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silverflame2724 · 3 years ago

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WWX decides to kill two birds with one stone and with the help of WQ reforges the Stygian Tiger Seal into a artificial golden core replacement which she implants into WWX.

WWXs eyes are now permanently red and he has the full power of the seal at his fingertips at all times because its part of him now.

Another side effect of this Stygian Core is discovered when WWX misses JZXs ambush and is instead attacked and disembowled in Carp Tower in full view of the cultivation world but then immediately regenerates without a scratch and blood ruined robes.

Watching WWX be more annoyed at the bloody robes than being disembowled because the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation has apparently cultivated to immortality USING RESENTMENT shakes a lot of people.

“Huh.” Wen Qing says as she observes yet another failure of Wei Wuxian’s inventions quite literally blow up in his face. “So this Seal of yours protects you?”

Wei Wuxian coughs from the smoke of his busted invention, “Well, yeah. What about it?”

“It’s sentient, correct?”

“Yeah....?”

“Hmm.” Wen Qing observed the Seal slowly bobbing up and down. “Can you circulate resentful energy through the Seal for a moment? Don’t make it do anything. Just channel resentful energy through it like you would if you channeled spiritual energy normally.”

“Okayyy??” Wei Wuxian was perplexed but nevertheless obeyed and watched as Wen Qing’s eyes brightened. “What? What is it? Wen Qing, tell meeeeee! Don’t leave me out!!!!!”

“Brat, I’m trying to concentrate.” She scolded him, but her tone was fond.

Wei Wuxian waited a few more moments before it seemed like Wen Qing had seen enough.

“I want you to calm down when I say this, but I think you can reforge the Seal into a core which I can transfer into you.”

Wei Wuxian was silent......for about two seconds. “............What?”

Wen Qing sighed. “Wei Wuxian, when you channeled resentful energy through the Seal, the Seal acted much like how it would if someone were to channel spiritual energy through their core. The Seal can be made into an artificial core is what I’m saying.”

“I.....you are sure?” Wei Wuxian asked. He knew Wen Qing wouldn’t joke about this.

“Yes. I’m about eighty percent sure this will go well. I can even knock you out when I cut you open this time.”

“I.....okay.” Wei Wuxian was at a loss for words.

“So I’ve rendered you speechless.” Wen Qing smiled. “That kinda feels good.”

Wei Wuxian pouted.

...........

It took a few days to reform the Seal into a form that would resemble a core but Wei Wuxian was a genius and having Wen Qing there to bounce ideas off of helped in giving him a clue as to how a core should look and feel like.

“Are you ready?” Wen Qing asked.

Wei Wuxian, who was one hundred percent not ready, said, “Yes.”

Wen Qing saw through this. “It will be alright.” She squeezed his hand. “This time, it will be alright.”

That was the last thing he heard before he was knocked out.

When he awoke, his eyes had burned for a little before the pain dissipated.

Wen Qing had been in the midst of declaring the operation successful when she suddenly paused, “Huh.”

“What is it?” He asked nervously. Did something go wrong?

“Oh.....it’s, hmm. A’ Ning, get me some water, will you?”

Wen Ning returned not long later and locked eyes with Wei Wuxian. He seemed quite startled and that made Wei Wuxian even more curious. Based on Wen Qing’s reaction, it wasn’t anything bad, but still.....

“Wei Wuxian.”

“Yes?”

“Look at your reflection and you’ll understand why A’ Ning and I looked startled.”

Wei Wuxian did.

And he was shocked to see that his eyes have now become a brilliant shade of red. “What the hell?”

“Mmhm.”

“Why are my eyes red???”

“Well, Wei Wuxian, I’m not sure if anyone’s told you, but you’re aware your eyes turn red everytime you use demonic cultivation, right?”

“Umm, no??”

“Well, they do. And considering what your core is, well. I’m not entirely surprised this happened. It was certainly unexpected though.” She finished cleaning up and left Wei Wuxian to just sit and admire his reflection.

...................

A week and some carefully supervised experiments later, Wei Wuxian had full control over his core. It was really just the same thing as how one would normally use a golden core, so it didn’t take long for him to get the hang of it. However, considering his core is the Seal, he also had the ability to control thousands of corpses and this time without any of the side effects.

He also spent time trying to get Suibian to respond to him using resentful energy. Considering that the sword was a spiritual sword, he was unsure of the compatibility but Suibian seemed to adapt well enough and Wei Wuxian was so glad he didn’t have to give up ever using his beloved sword again.

The next step on his agenda was to update the wards. Using the power of the Seal to strengthen it was a walk in the park and Wei Wuxian finally felt like despite how the cultivation world was always on the verge of killing him and the Wens, they’d be safe. The wards would hold out.

He then started absorbing all the deep-seated resentment in the soil to make it more fertile as well as trying to clear the Burial Mounds resentment by listening to the stories of the dead and helping them pass on. He also painstakingly dug up all the strewn about corpses, burned them and held proper funeral rites for them.

The crops flourished, the Wens and him were well-fed, and the Burial Mounds started to lighten up. Wei Wuxian no longer looked to be on the verge of death and he was able to cultivate without any problem.

Like this, time passed peacefully.

..........................

He was invited to his nephew’s one month celebration not long later and Wei Wuxian decided that this would be a good time to show the cultivation world that he truly is the grandmaster of demonic cultivation they all claim him to be. (In truth, he never considered himself to be any sort of grandmaster considering how little he knew of demonic cultivation, but it was different now.)

He told Wen Ning and the other corpses - of the resentful spirits that stayed behind saying they wanted to help him - to watch for any Jins since he trusted they’d take this chance to attack the Burial Mounds.

After he put on a concealing talisman for his eyes - since he knew that his different eye color would make a huge uproar -, he took to the skies with Suibian and nearly teared up. He’d missed flying. He’d missed this feeling. Laughing happily, he circulated the resentful energy in his core and sped up, becoming a black blur as he flew straight over Qiongqi Path.

When he landed at the foot of Koi Tower, invitation in hand, the Jin guards seemed surprised to see him there but had to let him in, not wanting to offend him.

Jiang Yanli-- no, it was Jin Yanli saw him and waved excitedly, beckoning him over. Out of his sight, Jin Guangyao and Jin Guangshan seemed surprised to see him there.

“A’ Xian!”

“Shijie!” The form of address slipped out.

Her face softened. “You made it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

The whispers of the people around him, wondering why he was there, surrounded him, but he ignored it. “Shijie, here’s my present!”

She looked at the bell with a little bit of wonder. “What does it do?”

“It’ll ensure that high level resentful beings and below won’t be able to move!”

“Oh, A’ Xian! This is perfect.”

“Thank you.” Jin Zixuan said, awkwardly. Wei Wuxian had forgotten he was there.

“No need! If it’s for Shijie’s son, I’d do anything!”

“He’s my son, too.”

Wei Wuxian made a face at that. “Well, yeah.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng called and then stopped. “You have your sword?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged, “Yep!” He twirled around. “I started picking Suibian up again! But let’s not focus on that, Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng seemed hesitant but dropped it readily enough as they started bickering like they used to.

Suddenly--

“Wei Wuxian!” Someone yelled.

Wei Wuxian groaned. Can one day go on without someone yelling my name with hatred??? Like, please??

“Yeeeeeees?” He drawled tiredly.

And some Jin guy that vaguely looked like Jin Zixuan stomped in, looking murderous. “You, remove the curse that you put on me!!”

Murmurs started up all around them.

“Curse?” Wei Wuxian looked confused. “What curse? And who are you anyway? Am I supposed to know you from somewhere??”

“You know who I am!!”

“No, I don’t actually.” Wei Wuxian scratched his head as he walked forward to get a better look. He really didn’t know!

“That’s Jin Zixun.” His shijie said, coming up to him. “From the Phoenix Mountain hunt?” Before Wei Wuxian could say anything, she continued. “The one that was supposed to apologize to you.”

“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian thought really hard. “Oh! I remember you now!” He said to a rather red-faced Jin Zixun. “Sorry about that buddy, but uhh I didn’t curse you! I didn’t even remember you until now!”

“It must be you! It has to be you!!” He screamed and it was really grating on his nerves. “See! Look at this!” He ripped his robes open and everyone gasped at the evidence of the Hundred Holes curse on his torso.

Wei Wuxian whistled. “Well, that’s quite some curse. But I still didn’t do it.” Jin Zixun looked ready to refute so he continued, “Why would I curse you secretly when I usually make a big production of those I kill?”

People had to admit he had a point.

Jin Zixun continued to scream expletives until he finally rushed forward and in a rather bold move, drew his sword, plunging forward. However, in his anger, he completely missed his target and the direction of the blade pointed towards Jin Yanli.

“A’ Jie!!” Jiang Cheng screamed

Wei Wuxian was the closest to her and pushed her back, stepping in front of her taking the sword to his gut.

“A’ XIAN!!!” “WEI WUXIAN!!” “WEI YING!!” Jin Yanli, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji, who was actually there, all screamed.

