A couple of potatoes with the recipe.”

“What?”

“You making something new for dinner?” David asks as he leans down and places a kiss to the crown of Mary Margaret’s head.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. Ruby was telling me about this… potato recipe.”

“I love potatoes. Twice baked?”

“Probably by now,” Ruby mutters, causing Mary Margaret to choke on the sip of her coffee.

“Something like that. You’ll see tonight,” she says when she clears her airway. Since Ruby is already occupied on her phone, Mary Margaret can only assume that she’s trying to find interesting potato dishes to send along.

After witnessing the clear intimacy between Emma and Killian at the dining out, Ruby sends Mary Margaret a text message.

“THE POTATOES ARE MASHED! I REPEAT! THE POTATOES ARE MASHED!!”

“I JUST GOT ENGAGED!!” comes the reply right after, which causes an entirely different freak-out in Ruby.

The night ends, and as Ruby and Mulan head back to their room, Ruby holds on to Mulan’s hand tightly.

“David and Mary Margaret got engaged tonight,” Ruby says quietly in the stillness of the hallway. “And we now have proof that Emma and Killian are together.”

“Everyone is going to get hurt when the orders become official,” Mulan says, keying into their room and closing the door firmly behind Ruby.

Ruby turns and kicks off her shoes, but Mulan is right behind her, spinning her and resting her cheek against her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“You’ll help him get through the deployment, yeah?”

“You know I will,” Ruby responds, wrapping her arms around Mulan and already planning how to tackle this next hurdle in all their lives.

-x-

My Eyes, They Speak for Me: After

Returning to Storybrooke is not exactly the weirdest thing that’s happened in her life lately. She did defeat her ex-boyfriend after he turned into a flying monkey, after all.

No, the only thing that makes their return weird is the fact that she and Killian are dating.

That she has to explain to her parents that she and Captain Hook have formed a bond that she never even thought possible. Especially not after everything she’s been through in her life.

But here they are, entering the town, with Henry oblivious to the weight hovering over the adults in the front seat. Emma holds onto Killian’s prosthetic hand like it’ll make everything better. She doesn’t even know if her parents are going to remember her.

Thankfully, they do.

Everyone remembers everything that happened before Pan’s curse. But there’s a whole missing year. All they knew is for the last couple months they’ve been here, still trying to figure out what happened, unable to find out in any way if Emma was alive and okay, and just… stuck in limbo.

Also, her mother is very pregnant. Like, about to burst pregnant. And has a creepy midwife with fiery red hair and a weird personality. Like some kind of twisted Mary Poppins.

Emma’s the first one to figure out that she’s the Wicked Witch. She did not anticipate the whole angle where Zelena is Regina’s sister, but she can appreciate the fact that she never thought the family tree around here would get more fucked up.

She has a thought several times while they’re trying to track down this crazy witch that she should just take Henry and Killian and high-tail it back to NYC. And she and Killian actually argue about it at one point, because she is convinced that after this is all over she just wants a normal life with her son and her boyfriend.

That’s not so much to ask, is it?

But then she’d have to leave her parents behind, and when it becomes clear that Zelena is after the newborn that is expected soon, Emma decides she can’t leave.

And then the whole Neal incident happens and that is a lot to take in, and try to explain to Henry who still doesn’t have his memories back.

When Zelena is finally locked away in a cell in the psychiatric ward, and after they’ve taken the time to officially lay Neal to rest, Emma sits down with Henry. Thankfully, Regina finally came through with a memory potion, so it makes it all a little easier, but Emma still has to talk to him about what losing his father for real this time means, and how they’re going to move forward.

It turns out when there are flying monkeys and another story come to life, it’s easy to explain to your parents that you’re dating a pirate. And while eventually she’d like to get her own place (story of her life) she does give up the bigger room at Granny’s in favor of moving into a smaller one with Killian.

Just for now.

They do have all the time in the world to get to the next step.

Until a portal opens up where their final battle with Zelena took place and she and Killian are the ones to check it out…

-x-

On The Two: A Peek into the Future

Five years later, they’re married and move home to Storybrooke after they have a beautiful daughter that they name after the camp. Emma and Ruby have both moved on from dancing at the hotel to pursue other interests.

Emma has gone back to teaching. She gives lessons in Storybrooke to locals and tourists, and still teaches every summer at Camp Hope.

Killian is also teaching, on top of his general maintenance jobs with David. He went back for certifications to teach classes on managing addictions, specifically an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, and he also talks with amputees and their friends and loved ones about how to cope with the loss of a limb.

He and Emma do a schedule of week on/week off at camp so that Hope is with one of them as often as possible.

Sometimes, they both stay home for a week with David and Snow’s son, Leo, and they contemplate having another of their own as they watch Hope playing and exploring – they’d love to see what she would do with a sibling of her own. Mostly they haven’t yet because they know they’ll officially have to give up the loft in order to live comfortably.

Other weeks, David and Snow take both the kids and Emma and Killian stay at the campsite.

They use those weeks to pretend they aren’t actively trying for another baby but there’s still a trill to sneaking out on the back balcony of the Owners’ Lodge, making love with the sight of the horizon and the ocean as their passion ebbs and flows.

Emma sometimes still can’t believe how her life has come together.

She wakes early one morning to the soft strains of a song they’ve used for the Waltz before, and she eases out of the bed upstairs, careful not to make a single noise so she can see what her husband is up to.

He’s standing in the middle of the floor on the other side of the breakfast bar, Hope in his arms, gliding through the steps and dramatically dipping Hope to her obvious delight.

She’s so happy that she lets out a high-pitched giggle, pressing her little hands to Killian’s cheeks.

He laughs quietly, bracing her against his body with his other arm so he can hold his finger to his lips to remind her to stay quiet.

As quietly as she can, she slips back to the bed to get her phone off the charger, crawling back over to brace under the handrail to take video of the two of them.

When the song ends, she locks her phone and stands up to applaud, even giving a little whistle of appreciation.

“Your mum’s awake, little love.”

“And she’s pregnant,” Emma says, probably far too bluntly since she actually hears Killian’s neck crack with how swiftly he turns his head to look up at her.

“Aye?”

“Yep. Calling the doctor today to confirm it. But yeah.”

“Why don’t we go into the kitchen to make your mum a perfect breakfast, hmm?” He turns to look up at her again, making sure their eyes are locked. “I love you,” he tells her, heart in his expression.

“I love you, too,” she says back, quietly, and while Hope has no idea what’s even being said, she goes off on a string of “la la la” to tell them each she loves them.

-x-

“A Long Time Coming” 

There’s a camaraderie that comes from having rich guardians that want nothing to do with you, and that’s what the Arendelle sisters and the Jones brothers find out after their first Christmas in the Alps.

Elsa is sixteen when she and Killian discover that with their combined efforts, they can raise havoc at the ski resort. From that point on they are BFFs.

Three years of their antics go by quickly, and the staff at the lodge becomes their family more than Brennan Jones or Ingrid ever could be.

Liam is a constant wise source of guidance. Anna is always the annoying little sister. Killian wears his heart on his sleeve at all times. Elsa… has a problem.

She has a ridiculous, unquenchable crush on Liam. When she was 17 it was just a silly little thing, but by the time she’s 20, it’s no longer “just” anything. But the seven year age gap makes her think that Liam probably thinks of her as more as a little sister than anything else.

The years pass and they grow, year by year, milestone by milestone. Killian is Kristof’s best man at his and Anna’s wedding. Elsa is the one that almost literally drops Emma in Killian’s lap when she sees the potential they could have together. Year after year, though, things are never in line for her own love life.

She dates, with mixed results, but there’s no spark that makes them last.

Over the course of ten years, they all bounce around each other. They handle love and disasters, heartbreak and celebrations. And still Elsa feels like she’s just a satellite around Liam at some of these events. She only really ever sees him during the holidays unless there’s a big event in their lives, so at least she has those times to look forward to. But mostly it’s to watch from afar as they each dwell in their own relationships.

She’s single when he’s not, he’s single when she’s not.

And then she turns twenty-eight. And she’s single. And he’s single. And they’re in the same place at the same time which is all feeling a lot like a miracle when she can’t remember the last time this even happened. And someone has posted mistletoe in the entrance of their cabin this year.

She’s pretty sure it was Killian, because he’s getting ready to propose to Emma and they’re adorably (if not sickeningly) in love.

On a return trip from the main lodge to grab dinner for everyone, she finds the cabin empty… or at least so it seems. Because Liam is waiting to help her bring in the food. He’s standing in the doorway.

Directly beneath the mistletoe.

She doesn’t know which one goes for it first, but the food gets left on the entryway table while they make out beneath a dumb piece of greenery.

It’s Emma that finds them snuggled on the couch about a half hour later, with Liam planting a small, gentle kiss on her lips. Her smile is self-satisfied, and knowing, and she subtly ushers everyone else out of the room to eat their dinners and leave Elsa and Liam in peace.

It’s Killian later on who tells her that Liam’s had eyes for her for years. But the timing was never right.

So the mistletoe was definitely planted by him, but intended for Liam and Elsa.

The next year they go, there’s a shiny ring on Emma’s finger, Anna announces she and Kristof are expecting, and Elsa and Liam celebrate their anniversary.

All in all, while they all have tragedy in their pasts, they turn out right where they need to be.

[javajunkieao3]

Peggy/Steve Reunion Series

 Peggy and Steve grudgingly attend a barbecue hosted by his misogynist coworker.  It goes as well as expected.

         “Whose barbecue are we going to again?”  Peggy asked, turning her head and watching the New York skyline fade further into the distance.  They had already been driving for nearly twenty minutes and based on her review of the map, they weren’t anywhere close to their destination.

           “Richard Troughton.  He teaches sixth grade science.”

           “I thought you didn’t like the sixth grade science teacher,” Peggy said.  “Isn’t he the one who labels all of his food in the teacher’s breakroom?”

           “He’s not my favorite person,” Steve said gingerly. “But, he started pointing out how we never go to anything he invites us to.  He still brings up Christmas.”

           “In July?  Honestly, you’d think he would find something better to spend his time on.”

           Steve smirked.  “Anyway, it’s the nice thing to do.”

           Peggy opened the map in front of her again, assessing their progress, and said, “Yes, well, if he wanted more people to come to his parties, perhaps he should have settled in a more centrally located area.”

           “We should almost be there, right?”

           “Define almost,” she returned glibly.

           “Well, just think of it as more quality time together. We haven’t gotten a lot of that since Sarah was born.”

           “You’re not wrong about that,” she said, leaning her head back against the seat.  Sarah had just turned eight months, and it felt like they hadn’t had a true evening alone for just that long.  Still, there was a price for the momentary freedom.  She glanced over at Steve and asked, “Am I wrong for being mildly worried about her?”

           Steve smiled softly and shook his head.  “No, I am, too.  But, Howard’s managed to keep Tony alive for almost two years now.  I’m sure he can manage watching her for an afternoon.”

           “You’re right, darling.  Besides, Maria will be there.”  

Steve laughed.  “Yes, good point.”

As they approached a stop light, Peggy glanced down at the map and said, “Oh, turn here!  Look at that, we finally have a turn.”

           “There’s hope for us yet.”

           Approximately ten minutes, and three turns, later, they pulled to a stop in front of a rustic farmhouse, the driveway already filled by several cars.  Steve parked on the street and walked around the car to open the door for Peggy, who unsurprisingly was already halfway out of the car, turning back quickly to pick up her purse.

           “Can you grab the salad, darling?”  Peggy asked, crouching down and checking her lipstick in the side mirror.  He collected the salad from the back seat and Peggy matched his stride as they walked toward the house.  Steve glanced over at her, his gaze lingering for a beat too long, and Peggy asked, “What is it?”

           “You look really nice,” he said.

           “You’ve seen me in this before.”

           “I know,” he said with a soft grin.

           Peggy felt her cheeks flush, and she asked, “Would it be inappropriate to kiss you in front of – who’s house are we at again?”

           Steve smirked, sliding his arm around her waist. “You know exactly where we are, Peg.”

           “Yes, I do.”  She dropped her voice and added, “Do you think he labels things in his own refrigerator?”

           “Only one way to find out.”

           She tilted her face up toward him and he gave her a quick kiss.  As they walked the rest of the way up to the door, Peggy found herself wishing they had different plans for the afternoon.  Particularly, ones where they were alone.  

           Steve hadn’t even knocked on the door when it was opened, a beefy man with a neat mustache and glasses, who Peggy could only assume was Richard Troughton, greeting them with a wide grin.

           “Am I seeing things?”  he said broadly, reaching up and readjusting his glasses.  “Is Steve Rogers actually here at my house?” He looked over his shoulder and said, “Barbara, I can’t believe this!”

           “Richard, dear, don’t make them just stand there,” a small woman said, her blonde hair bouncing jauntily at her shoulders. Bright pink lipstick matched her pink dress, and she ushered them in as she said, “Steve, I have heard so much about you from Richard.  You two have some fun, don’t you?”

           Peggy looked over at her husband, who had never reported a moment of fun with the man.  He smiled blandly and said, “The most.”

           “You must be Steve’s wife,” Richard said to Peggy.

           “I’m Peggy,” she said.

           “Nice to meet you, Peggy.  This is my wife, Barbara.”

           His wife gave her a small wave, and Peggy said, “You have a beautiful home.  Such an interesting area around here.”

           “We like being a bit off the beaten path. Don’t we, Barb?”

           “Yes, absolutely,” she said.

           “Well, anyway, I’m going to get Steve and I a beer out back.”

           Peggy went to follow them and Richard said, “Oh, you don’t want to come with us.  It’s all the men out there.  You’d be bored to tears.  Barb, why don’t you take Peggy to the kitchen?  That’s where all the women are.  You ladies can talk about clothes and hairdos or…whatever you women talk about.”

           “Quite right,” Peggy said in a stilted tone.  

           Richard noticed that Steve was still holding the salad bowl and said, “Why don’t you give that to Peggy?  I’m sure she’s happy to take it to the kitchen.”

           Peggy bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from making a smart remark and took the bowl from Steve with a tight grin. He cast her an apologetic look and then followed Richard out the backyard for a beer.  Peggy walked with Barbara into the kitchen and found what appeared to be all the wayward wives.  They were putting out the food for the lunch and unsurprisingly discussing matters beyond clothes and “hairdos”.  Barbara took the salad from Peggy and brought it over to the counter where there was already a good selection of dishes.

           “You’re new,” a woman said, coming up to Peggy.  “I’m Helen.”

           “Hello Helen, I’m Peggy Rogers.”

           “You’re Steve Rogers’ wife,” Helen said excitedly. “He’s wonderful.  I’m across the hall from him.  I teach algebra.”

           “Yes, I believe he’s mentioned you,” Peggy said slowly, grasping at a vague memory.  When she caught on it, she said, “You’re the teacher who lobbied for longer lunch hours, aren’t you?”

           Helen’s eyes lit up.  “Yes, that was me!”

           “I completely agreed with your proposal,” Peggy said.  “Twenty minutes isn’t nearly enough time for the children.”

           “Administration didn’t agree, but at least I tried.”

           “I heard Principal Higgins is leaving end of the year, a savings grace if you ask me, so you can always try again,” another woman said, munching on cracker with cream cheese and chives.  “I’m Margaret, by the way.  I teach eighth grade English.”

           “Lovely to meet you.”

           “So, Peggy, what do you do?” Barbara asked, joining them and handing Peggy a mugful of punch.  She brought it up to her mouth and was hit by a strong smell of whiskey. Perhaps there was hope for this party yet.

           “I work for a telephone company.”

           “Well, that sounds interesting,” Barbara intoned.

           “Do you ever listen in on people’s calls?” Helen asked, garnering a few snickers from the other women.  “What?  I would definitely listen in on other people’s calls.”

           Peggy smirked.  “No, I can’t say I’ve done that.”

BBBBB

           Richard grilled up a selection of hot dogs and burgers and after lunch everyone gradually made their way into the backyard.  Peggy largely kept with the wives, partaking in meandering, if not pleasant, conversation. Sometime around dessert, Peggy noticed Richard disappear inside the house and then return with what appeared to be a small pistol.  Barbara followed Peggy’s gaze and frowned before she said, “Don’t worry, it’s only a BB gun.  If you’ll excuse me.”

           “Set those beer cans on the tree stumps!” Richard said.  “I’ll bet you ten dollars I can get them all!”

           Barbara rushed over to her husband, and Peggy heard her say, “Do we really need to be doing this now, Richard?”

           “Don’t worry, the men are just having some fun.”

           “Yes, but dear-“

           “I said don’t worry about it,” he snapped.

           Peggy looked away before Barbara returned, but she noticed the tight set of her jaw.  Barbara tucked her hair behind her ears and said, “Why don’t we head inside and start some coffee?”

           “That’s a fine idea, Barb,” Helen said.

           Peggy followed the women inside, glancing back at Steve.  She could tell by the tight set of his shoulders that he was uncomfortable and she decided that this was as good of a time as any for them to leave.  She quickly said goodbye to Barbara and then walked over to the men.

           “Steve, darling, it’s time for us to call it a day.”

           “You can’t be leaving already,” Richard said. “We haven’t even had coffee.”

           “This was really great,” Steve said, clapping the other man on his shoulder.  “Thanks for having us.”

           “Steve, you haven’t even had a chance to shoot yet! Here, let’s make a deal.  You get all three, you go home.  You miss, we get you for one more drink.  What do you say?”

           “Steve,” Peggy said in a low voice.

           “Oh boy, I know that tone,” Richard said with a hearty laugh.  “You better choose wisely, Steve, or your old lady there may have something to say.”

           Peggy bristled and said, “How about his old ladygets to shoot?”

           Richard looked down at her with surprise.  “Really?”

           “Yes, really.”

           Richard grinned wide and said, “I think I see a drink in my future.  Alright, Peggy, be my guest.”

           “Marvelous,” she said, taking the BB gun from him.  

“Now, if you need us to move the cans closer-“

           “That won’t be necessary,” Peggy said, leveling the gun and shooting each can clear through the center in a quick succession. She handed the gun back to Richard and coolly said, “It was lovely meeting you, Richard.  Until next time?”

           “Where in the world did you learn to shoot like that?”

BBBBB

           On the ride back home, Peggy glanced over at her husband and said, “I forget sometimes how special you are.  I saw the way Richard treated his wife.”  She glanced down at her lap.  “I remember how I was treated at the SSR.  Like I was less than simply by virtue of my gender.”

           “They were short sighted.”

           “I know that,” she said.  “But you never have been.  From the moment we met, you have always treated me as an equal.”

“I could never see you as anything else.”

“I know,” she said softly, smiling over at him.  “Now, tell me, do you think our appearance today absolves us of having to attend the Christmas party?”

“You outshot the host.  We may not even be getting an invitation this year.”

“How unfortunate,” Peggy said with feigned contrition.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Beth!