And Wei Wuxian who had just been disemboweled, grit his teeth and pulled out the sword. Which, in hindsight, was a horrible decision since blood got everywhere. Though not so much when his stomach stitched itself back together. “................Huh.” I knew I regenerated quickly considering how often I got hurt plowing the fields and digging up the corpses to put them to rest, but damn that was quick. Though..... “My robes!” He fake-cried, turning his attention to a stunned Jin Zixun. “You ruined my robes! I just managed to scrounge up enough money to buy this new pair and you ruined them!!!!” He fretted over the large rip over his abdomen. “What am I going to tell Wen Qing? She just told me not to stain them!”

The entire cultivation just stared at him in silent shock, making Wei Wuxian feel a little self-conscious.

“Uhh, what are all of you staring at me for?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said with all the patience of an exasperated brother. “Is that the only thing you can ask?!” He glared, signaling for two Jiang disciples to restrain Jin Zixun from anymore stupid ideas he’d like to enact. “When did you cultivate to immortality?”

“I didn’t??? What do you mean??”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said, checking him over. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm? I’m a little dizzy considering all the blood I’ve lost, but it’s nothing big!” He grinned. It felt nice to have Lan Zhan care for him rather than fight with him.

“Wei Wuxian, stop flirting with Hanguang-Jun and answer the damn question.”

Wei Wuxian turned his attention back to his brother and pouted at him, missing Lan Wangji’s red ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A’ Xian.” Shijie said and Wei Wuxian abruptly realized her robes had his blood on them.

“Shijie, I’m sorry I got your robes dirty!”

“It’s fine.” She patted him. “But A’ Xian, I know you didn’t pay attention to those lectures, but only immortals can heal from wounds like that that quickly.”

“Really?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan confirmed.

“Huh. So I’m immortal?”

“Yes.” Jiang Cheng deadpanned. “And you didn’t even notice it. In true Wei Wuxian fashion.”

Lan Zhan frowned then. He had still been checking Wei Wuxian’s pulse. “Wei Ying, what happened to your core?”

“Hmm? .........Oh shit.”

“Why is it covered in resentment?”

“Oh. Umm.” Wei Wuxian really was at a loss for words now. “We can discuss that later?”

“Wei Ying.”

“Aiya, how do you make my name sound like reprimand?”

“Don’t try to deflect the conversation.” Jiang Cheng said, now paying attention.

Wei Wuxian groaned. “Okay. Well, everyone would have found out sooner or later but umm. I might have cultivated to immortality accidentally via demonic cultivation? Haha, ha......”

No one laughed with him. They all looked pretty shaken and Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh at their reaction. He felt pretty detached from it all, to be honest.

“Can we all just forget about this and continue celebrating Jin Ling’s one month celebration?”

And everyone collectively said, “No.”

“Aww.”

___________________

To this day, I’m still unsure of whether it’s Carp Tower or Koi Tower.

#mdzs #wei ying #wei wuxian #wen qing #immortal wei wuxian #fluff #wei wuxian has a new core #but it's not a golden core #wen remnants #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #jiang yanli #jin zixuan #jin zixun #humor #lan zhan #lan wangji #mild warning for blood

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darkesttimelinestuff · 3 years ago

Text

Summer of Love

My submission (as a sub) for the X-Files Alternate Universe Fanfic Exchange (2021) is now on Ao3!

For @greekowl87

Chapter 1

San Francisco, CA

July 21, 1967

3:08pm

It was a summer of change and upheaval and Agent Mulder stood on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. The hilly San Francisco district had become the center of the counterculture movement, with musicians and artists lining the streets just outside their apartments. The 1950s Beat generation had sought out the quaint and cheap housing of the underpopulated district, and by the 1960s, the anti-establishment movement had grown and morphed with the rise of the Vietnam War.

Mulder stood in awe of the color that surrounded him. Reds and yellows, greens and blues swirled like a life-sized tie-dye shirt. It was a stark contrast to the shades of grey and black that roamed the streets of Washington D.C. Life was teeming, and everyone seemed friendly, or at the very least accepting, of everyone else.

As Mulder admired a young woman skating by on roller skates, her long brown hair blowing behind her, his thoughts were interrupted.

“What are we doing here, Agent Mulder?” Agent Doggett’s gruff voice came from beside him.

Doggett’s patience was wearing thin and they’d only just arrived in the Golden City. He knew damn well they were searching for a murderer.

Mulder had gone to their subterranean office Monday morning, wound up with too much caffeine and not enough food in his stomach. He’d been up half the night studying their potential new case: a man who liked to abduct women and hack them up. Not all the victims’ body parts were found, but Mulder had noticed a clear pattern surrounding the killings, a possible motive that transcended purely killing for pleasure. There was premeditation, and Mulder was certain that all the killings were connected to a single killer.

“Staking out the place,” Mulder replied, his eyes searching up and down the sidewalk for a potential starting place. All the bodies had been found in the Haight-Ashbury District, likely by someone familiar with the area.

“The entire neighborhood?”

“Fine,” Mulder relented, “we’ll get a feel for the area. Let’s see what connections we can make. You never know where one person might lead us.”

The sun beat down on the suit-clad agents and Doggett took a long sip of his coffee, turning his head to a mob of people crossing the street together. “We stick out like a sore thumb.”

Doggett had reluctantly agreed to fly out west with Mulder to investigate the mass murders - four women so far - and hopefully apprehend the sick bastard leaving dead hippies carefully posed near dumpsters and in back alleys. Mulder was grateful for the help and the backup.

“It’s all happening here,” Mulder had insisted, arms spread, gesturing to the cityscape before them. “Every single one of those bodies was left within a quarter mile radius on this cross street. He lives here. He picks these women at rallies or in bars, courts them, earns their trust, and then takes them back to his house to seduce and then kill them. Of that, I am certain.”

“And we’re sure they weren’t raped?” Doggett asked.

Shaking his head, Mulder replied, “There is no indication of rape from the evidence. The women had sex willingly. It’s only after the seduction and intercourse that the women were murdered.”

“Alright, Mulder,” Doggett said, “but the one thing I don’t understand is why these women are all dolled up. Too much makeup for the so-called hippies.”

“I’m not sure why yet. Something in the way this sicko operates, playing out fantasies maybe.”

“I sure hope you’re right about this, Mulder.”

“Me too,” Mulder replied, a stone sitting heavy in his gut at the thought of all the cut-up bodies.

Mulder had presented the senior agent with plane tickets and that is how they had ended up in San Francisco chasing down a murderer at the height of the Summer of Love.

Both men hoped Mulder’s hunch would lead them to their suspect and not on some wild hippie chase.

“There.” Mulder said, pointing in the direction where a large group of people, mostly hippies, were making their way to a gathering. Cheers erupted as a guitar strummed. “Looks like we found ourselves at a peace rally.”

Doggett acknowledged this with a curt nod and the two men made their way across the street, weaving their way around people, to the very center of the crowd. A shirtless man with stringy hair played guitar, singing about peace, love, and acceptance.

The song ended and the man tucked a long strand of hair behind his ear.

“Let’s all have a moment of silence for our fallen heroes,” he said, bowing his head.

“This is so damn touching,” Doggett sarcastically muttered to Mulder, who could not suppress a grimace. These young kids had lost fathers and brothers, and even sisters, to the war. But Doggett was not wrong. Optimistic crowds could sing about peace, but little would improve without extreme policy change. The United States was too invested in the war, had too much at stake.

The crowd collectively bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Some placed their hands over their hearts; a quiet fell upon the street.

“Do you see any possible suspicious people?” Mulder whispered.

He and Doggett took the opportunity to scan up and down the street. People had gathered not just along the sidewalk, but spilled into the street, blocking the road. No one seemed to mind, though, and the peace rally continued to grow in size.

Through the sea of bent heads, a woman caught Mulder’s eye. She was rather small - he would not have noticed her had it not been for the bent heads - with a halo of red hair among the brown and blonde. But that wasn’t what stood out to him. Those blue eyes, clear as a summer’s day, were not closed in a silent prayer but looking right at him. She ducked her head when she noticed him.

“Thank you,” the singer broke through the silence.“That was truly groovy. I felt all of your love coursing through me. I’m sure that our fallen brothers felt it too.”

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Doggett said. “We’re not gonna find him now. We’re looking for a hippie in a haystack.”

The crowd swayed in unison as music resumed playing, and the two agents, frustrated that their suspect didn’t jump up and present himself, pushed their way through the masses. As they neared the end of the mess of people, an older, long-haired, scraggly man grabbed Mulder’s arm.

“The end is nigh! You have to believe!” he yelled in the agent’s face.

“I want to believe,” Mulder returned, not unkindly, while attempting to pull his arm away. The man was clearly down on his luck.

But the vagrant pulled Mulder in closer. He smelled of booze and body odor.

“NO!” he howled. “Trust no one!” Then turning to the crowd, he yelled, “Look at this one! He’s one of them! He’s the Man!”

The two agents felt the eyes of all the crowd turn and stare at them as they were singled out. Some booed and hissed at them.

But from the throng came a voice over the microphone announcing, “Friends! Brothers and sisters! ALL are welcome.” People whooped and hollered back, others clapped at the call for acceptance.

Mulder tried harder to extricate himself. The bearded man had surprising strength and put up quite a fight, resulting in a tug of war with Mulder’s arm. Eventually, Doggett came to the rescue, gripping the assailant’s fingers and prying them off of his partner’s arm. Backward inertia from the opposing pulls forced Mulder to suddenly fall onto some of the rally attendees.

High-pitched screams came from beneath him. Mulder struggled awkwardly as he realized at least a couple of women had broken his fall. He winced as his head collided with something and very suddenly realized that Doggett’s firm grip pulled him to his feet. He immediately turned to offer his sincerest apologies. They had not intended to call attention to themselves so publicly.

As Mulder brushed himself off, he recognized the face of one of the women - the redhead with the piercing eyes. They were even more magnificent up close and he momentarily lost the ability to form words at his surprise, instead offering his hand, which she accepted.

Meanwhile, Doggett had offered the two other women - a tall brunette with a sharp face, and a lovely redhead with long wavy hair and kind eyes - his help, ensuring everyone’s safety and well being.

“Our apologies, everyone,” offered Doggett. “My friend here has a knack for getting himself into trouble. I hope nobody is hurt.”

“Yes, sorry,” Mulder chimed in, remembering his manners, his eyes glued to the smaller of the redheads.

She held out her hand to him and gave him a genuinely warm smile. “I’m Dana Scully.”

@today-in-fic

#XFAU2021 #the x files #txf #txf fanfic #AU #alternate au #alternate universe #mulder #scully #john doggett #monica reyes #whale song #gishie #summer of love #1967 #san francisco

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 3 years ago

Text

Stolen Moments (Love Letters)

Word Count: 5,848 CW: Mentions of violence, cursing, hospital

Gavin opened his messages, desperate to hear some news from Nines. Instead of getting a message from Nines telling him he was fine and ready to return home, he got an automated message from the repair hospital telling him he needed to pick up his personal effects, more information in an email to follow. Gavin switched over to his email and found a large file.

He sat down at his terminal, ignoring that it was his work device and he was on the clock, and opened it to find over two hundred messages from Nines, all addressed to himself. The email itself said that Nines, as his professional partner, was mostly his responsibility and property and that Gavin was responsible for his bills and the choice to repair or replace him. He needed to come to the hospital by end of day and make the decision.

Gavin scoffed. “I guess some things still haven’t changed no matter how progressive people pretend to be.”

He reread the last line until it set in that Nines’ life was in his hands. He jolted out of his chair, the seat rolling back until it hit the side of someone else’s desk, and rushed to Fowler’s office. He threw the door open, not caring that the captain was in the middle of a meeting.

Gavin didn’t bother with preamble, getting straight to his point. “Sir, I need the day off.”

Fowler sighed, moving things around on his terminal for a bit. “You’ve got days off saved up. Go ahead.”

Gavin thanked him, rushing out the door and to the repair hospital. He just about crashed through the doors and made a beeline for the receptionist. “I’m looking for an RK900 unit who goes by the name ‘Nines’. What room is he in?”

She looked up at him, expression bored. “Serial number?”

Gavin frustratedly gave it, having memorized it long ago, and waited impatiently to be told where he was. When told, Gavin didn’t bother thanking the receptionist before he was off to see Nines. It was agonizing having to wait for the elevator, even worse having to stand in it as it went up, his fingers tapping on his leg the entire ride. His eyes scanned the room numbers, getting frantic with the thought of not getting to him in time. When he found the room he’d been told was Nines’, he went directly inside.

Nines was alone in the room. He was lying on a white bed, his chassis exposed from his toes to his neck. His head and neck were the only things that still had his skin on it, looking for all the world as if he were peacefully sleeping despite the LED that kept a steady yellow light. Gavin sighed in relief at him being there, despite the numerous injuries he still sported, and pulled a chair over to sit next to him. He held his hand and grabbed his tablet from his bag.

“Alright, tin can. What’d you send me?” He opened the large folder, looking at the abundance of files that were inside it. Turning his head to Nines, he joked, “Any idea where to start?” Sadly, Nines stayed as silent and still as before, not a word to be spoken.

Gavin kissed the back of his hand, running his thumb over a crack in the plating. He turned his attention back to the tablet and scrolled down through the file names. Each one had a series of numbers as a name, something Gavin quickly figured out was a date. Scrolling through them, they were in chronological order. He only found it fitting to open the first one and go from there, wondering what they could be.

Detective,

The other day, we were talking on a stake out. I mentioned there being more to admire about you than to detest and have just now realized the error of not continuing that thought. I admire your work ethic, the way you have a single-minded drive to complete the case assigned to us. I appreciate how gentle you are with victims and those you like. You may not notice it but care is in every word you speak and every action you make for those you genuinely consider to be loved ones and the few victims we’ve spoken to. I’ve noticed your actions softening toward me, even as your words stay as harsh as they’ve ever been. I might be wrong, but it seems you’ve come to care for me yet wish to continue our ribbing as something more friendly. If this is your way of extending an olive branch, I am more than willing to accept it and will continue to banter with you.

Gavin smiled as he looked back at Nines. “Thank you so much for understanding me, you barely held together stack of rust and bolts.”

A voice laughed but it wasn’t Nines’. Instead, Gavin’s attention was drawn to the doorway where someone in a white lab coat, a small pin on the lapel reading ‘they/them’, stood. “I see you arrived.”

Gavin stood, laying the tablet on the bed but not letting go of Nines’ hand. “Who do I have to tell that this man is a person who deserves every right to live and fight as anyone else?”

They laughed again, coming inside the room to lean against a wall. “That would be me. I’m Ash Windlock, head of Simon Repair Hospital. I apologize if the message made it seem more urgent than it truly is.”

Gavin clenched his jaw, having to force himself to take even breaths. “What’s Nines’ condition?”

“I’m not going to lie. He’s in some pretty bad shape. We can only repair the body, not the coding and neural pathways he developed by being deviant. Right now, our best team is gathering to do a surgery, as repairs have taken to being called, as soon as we can. I’ll update you when that happens.”

Gavin’s hand held Nines’ just a bit tighter. “How well do you expect that to go? What do you mean, you can’t repair his code?”

“The surgery is expected to be a full success. When an android becomes deviant, their code changes in ways the programmers weren’t equipped to handle. It would take too long for them to learn the new coding that is specific to every android just to be able to repair them without fear of damaging the new coding and, thus, the deviant. Even if that were possible, RK900s are extremely rare in this part of the world, not many having been found and awoken. So, it’d take even longer to figure out his specific neural paths. That’s time we don’t have. So, while we can do everything in our power to repair his chassis and wiring, we can’t do anything about his mind palace unless he does something about it himself. He went into low power mode when he was damaged and we don’t know if he’ll come out of it after the surgery.”

Gavin nodded, struggling to process the amount of information that was just pushed onto him. “Okay, yeah, I’ll sign whatever permission waver you need me to when it comes to the surgery as I’m closest to next of kin while Connor is out of town. Just, charge the bill to the DPD, he’s under their employ.” Connor should be back by that afternoon but they didn’t need to know that.

They nodded. “I’ll be back in a moment with the paperwork for next of kin.”

Gavin sat back down, fidgeting with Nines’ fingers as he usually did when nervous. “While we wait,” he spoke to Nines, hoping it was like a coma where he could still hear him, “how about I look at another one of your files?”

This one was a video, a few days after the writing. It didn’t seem like much, just a video of Gavin flipping through some files while he worked. There were captions on it, little things being picked out. Gavin's bouncing leg, how his dominant hand was tapping a tablet pen against his fingertips and knuckles, the half full cup of coffee that Gavin had sitting on his desk, the mess of a desk that he knew like the back of his hand. Other things were noticed too, the way Gavin’s brow was furrowed as he concentrated, the clump of hair that’d fallen over his forehead, his nose wrinkling, the slight redness on his fingers from the repeated tapping of the pen, even the creases of his jacket were picked out as important. The video couldn’t have been more than two minutes of Gavin working but it said a lot about what Nines thought about him at that time.

Gavin looked back up at Nines, lying so still on the bed he would have looked dead to anyone else. “Did you really have a crush on me back then, toaster?” His voice was light and teasing. He wanted Nines to be awake, to tell him to stop with the android jokes, to tell him Gavin had been crushing long since Nines had, to tell him all sorts of things.

A video. Gavin walked down the stairs, Nines staring up at him. Suddenly the scene paused and became monochromatic, as a white outline of Gavin reached the bottom of the stairs, a grey outline of Nines leaned forward to kiss his cheek. The outlines reversed until the white outline matched with Gavin again and the scene unfroze, the world filling with color. Gavin passed Nines and the android turned to follow.