You have been accepted for the role of EMMELINE VANCE with the requested age change! We really loved reading your portrayal for Emmeline! We especially enjoyed the details you brought in about her family and upbringing, along with the fact that healing doesn’t always equal warm, gentle, and empathetic. We love having you on the dash already and are excited to see you bring this introspective healer to life!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Beth

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE: CST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I feel like I’m literally always around on Discord right now, even if I’m not on the dash. I’ve been trying to do replies at least every other day currently. Given the current COVID situation and summer upcoming, my activity probably won’t change until mid-August.

ANYTHING ELSE: N/A

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Emmeline Vance

AGE: 25

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Emmeline is a ciswoman who uses She/Her pronouns. If she were bold enough to use a label, bisexual would probably fit best, but Emmeline isn’t particularly open about her sexuality and desires. She’s always had more important things to focus on and didn’t really find dating worth the fuss. She’s had a few partners here and there, usually men, but Emmeline has never been in what she considers a serious relationship.

BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: I wrote her age up there as 25 instead of 27 because with all the characters right at the same age, I kind of like the idea of her being just under that, of being familiar with them from school but not actually in that group. This isn’t a sticking point or anything, and I don’t have a problem with her still being 27.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Emmeline, a mind so fine, never really expected to shine. Cheesy rhyme? Perhaps. One that would annoy her? Oh, definitely. Emmeline is a person of practicality as often as is possible. Learning new things brings her great joy, but it’s as much about how that information can be used as anything else. Most of the time, Emmeline keeps information to herself. She’d rather be sure than spread false information, and when rumors at the subject of conversation, she’d rather leave things to be spread for themselves.

She has always had a deep fascination with understanding how things work, and sometimes that has meant taking them apart to put them back together. That problem-solving occasionally takes on a singular focus, which didn’t always make Emmeline popular among her peers going up. Given the right situation, she can be a bit intense. A lifetime of trying to monitor that intensity often has Emmeline defaulting to her second instinct: silence. It’s easier to wait and see what others bring to a situation. It’s easier to understand their perspectives, information, and biases when she doesn’t cloud it with her own first. Sometimes Emmeline will then engage in conversation, but if she senses a potential argument that she can’t win anyway, Emmeline often won’t try. She’ll leave it at that, whatever it is.

Still, as much as she pretends to be able to understand the situation as a whole, Emmeline knows she has shortcomings. She often fails to realize how infrequently the whole picture is considered. That’s not to say she’s more objective than most people. She isn’t. She’s just more likely to dig until she thinks she has the most complete story possible. Then she’ll dig a little more just to be sure. It means she has a lot of useless information, but it also means she’s not likely to argue back when someone is wrong when Emmeline doesn’t for sure know if her conclusions are correct. Instead she sits there quietly and just knows the other person is wrong.

Most people seem to expect healers to be especially empathetic. Emmeline is not. She does try. She tries to put herself in other people’s perspectives, but she’s much better doing that from a knowledge perspective than from an emotional one. “If I didn’t know why my skin was blue and steaming, I would also react negatively to someone else not knowing the cause,” instead of a more empathetic viewpoint like, “They are afraid because they don’t understand what’s going on.” She needs a bit of the concrete and the observable. Although Emmeline doesn’t externalize many of her thoughts, she struggles when other people do the same because she isn’t good at reading the emotion within the silence. At work, that’s easy enough to handle because she can ask patients how they’re feeling and coworkers for more information. With the Order, that’s a little more challenging, especially if it’s a conversation Emmeline isn’t technically in, just present for. They seem to happen often. After all, Emmeline is so easy to overlook.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Life isn’t easy in the magical world with a surname that hasn’t been around for the last hundred years or so. Margaret Baxter knew that better than anyone as the child of two muggleborns, but she certainly didn’t do any climbing by marrying a muggle named Allan Vance. She practically lived like a muggle too. It wasn’t until her daughter Emmeline was seven that she fully understood that some of her horticulturist mother’s prettiest and most exciting plants weren’t ones her classmates knew. Nor could any of their mother’s produce a couple drops of dittany to heal scrapes and bruises before giving the ever important kiss to finish making it better. Emmeline grew up in an almost entirely muggle household with little bits of magic that Maggie couldn’t live without. Emmeline had to learn early on which were which, and she needed to know which things couldn’t be mentioned to her friends. Her own magic was most likely to appear when she was trying to make things work. Allan walked into the room one day to find his favorite working model train floating through the air in pieces as Emmeline skipped between them, pausing every once in a while to inspect one. Maggie was able to put it back together, but under his breath, Allan would still occasionally complain that the steam puffed too realistically now.

Allan was a postal worker who believed quite firmly in the importance of hard work and dedication. Had he been a magical man, he likely would have been in Hufflepuff. While that work ethic was something Emmeline did inherit, she was always more like her mother, interested in understanding above all else. Maggie’s interests ended up in herbology. She had a gift for determining how to help plants flourish and cross-develop to create viable hybrids with helpful gifts. While Emmeline never shared her mother’s interest in plants, she embraced Maggie’s methodology toward problem-solving. It became an important step forward for Emmeline.

OCCUPATION: 

Emmeline knew from fourth year on that she wanted to be a Healer.

She’d always been good at charms and transfiguration, and in her pursuit of theoretical knowledge about human transfiguration longer before she was old enough to actually do it, Emmeline stumbled upon healing textbooks in the Hogwarts library. They were all well and good, but they couldn’t tell her as much as a real teacher. She went to Madame Pomphrey initially just to have a few questions answered, but the woman knew so much about a subject Emmeline hadn’t realized went so many layers deep. Madame Pomphrey saw her spark and encouraged it, suggesting to Emmeline’s other professors side projects which might be of interest to the young Vance girl. By her seventh year, Emmeline was helping Slughorn brew a few healing potions and fetching herbs from the greenhouses whenever Madame Pomphrey asked. That gave her a head start on some of her peers when she applied for St. Mungo’s Healer Program and, when coupled with her impressive NEWT results, looked quite remarkable to her mentors. Emmeline completed the program as fast as possible, happy to be able to lend a hand and make a difference.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Emmeline learned early on that a person’s value is on what they can achieve, but the magical world is full of people who look at pedigree instead. She’s not even first generation. Not second either. She’s got two generations of magic flowing through her veins, but it’s not about the magic itself; it’s about the heritage that can be used as a weapon. Emmeline is not stranger to this weapon, and she watched it slowly grow stronger around her during her time in training as a Healer. From the first whispers of a group defying Lord Voldemort and his followers, Emmeline knew that was a group she needed to find. At first she didn’t know how, and Emmeline continued on as normal. She couldn’t sit idle forever, though, and it took a few months of listening around corners and staying quiet in the backs of rooms before she’d connected the group to Hogwarts. She didn’t know what it was called or who was involved, but if it happened at Hogwarts, Emmeline knew Albus Dumbledore had to know.

After graduation, Emmeline had continued to meet Poppy Pomphrey for tea at least once a month as they transitioned from a true student mentorship to friends. It was at one such tea that Emmeline revealed what she had learned and insisted that she needed an audience with Dumbledore about it. Poppy agreed to set it up, and less than a week later, Emmeline was a member of the Order of the Phoenix and already working to create a hospital space at the recently acquired Potter Estate. She found it a bit unsettling that such a young wix could have this kind of shelter to casually provide, but Emmeline wasn’t about to question it. James seemed sincere and wasn’t pandering to other purebloods, so Emmeline took it for what it was.

While she could do some to fight, Emmeline very rarely saw battle directly. Most of the time she paced around the Potter Estate until people started arriving back. She’d been pushed to her limits helping the Order. Emmeline was good at her job, but she hated that she had to strain so often. It wasn’t on her own account either. People shouldn’t be put at risk as often as they were. Still, they weren’t doing enough. Too many people got hurt for too little and sometimes no reward. Emmeline couldn’t stand it, especially when she suspected egos and misinformation contributed so frequently. No one ever seemed to be thorough enough when they clarified the facts, and even if they were, they shared half-truths. Emmeline has grown tired of people trying to hold things back. This is a war, and people are dying. Now is not the time to try and seem smart by keeping things to oneself.

SURVIVAL:

Emmeline’s life looks pretty standard from the outside. She lives in a small two bedroom flat and uses the second as an office and storeroom for healing supplies. She remembers to eat regularly and works her shifts at St. Mungo’s with no complaint. She checks in at the Potter Estate about every other day, even if it just means reorganizing her supply of pain potions. She hears things and she absorbs the information, and that cycle had become a bit of a sticking point in her life. Emmeline is so afraid of not being there when someone needs her that she’s allowed basically everything else in her life to slip into the background.

It was easy for her friends and family members to believe that Emmeline was just throwing herself into her work, perhaps too easy. There’s no turning back now, though. Emmeline made a choice, and it’s one she intends to see through. Some days that just means getting through to the next one. She has no idea what the future holds, and at this point, Emmeline is almost afraid of what comes after because it’s easier unimaginable horror or unknowable potential.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Emmeline is perhaps one of the people devoting the most time to the Order, and much of that is in direct service to her fellow members. One might expect that to translate to having more close confidantes in the group, but Emmeline doesn’t take it personally. She’s never been the most popular person in a room. Plus, not being the center of attention has its advantages.

One of those advantages is that she isn’t expected to respond positively if pureblood Order members mention their supremacist families. She hates hearing about it, and that’s just one more reminder that some people in the Order have more to lose than others if Lord Voldemort wins. People like Alice Longbottom have a safety net, family who would assumedly welcome them back, if there’s anything to forgive at all.

She knows that distrust doesn’t breed strong teamwork, but even the people she has no reason to mistrust don’t always leave Emmeline particularly inspired. So many of the members rush to conclusions without the proper facts to back them up, and Marlene McKinnon seems to be one of the worst. That’s not fair, Emmeline knows. She doesn’t know the witch’s full situation, but when every incorrect thing out of her mouth is said with such confidence, it’s hard not to take it personally. Marlene isn’t alone in this unfortunate attitude, but she is perhaps the one Emmeline is stuck dealing with most often. Emmeline tends to stay curt and to the point before quickly slipping away to find someone else for better assistance.

When group meetings so often don’t actually say what they’re meant to say, Emmeline grows frustrated and bored in them. Lately she’s taken to watching others in the circle at such things, and of late, she’s found a kindred soul in Peter Pettigrew. She wishes more people were like them, watching and learning instead of just assuming. She thinks meetings could run more efficiently then. The whole Order could really.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I have no specific hopes or desires for Emmeline. Romance is far from a primary motivator for her, so it would take good chemistry to start anything.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Emmeline would consider herself fairly open-minded, if only because she likes to take all the information available, find more, and then use it to come to a conclusion. She isn’t going to hop on any fearmongering broomstick over werewolves being isolated when all the research and Madame Pomphrey can tell her they’re incapable of causing any more damage than the average wix during most phases of the moon. That’s the logic that Emmeline applies to a lot of people problems.

That said, she really doesn’t have time for people who refuse to learn. The world is full of information, and one of the most important things about learning is the ability to acknowledge when your previous understanding was incorrect and move on. Emmeline’s not sure she’s ever met a pureblood who could truly do that. They loved to pretend they understand what the world is like, even when they’re talking about things they don’t understand. Most don’t know anything about the muggles they claim to be so much better than. It absolutely frustrates her because the knowledge is right there. Unlike wizards, muggles don’t try to hide what they have and pretend it’s much better. They don’t even have television for Morgana’s sake! Muggle technology and medicine could be readily available if wix just got over themselves long enough to see it.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I told myself I wasn’t going to apply for a fourth. That said, I have the time, am enjoying the writing, and felt the call for someone to round out my little collection. I don’t have anyone as level-headed as Emmeline or who manages to carry their confidence without arrogance like she does. I’m excited for the possibilities she creates.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: I do think it would be interesting down the line for someone to challenge Emmeline on something she feels passionately about. Maybe the Order could get ahold of something cursed/semi-cursed that Emmeline strongly disagrees with keeping around because the risks to themselves are higher than the potential rewards as a weapon? Perhaps there’s a building rumor or huge miscommunication that she’s heard enough (indirectly) from everyone involved, but she can’t get people to just talk to each other because they just keep assuming they know the truth when they’re missing major pieces.

ANYTHING ELSE? I love you all! You keep me inspired, clearly.

[xmeetyoutherex]

Dusty Records (c.h.) - Part One

Word count: 2.5K

Summary: Calum decides to go record shopping and in the end, he gets more than just a dusty record sitting on the shelves.

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to write this. I was busy with finals and all that. This is only part one and I honestly don’t know if there will only be two parts or not, so we’ll see. As always let me know what you think and come talk to me about. If all goes as planned the second part will be up by next Friday. I also made a playlist for this fic so check my masterlist for the link and to read my other stuff. Thanks for reading! (oh and if I tagged you it was because you showed interest in me writing a fic after reading the headcannon, let me know if you don’t want to be tagged or if you do) oh and i didn’t really edit this sooooo sorry:)

Margaret was collecting records and CDs that had just came in that needed to be shelved. They were all newly released albums such as Billie Eilish, Khalid, and some other big artists that she had never took the time to listen to. She worked at an old record shop in the poorer part of the city, better known as the south side. It was a cozy store. She got to know some of the customers very well because they were never really crowded, and it was usually always just regulars. Occasionally someone new would wonder through the doors, but that was usually the only time she ever saw them.

When Maggie first started working there her friend used to joke with her that she wouldn’t make any money because she as soon as she got her paycheck she would go and spend on the record she had been eyeing all week. Margaret had an unhealthily huge record collection living in her apartment. She had started when she was only ten years old and her dad had decided to give her his. He had R.E.M, Led zeppelin, Elton John, and so many more. All comprising of different styles of music that caused Margaret in turn to have no exact genre she loved most. She would always tell people she preferred rock and alternative, but if someone caught a glimpse of her collection, they probably wouldn’t believe her.

But her broad love for music made her perfect for running a record store having been raised on the idea of “appreciating music for what it is and not by the category it falls under.” She was always able to spark a conversation with anyone who came in and help them find the perfect album for what they were looking for. Her broad love for music was also very annoying to her close friends because her playlists in the car can go from soft pop music to heavy metal screamo music. If Maggie is being honest with herself, she finds her taste in music disgustingly broad.

Currently there were only a couple people browsing the sections and none of them appeared to need any help. While she was getting the new records ready to be put out, she was talking to her coworker who was also one of her closest friends. “I’m working every day this week, so no I can’t go on a double date with you.” Leah just scoffed at her.

“You’re just saying that because you already think he’s a dud.” Leah was currently sitting on the stool behind the register looking over at Maggie work.

Maggie could only laugh at her friends comment because it was partially true. She got off work at 6:00 pm, plenty of time to get ready and go on a date. “That may be true, but when are they not duds.” Maggie smirked downward at the records that still needed to be taken out of the boxes in front of her.

“Come on Mags,” Leah sighed, “life is not a cliché love song engraved on one of your records. You gotta go on the cringy dates to finally go on the noncringy dates.” Leah looked genuinely concerned for her friends love life. It was truly a tragic one. None of Maggie’s relationships lasted very long. The longest one she ever had was about four months. She honestly thought something was wrong with her. No one ever seemed to stay long, they all got bored and fast. She was ready to give up on love all together. Her friends used to get mad at her for how negative she was about love, but after she was cheated on for a second time, none them had it in them to argue with her anymore, well except Leah. She was only twenty- two and preparing herself to live a long lonely life. Like Leah said none of it is like the love songs engraved on one of her old dusty records, but she can help but think to herself that if it was love that she was supposed to feel shouldn’t be like one of those old dusty records.

Maggie looked Leah in the eyes and sighed. “I will go on all the cringy dates,” Leah began to smile at that, but Maggie cut her off by continuing with, “but I will choose the cringy person. Okay?”

Leah let out an annoyed huff, “fine,” and slouched back against the wall making sure the stool was close enough so she wouldn’t fall off. Maggie just smiled a small one as she looked back down at the record boxes and picked up the ones ready to be shelved.

……..

             The boys had been on break for over a month and Calum had run out of things to do, to keep him occupied in his free time. Luke, Ash, and Michael were all spending their free time with there girlfriends and in Michael’s case his fiancé. Ashton had tried setting Calum up on a few blind dates, but for those to work Calum would have to show up to the date. So, as different way to pass the time Calum decided to ask Luke for ideas instead of Ashton.  Luke proposed the idea of Calum going to record shop. Calum had never actually been to an actual record shop. He has bought ones online or gone to places like target to buy them, but never went to an actual record shop to hunt for the perfect record. But the issue was finding one. Luke’s girlfriend had sent him an address of one she used to go to all the time, but it was on the other side of town, the side of town he’s not too familiar with.

              So, he set up his google maps on his phone and decided to take an hour trip across town. Calum decided to take Duke with him so the trip wasn’t as lonely. It would be a fun father son trip. Honestly Calum was excited to spend the day out with his dog.

……..

             Before Calum got out of the car he put the windows down a little. It wasn’t very hot out, but he wanted to make sure Duke would be fine. He couldn’t be more than thirty minutes, but that was still long time for a dog to be in the car for that long.

             “I promise I won’t be long,” Calum quickly pet duke’s head and closed his door and looked through the cracked window and continued with, “don’t get into to trouble, okay?” he then laughed a little to himself because people probably think he’s a little crazy talking to a dog.

             Calum scanned the parking lot and noticed that there wasn’t that many cars. Only about four including his. Unless the staff of the store parks in the back, they must not get much business. He couldn’t help but wonder how a place like this can stay in business if no one is here, but then he reminds himself that most people are work eight to five jobs and it is ten in morning. so he makes his way to the doors and check to make sure they are open and the sign adorning the door tells him that they have been open since nine.

             When he enters the door makes a little ding sound and when he looks up, he notices a bell attached to the top to alert the staff when someone enters the store. But when he looked around the store, he didn’t see anyone else. It could be because of the endless aisles and racks filled with CDs and records. It appeared endless. Calum began to roam the aisles, as he looked, he came across so many albums that he forgot even existed. Then he heard muffled talking form the next aisle.

             Calum honestly forgot that there could possibly be other people in the store, considering there was basically no one in the parking lot and he hadn’t even seen a sales person asking him if he needed any help with anything. Ha decided to walk to the end of the row he was in and make his way into the row that he thought the talking was coming form. When he rounded the corner two people came into sight. One appeared to be a much older man, at least in his late sixties or early seventies, and the other was a young girl, not too young she looked about his age maybe a year or two younger, but that could be because she a sort of baby face to her. She was wearing skinny black ripped jeans, they were only ripped around the knee, and a black t-shirt that looked like a shirt one would buy from hot topic. She also had black vans on to match her black outfit. The thing that was drew Calum’s attention the most were the black bands tattooed around her upper arm and right below her elbow. It immediately reminded him of the same ones decorating Michael’s skin. Her hair was short just passing her shoulders and it had a slight purple tint to it indicating that she probably ha dyed it and the color was fading out.