Another one, edited to follow that. Gavin sat at his desk. The world paused and faded again as a grey outline of Nines approached with a coffee cup, kissing the top of Gavin’s head and placing the cup on the desk before leaning into him and running his fingers through his hair. The images reversed and instead Nines simply handed him the cup, Gavin giving a brief, “Thanks.”

Three more scenes similar to those followed in sequence, where the grey outline tried to interact in a romantic way with the white outline before Nines inevitably didn’t act on those thoughts.

Gavin sat and stared at Nines, his grip on Nines hand tightening just the slightest bit. “You should have told me sooner, dumbass.” His voice was soft, softer than he ever spoke to anyone besides Nines.

Windlock came back in with a tablet that Gavin had to fill out. Other repairs Nines had previously had, if he knew who did those, if he knew who originally built him, signing a bunch of things that came with medical power of attorney. When he handed the tablet back, he was told they’d operate in a half hour.

Another video. This one was different, footage of a garden. Gravel crunched under footsteps and animals were heard but not seen, water. Nines stopped by a pond and glanced down, brushing a stray strand of hair back into place. His shirt had a simpler collar than normal and was a lighter shade of black. He leaned back, continuing on the path. Images of Gavin appeared along it, some sitting on benches doing random actions, others walking beside Nines for short periods of time. One of them came up to Nines and started talking about the case at the time, Nines participating in the conversation.

Gavin looked from the tablet to stare at Nines. “Were you dreaming about me?” His voice was quiet, bewildered yet flattered.

The next ten files were similar things, Nines’ dreams about Gavin and videos of Gavin doing mundane tasks that wouldn’t be considered special in any way. At least, none that Gavin could tell. As far as he was concerned, the videos of himself that had been overanalyzed were sweet but he didn’t understand why Nines kept them.

Soon enough, a group of people came in and took Nines away to the operating room. Gavin was allowed to stay in the hospital room but was warned the operation would last several hours. He reluctantly put down the files Nines had addressed to him, files he was quickly realizing were simply labeled with his name and may have been misinterpreted as for him when they were just about him, and pulled out a book instead. He tried to lose himself in a plot line but was too anxious to do so.

Calling Tina got him nowhere, her phone off while she was on patrol. He’d taken the day off to be with Nines so wasn’t technically allowed to work on case files. Besides, nothing felt the same without Nines being there to help him. So, he reluctantly pulled up the files again and selected the next one, a video. There seemed to be a lot of those.

Gavin smiled as Nines approached, coming to stand next to him on his balcony. They were quiet for a moment, both looking out at the city. Nines looked at Gavin, his sensors again cataloguing small things about his appearance. “I need to tell you something.”

Gavin looked at him, eyes trusting. “Shoot.”

Nines’ eyes shut briefly before he looked at Gavin again. “I’ve developed feelings for you.”

Gavin blinked, his posture changing from relaxed to attentive. “Okay, that’s something.” He took a deep breath, letting it out with a laugh. “I guess it’s ironic, you telling me that just as I realize something about myself.”

Nines head tilted to the side. “What would that be, Detective?”

“I’ve, somehow, also developed feelings for you.” He shook his head. “I dunno how I’ve done it, but I’ve come to really care for you.”

Nines took a step forward, towards Gavin. “What does this mean for us?”

Gavin shrugged, looking up at him. “What do you want it to mean?”

Nines leaned down. “I would enthusiastically pursue a romantic relationship with you if you say you would like that.”

Gavin smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek before heading inside. “I wouldn’t say no,” was tossed over his shoulder.

In the top right corner of the screen, Gavin’s name came up highlighted in blue. Under it, highlighted in white, the word ‘companion’ changed to ‘lover’. Nines followed Gavin inside.

Gavin didn’t realize he was crying until a tear dripped onto the screen and he frantically pulled his sleeve over his hand to wipe it away. “Damn android,” he muttered, not truly angry with him.

They were slow dancing. Gavin’s head rested on Nines’ shoulder, one hand placed on his other shoulder while Nines had a hand on his waist, their other hands clasped together. A small pop up in the corner of the video identified the song as Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis. They were turning in a slow circle as the notes played. It was a peaceful moment until Princess walked into the room, screaming for food, and the charm was broken with laughter. Nines pulled Gavin into a kiss briefly before Gavin went to feed the cat.

Gavin took a deep breath. He remembered that night, remembered the hard day before it and the cuddles on the couch afterwards. He’d never been able to remember what song they’d been dancing to, it blurring into just another generic love song at the time. He wondered if they’d ever get the opportunity to dance to it again.

Gavin,

Every day, my soul rejoices in being able to see you, to wake up to you being there with me. I want it all. I want the quiet domesticity that comes with waking near you, that comes with you making breakfast while I feed Princess. I love being able to get ready for work with you, even if that means we end up discussing the cases in the shower and while you shave. I love being able to work with you, to have you as both my work and personal partner. I enjoy getting you coffee as you look over the case files, to make sure the desk is still in the organized chaos you left it in, your files and trinkets spilling over onto my pristine desk. I probably enjoy that more than most would think I do. However, I love watching you from afar as I wait for the coffee, watching the way you sit and interact with your environment, how you hold yourself while you read.

There’s a hidden beauty in the way people do things when they don’t think others are watching, the little mannerisms they pick up that are just for themselves and are all their own. I’m so glad you’ve let me into your life enough to feel comfortable showing me those and I hope that I never betray that trust.

I love being able to drive home with you, to relax after a long day and curl up with you. I relish the fact that you will fall asleep in my arms, that you trust me enough to keep you safe while you’re unaware of the world around you. I love being able to have you fall asleep on the couch and trust me to carry you to the bed, the ability to fall asleep beside you.

Gavin, darling, I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. You’ve been a driving force for me, a guiding light. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve influenced so many of my choices. Thank you, dear, for helping me find life in deviancy, for helping me find love in turmoil.

Gavin wiped a tear from his eye, vision turning blurry. Nines didn’t usually use pet names for him, sticking to ‘Gavin’ and ‘Detective’ to the point that the latter felt like an endearment. It felt nice to see the endearments from him. He really hoped Nines would pull through and be okay. He couldn’t imagine living life without him at this point, he relied on him so much. He shifted in his seat, trying to get a bit more comfortable, before clicking on the next file.

A video. This was a memory that Gavin could fill in the smaller details for.

Nines was on his back on the couch. Gavin was laying on top of him, arms curled around Nines’ sides. His head rested on Nines chest, their legs entangled, while Nines’ hands carded through Gavin’s hair and over his back. They were watching an old rerun of some cop show that not even Nines bothered remembering. Nines’ shifted, kissing the top of Gavin’s head. He hummed, holding a constant note for longer than a human could.

Gavin looked up at him, chin resting on Nines’ chest. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what? Kiss you?” He chuckled. “Because I like to.”

Gavin smiled but pressed his hand to Nines’ side. “No. The humming thing. It sounds like a cross between a cat purring and the whirring of a fan. Are you okay?”

Nines nodded, smiling. “It’s kind of like a cat’s purr too in that I only do it when I’m content and safe. It’s also a way of doing a self-diagnostic of my systems as it tests both vocal modulator and fans.”

Gavin leaned forward to peck Nines on the lips before laying his head back on his chest.

Gavin sniffled, wiping a tear from his cheek. He hoped to get the opportunity to lay with him like that again soon. He believed Nines was going to pull through this, that he was going to get through the surgery fine and that he was going to come back to him. He had to.

“Detective.”

That sounded so much like Nines that his name was halfway out of Gavin’s mouth before he realized it was Connor, not Nines, that was standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back. “Oh. It’s just you. What do you want?” His voice was flat, none of his usual bite left.

Connor smiled, taking a step into the room, closing the door behind him. “Officer Chen overheard some of your conversation with Fowler and logged into your computer to gather information. She sent that information to me and I just now arrived to do anything with it. Scans indicate that you haven’t eaten in the past twelve hours. I suggest we deal with that first. What do you wanna eat?” His LED swirled yellow as he probably pulled up a list of nearby restaurants.

Gavin sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day kick in. “At this point, you can pick. Give me whatever you think is best. Just! No fish, and no zucchini.”

Connor tilted his head. “That’s not in any medical files you have available. Am I correct in assuming that’s personal preference?”

Gavin nodded. “Can’t stand the texture of either of ‘em.” As he fully tuned into the real world, he pulled his shoulders back and grimaced at the sounds of all the machines and the buzzing of the lights.

“Okay, there’s a Chinese restaurant nearby that has some meals that look good. What do you want from there?”

“Uhh, sweet and sour chicken with noodles.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll go get that for you. In the meantime, how is my brother?”

Gavin filled him in on the details before Connor went to grab the take out for him. While he waited for his food, he opened the next file, another letter. This one was small, as if it were hastily written. From the date and what Gavin remembered, it was from a time where they’d been covering a case with a lot of violence and they’d been split. The letter reflected Nines’ frazzled emotions during that time as it wished Gavin good health and it was a small goodbye if Nines didn’t make it. Gavin was glad he had.

Another round of videos detailing Gavin doing mundane things followed the letter, many of the scenes now domestic as well as professional.

Connor came back and put the bag near Gavin. “Did you need me to stay? Tina only told me to check on you, not stay with you. If you want me to go, I will.”

Gavin thought about it. A year ago, he would have snapped for Connor to leave instantly, not seeing him as anything but a machine with nothing to offer. Now, he knew Connor was alive and actually trying to reach out. Gavin let a reluctant smile drag a corner of his mouth up. “You can stay, if you want. I’m not sure if you’ve got the time for it but you’re more than welcome.”

Connor smiled, gracefully sinking to sit on the floor. “I cleared my schedule to be at your disposal.”

Gavin groaned, letting his head roll back. “Am I that bad?”

Connor shrugged. “Hank was taking the rest of the day off already so it’s only natural for me to as well. Besides, Nines is kind of like my little brother. I want to be here.”

Gavin took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Gavin picked up the tablet again and looked at the next file.

Gavin,

Happy first anniversary. I don’t know if you expected us to last this long but I’m grateful we have. I’m grateful for every second I get to spend with you. I don’t know where I would be right now if I hadn’t met you, if we hadn’t been partnered. I’m so glad I have you as both the best detective partner I could ask for and a most amazing lover. It warms my soul every time you forget I’m not human, especially when it’s tacked on to an android joke. Those instances make me know you care so deeply for me and love every part of me.

You taught me to take life slowly, to savor what I have. That sentiment has been applied to every part of my life. I savor stakeouts, holding you in my arms, feeding Princess, even doing paperwork and being on the hunt. They are all good to me simply because they are part of my life and because you are there.

I don’t know what life would be like without you. I’m so used to you being with me every step of the way.

Gavin looked up as footsteps approached the room, hoping it was Windlock with news on Nines. The feet passed the room, the person casting a shadow across the frosted glass of the door, and kept on their way.

A video. Nines was sitting on the couch, reading, when Gavin’s voice called from the bedroom. Nines’ HUD measured the level of distress in his voice as high and he went to investigate.

Gavin had torn the bedroom apart, a pile of things on the bed. Nines scanned him, noting the disheveled appearance and lack of caffeine along with his elevated stress signals. “What’s wrong, Gavin?”

Gavin turned to him, tears in his eyes. “I can’t find something I need and today’s been bad enough.”

Nines nodded. Gavin’s unmedicated ADHD could be a lot to deal with after a long day. He stepped forward, pulling Gavin into a hug, his hands rubbing soothing circles along his back. “What do you need me to do?”

Gavin sighed, melting into the contact and stability that came with the hug. “Could you scan the room for my tablet pen?”

“Of course.” Nines moved his head and time froze, going down to grey and white. He located the pen easily enough, it’s black shape standing out starkly. He chuckled and released Gavin to pick it up. “It was right beside your tumbler.”

Gavin took it, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Sorry for making such a fuss over something so small.”

Nines reached out, his hand cradling Gavin’s cheek and thumbing at his tears. “Nothing is too big nor too small for me to help you. I understand your stress and I know the way you get. I’m perfectly content to help you find something right in front of your nose.” To punctuate the statement, he leaned forward to kiss Gavin’s scar.

Gavin wiped a tear from his eye. “Come back to me soon, tin can.”

Connor looked at him. “Did you say something, Detective?”

Gavin shook his head. “No, nothing.”

The door opened and Windlock came in. “Detective Reed, the surgery is complete.”

Gavin sat forward in his chair, resisting the urge to pace. “How did it go? Is he online yet?”

They shook their head. “Unfortunately, his neural network is still non-functioning. However, the surgery was a success. His chassis is intact and functioning again, every bicomponent in its place. His skin isn’t on as he’s not online to do that. Would you like to see him?”

Gavin stood, gathering his things. “Yes, please.”

Connor stood and approached Windlock. “Is there anything more you can tell us about his status? Have you at least figured out why he isn’t online yet?”

They shrugged. “I’m as in the dark as you are, RK800. Any insight you can spare would be helpful.”

“Okay, I’m ready.” Gavin slung his bag over his shoulder. “Lead us to him, please.”

Nines was almost the same way as how he’d left Gavin three hours ago. His skin was retracted below the neck, letting the white plating show, and he was lying so peacefully that for a moment Gavin almost thought he was just sleeping. Gavin walked over to the chair closest to the bed and sat down hard, leaning forward to take Nines’ hand. “I’m here, toaster. I’m right here.”

Connor placed a hand on his shoulder and Gavin was distantly aware of him asking for Windlock to leave them be. Gavin’s entire focus was on Nines even as he knew there were only a few more files in the folder to get through.

He held onto Nines’ hand with one of his own, letting his partner know that he was there and wasn’t going anywhere, and pulled the tablet from the bag by his feet.

The next file was a series of pictures. It seemed Nines was sentimental in that regard. All the way from first meeting up until just a night ago, they were pictures of Gavin doing various things. It started as just Gavin doing work at his desk, moving to crime scenes and the break room. Photos of him doing mundane tasks and midchase. The time stamps moved past their getting together and the pictures became more domestic. Gavin waking in Nines’ arms, sleeping on the couch, Princess coming home for the first time. He’d documented her entire growth process from stray kitten to spoiled adult.

Gavin smiled at Nines. “You really do have a soft spot for that cat, don’t you? Maybe it’s about time we get her a playmate.”

“I’ll leave you two be for a moment. I need to speak with someone.” Connor slipped out of the room.

Gavin opened the next file, shifting to sit beside Nines on the bed now that Connor was gone.

A video. Gavin was cooking breakfast as Nines fed Princess, their usual routine. Nines came up beside Gavin, kissing him on the cheek. “How’s the bacon coming along?”

“Pretty much done.”

“Good.” Nines turned the burner off and took the spatula from Gavin’s hand. Somewhere, music started to play and Gavin chuckled as Nines pulled him into a dance. It was sweet and short before Gavin was released to finish making his breakfast.

Gavin smiled, recognizing that morning from only a few days before the incident. He gripped Nines hand just a bit tighter as he clicked on the last file.

The last video. Nines was standing on a roof. Gavin was down on the ground, watching out for their suspect. “Hello down there.” He muttered to himself, not loud enough to carry.

He stepped away from the edge, pacing the length of the roof. “Is it weird to think that I’m bored? I’m an android with the internet at my fingertips, I should be able to wait for a few minutes.” He sighed. “I guess that’s the trouble with living and working so closely to you, time is meaningless and a minute is too long for you.” He chuckled. “You’re so used to moving so fast that slowing down is a difficult task for you. That’s okay, though. I like it that way.”

The door to the roof burst open and Nines sprang into action, launching himself into a fight with their suspect. They grappled for a moment, both trying to pin the other and get a better grip. In the end, Nines backed them toward the edge.

“I now know,” he was still muttering. “No matter how much time has passed, no matter how much time will pass, you truly are the love of my life. This is why . . . I’m doing this.” He took a final step backward, diving off the roof and taking their suspect with him.

Gavin sat in shock as the video ended, almost waiting for it to finish or replay or do anything but leave him there with that information and the knowledge of why Nines had been damaged almost to the point of no repair.

He looked to Nines, laying so still on the bed. “Why? Why’d you feel the need to do that?!” He released Nines’ hand to stand. “There could have been some other way! You could have called me! You could have used lethal methods!” He hit Nines’ chest with a fist too weak to do any damage to a human. “You don’t need to sacrifice your-damn-self just because you feel like it!” He knew he was shouting but he didn’t care.

A hand touched his arm and Gavin jolted to look at Nines. His eyes were open and his hand was hovering in the air. “I knew you would catch me.” His voice was weak and full of static but Gavin was so happy to hear him he cried, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Laying down, Gavin threw his arms around Nines. They lay there for what felt like an eternity and an instant, simply holding each other and comforting themselves that the other was alive and safe. Nines ran a hand up Gavin’s back, cupped the back of his neck, then began to softly card through his hair. His free arm curled around Gavin and pulled him close, holding him and feeling him and making sure he was real. Gavin pulled one arm down, curling it by his side and grounding himself by grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets, and let the other rest over Nines’ torso and had the hand sit on the white chassis of Nines’ shoulder.

“Did you look through the folder?” Nines’ voice broke the silence, not filled with as much static as before.

Gavin nodded, turning his head to look at the tablet resting innocently on a nearby table. “I watched, read, and looked at every single file in that folder while wondering if it would ever be added to again.”

Nines pressed a kiss to his neck. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I should have warned you or tried a different path.”

Gavin shrugged and turned back to rest his head on Nines’ shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” He paused for a moment. “The engineers said they could repair your body but your mind was too damaged for them to do anything with.”

Nines’ head rested against Gavin’s, his hand never slowing in Gavin’s hair. “I know. I heard bits and pieces of it, especially toward the end of the surgery and just now in the room. While they were spending all that time fixing my chassis and biocomponents, I was working on my coding.”

Gavin laughed, his jubilance at Nines being okay bubbling up. “An AI that fixes its own code, would you fucking look at that!”