              Calum was pulled out of her thoughts by her voice speaking up again in response to the man standing in front of her. As she spoke Calum busied himself with looking at the records to his left. “If she’s starting a collection, I strongly recommend this album.” He looked up to see what album she was referring to and saw that it was Rumours by Fleetwood Mac, truly one of the best albums he had ever listened to himself. “You said she’s turning sixteen, right?”

              The older man nodded his head, “Yeah, her mother told me she wanted to start a vinyl collection cause apparently it’s the cool thing these days.”

             The girl let out a slight laugh but tried to stifle it so she could talk. “Well then if she’s doing it to be cool this is a great option. It an old album so it will get her a lot of points on the grunge front and if she ever decided to give it a spin on the player, she will fall in love with out a doubt.” She smiled up at the man as she spoke.

             “Well, you look close to her age so I’m going to trust you on this.” The man clearly was joking with her at this point.

             As she began to turn to turn to lead the man to the cash register Calum noticed her name tag said Margaret, and she was turning she spoke, “Okay, lets get you checked out then huh?” the older man only smiled at her and followed her to the front of the store.

             Calum continued looking at the records, but he couldn’t get himself to focus on what was in front of him. Her smile was partially engraved in his mind already. He tried to focus on the Led Zeppelin albums, but then the bell that he heard when he entered the store was ringing again. He looked up for what was in front of him a realized that all he didn’t hear anyone talking anymore. Cal began walking in the direction in which Margaret had led the guy down when taking him to the cash register. On his way in that direction he mindlessly grabbed an album from one of the shelves.

             He noticed Margaret was now sitting behind the register scrolling through her phone and there was also someone sitting next to her that he hadn’t seen when he walked in. It was another girl who looked to be the same age as Margaret, but she was wearing blue skinny jeans without a single rip in them and pair of pink tennis shoes to match the pink flowery shirt she was wearing. As Calum got closer they both looked up from their phones to look at him.

             Margaret gave him a small smile with no teeth, and he noticed how her side swept bangs fell slightly in front of her right eye as she looked up. She immediately tucked her hair on the right side of her face behind her ear revealing multiple piercing on her ears. Once Calum was close enough she began talking, “What can I help you with.”

Calum simply held up the album he was holding and said, “Just this.” She began to laugh a little when she saw the album he was holding; it was same laugh he had heard her stifle earlier when talking to the older man about his granddaughter. He looked down at the what he was holding and noticed it was Taylor swift’s Fearless album and began to laugh himself.

Maggie wasn’t judging him for buying the album she just found It funny that this big guy in a leather jacket was buying an album she used to listen to religiously when she was in middle school. Mags couldn’t help but find it utterly adorable especially when he asked the question, “Is this one good?” the questioning look on his face made her slightly giggle again. She adverted her eyes to the register and began to ring him up.

When Maggie responded she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped with it, “It does have so great classics.” Leah really looked up from her phone to watch the event unfolding in front of her because she couldn’t believe her ears.

Calum was pleased with himself for getting her to laugh not only once but twice now. He tried to level his voice and sound as serious as he could when he said, “that’s why I picked it.” But Maggie and Leah could both hear the underlying amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, Okay.” Maggie’s smiled down at the register and read the price, “that will be sixteen dollars and ninety-nine cents.” She then held out her hand waiting for him to drop his credit card in it to which he did. She then proceeded to ask, “would like a bag?”

Calum took his credit card back and answered her question with a shake of the head. “No, I think I can manage.” He smiled at her then looked over at the other girl who had been looking at them for the last five minutes and smiled at her as well before saying, “Hope you both have a great day.” And turned around and left the store.

Once the bell had rung and the door had shut completely Leah looked at Maggie and exclaimed, “you never giggle.”

Maggie gave a look that could Leah refers to as her “what the fuck” look. “what does that even mean?”

Leah let out an annoyed huff. “It means, you don’t giggle. I have never seen a guy make you giggle, and he did.” Leah motioned toward the door of the shop when she referred to him. “and he is totally your type, and the way he was looking at you make me think you’re his.” When Maggie looked form the door back to Leah, she saw the obnoxious smirk Leah was wearing and couldn’t stop the annoyed words from leaving her mouth.

“In his dreams.”

 tags: @lmao5sosimagines @snowflakegen @lynnskata @lvke-hemmings @notmyvalentyne @the5sosdumpster @calumisanactualangel @singt0mecalum @sweetcherrymike @irwnsrcses 

[frauleinsmaria]

The Facebook Flub (1/3)

Summary: When Emma accidentally sends a friend request to the wrong person, she doesn't expect much to come of it. But maybe this accident is the best decision she's ever made.

Rated: T for now, potentially high T/low M in the future

Also on AO3

A/N: Inspired by a comment I came across on Instagram asking people to share how their long distance relationships began: "I added the wrong guy on Facebook that I met at the bar...the guy I added lived in Germany and I was in Canada. That accident...is now my husband."

A few changes to make it fit Captain Swan, plus a whole lot of support and cheerleading from @wellhellotragic , @profdanglaisstuff , and @thejollyroger-writer later, here we are! Thanks a million, ladies, you’re the best.

Going out was the last thing Emma wanted to do tonight. She had a long week dealing with a tough case at work, the weather reports were calling for snow, and she had a headache- not to mention the fact that she didn’t feel like being hit on by some drunk low life.

“Those are all reasons for you to go out then,” Ruby insisted when Emma relayed all of this to her over the phone. “It’s Friday night. You need to come let loose with your friends and forget about whatever else is on your mind. And you know I’ll gladly fight off anyone who bothers you.” It took similar texts from Elsa, Graham, David, and Mary Margaret for her to finally give in and join them. Which is how she found herself sitting at the bar at one of their favorite burger and beer places downtown.

She was drinking one of her favorite beers, with Graham on her left side flirting with the guy behind the bar, and a stranger on her right who had been talking her ear off about some upcoming movie since he sat down an hour ago. Emma wasn’t all that interested- in both him or whatever this movie is- but she listened anyway. She didn’t have the energy to join the rest of her friends at the dart boards, and at least this guy wasn’t trying to flirt. So when he suggested she add him on Facebook before he left, she’d had enough to drink that she saw little reason to object.

It wasn’t until he was gone when she opened the Facebook app on her phone and realized she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of his name. He’d introduced himself when he first took the seat beside her, but that had been several beers ago, not to mention the loud music in the bar making some of his words hard to hear.

It had been something different that she’d never heard before. Killiam James, maybe? she thought as she typed it into the search bar.

“I should’ve known.” Ruby appeared behind her, holding a glass of whatever she’d picked for her poison tonight. “Don’t tell me you came out just to sit on your phone by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself. Graham’s he-” She turned and saw that the man in question had apparently slipped off with the bartender without her noticing.”Huh. Or maybe not.”

Ruby sighed. “Come on, Emma. You know you wanna watch Mary Margaret kick David’s ass at darts.”

That was a statement she couldn’t argue with. “Hang on. Let me do this first.” But Ruby instead grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the dart boards, causing Emma to hit “add friend” for the first option in her search results without paying much attention to the name or profile picture.

The guy from the bar and the friend request had been forgotten about by the next morning when she woke up with a pounding headache and wondered exactly when she’d started getting old.

The events of that Friday night didn’t cross her mind again until the next weekend. She’d gone to see Captain Marvel with David and Mary Margaret, who were always willing to join her to watch any superhero movie despite both of them losing track of the plot at least half an hour in. It wasn’t the same as getting to experience it with someone as invested as she was, but years of going to the movies by herself when she was younger made Emma grateful for their company regardless.

They arrived at the theater early, battling the lines at the ticket booth and again at the concessions stand for overpriced popcorn and candy. The theater was already filling up after they’d gotten snacks. Emma stepped on quite a few feet to get to the only empty three seats together. Once they were settled, she pulled out her phone and opened the front camera. “Smile, guys!” Mary Margaret got the memo, but David looked like a deer in headlights in their selfie. This was definitely getting posted.

She made a few adjustments to the lighting before posting the photo on Facebook and Instagram. It’s Captain Marvel time!

The lights in the theater dimmed as the first movie trailer began to play on the screen. Emma silenced her phone and dropped it into her purse before grabbing a fistful of popcorn and settling into her seat.

It was over two hours later when the movie had ended and the three of them had arrived back at David and Mary Margaret’s house before she thought to check her phone again. There was a new text from Elsa about the shirt she’d borrowed last week and a handful of social media notifications. She opened Facebook first to see the response to her pre-movie selfie. It was when she started scrolling through the list of various reactions that an unfamiliar name caught her eye. Of course since she’d tagged David and Mary Margaret in the photo, several people who’d liked it weren’t Facebook friends of hers or people she knew. But this one stood out- it belonged to a person she’d never heard of before, and one who was apparently on her friends list.

Killian Jones. She frowned and clicked the link to open his profile page. They had no mutual friends, but sure enough, they were friends with each other. The brief amount of information listed under his personal details told her he lived in London and worked for a company named Ship Shape.

Emma quickly began to question just how she knew this Killian Jones. They hadn’t gone to college together; his profile listed him as an alum of a university in London she’d never heard of. He wasn’t in her line of work, so that wasn’t a possibility.

What if he had been a previous one night stand? No, that definitely wasn’t the case. She rarely got men’s names when those happened, let alone befriended them on social media.

And there was no way she would have forgotten a face like his. His current profile picture was taken from a distance on a beach somewhere, which made his features a bit harder to notice. The handful of previous ones were closer shots though. There were a few that looked like they were taken at some kind of professional event and a selfie with a dog she presumed was his. He was gorgeous, she realized as she quickly flipped through them. Piercing blue eyes, a head of dark hair that successfully toed the line between messy and polished with a five o’clock shadow to match. Yeah, she definitely would have remembered him.

Emma scrolled through a few more photos before she started to feel like she was crossing some sort of line. She had zero ideas on who this Killian Jones even was, and yet there she sat combing through the details of his Facebook profile as if they were close friends.

Contacting him seemed like the most logical thing to do. She opened Messenger, still annoyed that the feature wasn’t included with the regular Facebook app anymore, and typed out a brief message. Hey. Sorry if this seems weird, but I was wondering how you and I knew each other?

Her phone chimed with a response only a few minutes later. Not weird, love. Although I was wondering the same thing considering you’re the one who added me.

She stared at her phone screen and read the message again. There had to be some kind of mix up. Her friends list was on the small side, mostly former classmates and coworkers, and the people she regularly interacted with now. What reason would she have for sending a friend request to Killian Jones all the way in London-

And then it hit her. “Killiam James,” she groaned, remembering the guy from the bar the weekend before. If that was even his name. Emma blamed the combination of beer and loud music for the mix up, which explained why she’d added this guy with such a similar name.

What was she even supposed to say to Killian Jones now? The truth was ridiculous, and she couldn’t think of a lie that sounded even moderately believable.

Honesty won out in the end. “What does it matter? He’s never gonna meet me anyway,” she muttered as she started to reply. So, funny story. I thought I was sending a friend request to a guy with a name that’s really similar to yours and I just now realized my mistake. I’m sorry again because I know how weird this all probably sounds to you.

She hadn’t expected another reply. He’d probably delete her from his friends list after learning the reason behind the mishap and forget all about their brief interaction. What she got instead was a huge surprise. That’s quite alright. I suppose it could have happened to anyone. But, while we’re here, can I ask how the movie was?

Movie? Oh, right. She’d gone to see Captain Marvel tonight. His liking her photo was what started all of this. I liked it a lot. Keep in mind I haven’t read the comics, so I don’t know how accurate anything was. But it’s a great addition to the MCU if you ask me. And the cat was awesome.

I’m glad to hear that. I don’t know much about the comics myself, I just like the films as well. I’ll have to keep my eye out for the cat you speak of when I see it for myself.

This conversation was already a positive changed compared to the ones she usually had about Marvel movies. Most people, men especially, would make fun of her or call her a “fake fan” when she admitted she wasn’t familiar with the comics and didn’t really have plans to change that. Not only was Killian Jones not making fun of her preferences, he actually seemed to share them.

Emma soon found herself discussing everything from Endgame theories to the newest Spider-Man: Far From Home trailer with him. It wasn’t until her eyes grew heavy and she started yawning that she realized it was after midnight. Had this guy really stayed up until five in the morning to talk superheroes with her? Crap. I just realized what time it is. I’m really sorry if I kept you up. You’re probably exhausted.

No worries, Swan- can I call you that? As coincidence would have it, I’m a bit of an insomniac. I likely would still be awake now regardless. Plus, I work for my brother, so he can’t fire me for sleeping on the job unless he wants to lose his kids’ favorite babysitter.

Swan is fine- after all, it is my name. Although I still feel like you may need to apologize to your brother on my behalf.

Truthfully, she didn’t expect to hear from Killian again. Sure, they’d had a long conversation about a shared interest of theirs, but that didn’t mean he had any desire to continue talking to a stranger in the middle of the night. Or at any other time, for that matter.

Which is why Emma was caught off guard when she received another Facebook message from him a few days later. Hello, Swan. I know it’s the middle of the day where you are so you’re probably working, but I just saw Captain Marvel with a friend of mine and I needed someone to discuss the end credits scene with since he’s not nearly invested in this.

Their conversation soon left movies entirely and shifted to their everyday lives. Within the next hour, she learned that he was thirty-one, worked as a marketing executive for the shipping company owned by his brother, was the proud uncle of a nephew and two nieces, and spent most of his free time hiking or reading whatever fantasy novel was next on his to read list. Emma was more hesitant when it came to sharing specifics about herself for several reasons: talking about herself wasn’t exactly something she enjoyed, she barely knew this guy, plus, what if he really wasn’t the person he claimed to be?

If there’s one of us that ought to be suspicious, it’s him, she thought. You added him first; you could be the one Catfishing for all he knows.

Their once sporadic conversations soon became a nightly occurrence, switching from Facebook Messenger to texts once they felt comfortable with sharing numbers. (The short amount of time this took didn’t go unnoticed to Emma. She refused to let herself think too much about it.) Over time, it soon became easier to open up to him about a number of different things. Some days it was her favorite color or flavor of ice cream, others it was conspiracy theories she believed that dealt with people like Marilyn Monroe and Kurt Cobain. Emma rarely brought up her upbringing or personal life, and he never asked.

On nights when Killian’s insomnia was particularly brutal, they watched Netflix together, one of the few pastimes they could share considering the distance between them. They usually chose comedies, preferring shows like The Good Place and Parks and Rec so they wouldn’t miss much of the story if they got caught up in whatever conversation they were having at the same time.

The first phone call happened by accident when they’d been talking about three months. Emma had just got in from work and was debating between Chinese and pizza for dinner when her phone began to vibrate. She froze at seeing Killian’s name on the screen. Why was he calling her? They had never talked outside of Facebook and texts. Phone calls had never even come up once in their conversations.

“H-hello?” she answered after a moment. “Killian?”

“Oi, Jones, is this your girlfriend?” Not Killian then, although another man with an accent who sounded far from sober. She heard some sort of commotion in the background, followed by, “Give me back my bloody phone!”

“Um, hello, Swan.” His voice sounded exactly as she’d imagined. (Not that she’d spent that much time thinking on the subject. Not at all.) The accent was there, of course, but his voice was softer and he sounded considerably more under control than whoever had greeted her. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. Killian, don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you calling me? Where are you?”

“Well, you see, a few of us brought Liam to the pub tonight for his birthday, but I realized I’d forgotten to tell you about it earlier. I know you wanted to start Brooklyn 99 tonight since we finished New Girl. Anyway, I was in the middle of typing out a message to you explaining all of this when Will took my phone and called before I could stop him.” He sighed. Emma had a feeling Will would get an earful as soon as this conversation was over; she heard a lot about him from Killian, mostly complaints. “I’m terribly sorry, love. I’m sure this must be awkward for you.”

“It’s fine, Killian. I appreciate you for telling me, but I know you probably have better things to do on a Friday night than watch Netflix with a stranger in Boston.” Although that was the gist of their relationship from an outside perspective, Emma’s heart sank at her own words. She thought more for this virtual stranger than she did most of the people she saw in person on a regular basis.

“Don’t talk like that, Swan. Besides, it would’ve been bad form to leave you hanging without an explanation.”

She should have known he would be a stickler for manners, even for something as trivial as a regular Netflix binge. “Thanks, Killian. Seriously though, go enjoy your night out. Sing ‘happy birthday’ obnoxiously loud to your brother and maybe don’t let anyone else take your phone. We’ll catch up on Netflix later, alright?”

“Alright, love. Goodnight.”

The next time Killian called, it was intentional. Neither of them thought much of it.

The calls (via WhatsApp to keep from spending a fortune) soon became a semi-regular part of their “routine.” They didn’t happen as often as the texts, however, since it was harder to both talk and vaguely pay attention to whatever show they were watching at any given moment. Talking on the phone often made it easy to forget the difference in time zone and the ocean between them, even when Killian said something particularly British, like “tosser” or “knackered.”

She and Killian had their first shared experience with FaceTime the night before the surprise party she and Mary Margaret have planned for David. Emma had been asked to make cupcakes, something she now regretted agreeing to as she stood in her kitchen dumbfounded by the assortment of ingredients strewn out across the counter.

As if on cue, her phone vibrated.

Killian: How are the cupcakes coming along?

Emma: They’re not.

Do I really have to mix the wet and dry ingredients separately? They all go in the same bowl in the end. And how much batter do I put in the cupcake liners without them blowing up like mushroom tops? I don’t get why I had to pick a recipe that calls for baking soda AND powder too.

Basically, I need to be able to snap my fingers and have a professional chef in my kitchen to take care of this.

Killian: I’m no professional, but if you want to FaceTime, I could possibly help walk you through it.

Of course he could. She’d quickly learned that Killian Jones was one of those people who was unfairly good at most if not all things.

Emma opened the camera app on her phone to get a look at her current appearance. An old Rolling Stones t-shirt that probably should have been thrown out years ago, her-square rimmed glasses, hair thrown up on the top of her head in a messy knot, and no makeup, not to mention the zit on her chin that she hadn’t gotten the chance to get rid of yet. It would have to do. They were friends, and he already knew what she looked like thanks to social media. And she didn’t have time or energy to freshen up before she got the stupid cupcakes taken care of.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.

Her phone screen was taken up by Killian’s smiling face seconds later. “Hello, Swan.”

“Uh, hi.” Somehow he was even better looking in real time. It wasn’t fair. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Come now, love. How hard can it be?”

“Consider who you’re dealing with, Killian. I almost cooked an oven mitt last week.” She didn’t add that it had happened due to their intense conversation on nineties one hit wonders and she’d been so distracted she hadn’t paid attention to where she’d placed the mitt after taking pizza out of her oven.