Nines chuckled. “The irony isn’t lost on me, Detective. However, it’s simply the world we are living in where an android is capable of modifying their own code. Still, it was hard and taxing work to rebuild my own functions line by line. I shall be back to myself in no time at all, I assure you.”

A knock at the door caused them to abandon their conversation. Gavin turned onto his back to better see who came in before calling for them to enter. Connor stuck his head in, eyes lighting up at the sight of Nines. “You’re awake! I’ll go get Windlock, you two stay put!” He shut the door and left them with the sound of his fading footsteps.

Nines let his head fall back against Gavin’s and his hand hold Gavin’s, interlacing their fingers. “Who did he go get?”

Gavin did his best to explain as he sat up, cradling Nines against him. Connor came back with Windlock, who gave Nines a clean bill of health and said he was free to be discharged. Gavin ran home and got him some clothes as Connor dealt with the paperwork.

That night, Nines recorded another instance of Gavin falling asleep and marveled at just how lucky he was.

I don’t currently have a taglist for DBH but you can check out my masterlist before sending an ask to be added!

#gavin reed #adhd!gavin #rk900 nines #reed900 #dbh connor #jeffrey fowler #tina chen #hank anderson #(tina and hank are only mentioned)#mentions of violence #fluff #angst #fluff and angst #established relationship #tw hospital #ace writes

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 4 years ago

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Rewatching Shameless and i just watched 6x1 jail scene. Can I request a meta if its not too much trouble? I feel like reading a really good meta about that scene and you're one of the best we've got so.....

It’s never any trouble at all! That’s so sweet to say—thank you so much! <3 Kind of coming to terms with the idea that anyone cares about my opinion over here. You guys are too much!

This scene is actually extremely important to me because it and the response to it were what made me start writing Shameless fanfiction, specifically when I saw that my views regarding Ian’s behavior and how Mickey received it were so vastly different from what I initially read. (Insert shameless plug for “That Milkovich Reputation” here.) Now, I know you’ve told me not to do this before, but based on the controversial position in which this scene resides, I feel the need to present a couple of disclaimers for our audience at large.

I first fell in love with Shameless last March, a couple weeks before quarantine began. I didn’t know what it was prior to that and therefore was not present when Noel left the show, so I didn’t experience the disappointment of a beloved character leaving in a potentially permanent way and didn’t engage in the fandom or see how deeply upset people were by that until after I finished the series. I also don’t subscribe to the theory that there was something going on behind the scenes or any animosity between Noel and the creators, as I have not seen any relevant evidence from reliable sources to support that what happened was anything other than decisions made in pursuit of career goals on both sides. As such, my analysis of this scene has only ever taken the content and context of the story and characters into account. I have no interest in speculating on the motives of people I do not know in writing it or portraying it this way, and even if I did, this scene made perfect sense to me as it was written and performed.

I understand and appreciate that this is not a popular position to take and urge everyone to pass this post by if my position on that matter is offensive or upsetting to you. I do not mean to tell anyone what to think or believe, only to explain how I view this scene and the context in which I do so.

That said, let’s begin.

When Last Seen: Mickey

As in all things, context is important. Prior to the prison scene, the last time we saw Mickey was when Ian broke up with him and Sammi interrupted their heartfelt moment, which basically sums up her character in a nutshell. That was a rough couple of days for Mickey. He saw how devastated Ian was to hear his family talk about him as though he were just like Monica; was distressed in his own right to return for him and discover that he’d left the base with Monica; buried his frustration and sadness by sleeping around with other people, which seemed to exacerbate those emotions because those people weren’t Ian, nor had he and Ian broken up when he did it; and came running when Ian called him, only for Ian to end their relationship.

Mickey is a very sharp man—we know this. He can read people like books and manipulate or intimidate them accordingly. He knew Ian had feelings for him in s1 when he showed up on his doorstep seeking comfort rather than going to any number of other people he trusted. He was well aware that Ian loved him in s3, and that made what he felt he had no choice in doing that much more painful. He heard what Ian said and knew what he was doing in 5x12. Of that, I have never had any doubt. It wasn’t like Ian tried to hide that he didn’t want to break up but thought that that was what would be best. In fact, the way he initially framed it always made me think that one of his highest priorities was not dragging Mickey down with him, especially in the aftermath of being called “destructive” and similar to someone who “put them through hell.” That’s why Mickey’s response wasn’t to call him an asshole or get angry or beg. It was to reassure Ian that he was there for the long haul, that he loved him and wanted to take care of him no matter what that meant—and that they could make that work. All the sentiments Ian had tried to communicate before he got married, Mickey was reciprocating in his own way. Had they not needed to temporarily write Mickey out of the story and Sammi hadn’t shown up right that second, I believe that he wouldn’t have given up so easily. We do have confirmation of that being the case in the prison scene, but we’ll get to that shortly.

When Last Seen: Ian

Ian isn’t a selfish character. We know this, too. However, Ian needed to be selfish by the end of s5. What he had to come to terms with wasn’t something that anyone could fully help him with, much as Mickey desperately wanted to. To Ian, the enemy was within. It was inside him, in his brain, telling him what to do even if that destroyed himself and everything he loved. It’s terrifying. I’m not bipolar, nor do I suffer from any other diagnosed mental illnesses, but I admire and respect everyone who wakes up every morning and tackles these things. They’re heroes every single day. But by the end of s5, Ian doesn’t feel much like a hero. Instead, he feels like the villain, and he’s lost touch with who he even is anymore.

That’s not a healthy mindset to have in a relationship. Relationships require a level of give and take, and that used to be something that Ian and Mickey already struggled with. Ian gave more in s1-3 because he was able to, while Mickey had a limit on what he could openly give because of the environment in which he lived and the manner in which he was raised. In s4-5, those roles were reversed: Mickey was able to give so much more, but Ian was gradually falling apart. Neither of them are at fault for any of those situations. It is what it is, and they have a stronger relationship for it. Ian is a giver, though. He’s always been a giver. To be in a position where he doesn’t feel like he can give anything to Mickey because he doesn’t even know who he is was truly heartbreaking for him, and objectively, he needed to take a step back so that he could focus on himself. He knew it. Based on Mickey’s understanding of Ian’s reasons after watching him deny that he had a problem for so long, I think Mickey knew it too. This hurt both of them—Ian to say it and Mickey to hear it—but they’re not fools and they’re not naïve. In some ways, they know each other better than anyone.

Jimmy said that when you’re on a plane, they tell you to put on your mask before you help anyone else with theirs. Ian needed to put on his mask. His heart can’t keep beating if his lungs don’t work.

Starting Season 6: Mickey

Unsurprisingly, Mickey has settled into prison life just fine. We’ll focus on his interactions with Ian in a bit as that’s the meat of the scene, but there are major implications inherent in his discussion with Svetlana beforehand.

1. Mickey has accepted that this will be his reality for the foreseeable future. What else is he supposed to do? Besides, he’s known for a long time that the likelihood of ending up in prison was pretty high for him, as he alluded to in s2. He was a street thug. He stole from local stores, sold drugs, ran guns, operated a rub ‘n’ tug, created scam companies, and was a generally violent presence in the neighborhood for years. He was in juvie twice during the show, perhaps more beforehand. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that it would have been more surprising if Mickey didn’t get locked up at some point than that he did.

2. Ian has visited Mickey before. We won’t get too deeply into this yet, but he thanks Ian for “coming back.” The other times, he wasn’t even paid to do it. So, as far as Mickey can tell, nothing has changed. Ian is focusing on himself right now, but his love for Mickey hasn’t dulled at all. That’s an encouraging thought, and it certainly puts a smile on Mickey’s face.

3. Ever the opportunist and entrepreneur, Mickey really is doing just fine in prison. He runs a business, if you will, that appears to be quite lucrative already. This isn’t surprising either. Sadly, it’s a bad move. He’s already going to be in prison for somewhere around a decade, give or take a couple of years depending on his behavior. But his behavior isn’t good. He’s hurting people for money, and if he gets caught and brought up on more charges, not only will he serve the full fifteen years, but he could get more time added onto that.

4. Ian is aware of this arrangement. He has to be if he’s been going there with Svetlana, and they weren’t exactly hiding what they were talking about. Ian has been very consistent throughout the series: he’s not as concerned with the moral implications of Mickey’s behavior, just how it could potentially impact their ability to be together. He still cares about Mickey at the start of s6, and Mickey can see it on his face when he won’t say it out loud. (More on that shortly.) Once he’s in a better spot mentally, maybe they would have gotten back together had Mickey been on the outside. I’m of the opinion that they would have based on the context of the situation. It isn’t an option, however. This is Mickey’s reality, and he’s not doing everything he can to get out earlier. If anything, he’s tempting fate on not being released at all. (This, in hindsight, sounds rather similar to the issues they’re dealing with right now in s11.)

So, this is where Mickey stands at the start of the season: a prison hitman who is quite pleased that the man he loves has come to see him again, even if the latter is visibly not in a very healthy mental state.