He barked out a laugh. “Something tells me chocolate cupcakes will smell much better. Do you have the recipe up?”

“Yeah. I’m sending it to you.”

Killian, being the good sport that he was, spent the better part of the next two hours going through the recipe step by step with her. Which was much easier said than done.

“You mean to tell me that not only do I have to mix the wet and dry ingredients separately, but I can only mix half of each together at a time?”

“Aye, that’s what the woman recommends.”

Emma had long since forgotten the name of the woman who’d posted the recipe online, but she had quickly become her worst enemy. “I should’ve just told Mary Margaret to make the damn cupcakes herself.”

“I highly doubt she could’ve gotten away with making cupcakes for her husband’s surprise party in their own house,” Killian noted.

How was it that he seemed to know her own family better than she did. “Yeah, well, then I should have bought cupcakes from the store and brought them to the party on one of my plates.” It would have at least saved the trouble of having a kitchen covered in flour, butter, and the other dozen or so ingredients she’d added to the mix.

She had just began pouring batter into one of the slots in her cupcake tin when Killian spoke up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Swan.”

“Killian, I may have the cooking skills of a dustpan, but I do know that cupcakes have to be baked.”

“Right you are, but what about liners?”

“Come again?”

“You know, the paper things? You’re going to have an awfully difficult time without them.”

Of course. “Shit!” Hurling the mixing bowl at the wall now seemed like a great idea. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about that.”

“Hmm.” She heard the sound of computer keys typing as Killian looked something up. “Do you have parchment paper? Several sites list it as a possible substitute.”

“Wouldn’t that look kind of tacky though?”

“You don’t exactly have a lot of options, love, unless you’re willing to make a trip to the store.”

Emma glanced at the clock above her oven. It was past ten. A handful of stores would be open, but she didn’t have the energy or motivation to change into decent clothes to leave the apartment. “Parchment paper’s fine, I guess. What does it say I’m supposed to do?”

He quickly walked her through the process, which was much simpler than she presumed. After cutting the parchment paper into squares and folding them around a glass that was the same size as the slots in the cupcake pan, the problem was solved. They rewatched one of their favorite episodes of The Good Place while the cupcakes baked. She was so caught up in the show that she wouldn’t have remembered to turn off the oven if Killian hadn’t reminded her.

“So far, so good,” she told him once the pans had been taken out of the oven and placed on her counter. “They smell incredible.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Killian groaned. “The only form of chocolate I have in my flat is unsweetened cocoa powder.”

“Well, that’s just depressing.”

The icing process, while tedious, went over much more smoothly than the baking had.

“Swan, you’ve got chocolate icing all over your cheek now.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve got two dozen nice looking cupcakes. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“I suppose,” he agreed. “Although you’re just giving me something else to make fun of you for.”

He laughed when she stuck her tongue out at him.

She’d gone this far without sampling anything, too concentrated on not botching the cupcakes. But the sound of her stomach growling reminded Emma she’d never eaten dinner. “You think I can justify having a cupcake now if I don’t eat one at the party tomorrow?”

“After all the work you’ve put in, I believe you could justify two.”

“You, Jones, are a bad influence,” she said, taking the nearest cupcake and pulling off the parchment sheet liner.

“A bad influence who reminded you of the importance of cupcake liners.”

“Ugh. I hate it when you’re right.” Emma took a hearty bite of the cupcake and couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. “Ohmgod.”

Killian was quiet for a moment. Then, “I presume it’s good?”

“It’s not good, it’s fantastic. I never thought I’d say that about something I made.” Another bite elicited the same reaction, her eyes closing as she savored the rich chocolate taste. This caused her to miss Killian blush as his eyes shifted away from the screen.

“Erm, well, I’m very glad to hear that.”

The cupcakes, thankfully, are a hit. Several people at David’s party ask Emma for the recipe, a few eve complimenting the unique choice of liners. Her own brother was skeptical that she’d made them herself.

“I did!” she insisted. “I mean, Killian provided moral support via FaceTime, but all the manual labor was my accomplishment.” Her family and friends have known about her unconventional friendship with Killian for awhile now. Most of them went along with the idea, although a few were skeptical that her virtual friend was really the person he claimed to be.

“You and this guy have gotten pretty close, haven’t you?” David was one of those skeptical people.

She shrugged. “Kind of. I guess we’re as close as friends can get when they’re on opposite sides of the pond and have never met in person.”

“And you’re sure he’s not, what’s the word, fishing with you?”

“The term is catfishing, David. And the answer is no, considering we FaceTimed during the cupcake ordeal and his face matches the one in all of his pictures.”

“If you say so. I just don’t want you to risk getting hurt.” He almost always went into Protective Big Brother mode whenever Emma referenced a guy in any capacity, and this was no exception.

“I appreciate that you care about me, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about considering the circumstances. The chances of the two of us meeting are basically nonexistent.”

A few days later, they were on their third episode of Schitt’s Creek of the night and discussing each other’s uneventful work days when he brought it up. “So, uh, Liam has been talking about sending me away for work sometime soon.”

“That’s cool. Does he want you to go back to the Dublin office again?” Emma remembered that he’d taken a short trip to Ireland for business not long after they’d became friends.

“Actually, no.” He paused. “He’s made a few comments about Boston this time.”

Any interest she had in the episode they’d been watching was long gone. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. Sometime next month, if nothing changes.”

Her next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I know a semi decent tour guide who lives in that neck of the woods if you have some free time while you’re here. And, y’know, if you’d be up for that.”

“I think that could be arranged.” She couldn’t see Killian, but somehow she knew he was smiling.

Emma didn’t start freaking out until the day before his flight. She was at Elsa’s apartment with Mary Margaret and Ruby, drinking wine and eating Elsa and Anna’s homemade cookies at the kitchen table. She was on her third- okay, maybe it was her fourth- snickerdoodle, only half participating in the conversation when she glanced up and saw the three of them staring at her.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Mary Margaret gave her a knowing look. “Have you been listening to anything we’ve said?”

“Yeah, of course I have.”

“Emma, I just said that Granny was having surgery next month, and your response was, ‘that’s cool,’” Ruby deadpanned.

Her face flushed red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Just have a lot on my mind I guess.”

“Is something goin- oh!” Elsa exclaimed. “Aren’t you finally meeting that friend of yours from London tomorrow?”

“Yeah. His plane is supposed to come in at two, then I’m meeting him for dinner and a little sightseeing before his meetings start the next day.”

“That’s really all you’ve got planned for him?” Ruby waggled her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass.

Emma rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Ruby. He’s just my friend.”

“Your very attractive male friend, who you talk either to or about nonstop,” Mary Margaret added.

She shot her an annoyed glance. “I thought family was supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side! I want you to be happy, and I’m just saying maybe you should be open to the possibility that Killian could have something to do with that.”

Leave it to her sister-in-law to bring Emma’s love life (or lack thereof) into the conversation. ““Don’t get any ideas, Mary Margaret. I love that you’re an eternal optimist, but everything else aside, he lives over three thousand miles away. I never thought we would actually meet.”

“People do long distance all the time,” Elsa chimed in. “Anna and Kristoff did for several months when he was away doing research about climate change in the North Pole. It wasn’t easy, but they got through it and are happier than ever now.”

She wanted to remind Elsa that her sister and her fiance had been together for over two years before this, but disregarded the thought. “I know you all mean well- even though it seems like Ruby just wants me to get laid- but can we change the subject? Killian is my friend. That’s all there is to it.”

Even as she said the words, Emma wondered for the first time whether that was actually true.

Her intention had been to sleep in the next morning since she’d gone ahead and taken the day off. But, much to her dismay, she was wide awake at seven. By ten she’d gone for a run, showered, eaten breakfast, and cleaned most of her apartment. It was tempting to blame the random burst of energy on wanting to be productive while she had the time to spend at home, but that wasn’t it.

She was excited to see Killian. And the closer that came to happening, it terrified her too.

For starters, what if they didn’t mesh as well in person as they did online or over the phone? It sounded silly just to think about, but maybe actually being in each other’s space for the first time would somehow change how their friendship worked.

The conversation she’d had with her friends the day before wasn’t helping matters either. What they’d said shouldn’t have been getting to her like it was. Every argument she’d made against their insinuations about her and Killian had been true.

Then why have you barely paid attention to other guys since the two of you started getting close? The thought came to her once she’d started walking laps around the apartment just to keep her busy. Dating for her had been a rare occurrence since Neal almost ten years earlier. Walsh was the one exception, and things with him hadn’t gone much better. One nighters happened now and then when she wanted to scratch an itch without having strings attached. But even one of those hadn’t happened in months.

She didn’t even know whether or not Killian had been seeing anyone. Her first assumption was no. He’d never once mentioned dating, and, regardless, he’d spent the majority of his nights over the past handful of months talking to her. His unconventional friendship with her on top of his job and his family didn’t give her the impression he had a lot of time for dating.

Emma glanced at the clock on her phone. It was just after twelve. “Dammit.” Even with traffic, it would be at least another hour and forty-five minutes before she needed to leave unless she just wanted to drive in circles around the airport.

“Screw it,” she said at one-thirty after she’d won her fourth game of solitaire. TSA might give her hell about parking if she had to wait a bit for Killian, but she couldn’t sit around her apartment much longer without losing her mind.

There was a knock on her door just as she was pulling on her jacket and boots. She went to the door and found her brother standing with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey, David.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping I’d catch you in time.”

“In time for what?” she asked. “I’m about to leave for the airport.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m coming with you.”

He’d known she was going to meet Killian today for over a week and had yet to mention this to her. “What? Why?”

“I don’t want you going alone, Emma. It’s not safe; you’ve never met this guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? I could understand if I’d met a guy on a dating site or something, but I’ve known Killian for months now, David. I’m pretty confident that I’m not picking up a serial killer.”

The frown on his face hadn’t budged. “Either way, I’d still like to meet him before I leave you alone with him. Gotta let him know what he’s dealing with if he hurts you.”

Emma checked the time on her phone again. “Ugh. Let’s go,” she groaned. “You’re not gonna let this go, and I don’t have time to argue with you about it.”

Any nerves she’d felt before had briefly been alleviated by the desire to strangle David. The drive to the airport was spent with her hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel so she wouldn’t wrap them around his neck instead.

“Are you gonna insist on spending the day with us too?” she asked as she pulled into the airport’s parking lot and looked for the garage for short term parking.

He shrugged. “Not sure yet. Ask me again once I’ve met him and had a chance to evaluate.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’m your older brother. That’s my job,” he insisted.

Emma parked in the short term garage connected to the airport. There was no point in trying to wait at the curb since she knew they’d be asked to move. She and Killian had decided to meet at the landside area, so she sat and waited for a text that he’d arrived and tried to ignore David tapping his fingers against the passenger door.

Her phone vibrated a few minutes later. Hello, Swan. Just wanted to let you know I’m waiting for my luggage and then I should be good to go.

Emma swallowed hard as she got out of the car on shaking legs. This was it.

She was too anxious to object when David followed her out of the garage and into the airport; she’d known better than to expect him to wait in the car for them.

When they’d entered the waiting area, Emma quickly scanned the room for a familiar face, coming up short. This was the place where they’d agreed to meet, wasn’t it? He’d sent her the text just minutes ago confirming their plans. What were the chances the nerves had gone to her head and made her mix something up?

She was so lost in thought she failed to hear the footsteps coming up behind her. “Someone in particular you’re looking for, love?”

They’d FaceTimed on several occasions and shared more ridiculous Snapchats than necessary. Emma knew what to expect. And yet, somehow, she’d been all wrong. His eyes were so much brighter and vibrant in person, there was no way to accurately capture that on camera. There was a tinge of red to his hair and scruff she’d never noticed. She liked it. A lot.

“Hello, Swan.” Shit. His already perfect smile was somehow better in person too. It wasn’t fair.

“Killian. Hi.” How could she have talked to him for hours on end over the past few months and be at a loss for words now?

They stood in silence for a moment, each trying to take the other in. Emma wasn’t sure how she was supposed to greet him. Was their friendship advanced enough to permit a casual hug? Or should she stick to a handshake?

David solved that problem for her, stepping between the two of them and extending his hand to Killian. Emma had all but forgotten that he’d come with her.

“So,” he said, using what could only be called his Protective Big Brother voice, “you’re the British guy.”

“Seriously?!” Emma hissed loud enough for only him to hear as Killian accepted the handshake.

“Aye. And you must be David.”

Her brother looked taken aback. He must have been under the impression Killian had no idea he existed. “Uh, yeah. Emma’s mentioned me then?”

“Oh, yes, several times. She tells me you’re quite the Orioles fan.”

Uh oh. This had the potential to be a recipe for disaster. David did not take comments about his notoriously terrible favorite team lightly. If Killian made any patronizing remarks about the Orioles, any chance at getting on her brother’s good side was doomed.

“I’ve caught highlights from a few games online before,” Killian continued. “Always admired Ripken.”

Emma let out an audible sigh of relief. Killian may very well have been lying through his teeth to appease David, but at least he’d avoided making a bad first impression. “Yes, well,” she butted in, “David’s just here for the ride. We’re dropping him off back at his apartment on our way.” She shot her brother a look that told him not to argue.

The first few minutes in the car were filled with awkward silence as Killian fidgeted in his seat, clearly used to a steering wheel in front of him on the right side, while she tried to ignore David’s presence in the back.

“How was your flight?” she asked after a moment as they headed in the direction of David and Mary Margaret’s building.

“All right. Bit of turbulence, but nothing terrible. The airplane food, on the other hand.” Emma saw him cringe out of the corner of her eye and tried not to laugh. “I’ll be more than happy to see what restaurants you have to recommend in the city.”

“Anything particular you’re up for? Most places aren’t gonna be busy at this time of day. And no, he’s not coming,” she added, glaring at David in the rearview mirror before he had a chance to chime in.

Killian pursed his lips. “Eh, would you judge me if I said I just wanted a good, American cheeseburger?”

She laughed. “That was the last thing I expected. But no judgment here, Tony Stark.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that comparison.” He grinned. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…”

“I’m sorry, playboy?” David questioned. Someone didn’t know his movie references.

They arrived in front of David’s building minutes later. “Okay, here we are, you’re welcome for the ride home, talk to you later, bye.” Emma must have gotten her point across since he got out of the car with no objection other than a shake of his head.

“I’m really sorry about that.” She glanced at Killian apologetically as she pulled back out into traffic. “I didn’t know he was going to show up and insist on coming with me, or I would have warned you.”

“It’s quite alright, Swan. He was just looking out for you. If I’m being truthful, not wanting you to be alone when you met someone you’d come across online isn’t an unreasonable request.”

“I totally get that to a certain extent, but I know you well enough to trust that you’re not, like, a serial killer. Unless you have something you wanna tell me.”

He barked out a laugh. “Rest assured, love, I have no blood on my hands. At least, none but my brother’s when we were lads.”

“Let me guess, it was always Liam who started it?”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

Traffic was light at that point in the afternoon, the two of them arriving at Emma’s chosen destination sooner than she was expecting. “This place might not look like much,” she told him as she pulled into a parking spot in front of Granny’s, “but she’s got the best burgers and fries, excuse me, chips, in town as far as I’m concerned.”

“And grilled cheese and onion rings as well, I presume?”

“You’re a smart man, Killian.”

The diner was fairly empty as well, just an older couple drinking milkshakes at the bar and a group of college students crowded around a table with a stack of textbooks.

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to sit?” she asked Killian.

“No. It’s your pick.”

They took a booth near the back of the diner. Emma handed him one of the plastic menus and flipped through one herself, even though her order had been virtually the same over the years. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt her to branch out a little more with her choices, even if it was just getting a burger or chicken club instead of a grilled cheese for once.

A waitress came to take their orders after a few minutes. Killian requested the cheeseburger he’d wanted with fries, the American term sounding foreign on his lips. She ordered the same.

“No grilled cheese and onion rings? Are we sure this is the real Emma Swan?” Killian asked, feigning concern.

She shrugged. “I’m trying to live a little. And for someone like me, that’s apparently as simple as ordering a burger. Or maybe you’re just a bad influence,” she teased.

“Oi! I wasn’t a bad influence when I helped you make cupcakes in your time of need.”

“Yeah, yeah, technicalities.”

There was a long pause as Emma tried to figure out what to say next. She wondered if Killian was having similar thoughts. This was an easier problem to remedy when they were texting or talking on the phone and she could turn the conversation to whatever show they were on at the time. Even still, there wasn’t the added component of having him across from her to sense any awkward tension between them.

Killian broke the ice. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Swan, have you ever seen One Day At a Time? Been seeing a lot about it online lately.”

“I haven’t actually.” She should have remembered most of their best conversations began with shows. “You know how I feel about good sitcoms though.”

“Aye. Perhaps we’ll add it to our unofficial to watch list?”

“I like the way you think, Jones.”

They talked for awhile about the season of Schitt’s Creek they were working on until the waitress brought their food a few minutes later. The conversation had somehow turned to which of Moira’s wigs would look best on him. It was hard not to laugh as Killian nearly swallowed his beloved cheeseburger whole.

“Don’t judge me,” he said through a mouthful of fries when he noticed Emma snickering. “I was bloody starving.”

“Clearly.” She dipped one of her own fries in the generous pile of ranch dressing on the side of her plate. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have so easily done away with all that English charm us Americans aren’t civilized enough to have.”

“What do you mean ‘done away with’? I’ll have you know I’m always charming, love.”

“Says the man who has ketchup on his chin.”

Killian’s face reddened as he grabbed a napkin and wiped off said ketchup. It was barely enough to be noticeable, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to tease him a bit.

As they ate, the conversation shifted from shows to Killian’s work and what he’d be doing in Boston over the next few days. She didn’t know much about his job, other than that he worked for Liam and their company provided parts and equipment for ships. While the company’s primary clientele was located in the London area near their home office, they were looking to expand to other areas as well, hence the meetings Killian had flown over to attend.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why were you the one to make the trip instead of Liam?” she asked. “I don’t really know how a lot of business procedures work, but it seems like he would be the one to handle stuff like that considering he’s over everyone else.”

“Aye, you would think so. But the truth of the matter is, Liam’s tied up with so much within our office. Not to mention he doesn’t like making trips now since he’s got Belle and the kids. From both of those angles, it makes more sense for me to handle as much of the international business as I’m qualified for since I truly have nothing tying me down in London nowadays.”

Emma hated the way her heart skipped a beat at his words. If he had nothing tying him down at home, did that also mean there was no girlfriend there too?

(Could she ask him something like that without him seeing right through her?)

“That’s, uh, great,” she told him, trying to get back to the point of the conversation. “That you’re able to travel for him. I’m sure you get a lot of cool opportunities and stuff.”

“Opportunities like getting to eat an American cheeseburger while I have a face to face conversation about sitcoms?”

“Exactly.”