Starting Season 6: Ian

Ian isn’t in most of 6x01. What we do see of him is typically sad or colored by his frustration, outside Carl’s welcome home party at the end of the episode. Even then, there’s an aura of discomfort that accompanies the family’s knowledge that things have changed. Carl came out of juvie a different person—they’re all different people after s5, and they’re not sure how to handle walking on eggshells around each other.

From the very start of the episode, we see that Ian is still struggling even though he’s had enough time to at least partially adjust to his medication, especially if he’s been on and off of it. It’s so sweet how Fiona gently wakes him up—it’s also a bit different. What happened to banging on the bunk bed and yelling for them to come down for breakfast? After behaving pretty normally with Debbie at the bathroom door, she’s almost handling him with kid gloves, and the punches keep coming when she reminds him that he (1) has to get up for work at a place he despises and (2) needs to remember to take his meds.

The kitchen scene is extremely telling of where Ian is at this point, and it partially shows why he’s somewhat standoffish by the time we reach the prison scene. Most of the family is gone or different. Fiona is repeatedly on him about meds and getting to work on time—Ian, Mister Responsible himself who was out of the house before anybody woke up to get to work on time as a kid. Lip is at college. Debbie is absorbed in her unconfirmed but likely pregnancy. Carl is in juvie, and Liam is playing with the switchblade he found under Carl’s pillow before they take him to pre-K. His entire support system is either gone or treating him like he’s broken. All he has is Fiona “going Fiona” on everyone. It’s clear that this is impacting him because he actually derails the conversation to say that they should go visit Carl the following weekend, which was the position Debbie used to be in when Fiona was in jail. Just like Lip shut her down, Debbie shuts Ian down, and he doesn’t say another word as he drinks his coffee—which he can’t finish because Fiona is once again on him about work, so he trudges out the door to another day of being a busboy with no dreams instead of a soldier who has a future.

Work isn’t much better. Svetlana wants him to go see Mickey when he’s determined to stay away. (We don’t have confirmation, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that he wants to distance himself if Mickey is doing something that will potentially get him into even more trouble, especially given some of his reactions at the prison.) Sean is sending Fiona to nag him about not moving fast enough when the diner isn’t even busy. When Otis is chased down by the cops and slammed against the front window, Sean rather condescendingly tells him to, “take your rag and wipe the blood and snot off the window.” Ian—West Point-aspiring, ambitious, courageous, caring, intelligent, hardworking Ian has been reduced to wiping up someone’s snot by a boss who’s living in his house with a sister that’s treating him like he’s shattered glass and a family that is growing further and further apart these days.

That is the day Ian has had before he even arrives at the prison. Odds are that that is how most of his days have gone for quite some time, minus the blood and snot. …Maybe.

The Prison Scene

Now we come to it: what you actually asked about! It’s taken this long to get here because we can’t possibly interpret this scene effectively without incorporating all of what came before it. Mickey’s position is regrettable, but he knows that Ian still loves him and is at least handling his situation with all the grace and competence that we can expect from him. Ian is a bit of a mess who’s had a bad day and is now faced with the man he loves, who he is telling himself he can’t be with, sitting behind glass—where he’ll be for a good long while.

I’m going to divide this analysis into two sections. For a scene that many prefer to forget, to me, it’s a masterpiece of storytelling.

Physicality

The body language in this scene is remarkable—phenomenally blocked, phenomenally directed, and phenomenally portrayed.

When Mickey first appears, he’s visibly chomping at the bit to get to the visitation area. He’s peering out there while he’s still behind a locked door, and he only diverts his gaze to the guard because he’s waiting for him to unlock it. He’s cool about the whole thing—he’s very cool—but he’s obviously also here for one reason and one reason only. That reason is where his eyes go the moment he sits down at his stall and spots Ian’s coat where the latter is pacing behind Svetlana. Throughout their entire conversation, we see his eyes darting to Ian as he attempts to get the business out of the way so that he can indulge purely in the pleasure. It doesn’t matter to him that Ian is visibly tired and reluctant to be there or that he plays with Yevgeny instead of actively joining their conversation. It’s Ian, and all Mickey has to look at in here is a bunch of fellow thugs he hasn’t loved since he was too young to know what that meant. Damn right, he’s going to shamelessly watch him.

In Ian’s pacing, where we can’t see his face, I find it interesting that he keeps himself angled away from the glass. We see more of his back even though he’s moving side to side rather than away. He doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t want to be there. In s7, he told Mickey how hard it was to see him behind glass—that wasn’t an excuse. He wasn’t falsely trying to make it sound like he was suffering at their separation just as much as Mickey was. We can see that that’s the case right here in 6x01. Ian has never had a problem sitting still through difficult moments, not even when a potential court martial that would further ruin his life was on the table. But this? He can’t sit down. He can’t face that.

The first time he turns directly towards Mickey’s location is so that Svetlana can hand Yevgeny off to him, and Mickey is visibly loving the view. His expression gets a bit softer, and he ducks his head a little so that he can catch a glimpse of Ian’s face. He follows Ian with his eyes even though Svetlana tries to get his attention. What a blast from the past, right? Ian there with his son, taking care of him while he and Svetlana figure out their business? And just like before, he offers Svetlana all of the attention and input that he deems her worth—next to nothing. Ian’s over there. Ian’s keeping the kid entertained, playing with him and rocking a bit in their seat and leaning over his little shoulder to make sure he’s doing okay—but forget that, Mickey’s eyes are examining him from red hair to beat-up shoes. He only glances back to Svetlana because he has to in order to get the information for their next paycheck. Even then, he’s still back and forth, up and down.

And Ian? He can’t keep pacing. He can’t stay turned away, but he won’t look. He occupies himself more than Yevgeny because now he’s low enough that he won’t just see an orange jumpsuit—he’ll see Mickey, and he’s had a bad enough day with his family making him feel more alone than ever without adding that pain on top of it. (This is the third time Mickey’s been locked up for something directly or indirectly related to Ian. I’m sure it’s not unreasonable to suspect that he also feels somewhat guilty about that, especially when it happened right after he broke it off.)

When Mickey asks if Ian is going to sit back there the whole time and not interact with him, Svetlana turns around and presumably says something to get his attention. Their eyes meet, and Mickey gives him a look that clearly says, “What the fuck, man?” This isn’t the behavior of a man who is heartbroken at their relationship ending or questioning Ian’s love for him. This is the behavior of a man who wants the love of his life to get his shit together enough to come say hi to him—or at least look at him—because he can’t pretend that he doesn’t want to see Mickey as much as Mickey wants to see him. It’s impossible to hide that when Ian has let Mickey see so much of his heart over the years.

Ian’s response is so fascinating because he does meet Mickey’s eyes, and he holds that connection for a moment. Then, reading what Mickey is trying to tell him, he actually turns further away again so that Mickey gets his shoulder. This sets the stage for the rest of Ian’s development from now through s9. He’s doing what Ian does: he’s compartmentalizing. He’s taking the emotions he can’t deal with right now, wrapping them in tissue paper, and neatly stacking them in a box that he’ll put up in the attic where he can pretend they don’t exist. But they do. They really do.

If they didn’t, he wouldn’t have spent their entire conversation trying so hard to focus on literally anything but Mickey, because as we saw in the Hall of Shame flashbacks and as has been obvious since their first fight-turned-fuck, once they look, the battle is lost.

Dialogue

I’m going to be real with you guys: I adore this scene. I’ve watched it more times than I can count even though I haven’t rewatched much of the season in its entirety. There was so much said with so few words, and while I was sad at the end, I was also hopeful. This was an impossible position to be put in on both sides, and I truly believe that this was the best resolution they could get at the time. And yes, it hurt. It was painful. But why was it painful?

Because they’re so visibly, obviously, irrevocably in love.

Mickey’s tone when he tells Svetlana to leave because he wants to talk to Ian isn’t as harsh as it’s been for the rest of their visit. There’s such a disconnect between his words and tone: roughly telling her to scram while actually sounding a bit younger at the idea of speaking directly with Ian. Svetlana could tell. It’s so clear, and her smirk is super knowing. In that moment, we’re seeing the woman who stood in the doorway of what was supposed to be her bedroom and watched him make eyes at this unconscious boy she didn’t really even remember. Not in the tears and realizing she was in big, big trouble if he left her, but in the understanding that his heart isn’t in the body on the other side of the glass—it’s sitting behind her. There are a lot of things I don’t like about Svetlana as a person (as a character, she’s amazing), but since they reached their agreement in s4, she’s never had a derogatory thing to say about the love those two share, and I respect that. It’s actually a bit cute how she takes her time and is almost teasing in giving him what he wants. A bit.

As I have this scene running on repeat so that I don’t miss anything in writing this, I paused to type and ended up on such a meaningful glance at Ian’s face. Svetlana just took Yevgeny from him, and he hasn’t gotten up yet. He’s staring straight at Mickey, and he looks hesitant. Scared, almost. Then he looks up at Svetlana, nods a bit, and reluctantly moves into her spot.

Is it overkill to take this one exchange at a time? Probably. Am I going to do it anyway? Hell to the yes.