Killian asked a handful of questions about her job, how she liked her boss and coworkers, if she’d dealt with any major cases lately.

“Not really. It’s mostly the usuals, cheating husbands and deadbeat parents.”

He frowned. “Pity situations like those occur enough to be ‘usuals.’”

“It’s enough to make me want to throw in the towel sometimes if I’m being honest. These people are lucky enough to have a family in the first place, and they just throw it to the side like it means nothing to them.”

Emma didn’t realized what she’d said until it was too late. While she’d become comfortable enough with Killian to share certain details about her personal life over the past few months, her upbringing in foster care was the one subject she’d avoided. She’d heard stories of his and Liam’s upbringing by their single mother, who died when Killian was in college. The only family she’d ever mentioned to him was David, and he didn’t even know they weren’t actually siblings.

But that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at Granny’s in the middle of the afternoon. She wasn’t sure how much time he had free to spend with her, or when she would see him again. If you even will, she thought.

Sensing her discomfort, Killian reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “Is everything alright, love?”

The feeling of his hand in her own stopped Emma’s train of thought. She almost hated how comforting it was. “Yeah, it’s nothing.” She gave what she hoped looked like a genuine smile. There was no need to waste her time with him focusing on bad memories. “What do you say we pay the bill and go do some sight seeing? Boston isn’t New York or LA, but it can be fun. I think so anyway.”

“Sounds like a plan, love.”

They bickered at the cash register over who was going to pay. Killian wanted to be a gentleman, Emma wanted him to feel like her guest in some way. She somehow won. “You can buy me a bear claw at my favorite bakery later if you really want to,” she told him as she swiped her debit card through the reader and he stood to the side pouting.

She and Killian were heading for the door when a familiar face entered the diner. The sight of Ruby made Emma consider grabbing Killian and hiding him.

“Emma!” Her friends’ eyes lit up when she spotted them, red lips breaking out into a grin.

“Hey, Rubes. I didn’t think you were working today.” She would have taken Killian to eat somewhere else otherwise. Emma loved her friend, but something told her Ruby would have less of a filter than usual around him.

“I wasn’t, but Ashley had a doctors’ appointment and asked me to cover her shift.” She glanced around Emma to get a look at Killian. “Oh, is this the English guy? You didn’t tell me he was hot.”

The urge to crawl under the nearest table was tempting. “Uh, yeah,” she said, her face reddening, even more so when she realized it sounded like she was agreeing with Ruby’s comment. She turned to Killian. “This is my friend, Ruby. Granny’s is, well, her grandmother’s.”

Ruby held her hand out to him. “It’s so nice to  put a face with the name. Emma talks about you all the time.”

Emma shot her a death stare as Killian accepted the handshake and brought her hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure, love. I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well.”

“Such a charmer.” Ruby’s grin widened. “I love it.”

“Yeah, well, we were just leaving, and I know you have to get to work.” She grabbed Killian’s hand and pulled him out the door before Ruby had another chance to embarrass her. “Bye!”

Emma groaned as soon as the door to Granny’s had shut behind her. “I’m sorry about that. She means well, but she tends to come off a bit strong.”

“No worries, Swan. I can’t say I have many objections with a woman who so freely acknowledges my good looks.” He smirked, and she couldn’t help but think how much she wanted to kiss the smile off of his face.

Which she wasn’t going to do. Because that would be ridiculous. “Yeah, I’m never gonna let her live that down.”

She moved her car to a free public lot and spent the next hour with Killian, walking around downtown Boston to show him some of her favorite spots in the area. She pointed out the precinct where she often dropped off bail jumpers, the library, her favorite coffee shop, and the bakery that made the best bear claws in town.

“You can definitely return the favor from lunch now,” Emma told him when they entered the shop and she caught a whiff of something that smelled like butter and cinnamon.

“Whatever the lady wishes.”

“The lady definitely wishes for a bear claw. Or five.”

In the end she requested one, although Killian told the attendant to add another to her bag. “In case you’d like one for the weekend and don’t feel like making the trip.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll let it go uneaten for that long.”

They sat at a bench outside the bakery since the weather was nice. Mid September in Boston was often ideal since it was still warm without being unbearably hot. Emma took one of her bear claws out of the paper bag and bit into it, letting the warm dough melt in her mouth. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” she told Killian, who had started eating his blueberry scone.

“I’ll take your word for it, Swan. You know I’m not fond of raisins.”

“Whatever.” She feigned disappointment. “More for me.”

It occurred to Emma that she had yet to ask another important question. She had no idea how long he would be in Boston, and if she would get to see him again after today. Killian had mentioned in previous conversations that he had a handful of meetings over the following two days, but nothing about what his schedule looked like or when he would be flying back.

Killian picked up on her unspoken apprehension. “What’s going on in that head of yours, love?”

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Hadn’t she decided she wasn’t going to waste time worrying while he was there? “It’s nothing,” she insisted again. Killian’s expression suggested he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press the issue.

“Did I tell you my nephew is into Peppa Pig now?” she asked, knowing he might like this change of subject. “He’s, like, fascinated with the British accents and tries to talk like the characters all the time now. It’s hilarious.”

His eyes lit up. “Is that so? I like this lad already. Although I do prefer Percy Pigs myself. It’s a type of candy,” he explained when her eyebrows shot up. A quick Google search provided a photo of what he was referring to, which was, as suggested, a gummy in the shape of a pig’s head.

It was weird, if she was being frankly honest, but Leo would love them. “Kid’s definitely getting an order of these for his next birthday.”

Emma finished her bear claw and wiped her mouth with a napkin from the bakery. But she must have not done an adequate job. Killian leaned over. “You missed a spot, love,” he said, brushing his thumb at the corner of her mouth. Any reply she had was forgotten with the gesture as she became hyper focused on the brief but startling feeling of his touch.

“Uh, thanks.” The words came out raspy and uneven.

Her reaction seemed to make Killian realize what he’d done. “Apologies, Swan. I wasn’t thinking.”

She couldn’t stop herself from blurting out the question that followed. “What are we doing here, Killian?”

[thislassishooked]

Wake Me Up Inside (2/?)

Hi lovely readers! Here we get some cute cs interaction. You’ll also be getting brief glimpses of some familiar friends. Once again I’d like to thank my lovely beta @resident-of-storybrooke and my enormously talented artist @tennant-the-tigger as well as the moderators of this awesome event @cssns. For those of you that haven’t read ch 1 follow either one of the links below. I’m fairly certain that they work, but I am still getting the hang of this.

Fair warning, this story will earn its M rating in later chapters for language, violence and sexual content. Thanks for reading!

Ch1   AO3

Emma was running late as usual. She scrambled to throw on a green fitted cable knit sweater and a pair of skinny jeans, before running her fingers through her hair and dashing out the door of her on-campus apartment.

The aroma as she approached her favorite morning stop-off was too tempting and she climbed the stairs and slipped in hoping the early morning crowd had tapered off. The day that Benet’s Café wasn’t packed full of frazzled students and pretentious professors would surely be the day the world ended. She managed to catch the attention of one of the baristas she knew well enough to call a friend and he nodded after she gave him her best pleading eyes. As she waited she couldn’t resist the urge to catch a glimpse of Kings College Chapel from the balcony of the second story café. The sun was rising from behind the tall steeples and the view was stunning as always.

“Cinnamon hot chocolate!” a voice boomed out from behind the counter and pulled her from her momentary escape from reality. There were two identical to-go cups waiting side by side on the counter and as she approached them, a man in a leather jacket snatched one up and began making his way through the crowd to the exit. Emma examined the cup left behind and called to the stranger.

“Hey wait!” she slipped between several bodies trying to catch up to him. “That’s mine!” she called again. He stopped then and held the cup up to read the name scrawled across it. They had reached a less packed area and she was thankful for it. The hot chocolate thief turned around to face her and she suddenly felt the air leave her lungs. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His nearly black, windswept hair looked messy yet soft. She had the sudden desire to touch the strands that fell artfully over his forehead to find out if her assumption was correct. Her eyes trailed down to his dark scruff that glinted with just a hint of red in the rays of the morning sun. That of course led her to ogle his full lips that were curling into a knowing smile and suddenly she realized that she was staring with her mouth agape. Her cheeks warmed quickly as the embarrassment caused her face to flush. She closed her mouth and dropped her eyes which was a mistake as soon as she caught sight of his obviously toned chest. She snapped her green eyes to his face again and, oh god, two deep blue sapphire gems were settled beneath his prominent eyebrows, one of which cocked into a discernible arch.

“Apologies lass,” he looked at the messy writing across the cup and held it out to her, “a lovely name for an even lovelier woman.”

She felt the air in her lungs return and smiled ever so slightly at his cheeky sentiment. “Actually, in this case, I think your name is the lovely one.” She exchanged drinks with him and had to hold back laughter when his faced screwed into a bewildered frown. Written clearly across the top read the name LILLIAN.

“Killian” he muttered to no one in particular, placing a clear emphasis on the K. “With a K, is that so bloody difficult to understand?”

Emma let a small giggle escape her lips and his face immediately softened. “Well K-illian,” she imitated, “it was a pleasure, but I’m very late.” They reached the wrought iron stairs and walked down together.

“Where do you need to go?” he asked.

“Oh, only the other side of campus in…” she looked at her watch and panic spread across her features, “five minutes.”

“I can get you there in two.” He motioned to a motorcycle parked just a few feet away.

She bit her lip and looked from him to the bike then back to him.

“Not much of a bike enthusiast, Swan?”

The use of her surname from this handsome stranger caught her off guard. She surmised that he must have read the name on her cup, which only confused her more because Will always called her Emma. “It’s not the bike that I’m weary of Mr…?”

“Jones.” He filled in. “Killian Jones.” He held out his hand to greet her properly.

She locked eyes with him for a moment and forgot that they had only just met. “Emma Swan,” she responded and took his offered hand in hers.

His smile widened at the mention of her full name, putting his perfect, pearly whites on full display. He cocked his head toward his bike, “shall we?” His expression morphed into something hopeful and she could swear she saw a flash of insecurity behind his slightly arrogant facade.

Her resolve to never accept rides from strangers was overruled by her desire to make it to her meeting on time. It had absolutely nothing to do with his attractiveness. A huge toothy grin graced his face as she stepped off the curb toward his bike. He handed her the helmet and swung his leg over the body. Once seated, he motioned for her to do the same. The slightest bit of doubt crossed her mind and she bit her lip once more, but worked to secure the helmet, swinging her leg over to straddle the bike as well. As he started the engine she instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist and she could swear she felt him shudder a bit.

“Hold on darling,” he breathed before kicking the bike into gear.

The other side of campus was just over a mile from the café making it a short ride. She had shouted instructions to him on the way over, but gathered that he was quite familiar with the campus judging by his smooth, calculated moves. She took the opportunity to breath in his scent when her nose was just inches from his neck. He smelled like spice and leather and for a split second she wondered how he tasted. Silently chastising herself, she loosened her grip on him and prepared to jump off as they rolled to a stop in from of the Institute for Medical Research. Still a little unsteady, she planted both feet on the curb and turned to hand him the helmet. She gazed a second too long at his beautiful eyes, uttered a hushed thank you and booked it to her meeting. She didn’t give him a chance to respond.

____________________

Killian watched her disappear through the secure steel doors and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He couldn’t believe the hot chocolate swap worked, smirking when he remembered the way she raked her gorgeous emerald eyes over him. He became lost in her gaze when her traveling eyes locked with his. The smirk morphed into a full, goofy grin as he recalled the blush that crept across her cheeks, spreading to the tips of her ears and down her neck. And gods above, the sensation of her arms wrapped around him sent an electric shock through his entire body. He blinked hard and shook his head to break himself out of his trance. Get a grip Jones. Having put the bike in gear, he coasted through the winding streets of the campus while he planned their next “Accidental” meeting.

____________________

Being on time was a novel experience for Emma and judging by the amount of raised eyebrows in her direction, completely unexpected by her coworkers. The conference room was still empty meaning “on time” actually meant “early” so she had time to gather her wits about her. She was still quite flustered from her rather unusual morning. She was acting like a teenager with a crush. A crush on a man with whom she interacted for a mere five minutes. Get it together, Swan.

Her small audience was now trickling in, her nerves calming a bit as Mary Margaret, her best friend and confidant, entered and closed the door behind her. Emma meticulously laid out the results of the research that had consumed an entire year of her life. When she was finished, the head of the department asked her to wait outside the room while they discussed the fate of her tenure.

Twenty minutes later, Mary Margaret poked her head through the door to signal Emma to come in. One look at her tentative smile told Emma all she needed to know.

“I’m sorry Miss Swan, your work is impressive, but there is simply no market for a Porphyria cure.” The rug being pulled out from beneath her hadn’t been completely unexpected. Pharmaceutical companies would never want to invest in a one-time injection that would cure a patient with a chronic disease. The current treatment for Cutaneous Porphyria included a cocktail of drugs as well as a phlebotomy repeated at regular intervals until the disease goes into remission.

“The drug isn’t just meant to cure a patient suffering from symptoms, it can also be preventative. Anyone with the defective gene could get the injection and the disease would remain latent.” Her resolve to keep her emotions in check dissipated as memories came flooding back of the pain in her grandfather’s eyes. She blinked hard and took a calming breath before continuing. “Insurance companies love preventative medicine ergo big pharma will love this drug.” She was staring daggers at the head of the committee, silently goading her to challenge her assertion. The woman was the definition of “frigid bitch”, her dark eyes and dark hair matching her soul, but she knew a good investment when she saw it and she would do anything to keep her department well funded and distinguished. “My research has revealed that altered forms of this drug can also be used to treat several different types of anemia, hemophilia, deep venous thrombosis as well as multiple forms of lymphoma.”

Regina Mills crossed her arms as she considered the determined blonde. “You make a strong case Miss Swan. I’ll pass your research on to the board and they will let you know within the week if your tenure at this institution will be extended.” Her superior stood, signaling the end of the proceedings and everyone except Mary Margaret and Emma shuffled out the door.

“Oh, my god Emma, that was amazing!” Mary Margaret chirped.

Still coming down from an adrenaline high, Emma shook her head before responding to her beaming friend. “I feel sick,” was all she could muster.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and get some air? You can’t do anything in the lab until you get the go-ahead from Regina, which you will…” Her friend looked pointedly at her, waiting for any sign that Emma believed her. A half smile pulled at the corner of her lips and Mary Margaret was satisfied with that.

After gathering everything into her bag, she breezed out of the conference room with a new air of confidence. Mary Margaret accompanied her outside and gave her a reassuring hug then bounded back in. Emma felt a little tinge of jealousy, but just took a deep breath and accepted that she had a few days of forced vacation and she was going to damn well make the best of it.

____________________

She was smiling. It wasn’t the shy grin that she had given him at the café, but a genuine elated smile. The shorter woman with the dark pixie haircut and an equally wide grin had just left her side and Killian found his own proud grin widening. He spied from his place on the bench that she fortunately was headed in his direction. She was practically beaming and it was in sharp contrast to her earlier mood. She pulled some almonds from her messenger bag and started nibbling when Killian was struck with an idea. He desperately wanted to get to know the riddle that was Emma Swan and not just because it was requested of him. As she approached the bench, too lost in thought to notice him, Killian quickly grabbed a discarded copy of the Cambridge Student and unfolded it to the science section. He may have been trying to impress her just a little bit.

“How did it go?” he asked nonchalantly.

She stopped dead in her tracks and glanced in his direction. Her eyes were impossibly more effervescent than they had been just hours ago. Her brows furrowed in confusion and although it was adorable, he felt inclined to clarify.

“Whatever it was that you were late for this morning, how did it go?”

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, seemingly in an attempt to gain some composure.

“It went… well, really, really well.” She looked to be fighting back a smile, but gave in to the overwhelming glee that was bursting to the surface.

Killian returned her smile, unable to resist the urge.

“Glad to hear it, love.”

She blushed at his use of that particular term of endearment. Deciding he liked the pink hue that he could elicit from her with it, he committed that bit of info to memory.

“What are you reading?” she asked, breaking him out of his musing.

He glanced at the paper he had been pretending to be engrossed in and panicked when he realized he had no idea. A picture of some monkeys and a headline about brain implants combating paralysis graced the front page. Before he could embarrass himself she sat down next to him and read the headline for herself.

“Ooh, isn’t that amazing? I know it’ll be several years before human trials are considered, but it looks promising.”

“Aye…” he stammered. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was close enough for him to catch the scent of cinnamon and apples that reminded him of warm apple pie.

“And can you believe they used alien technology found on Mars to do it?”

His eyes darted back to the article.

“Wha... yeah.” he stalled. He was speechless. Then he heard her chuckling and he realized his ruse had not fooled her. It was his turn to blush. He set the paper aside and turned to face her, not even trying to hide his wide grin. She was smirking at him, her eyes filled with mirth. He took a moment to study her face a little closer. He took note of the small cluster of light brown freckles that danced across her cheekbones and merged along the bridge of her nose. A few strands of golden tendrils of hair had loosened from her hair-tie and were swaying in the slight breeze. She reached up and tucked the mutinous locks behind her right ear and Killian’s hand itched to do the same to her left side.

“So…” she began, bashfully focusing on her feet. “Are you going to tell me why you’re outside my building pretending to read the school newspaper?”

Her gaze abruptly snapped back to his and he suddenly felt exposed. Her eyes were searching his and for a moment Killian couldn’t speak. He exhaled through his nose and recalled the anecdote that his father had instructed him to use if necessary.

“I’m a guest lecturer, maritime archaeology.” He couldn’t look at her out of, what, shame? He had told many lies in his long life, but for some reason it felt wrong to lead her astray.

Her eyes widened at his revelation. “That sounds fascinating. So you literally hunt for buried treasure?”

“Aye, love. Sunken naval ships, lost cities…”

“Pirates?” she interrupted.

He paused to consider the hopeful expression on her face.

“Aye” he stated simply. “May I inquire as to your rather obvious enthusiasm on the subject?”

She bit her lip and just a hint of blush crept into the apple of her cheek.

“I’ve always just… had… a thing for pirates.”

Killian couldn’t help the salacious grin that overtook his mouth at her words. He made a mental note to thank his father for giving him such an incredible lead-in with this bloody brilliant woman. She punched him playfully in the shoulder, clearly blaming him for making her feel embarrassed.

“Okay sir, time to even the playing field.”

“Pardon?”

She huffed and mischievously folded her arms.

“You know one of my dirty, little secrets, so let’s hear one of yours.”

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear. He heard her breathing hitch as he huskily whispered, “I am happy to divulge every… last… one… of my dirty little secrets to you anytime, love.” He leaned back and winked. She was now sufficiently covered in a much deeper shade of blush.

____________________

He winked, the bastard actually winked. Every time she thought she had the upper hand on him, he found a way to tip the scales and make her blush. She wasn’t very skilled at flirting and his stupidly handsome face was not helping. The fact that he was knowledgeable in nautical history made him that much more attractive. Hell, he even resembled a pirate.

Just then, when it seemed all sound had ceased and all she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears, her stomach let out a loud growl. Damn traitorous organ. His eyes trailed down to her belly, hovered there for a moment then snapped back to hers. His lips curled at the corners of his perfect mouth and Emma impulsively ran her tongue along her bottom lip. She couldn’t help the hunger in her stomach anymore than she could help her hunger for him . God, she was like a teenager in heat. After what seemed like hours, he broke the silence.

“Have you had anything to eat today, besides hot chocolate and those almonds?” he asked nodding at her baggie.

All she could do was shake her head. The last thing that had been on her mind that morning was adding “fuel” to her nervous belly. She would have surely vomited all over the committee had she eaten anything.

He stood, holding out his hand.

“Come on then, I know a place that serves a killer grilled cheese.”

She looked at him hesitantly. Her mouth watered at the prospect of her favorite guilty pleasure, but she had no idea who this man really was.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know about pirates,” he promised after noticing her internal battle.

She took his hand and let him lead the way.

____________________

The moans of pleasure escaping from her occupied mouth were making Killian have to shift in his chair. He had barely touched his own food, unwilling to take his eyes off of her as she scarfed down the gourmet grilled cheese.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed as she finished her last bite. She glanced at him and suddenly that lovely rouge returned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go ‘full Sally’ on you.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Full Sally, love?”

She chuckled and clarified. “When Harry Met Sally. It’s a great movie with Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal and there’s a scene in which Sally demonstrates how to fake an orgasm while eating her lunch.” The blush got deeper.

“Is that what that was?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in amusement. “Tell me love, was it as good for you as it was for me?” He lasciviously glided his tongue over his bottom lip.

“The sandwich was delicious,” she teased.

He smirked at her boldness. Would this woman ever stop surprising him? God, he hoped not.

The lunch rush was starting to die down in the quaint little bakery. They were nestled in a quiet corner, the smell of Fitzbillies’ famous sticky buns wafting toward them. Killian noticed Emma eyeing the sweet treats as they were being placed on the counter. He signaled to the waiter with two fingers and the waiter nodded his head knowingly. Emma smiled in appreciation.

“I believe I was promised tales of swashbuckling seafarers.”

“That you were, love. What would you like to know? Where Captain Morgan hid his bootlegged rum? How on earth Blackbeard thought he looked dashing with lice infested tentacles hanging from his jaw?”

“Tell me about Calico Jack.”

Her request caught him off-guard. He was momentarily stunned into silence. She must have noticed his hesitance so she cautiously continued.

“I’m sorry, y…you said I could ask anything. If I crossed some sort of line…”

“You did nothing wrong lass,” he interrupted with a weak smile to ease the tension. Relief washed over her face. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask about old Jack. His is a complicated tale.” He considered her for a moment, noting the glint in her eyes that threw him for a loop. “Before I begin, do you mind if I ask why you’re interested in hearing about him, specifically?”

A trace of sadness befell her delicate features and he wondered if he had crossed some sort of line. It was gone a second later, replaced by something reminiscent of awe.

“My grandfather used to tell me stories about him. I don’t know how many were true, probably none, but his tales of Calico Jack, ‘the only pirate captain with honor,’” she emphasized with air quotes, “are my favorite memories of him.”

Killian’s mouth fell open. Emma’s grandfather was extremely persistent in getting him to reveal his true identity once he had learned of Killian’s vow through his own relentless research. He could tell instantly that Emma shared that same trait with him. The two had formed a secret friendship that had immediately come to a halt after the death of his daughter and her husband. The guilt was overwhelming at times. He nodded his head, urging her to continue as he struggled to gain some composure.

“I guess a lot of his obsession with Jack stems from the fact that my 7th great-grandfather was the man who sentenced him to death.”

He was, of course, aware of her lineage, but feigned his surprise as best he could

“Making you the 10th direct descendant of Governor Woodes Rogers.”

She nodded, smiling weakly.

Killian ran his fingers through his hair.

“Why don’t we start with what you already know so that I don’t end up rattling off specifics you’ve heard before.”

“Alright, I know that his given name was John Rackham, born December 26, 1682, died November 18, 1720. He was responsible for designing the Jolly Roger flag that eventually became synonymous with all pirates. And of course, he sailed with two female crew members, Anne Bonny and Mary Read.”

Killian struggled to keep his face neutral at the mention of Anne and Mary. If he were going to be convincing as a historian he would have to keep his emotions in check.

“Is that all, love?”

“No, but I’d like to ask some question first. See where your answers take this little inquiry.”

“Fire away.”

Emma paused for a moment, no doubt pondering her first question. After a moment she opened her mouth, about ready to speak when the sticky buns were delivered to their table. He could see the bun was tempting her to hold off on questioning him, but she managed to pry her eyes away from the desert and focus them on his.

“Why did Rackham turn to piracy? There’s no record of his life before 1718. In fact, his birth date is just speculation. Who was he?”

“That is an excellent question Emma, one that no historian could possibly answer.”

Emma’s face fell. She let out a defeated sigh and shrugged.

“It is a question that only a pirate can answer, and you happen to be in the presence of the most devilishly handsome one of all.”

He winked again and Emma suddenly started turning her head in all directions, mock confusion written all over her face.

“Where?” she asked teasingly. He snorted at both her playful wit, and the irony of the situation. He gave her a good-humored glower and waited for her snickering to die down.

“I can confirm that birthdays were of no consequence to working men 300 years ago. John was also an orphan so the exact day of his birth remains a mystery. He claimed to be 37 at the time of his death so 1682 is a plausible birth year.”

Emma began picking pieces from her sticky bun while keeping eye contact. Killian took that as an indication to continue.

“As I mentioned, John was an orphan, grew up in the poorest orphanage in London. When he was 13 he met a boy two years his junior who was recently orphaned and the two formed an unbreakable bond.”

“What was the boy’s name?”

“I can’t recall,” Killian lied.

Emma nodded and gestured with her hand for him to go on.

“Once John turned 16 he left the orphanage, taking his best mate with him. They both enlisted in the British Royal Navy, believing that serving King and Country would lead to a better life,” Killian scoffed. “They worked hard, moving up in rank, but life at sea was grueling. Sailors were dying everyday from treatable ailments, but it was easier and cheaper to just throw the poor lads overboard once dead and replace them.”

Emma stopped nibbling. A mix of horror and sympathy washed over her face.

“John and his mate…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Emma interrupted, holding up her hand. “We have to give his friend a name. It feels wrong to leave him nameless.”

Killian regarded her for a moment, struck by the amount of compassion she held for two sailors from long ago.

“I think that is quite appropriate, love. What name do you propose?”

“How about James, or just Jim? That was my grandfather’s name,” she suggested sheepishly.

Killian couldn’t have smiled any wider.

“I’m sure if John’s friend was alive today, he would feel honored to have such a name bestowed upon him.” Killian noticed a slight glistening in her eyes.

“So, you were saying…” she encouraged with a flick of her wrist.

“John and Jim sailed with the Navy for 18 years until an incident that would change the course of both their lives.” He paused to collect his thoughts before resuming. “By the summer of 1716, John had risen to the position of Commander; Jim was one rank below him as lieutenant.”

At that moment a thought occurred to Killian. Emma had only agreed to lunch after he had promised to regale her with stories of pirates. He wasn’t willing to risk losing the carrot that he was currently dangling in front of her face. After a few more seconds of silent contemplation, Emma interjected.

“Killian?”

“Apologies, lass, I was just thinking that perhaps I would save the rest of the story for next time.”

Her eyes dropped from his and for a moment he was worried that she had taken offense. When her lovely green orbs met his again they were unreadable.

“Next time?” she challenged. “I don’t remember adding you to my list of things to do.” Emma immediately flushed bright red at the accidental innuendo and Killian arched his eyebrow salaciously. “That came out wrong, can we just hit the rewind button?”

“As you wish,” he promised with a genuine smile. He decided to risk everything on the slim chance that she enjoyed spending time with him as much as he did with her.

“Well I insist that you check your list again. I believe that you’ll find ‘go sailing with Killian’ scheduled for September 21 st .”

He held his breath while he waited for her inevitable refusal. She continued to stare at him, searching his eyes. Killian started to regret having been so forward with this woman he just met hours ago. He just prayed he hadn’t mucked it all up.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“Okay.”

Killian immediately lost his train of thought. He wasn’t sure if he heard her correctly.

“Okay?” he asked still completely flabbergasted.

“On one condition,” she said holding up her index finger.

“Anything.”

She took a deep breath, trying to look very serious, but failing adorably.

“You have to promise you wont murder me and throw my body overboard. Things are finally starting to look up for me and I don’t need you to fuck it all up by going full psycho-killer on me and chopping me into little bits.”

Killian couldn’t help the full belly laugh that erupted from him.

“Don’t worry, love, I would never chop you into little bits on my ship. It would be far too messy.”

She let out a breathy chuckle. They spent a few more minutes working out the details for the next day before parting ways.

“Until next time , Swan.” Killian took her hand in his and lowered his lips to her knuckles, brushing a light kiss upon them. He could hear her breath hitch at the contact.

“Until tomorrow,” she said with a shy smile.

____________________

Balancing her leftovers in one hand, keys in the other and a couple of bags of groceries hanging off of her arms, Emma managed to unlock her apartment door and practically fell in. She kicked the door shut and then threw everything onto her kitchen table before letting out an exaggerated sigh.

What had she just gotten herself into? She just agreed to go sailing with a man she just met this morning. An extremely sexy, roguish, hey I just met you, but I want to jump your bones, man. She shook her head from the insanity of it all, but she couldn’t seem to shake the ridiculous grin off of her face.

She began to put her groceries away when she suddenly realized she had forgotten to ask Killian what to wear. She had never been sailing before, but what she did know is that it could get pretty windy. They had exchanged contact information and Emma’s eyes drifted to her phone. If she was going to talk to him again she was going to need a little bit of liquid courage first. She pulled the bottle of Captain Morgan spiced rum out of one of her grocery bags and smiled at the fact that it reminded her of him. Pouring herself a generous amount she reached for her phone. He answered on the second ring.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your angelic voice this evening, love?”

Really? The man could effectively put the word “charisma” to shame. She struggled for a moment to find her own words.

“I’m calling because I have no idea what I should wear tomorrow.”

She could practically hear him smirking, undoubtedly tempted to suggest no clothes at all.

“A light sweater and jeans should suffice.”

“Where exactly are we going? The nearest port is an hour East.”

“Aye, my ship is docked in Maldon.”

Emma audibly gasped. She had always wanted to visit the historic town.

“That sounds amazing,” she squeaked out.

“I don’t mean to pry, love, but is there something else on your mind?”

He was very perceptive. There was a lot on her mind actually.

“It’s just that… this is all new to me. The Emma from yesterday would have shut you down without thinking twice about it. She would have gone hungry rather than have lunch with an attractive stranger. She would sabotage any opportunity for adventure, missing out on so much because of her incessant tunnel vision. Her life was centered around one thing and now…”

“And now…?” he encouraged.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m glad I took a chance on you.”

“So am I, love. To be honest, I was convinced you would find me just a tad bit…”

“Arrogant?” she sniggered.

“Ah, I was going to say overconfident, but that works too. I was very pleasantly surprised you did give me that chance, Swan.”

She wasn’t sure if the warmth radiating through her body was from the liquor or the lulling lilt of his accented voice.

“Just don’t make me regret that decision sailor.”

He chuckled softly. “I promise you lass, tomorrow will, without a doubt, be a day you will not soon forget. Sailing is bliss, to put it simply. And I happen to know that the Captain is a dashing rapscallion with an avid sense of adventure.”

“More like a scoundrel,” she laughed. “Goodnight, Killian”

“Sweet Dreams, Emma.”

[nothingeverlost]

Fic: Revelations (Archie/Gold, Costars verse)

There are many things that would make more sense right now, but I had this very loud bunny in my head and couldn’t focus on anything else until I wrote it.  And then I couldn’t find the end so at 6000 words I think I just tripled the length of Costars verse.  Also added tons of characters and relationships.  The first paragraph was written by @acoupletshort years ago in an ask she sent me that I asked if I could expand on.

The whole thing spiraled from the realization that it’s a rare verse where I haven’t mentioned a cane, and wondering if Gold had one.

Warnings: angst, panic attacks, but no character death

“I didn’t want to call.  Didn’t seem right for you to be alone.”  It was only then that Archie realized that her eyes were red.  She was upset.  She was worried about him.  There were exactly two people in the world that mattered so much that losing them would make him fall apart, and Dorothy didn’t know his brother.

________________________________

 It had been a very long day and Gold felt distinctly out of sorts. This particular storyline was not one he was comfortable with. Archie was lying in the hospital bed, generously adorned with bruises and scrapes courtesy of their make-up department. Much too realistic bruises and scrapes, if you asked Gold. The only thing that broke the perfect illusion was the soft sound of snoring. Well, it had been a long day for all of them.

The snoring, oddly, made him feel better.  That and the way Archie’s nose wrinkled when Gold touched the end of it.  “Wake up, sleeping beauty.  We’re wrapped.”

“Garrett?”  Archie scratched his nose, smearing the bruise on one of his cheeks with his wrist, turning the makeup department’s hard work into an abstract swirl of purple and blue.  The stage was empty, Archie’s scene had ended half an hour ago.

“You should get to bed earlier on days you have an early call,” Gold said with a straight face, his voice low despite the fact that they were alone.

“I went to bed plenty early.  It was the sleep part that was hard.”  He pulled back the blankets on the hospital bed.  While he wore a hospital gown nicer than what was actually found in hospitals, he also wore khakis and a pair of green argyle socks.  It wasn’t surprising that Archie wore them; he wasn’t one for walking around the set in any less than full dress.  Garrett didn’t care to be around for his love scenes with Michael, but he knew that a robe was always kept close at hand for between and after takes.  It was an uncommon modesty.

“It wasn’t the only thing that was hard,” Gold smirked, amused at the red flush under the layers of makeup.  It wasn’t often that he’d stayed the night, but Archie had made dinner and he’d provided the wine, and really after half a bottle each it would have been a bad idea to drive home.  “You have about twenty minutes to wash up before they start popping champagne bottles.”

“I can’t believe it’s been a year already.”  It was their last day of season one.  Poor Aaron would be spending the summer in a coma, a cliffhanger that hopefully had people eager to return in the fall.

“You’ll miss those four-thirty alarms, will you?”  

“I’ll miss seeing everyone.”  They had two months before rehearsals kicked off for season two.  Archie had a play lined up.  Garrett had three weeks in Scotland in a month, filming the sort of independent film that he loved but rarely paid enough to live on.  Fortunately, Dixon Landing more than paid the bills. But first he had Balin.  His boy was back tomorrow after spending the last six months with his mother in Romania while she filmed the next movie she was certain would be ‘the one’ to take her from second string to star.  As much as he looked forward to seeing his boy it was part of the reason he felt so unsettled.  He was telling Bay about Archie, and on Sunday they’d meet over dinner.  Archie deserved better than to have to keep hiding their relationship, but he needed Bay to know first.  He couldn’t have his boy learn the news from the front of some rag, or from one of Milah’s rages.

“You’ll miss seeing them at the wrap party if you don’t get your face washed, love.  And perhaps a different shirt.”  He took Archie’s hand and pulled him toward the makeup trailer.  The amount of makeup he was wearing was going to take more than a little soap and water.  It was a relief to see it all gone, to see Archie’s face unblemished and unbruised.  Gold cupped one cheek gently and kissed his lover.  “That’s better.”

II

Pongo’s barking woke him.  It had only been an hour since he’d fallen asleep, his bloodstream still mixed with champagne and some mixed drink Jefferson had been passing out, and he was dizzy when he sat up.  It was only then that he heard the knocking at the door.  Squinting at the clock that told him it was a little after three he tried to stand up.  The second time he succeeded.

“Pongo, stop.  Unless someone’s here to rob us, then you can be as loud as you want.”  But they were still knocking, and they wouldn’t do that if they were here for nefarious purposes.  Probably.  It was Hollywood, after all, and sometimes weird things happened.  Archie pulled on a robe as he headed for the door.

“Dorothy?”  His director was standing on his front porch three hours after their wrap party in jeans and a worn purple sweater she hadn’t been wearing earlier.  She never dressed so casually at work.  Pongo, quiet now that he recognized a friend, held out a paw for a shake.  Dorothy Lucas ignored him.

“I didn’t want to call.  Didn’t seem right for you to be alone.”  It was only then that Archie realized that her eyes were red.  She was upset.  She was worried about him.  There were exactly two people in the world that mattered so much that losing them would make him fall apart, and Dorothy didn’t know his brother.

“I should go get dressed.”  The clothes he’d worn to the party were in the hamper; someone had been smoking and the smell lingered.  He’d need something clean to wear.

“He’s not dead, Archie.  It’s bad, might get worse, but for right now there’s still a chance.”  Bad.  Worse.  The words echoed loud in his head.  “When you’re ready we’ll take you to the hospital.”

“We?”  The headlights were on, her car still running.

“Ruby wanted to come with me.  She thought you could use a friend.”  She offered the smallest of smiles.  “Go now, sooner you’re dressed the sooner we get there and find out what’s happened.”

His shoes didn’t match.  He didn’t realize it until he was in the car, but he wore two different shoes, one a light brown loafer, the other a darker brown dress shoe.  He stared at his feet even when Ruby said hello and asked if Pongo would be alright alone.  He said yes.  Pongo could manage alone for a few hours.  He was less certain about his own ability to be alone.  

“How did you know?”  It didn’t surprise him that Dorothy was the one the hospital called.  Garrett didn’t have any next of kin unless you counted his aunts in Scotland and his son who was too young.  But somehow she’d known to come for him, despite how low key he and Garrett had been keeping things.

“You think anything happens on my set that I don’t know about?  I know Jefferson uses an empty storage locker to hotbox but he keeps the pot smell away from the wardrobe and his costumes are brilliant so if it helps him cope then it’s his business.  I know David and Mary Margaret are going to have to own up to their relationship soon, because we’ll have to start planning a maternity plot or we’ll be finding props for her to carry to hide her belly.  And I know about Valentine's Day and the meal you and Garrett shared.  Let me tell you I was this close to knocking your heads together and telling you to figure it out after we hired Michael.  Gold was a bear those first weeks, and the less clothes you wore on set the worse he was.”

“Granny!”  Ruby interjected.  

“It’s true.”  Dorothy glanced in the rearview mirror for just a moment.  The light at the next intersection was turning yellow but she raced through it.  They were making good time, but it still felt slow.

“No boundaries, none at all.  She’s like this every time I make plans for a date too.”  Ruby reached over and squeezed his hand.  “It’s going to be okay, Arch.  It will.”

II

The nursing staff in the ER didn’t have much to tell them.  Garrett’s car had been hit from the side; someone running a red light after stealing from a convenience store.  The other driver was fine, just a little bruising from the seatbelt.  The cop chasing him, fortunately, had been able to call an ambulance right away.  They’d had to cut the door off the car to get him out.

They weren’t sure they’d be able to save his leg.  Once they’d gotten him stable enough they’d taken him straight to surgery.

“Archie?”  They were in a waiting room, him and Dorothy and David, who had only arrived half an hour ago.  Ruby had volunteered to go feed Pongo.  Archie looked up to find a doctor, a fresh coat covering his dirty scrubs.  Garrett’s blood.

“Graham?”  It hadn’t occurred to him that they were at the hospital where Graham worked.  Honestly, he didn’t know what hospital they were at.  He and Graham had dated for a while when he’d first moved to Hollywood.  It had started out as friends, and occasionally crashing on his couch.  It had returned to friendship, though he didn’t use the couch anymore.

“You’re here for Garrett Gold?”  

“I am.”  He stood, facing Graham.  It took him a moment to remember that he wasn’t alone.  “We are.  Dorothy and David are coworkers.”

“He’s out of surgery.  We were able to replace the vein in his leg, and as long as it takes he should be able to keep the leg but there’s damage.  We’ll have a better idea later how much.”  Graham reached out, touching Archie’s arm.  “We’ll have him in a room soon and you can sit with him.”

“How long until he wakes up?”  This morning he’d been in a hospital bed, Garrett sitting in the chair beside him.  Between takes they’d had coffee and talked and Archie had cracked bad jokes about the kind of care one could expect when their doctor also sold razors on a Bick commercial and what type of food they brought coma patients.  Anything to get Garrett to relax; he’d been tense since he’d first seen Archie in his makeup.  His ‘injuries’ had washed away in minutes, though.  

“I don’t know, Archie.  There’s head trauma from the accident as well.  He has a whole team of doctors monitoring him.  We’ll make sure you know as much as we know, I promise.”  Graham’s hold on his arm tightened.  “I have to go get cleaned up but I’ll find you later, okay?  I’d like to hear about your guy.”

“Your guy?”  David was playing with his now empty coffee cup and looking at Archie, perplexed.  

“We weren’t ready to tell people yet.  Garrett was going to tell his son this weekend.”  The plan was to tell their coworkers after that, and then decide how to deal with the media.  The plan had changed.

“Huh, I’m surprised.”

“That he likes men or that he’s with me?”  He knew that Garrett hadn’t been with a man before.  He hadn’t been with many women, either, outside of his sixteen-year marriage.

“That anyone got past his defenses.  I know about a couple of first dates, and that’s usually when it comes to those types of events where it looks better to show up as a couple.  Never heard of anyone getting even a second date.  It makes sense, though.  I mean I can see it, and it explains why he’s been in a better mood the last couple of months.”  David crumpled up his cup and tossed it in a trash can.  “I’m going to start making calls to people.  We only have about an hour until the first news show and no one needs to learn about the accident that way.  I can at least let them know what we know.”

“He’s right, you know.  Gold’s always been reserved, but he’s different since at least Christmas.  He talks to people between scenes.  Takes more time to notice the people around him.  And he’s just a little less hostile towards the press, enough to at least do a couple of interviews.  Reminds me of when I first met him, before the last couple of years of marriage and the divorce.  She did a number on him.”  Dorothy Lucas patted the chair next to her.  “You need to sit.  Pacing isn’t going to make them come any faster to take you to him.”

“He doesn’t talk about her.”  He’d mentioned her a few times, but only in regards to custody arrangements and his son’s schedule.  He wouldn’t even know her name, except that everyone knew.  Five years ago the divorce and custody battle of Garrett and Milah Gold had been big news.

“In a just world no one would talk about her, and she’d just fade away.  She has about as much talent as a hand model for a local tv commercial and as much morality as an ally cat in heat.  But it’s not my business.”  She pressed her lips together as if she wanted to make it her business.  She had more to say about Milah Gold and it wouldn’t be hard to get it out of her.  Archie didn’t want to know, not unless Garrett wanted to tell him.  “You and Gold, you tested well against each other when we were doing the casting.  But it’s nothing compared to how you two are now.  Sexual or brotherly, it doesn’t matter once the camera is rolling it’s all chemistry.  The bond between you two…”

“Mr. Hopper?  Doctor Humbert said you were allowed to sit with Garrett Gold.  He’s been moved into a room.”  Archie blinked when the nurse addressed him.  He suddenly felt like he was glued to his seat.  

“Go on.  You go hold his hand and talk to him.  That bond you share, it goes both ways.  You make sure he knows that he’s firmly attached here, that you’re not letting go.”  Perhaps it was because she was using the same tone she used when directing, but he found himself moving without thinking.  He didn’t stop until he was in the doorway of a private room, looking at the space that looked the same but completely different from their set on the studio lot.

Garrett’s bruises wouldn’t wash away and his bandages didn’t come from the wardrobe department.  

“I wish this was a dress rehearsal.”  It hadn’t been bad, when he and Garrett had practiced their scenes for the show’s season finale.  They’d run over the lines at his place, and their private rehearsal had ended with a scene that was not appropriate between two brothers, and certainly would have been flagged by the censors.  But the first time Archie had the makeup put on Garrett had turned white and had turned and left the room.  It was too real, he’d told Archie when they were alone.

“I need you to wake up, Garrett.”  He took his lover’s hand, glad that his arms seemed relatively unblemished.  His leg was in traction.  The side of his face had gauze taped to it, the rusty red of dried blood seeping through to let him know that there were unseen lacerations in addition to the bruises already forming.  But worse of all his eyes were closed and he was too still.  

“We have plans.”  Tomorrow they were supposed to have brunch with Bay, so they could meet for the first time.

Balin. Oh crap, his plane would be coming in this afternoon and Garrett was supposed to pick him up.  He was flying alone, his mother off for vacation in the Caribbean with her costar.  He had no idea how to contact her.  

“I’ll make sure someone is there for him.”  He didn’t promise it would be him; right now he couldn’t imagine being able to make himself leave Garrett’s side.

II

The flight was half an hour late.  Ruby had made sure he had a hat and dark glasses, so he wouldn’t be recognized.  A year ago it wouldn’t have been too much of a concern but Dixon was doing well and had the cover of a couple of magazines in the last months.  She’d also clearly inherited her granny’s take charge genes, because she’d talked to someone from TSA and had gotten them a security escort that took them through to the gate where Bay’s plane would land.

“He’ll be here soon.”  Ruby was still a high school student for almost a month, but Archie felt like she was the adult currently.  She’d been the one to accept David’s offer to sit with Garrett, and had insisted they leave with enough time to get something to eat.  Dorothy had been the one to tell him firmly that he needed to be the one to pick up Balin, that it’s what Gold would ask him to do, but it was Ruby who insisted on coming with him and refused to let him drive.

“I’ve never met him.”  He was nervous enough about meeting Garrett’s son under far better circumstances.  It was nothing compared to the nerves he felt having to tell a thirteen-year-old boy that his dad was in a coma.

“Even if you weren’t Gold’s… are we saying boyfriend?  I mean is that what you two…” Ruby shook her head.  “Nevermind.  Even if you weren’t dating you’d be one of the best choices for this.  You’re a good guy, Archie.  All the animals on set love you, not just Pongo.  You stop and entertain any kid who comes across your path; Henry would live in your trailer if you let him.  And you’re even nice to the annoying teenager that pesters you into trying on the clothes she makes at home.”

“I liked that vest you brought in last week.”  He’d first talked to Ruby because of Pongo, and had fallen into an easy friendship.  She was an amateur photographer and a not quite as amateur seamstress who dreamed of going into fashion design.  “And you’re not annoying.”

“The vest was awesome and I’m very annoying, which proves my point.  You’re a good guy and Balin is lucky you’re the one picking him up.”

“There’s nothing lucky about this.”  Lucky would be a car being seconds faster and Garrett picking up his own kid.  Lucky would at least be Garrett’s eyes opening before he’d left the hospital.

“The plane’s landing.”  Ruby squeezed his hand.  He’d worried, when they first met, about how much she touched him.  Worried that she had a crush, maybe.  But when he’d dared to approach Dorothy about it she’d laughed and said that was just how Ruby was with friends, and everyone knew that his dating pool didn’t run to girls of any type, let alone ones that were underage.

“Oh dear.”  He looked at his phone.  No new messages.  They would have texted him if Garrett had woken up.  Would they have texted him if things had gotten worse?  They would, wouldn’t they?  They wouldn’t let him bring Balin back to the hospital without a warning.

“What do we know besides 13-year-old boy?”  Ruby asked as they opened the door.

“Brown curly hair.  Garrett says that Bay just passed him up in height.  He should be…”  But there was no point saying more, not when the boy was walking through the door with a backpack slung over one shoulder.  He looked just like the pictures Archie had seen in his love’s house.

“Balin Gold.”  He waited until the boy was closer, but there was no reaction.  

“Wait.”  When Balin passed him by Archie took a few steps.  Without thinking he reached out, his fingers brushing against the backpack.  “We need to talk.”

“You second rate reporters will try anything, won’t you?  I don’t talk about my dad to the press.”

“I’m not a reporter.”  In all his worry it had never occurred to him that he might need to convince Balin that he was someone to trust.

“He really isn’t.  Well, there was that Hallmark movie that one time, but that would be like calling him a doctor because of that cough syrup commercial he did.”  Ruby dodged around a couple of people to stand in front of Bay.  

“I’m a friend of your dad’s.”  A too-mild term that at least didn’t feel like a lie.  He and Garrett were good friends, they were just other things too.  “We work together.”

“And her?”  Unconvinced, Bay pointed at Ruby.  “She’s not an intern?”

“She’s the granddaughter of our director.  This is Ruby.  I’m Archie.”

“Archie Hopper?”  When Bay narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side he looked so much like his dad it hurt.  Finally, he nodded, shoulders relaxing.  “I couldn’t get full episodes in Romania but I found clips on youtube.  You’re Aaron.”

“Yeah.  Sorry about the hat and glasses but…”

“Reporters.  Fans.  I get it.”  Archie supposed that he’d been living with it long enough.  “Did dad send you to get me?”

“We should go get your bags.”  The airport wasn’t really the place for the conversation they needed to have.

“Where’s my dad?”  Bay had been starting to walk but he stopped, taking a step back.  “I talked to him yesterday, he was going to be here.”

“I’m going to go talk to someone and see if we can have Balin’s bags deliver to Gold’s house, and then I’m going to go get the car, okay?”  Ruby, once she made up her mind, was gone before he had a chance to answer.  Fortunately, everyone getting off the plane seemed to be gone and the area where they stood seemed quiet.  Archie glanced over to an alcove where a trio of vending machines stood.  He nodded, and hoped that Bay would at least trust him enough to follow the few steps.

“Garrett wanted to be here.  He’s been talking for weeks about you coming home.”  It had been the beginning of December when Bay had left. They hadn’t even had a chance to celebrate Christmas or his birthday.  “There was an accident last night.  His car…”

“Is he dead?”  Garrett’s son had, it seemed, inherited his ability to hide almost everything.  His face was perfectly schooled, as if he’d asked about the weather.  Except his eyes.  Archie could see a hint of the storm he was trying to hide in his eyes.  Archie took off his sunglasses.

“No.  And he’s not… I don’t think… I want…”  He took a deep breath.  “It’s only been a few hours.  He hasn’t woken up yet but he just needs time.”

“Can I see him?”  Bay’s hand was wrapped around one of the straps of his backpack, his knuckles white.

“We’ll go straight there,” he promised, relieved that he too would be able to return soon.  It had been more than an hour.

II

“Papa.”  Bay was quiet on the ride, perhaps because Archie was silent as well, or because Ruby was anything but quiet, filling the space the other two left.  They took the elevator straight up to the seventh floor and to Garrett’s room, where David quietly ducked out to allow them in.  Everything looked exactly the same.  Archie itched to touch his hand to Gold’s, to kiss his forehead, to brush smooth the hair that had fallen against Garrett’s cheek, but he stayed back.  

“We’re supposed to be going out for pizza, dad.  Real American pizza.   You promised.”  Bay had the chair as close to the bed as it would go, his hand wrapped around his dad’s hand, the backpack he’d brought with him tossed in one corner.

“Are you hungry?” Archie asked softly.  He’d never been to Romania but he knew the flight was even longer than the one to London and that had been exhausting.

“I don’t want to leave him.”  It wasn’t a no, so Archie took it as a yes.

“I’ll see what we can find.”  It was hard to make himself leave the room.  Harder not to turn right around and go back in.

“Archie?”  At some point in the last hour Mary Margaret had arrived, apparently.  She left David’s side to give him a hug.  It wasn’t until her arms were around him that he realized he was shaking.

“I’m fine.  I just, I told Balin, I need…”  He was shaking enough that his teeth were chattering and he couldn’t make even the simple request on Bay’s behalf.  He couldn’t find the words.

Or air.  He couldn’t breathe.

Vaguely he heard someone telling him to sit, and found himself collapsing into a chair, his body folding in on itself.  Someone’s hand was warm against his back and someone was trying to tell him something but he couldn’t hear them over the pounding sound in his ears.  His head was between his knees but it only made his chest feel tighter.

“Archie I need you to look at me.”  Suddenly Graham was sitting on the floor before him, a hand on each of his knees, repeating his name until he looked up.

“You’re going to take one breath now, Archie.  Breathe in.  Alright?  Just think about the air coming in, like those elocution exercises you used to do all the time in the mirror.  They all started with needing to breathe, right?”  Archie didn’t hear half of what he said, but he took in a breath because he knew Graham wouldn’t stop until he did.  The second was a little easier.

“I’m okay.”  Even to his own ear his voice was shaky and unconvincing.  

“It’s okay to not be okay, Archie.”  Mary Margaret’s hand was on his shoulder.

“I’m going to go get you something.”  Graham started to get up.  Archie shook his head, but Graham gave him one of his ‘I’m the doctor’ looks that both annoyed Archie and made him feel better, often at the same time.  “Nothing to sedate you, I promise.”

“I told Balin I would get him something to eat,” Archie said once Graham was gone.  He was suddenly feeling exhausted.  

“I’ll go get food,” David volunteered.  “Can I get anything for you?”

Archie shook his head.  The only thing he wanted David couldn’t get for him.  “Ruby made me eat on the way to the airport.  Balin’s been on a plane since yesterday, though.”

“And out of the country.  I think I remember how to buy food for a teenage boy.”  Once David left it was just Mary Margaret and Dorothy; Ruby had been sent home to work on homework.  She had a project due Monday, and only a few weeks until finals.

“Maybe you should get some sleep,” Dorothy suggested.  Archie shook his head.  He was afraid of missing something.  Besides, the last time he’d slept his world had come crashing down.  He stayed in his chair and waited.

II

“Did you want to stop anywhere on the way home?”  It was ten, and the hospital staff had suggested, rather firmly, that they should go home and get some sleep.  He and Bay had both been reluctant to leave, but Archie had finally been motivated by Bay half falling asleep in his chair.  Garrett had no family other than his aunts in Scotland, and Bay’s mother was unreachable, apparently for the better part of the next two weeks.  Archie didn’t know what they’d do, but for the moment the best answer seemed to be taking Bay to his own home, and staying over.  The teen couldn’t be alone.  Dorothy had offered a room, but Bay chose his own home.

“I just want to sleep.  We can go back in the morning, right?”  Bay hadn’t talked much in the last hours, unless asked a direct question.  

“Yeah, we’ll go back after we get some sleep.”  He drove up to the house in an old neighborhood; not ostentatious like many of the wealthy areas of town, but a quieter elegance.  Archie had laughed at the pink house the first time he’d seen it, but now it felt like the most comfortable place he knew.  Bay’s suitcases were on the porch waiting for them.  Archie used the key on his ring to unlock the door.

“You have a key to the house?”  It was the first genuine curiosity Archie had heard that wasn’t related to needing answers from doctors they couldn’t give him.

“Your dad watched Pongo, my dog, the last time I was out of town.”  It wasn’t really an answer, but he wasn’t sure if it was wise to say anything about just how close he and Garrett really were.  “He’s a good friend.”

“Dad loves dogs, but always says he works too much to have one.”  Bay grabbed one of his suitcases.  Archie too the other.  They both headed straight for the stairs.  “Where’s Pongo now?”

“Ruby picked him up and took him home.  Dorothy has a yard he can run around in.”  He’d considered picking up his dog, but they’d be right back at the hospital in the morning without even the time for a walk and Pongo deserved more attention.  “Are you warm enough?  I could turn on the heater, it’s still a little cool at night.”

“I have extra blankets if I’m cold.  I’m just going to go to bed, okay?”  Bay paused in the doorway to his bedroom.  Though unused from months it still looked lived in.  “I’m sorry if I was rude at the airport.  I appreciate you doing all this for me.  The ride and staying here, and stuff.”

“I’m here for anything you need.”  The boy ran a hand through his curly hair, suddenly looking far younger than his thirteen years.  “Sleep well.”

“Yeah.”  He shut the door behind him, leaving Archie in the hall, just across from Garrett’s bedroom.  The door was open, and Archie crossed through the doorway, turning on the light. Nothing looked different than it had a couple of nights ago, except for the very noticeable absence of the only person he wanted to see.  Archie looked at the bed where they’d made love together.  He looked at the gold silk robe draped over the chair and the slippers on the floor.  There was a book of poetry on the bedside table by Pablo Neruda that Garrett had read aloud just a few nights ago.  The room was haunted; Archie turned off the light and left.  He couldn’t stay there; at the end of the hall was the guest room.   He took off his shoes and glasses and laid down on top of the bed.  Before he could sleep he called the hospital to check in; nothing had changed.

II

“He’s awake.”  Archie woke to shaking, and blinked his eyes open to find that Bay had a hand on his shoulder.

“What?”  It took a moment for the words to penetrate his sleep fogged brain.  “Garrett’s awake?”

“Yeah. The hospital called.”  Bay grinned.  “They said he woke up about half an hour again.  He fell asleep again but it’s just sleep.  Regular sleep.”

“Oh.”  Archie sat up, but before he could say anything else he ran out of the room, barely making it into the hall bathroom before dry heaving into the toilet.  His stomach clenched, but his last meal had been far too long ago.  He took a few breaths before he felt like he could attempt standing.  Bay was standing in the doorway.  “I’m sorry, I was just…”

“Dad’s not your friend, is he?”  Bay leaned against the doorframe, watching him intently.  

“What?  Why?  Of course he’s my friend.”  He still felt shaky, and turned on the cold water in the sink to splash his face.  

“I guess I mean he’s not just your friend.  Some people can be both, can’t they?  Friends and something else.”  

Archie stared at him.  “Something else?”

“There’s a picture of you two on dad’s mirror, with your dog.  Pongo’s a dalmatian, that’s cool.”  Archie nodded; he knew which picture it was.  He’d dragged Garrett into joining him for a celebrity walk-a-thon with him and Pongo.  Someone had snapped a picture at the finish line, his arm around Garrett’s neck.  The caption had read something about coworkers working together off-camera to raise money for charity, but Archie had worried about the picture.  Maybe the rest of the world couldn’t see it, but Archie could tell at a glance that he looked besotted, looking at Garrett rather than the camera.  Apparently Gold’s thirteen-year-old kid was perceptive too.  “There’s green juice in the fridge and granola bars on the counter.  I don’t think dad knows what granola is.  What do you usually have for breakfast Archie?”

“You already had a lot to deal with, I didn’t want to tell you more that didn’t matter.  Your dad was going to tell you about us.”  Archie looked down at his wrinkled shirt.  At least he didn’t have to worry about explaining the fact that he had clean clothes here.  “This wasn’t how I wanted to meet you.”  

“It’s weird.  He’s never brought anyone home before.”  When Archie looked up at him Balin shrugged.  “My mom, she likes to have men around.  Even before she and dad… Whatever.  But it’s been five years and dad hasn’t ever brought someone home, so it must matter.  Right?”

“I love him.”  He hadn’t told anyone other than Garrett and his brother, and it was strange making the confession to someone he’d just met yesterday.

“Can we drive through Starbucks on the way to the hospital?”  The sudden change in conversation made Archie blink.  He stared for a moment before nodding.

“I’ll get dressed.”

“I just need to get my shoes on.”  Bay half turned, but then paused.  “My dad’s been lonely for a long time.  It’s good, you know, if he’s not alone anymore.”

II

Garrett was sleeping when they arrived at the hospital, but he’d woken a second time and was able to answer questions.  Archie hesitated in the doorway, allowing Bay to take the seat next to his dad’s hand.

“We can find a second chair, can’t we?”  Bay asked.  Archie nodded and went to ask the nurse for a chair.  He was relieved that Bay was okay with him being there too.  He couldn’t imagine what the boy was going through, arriving home to find his dad in a coma and a stranger dating his dad.  Then again his own emotions if he’d even found his dad in a coma would have been wildly different; by thirteen he had already been placed in foster care with Marco’s family.

“I told my mom I wanted to live with him.  I know they’re supposed to have joint custody but I hate bouncing back and forth even when they’re both here.  Mom was mad but I know she likes being able to do whatever she wants without worrying about school and stuff.  I haven’t asked dad yet, but I think…”

“He’d love it,” Archie said without hesitation.  “He talks about you all the time.  When we had a week off for Easter he kept looking at plane tickets but he’d have to spend half the time traveling and would only get to see you for a couple of days.  He kept telling me all the things you two had planned for the summer.”

“I hated Romania.  I wanted to be home.”

“Want you home too.”  Garrett’s voice was dry and hard to hear even in the relative silence of the room.  Archie had never heard any sound that meant more.

“Dad.”  Bay pressed his lips together, his eyes tearing up.  “This was not a part of our deal.”

“Bad timing.”  Garrett winced when he moved.

“I’ll go get a nurse,” Archie offered, planning to slip out so father and son could have a minute in private.  Garrett had other ideas.

“No.”  Shaking his head perhaps took too much energy, but he wiggled the fingers on the hand Arche had just released.  “Stay.”

“For as long as you want,” Archie promised.  After a moment’s hesitation he leaned down and kissed his love’s forehead.

“Forever,” Garrett said sleepily, eyes already fluttering closed.  “Both of you.”

[sapphicscholar]

Pride Month Prompts Day 20: Confession (Grace/Frankie)

From this Pride Month Prompts post! I’m taking the opportunity to write some short fics for a variety of pairings that I haven’t written for as much. I’ll be sure to tag them all with #pride month prompts so you can find them later if you’d like!

Day 20: Confession - on AO3 as Absolution

Pairing: Grace/Frankie

A/N: As a once very Catholic, very closeted, very gay lady, my mind jumped straight to religion for confession, so I ran with it and also played more with form and temporality than I normally do… Figure that’s what these little ficlets are for!

Grace inhales deeply, fills her nose and mouth and lungs with the air that feels a little thicker than outdoor air, heavy with mysteries and promises and millennia of history. Incense wafts through the chapel—smoky and spiced in a way that lingers, just barely, in her clothes and hair for the first few hours after she’s left the church. Grace tries to let the familiarity of it ground her as she readjusts the pristine white lace of her chapel veil, thinking back to the days of elementary school, remembering little Katherine Agostino who had always forgotten hers, been forced by Sister Patricia to pin a tissue to her hair instead, blushed a bright red when the boys laughed at her as the line of girls was marched over to the church. Grace’s had always been in perfect order—none of the frayed edges or grayish tinges that had marred the other girls’ veils. No matter how tight money was, her mother always ensured that they looked respectable, neat, orderly; they would not be the children talked about in hushed tones at the market or after mass. The fact that they whisper about her now, the 26-year-old without any prospects for a husband and we all know what that means, isn’t lost on her, but she tries to focus on her rosary beads, repeats the well-known words silently as she waits for her turn in the confessional.

---

The beach house never smells like Clorox bleach and fresh linens anymore. It overflows with a bounty of smells. A different kind of incense—something with hints of hickory and jasmine and a heady combination of spices. Freshly toasted Eggo waffles and the slightly burnt smell of crystallized sugar from when Frankie had popped a syrupy waffle back into the toaster to see if she could make a creme brulée-waffle hybrid. A few times a year the vats of boiling yams that Grace has only recently admitted make an end product that’s worth the messy, smelly process of its creation. The acrylic paints that remind Grace of the studio but that have begun making their way into the main house too. That lavender chamomile organic soap Frankie buys—or, more often, asks Grace to buy for her—from the farmer’s market. Despite the years of complaining about it, when Frankie left for New Mexico Grace found herself missing the particular bouquet of smells that was Frankie’s presence, thinking the house smelled too sterile. Even after Sheree moved in and started filling the house with the aroma of melting cheese and butter and chocolate, it still hadn’t been right. And when she and Frankie moved back into the house after their stay at Walden Villas, she practically invited it, determined to rid the house of the lingering smell of the focus-group-approved candle that every fucking real estate agent in California seemed to burn. These days Grace’s bedroom is permeated by the smell of Frankie and her incense and her soaps and shampoos and paints, and there’s nothing fleeting about it.

---

After two decades of the rosary, it’s Grace’s turn to go back to the confessional. She kneels down and waits for the priest to finish with the person on the other side. She’s only been to this church once or twice, when she happened to be visiting family who lived across the lines for the neighboring parishes, but she doesn’t want to confess these things to Father Thomas who’s known her since he baptized her, who she just knows recognizes every voice even if he’s sworn to secrecy about the specifics of what she says. Then Father Patrick is there, the vague outline of his face visible through the screen as he tells her to begin. She clears her throat. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Her fingers tap lightly against her forehead, her chest, her shoulders. She feels the sharpness of the bone through the thin fabric of her dress and relishes in it. “My last confession was five weeks ago.” The last one where she’d been honest was about eight years ago, though. But today is about making that right. Today is about moving forward, about doing things right.

---

“Things need to be different moving forward.” Those were the first words out of Frankie’s mouth when Grace returned to the beach house, suitcase in hand, the rest of her belongings in the process of being moved out of Nick’s penthouse—not that she’d ever got around to bringing most of them over, their whirlwind marriage barely lasting a full two months before she caved and admitted it had never been what she wanted, had been a way to make her forget the things she really wanted. Grace had nodded, sworn to Frankie that she understood. She didn’t say anything, but she was fairly certain that going back to the way things were before would have killed her; she didn’t leave a marriage only to make the same mistakes again. Within three weeks of the divorce’s finalization, they’d found their path forward into that “different” in a way that Grace had never dared to articulate as a hope—not even to herself. But then Frankie was there, telling her these things were possible, telling her she understood even without the words, dragging her into an unknown future that Grace knows—a knowledge rooted somewhere deep inside herself—will be better.

---

Four. Four had always been the best number of sins to confess. Maybe you could get away with three if it had only been a week, but two was proof that you were lazy, hadn’t sat with the reflection questions long enough to evaluate your life and judge your past choices. Five was getting up there, but so long as most of them were venial sins, the kind you technically didn’t have to go to confession for, little things like fighting with your brother, it was probably okay. More than five, though, and suddenly you were trouble. But four was safe. Four sins. Four lapses. Four things to be confessed and forgiven, purged and forgotten.

She knows she’s supposed to start with any mortal sins, work her way into the lesser ones, but she needs to build up to things. So she takes a deep breath and begins, “Father, I have taken the Lord’s name in vain twice.” Times about 20. “I was unkind to one of my coworkers.” He’d deserved it, of course. “This past week, I missed mass.” She actually did feel guilty about that, but she’d thought about, well, about doing the very thing she’s finally doing the night beforehand and had drunk enough to wake up feeling like she’d already been to hell and clawed her way back out. “And…” She swallows heavily. “I, uh…” There had been a script. She had opted not to bring it with her, though, hadn’t wanted the small piece of paper fluttering to the ground somewhere people not sworn to secrecy might see it. But this is the whole reason she’s here. She’s trying to make amends, move forward, do right by her family and God. “There were indiscretions,” she finally manages, her voice sounding strangled and wrong to her own ears. “It was a moment of weakness.” That was what Margaret had called it the next morning, the warm haze of the previous night’s wine long dissipated in the chill New England morning air. “I am sorry for these sins”—her stomach churns, the swirl of grief and guilt making it hard to breath—”and all the sins of my life, and I ask for absolution and penance of thee, my father.”

---

The first time she and Frankie fight—and really fight, not the bickering that is its own love language between them at this point—after getting together, Grace can admit is her fault. They’d been out at a restaurant, Frankie determined to “court you properly,” as she’d explained it, and had run across two of Grace’s old country club friends out with their husbands. It only occurred to Grace after the fact that they likely would have assumed she and Frankie were simply out to dinner as friends—though they would judge her for the friendship with Frankie as much as anything. But in the moment, she’d panicked, pushed herself as far back into her chair as she could, laughed too loudly and nodded too eagerly when they asked if there might be another man in her life after Nick, ordered a few too many martinis once they’d gone back to their own table. She’d been able to see the hurt reflected in Frankie’s eyes through the rest of the stilted, silent meal, but when Frankie had called her on it later, she’d lashed out, yelled at Frankie for rushing her, told her it wasn’t fair of her to expect Grace to let go of the values she’d been raised on all in one breath.

The next morning, Grace wakes up  late, later than she can remember sleeping in ages, with a pounding headache and a stomach she won’t dare try putting food into, but even with the intensity of her hangover, she feels the guilt most of all. After a long, too hot shower, she makes her way downstairs, practically throws herself at Frankie’s feet. She’d intended to apologize for the night before—and she does—but then she can’t stop the words that come rushing out of her. There are apologies to be made for the years of judgmental looks and constant complaints, for the first few months after the first divorce and all the things she’d said about her one real friend to the women who were never really her friends, for the terrible drunken rant in front of Frankie’s whole family that had come back to Grace in flashes and snippets later, each returned memory making her hate herself more and more. There is forgiveness still to be begged for over every instance of doubting Frankie, of telling her, in word and in deed, that she was incompetent. There are still reparations to be made for the years of denying this thing growing between them, for running off and marrying Nick because it seemed easier, and now, for pushing Frankie away again because it seemed safer than being the one people talked about when she left the room.

By the time she finishes, she feels hollow and empty, her cheeks stained with tear tracks and her whole body trembling. But Frankie doesn’t leave her in anxious suspense as penance, doesn’t prolong the fight to make Grace earn her forgiveness; she sweeps Grace up in her arms and kisses away the tears and thanks Grace for the words, thanks Grace for meaning them—somehow she can tell, knows deep inside that they are sincere. With her head on Frankie’s chest, Grace lets out a deep breath, and she swears the next inhale seems to reach down to someplace new, filling her up with fresh air in ways her body had never believed were possible.

---

The Act of Contrition comes more easily than the list of sins. Long-memorized words recited into the stillness of the confessional. She’s been given her penance already; five Hail Marys and two Our Fathers, and she’ll be washed of the past, allowed to move forward, start clean, act as if there had been no night where everything felt good and right for the first time in her life. She will feel proper again. Better. She will never be that girl that gets whispered about before her family has stepped far enough away to miss the words. And then Father Patrick is reciting the old Latin phrases, comfortable in their strangeness, the language a welcome distance between her and the whole ordeal. “Misereatur tui ominipotens Deus, et dimissis peccatis tuis, perducat te ad vitam aeternam. Amen.”

---

Frankie doesn’t care when people stare. “Let them look!” she cries out, smile wide and open, an invitation to anyone around to share in that happiness with her. Sometimes Grace even manages to feel it herself. Somewhere along the way, she’d become the kind of woman who could stand on a college campus and hold up a vibrator that she designed, that she created, that she admitted, at least implicitly, to using. She’d become a squatter who slept beside pigs in a house she didn’t own, using electricity she didn’t pay for, while family members and strangers alike gawked down at her as if she were some kind of spectacle. She’d become someone who cried, albeit sparingly, in front of other people, admitted that she felt things, talked about things she wanted, even the things she wanted too much, the kind of wants that swept through her, leaving a burning trail of shame and unresolved need in their wake. And instead of laughing and scoffing and pushing her away, Frankie had opened her arms wider, told Grace she could want those things, told her she could give her those things, let her have those things in abundance without shame or judgement or guilt or apology.

---

Grace kneels in an empty pew as soon as she’s done to say her penance. When she’s finished, she sits back, the hard wood pressing up against her spine in a slightly painful way that has always felt fitting. She stays there and waits for the Sunday morning service to begin. She listens to the half-familiar Latin words, and gives the responses at the proper times, and sits and stands and kneels in turn, and lines up with everyone to receive the only carb she voluntarily eats (knows it must be sacrilege to call the Body of Christ a carb), and tells herself that it will all be okay.

---

Frankie is a firm believer in carbs. She swears they’ve got healing powers. Pasta in olive oil with salt (too much salt, Grace would tell her these days) and a bit of garlic for any illness because “The Italians sure did get that one right, Grace!” Thick-sliced challah bread turned into French toast for special occasions. Homemade cakes that Grace knows better than to question these days for celebrations. Donuts and croissants and cereal for ordinary breakfasts, as if such indulgences can be had daily. But still, when Frankie joins Grace in bed, slipping under the covers, the wool of her socks slightly scratchy against Grace’s bare skin, and offers her a plate or bowl with extra of whatever she’s chosen for the morning, Grace doesn’t push it away in the way she had with Robert or the children on Mother’s Day mornings. Instead, she takes small bites, lets herself relax into the buttery flakes of a croissant, even if she’ll never finish the whole thing, takes comfort in the knowledge that Frankie won’t push her on it, won’t purse her lips or scowl when she goes downstairs and fixes herself some fruit to round out the meal.

---

Grace doesn’t stick around to mingle after the service—being away from the crowds of too familiar parishioners back at Holy Trinity would have made the disappearing act impossible, but here she can manage it so long as she moves quickly. The fresh air hits her skin and ruffles the hem of her dress slightly. She’s been absolved. Done her penance. Sat through the service. But she doesn’t feel any better for it. That magic sense of purity, of some blank slate stretched out in front of her, is gone. She’s just a 26-year-old unmarried woman who’s gone and sworn to God that she’ll never again do the only thing that’s made her feel like a life worth living is before her. She tells herself it’s better this way, that she’ll find her path again. She hopes it’s true.

---

Trying not to wake Frankie, Grace slips out of bed, biting back a groan as her joints creak and pop, her skin still bare from the night before and coated in a thin film of dried sweat. She walks quietly to the bathroom and eases the door shut. Within an hour, she’s showered and dressed in one of her loose, soft sweaters—perfect for the overcast morning, the threat of rain hovering in the air but distant enough to allow Grace hope for a quiet morning on the beach. Downstairs, she measures out coffee grounds—from the Fair Trade-certified beans she buys now because Frankie has asked her to—and then the water, sets the pot to brew, and steps back. While she waits, she goes through her morning rituals. Vitamins. Supplements. A yogurt with fresh fruit. The two pills she isn’t supposed to take on an empty stomach. When the coffee is ready, she pours some into the mug Frankie had gotten her for Pride month and leaves a Post It note next to the pot to let Frankie know it’s fresh.

Once she has her coffee, Grace pauses at the stack of books. She knows which one she’d like to take, but there are the two graphic novels Frankie has bought for her, still adorned with a bright pink Post It note: “Grace! I need someone to talk to about these. Plz read them. P.S. I know how you feel about comic books, but old MacArthur swears she’s a genius.” Grace looks at them, finally grabbing the one on top, before making her way out the back door. It’s not quite chilly outside, but she’s grateful for the sweater and the hot coffee as she settles into one of the armchairs overlooking the ocean.

At some point—Grace has lost track of time—Frankie comes outside to join her, grinning as she spots the copy of Fun Home with the Post It carefully folded in half to be used as a bookmark—no dog-eared pages for Grace Hanson, no sir. “Move over. I want to sit with you”

“There’s a perfectly serviceable chair right there,” Grace grumbles, but she’s already moving over as far to one side as she can.

Frankie finally manages to find a spot that’s halfway comfortable, and she celebrates by taking one of Grace’s hands in her own. It’s not quite so easy as sitting side-by-side together in the beach chairs the way they once had, but Grace finds she doesn’t mind the change to their routine, not when it means Frankie’s thumbs rubbing soft circles against the backs of her hands, the warmth of Frankie’s body pressed right up against the full length of her body.

For a while, they watch the ocean together. The beach is still and almost silent in the gray morning—the only sounds the soft crash of the waves falling against the water and rushing up the sand until they fade to nothing but a thin foam and remnants of the ocean life left behind.

Grace drops her head to Frankie’s shoulder, gently squeezes Frankie’s hand. “I love you,” she says, still facing out to sea, her voice loud in the silence. But it doesn’t matter who hears. She wants them to know, has a delicate, smooth ring of white gold in a drawer in the desk in the old office neither of them use that will tell the whole world that Frankie is hers, and she is Frankie’s, and they are each other’s. She’s waited too long, denied herself for too many years, to sit back and refuse this small mercy she so desperately wants to last forever.

Frankie turns inwards, kisses her softly, her lips chapped and her breath smelling faintly of coffee and Fruit Loops. “Love you too.”

The words came easily for Frankie—much more easily than certain actions had, a different kind of openness, of vulnerability, of intimacy—but Grace has never doubted them, not even for a second. And day by day she’s learning to trust them, to let them find those dark, walled off spaces inside her and warm them with their insistent refrain of forgiveness given freely, of love gifted openly, of new futures opened wide before her.