1. “Thanks for coming back.”/”Yeah… Svetlana paid me.” – I know that people hate this line and think this is painful. I know that it objectively is painful. I still laugh every time. Not because Ian agreed to come if he was paid. (He’s got medication to afford and no insurance. I can’t begrudge him wanting to make a few extra bucks any way he can.) Not because of the words, but because of what accompanies them. Ian will not look at Mickey—he’s lost so many battles lately, and he can’t lose this one too. Not when he started this one himself. He’s hemming and hawing, not looking up from the countertop and then twisting around to see if Svetlana is still there or anyone else is listening. It’s so stupid, because literally no one cares, but it gives you this sensation that Ian sees himself as being under a microscope the whole time. That’s his life anymore, at home and at work and now here. And Mickey? He doesn’t look terribly broken up about Ian accepting payment in exchange for coming. He gets this expression that I interpreted as, “Seriously? You’re playing it like that?” Then it settles into disappointment that Ian won’t open up or look at him like he normally would—that the glass interferes with the magnetic pull between them. But don’t worry, children. Uncle Mickey has just the thing to fix that: himself.

2. “You look good.”/*awkward silence* – I mean…what do you say to that? I actually felt so bad for Ian there because what must he have looked like these last visits if Mickey is telling him that he looks good now? What kind of mess was he then when he’s still sort of a mess today? And he can’t even return the sentiment because how can he? Mickey is in prison. He’s in a jumpsuit looking at being here so long that he’ll probably have a few grey hairs starting to grow in when he gets out. I don’t know how to respond when people tell me I look good on an average day, so I can only imagine how that must have felt in his position. And still, he won’t do more than glance in Mickey’s direction. Well, if that didn’t work…

3. Mickey chuckles and says he got a new tattoo. Ian’s eyes immediately shoot upwards, and Mickey slouches a little so that he’s in their direct line of sight—to hold them there, because once they look, the battle is lost. And Ian does lose. For a while there, he can’t look away again. First, because Mickey is courting some pretty nasty illnesses with his improper use of needles. Seriously, Mickey, a beautiful gesture but holy crap. Second, Mickey has his name (or a very close approximation to it) tattooed forever right over his heart. Ian had asked if Mickey was going to marry him, and Mickey told him to fuck off, but everything he’s doing points in the opposite direction. He promised sickness and health; now he’s made a permanent mark on his body for everyone to see. Mickey, who wouldn’t be seen in public with him once upon a time, has plastered Ian’s name onto his body. Ian tries so hard not to let that impact him, but it’s over. He’s lost the battle already, and he falls further and further. He’s smiling when he tells Mickey it looks infected, he teases him about the misspelling (which I think says more about how much that tattoo must have hurt than any inability to spell on Mickey’s part—I’d have a typo too), and he laughs at Mickey’s irritation that he messed it up. And it’s this sweet little laugh, not cruel or hurtful or mean. The wonderful thing about humor is that it can be used to cope with difficult emotions. We’ve seen a lot of people on the show start laughing when they’re in a bad place. Ian has been trying so hard to accept his life as it is even during the shitty day he was having. He tried so hard not to let himself fall into the trap of letting his love for Mickey rule his actions in the scene so far. That’s a lot. That’s denying himself to the point where I’m sure it hurts. And so he laughs, because Mickey did this crazy, absurd thing for him and yeah, it came out wrong, but he did it. This was all Ian wanted once upon a time (minus the felony), and now he has it—but he can’t have it. So he laughs. He immediately moves to hide it, but he laughs. He smiles more and has to bend away to pretend that he’s not—and Mickey lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. This is the moment that keeps me from seeing this scene or Ian’s actions as being cruel. They’re both hurting, and this is an awful position to be in. But Ian loves him so much, and Mickey was doing everything he could to make him show it. Not exactly how he saw that going, I’m sure, but he’ll take it.

4. “Been thinking about you.” – Knowing that he lost that one, Ian looks away again. While the end of this scene will hurt for both of them, especially Mickey, think about the pain he must be feeling in that moment simply because he’s not. He’s not hurting. For the first time that day, he feels good. This can’t last. Mickey isn’t coming home with him when time is up. This wonderful emotion that filled him up enough for him to laugh and smile after such a bad day will be gone the second he hangs up that phone. Then he’s going to go home and have Fiona breathing down his neck with nobody else for support. And Mickey will be here—behind glass. He can’t handle that, and he pulls that box out again and starts tearing off the tissue paper. He has to get rid of this feeling. He has to be the one to put it away before it kicks him to the curb. He’s stubborn, and Mickey can see him shutting down but also knows that he’s knocked enough bricks out of Ian’s walls to say something softer, something emotional and closer to the heart. Something he is willing to say where the other inmates can hear, which I don’t think is lost on Ian since he immediately looks up again. He doesn’t look away either, not even when Mickey asks if Ian thinks about him. He glances to the side and opens his mouth a bit, but nothing comes out. Mickey knows the answer.

5. “Gonna wait for me?”/”You’re here for fifteen years.” – There’s this thing Mickey does after he first says that. He chuckles, because he knows that that’s pretty unreasonable to ask and has already predicted Ian’s response. His comment about being out in eight is lighthearted, a serious matter spoken as a joke because…this isn’t juvie anymore. They’re not going to see each other in a few months. This is Mickey’s version of what Ian was just doing, only where Ian tried to withdraw and escape within himself, Mickey is making it more humorous. He’s always done that, make light of pretty serious things to avoid looking at just how messed up it is. But I didn’t get the feeling he was really asking for Ian to wait that long. Instead, I got the feeling that he was testing the waters, seeing if Ian would shut him down—which he didn’t. He offered the bullshit excuse that Mickey tried to kill a member of his family, and Mickey saw through that immediately. I think he knows that he can’t ask Ian to seriously wait and never be with anyone else for fifteen years, or even for eight. I think he knows what he’s saying is a touch absurd. He also knows that Ian’s excuse is extremely absurd, and he doesn’t buy it for a second. It gives him a little courage to do something…well, a bit absurd.

6. “Will you? Wait? Fucking lie if you have to, man. Eight years is a long time.” – I think the important part of this isn’t that Ian says he’ll wait when he doesn’t mean it, which is the popular take. For one thing, I don’t think we can ascribe that level of calculated behavior to Ian in this instance. There are a few things about this part of the scene that mean a lot to me: (1) Ian doesn’t get up and go. He doesn’t even move in that direction. He sits there with the phone after the buzzer sounds and before Mickey tells him to lie. His mouth opens and closes like he’s not sure what to say. Because what can he say? If Mickey serves the maximum, Ian will be in his mid-thirties by the time they can be together. At that point, he was either nearing eighteen or just turned. I still can’t fathom what I’ll be doing in my mid-thirties, and I’m a whole lot older than that. Ian looks just a little terrified here, and that’s because he knows he loves Mickey but has no clue what he’s supposed to do with that in the impossible circumstances they’re operating under. (2) Ian can’t even see himself moving on yet. He’s still trying to figure himself out, not think about a relationship. He has a job he hates, and his family is a different brand of chaos these days. He feels alone, yes, but not in a way that has him openly desperate for a relationship. Based on what he says to Mandy about Caleb, I think it’s pretty safe to assume that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be in a serious relationship at this point or even in a position for more than casual sex anytime in the near future. How can he say that he’ll wait when he doesn’t know where he’ll be whenever Mickey does get out? Maybe he’ll feel better. Maybe he’ll be out of his mind, roaming all over the place like Monica. Maybe he won’t just be standing on that bridge. It’s a huge question, one that has a lot of ramifications no matter what his answer is, and Ian clearly has none. He’s blindsided by that, which Mickey sees. That’s when he gets serious about those eight years, about how absurd their situation really is. That’s perhaps the first and only time in this scene where we can see that, for as successful as he is at navigating prison, his freedom means something to him. His freedom means he wouldn’t have to coax a glance out of Ian—he could kiss his dumb ass and make him stop being stubborn about how much he loves Mickey. But he can’t. He won’t be able to for a long time. And I think that is what really breaks his heart in this scene, not…

7. “Yeah. Yeah, Mick, I’ll wait.” – Did anyone else notice how Ian swallowed hard before he answered? How his voice gets hoarse when he first speaks? I paused again to type, and the video is sitting on his face staring at the counter before the second part of what he says. He looks like he might cry. He looks like his heart is breaking just as much as Mickey’s is, because he can do what he’s asking this time—reassure him with a lie. Not because he doesn’t intend to wait, but because he is buried so far under what life has piled on top of him that he can’t see the light these days, and he doesn’t see waiting or moving on. He just sees the daily struggle of being this shell of a person. Of being without Mickey even if they’re not technically together. (Admittedly, I think he knew they would be if Mickey weren’t in prison at that moment. Ian has no real self-control where he’s concerned. Lip told him as much, and he’s self-aware enough to realize it, hence his behavior in this whole scene.)

When Ian hangs up the phone, he doesn’t get up immediately. He looks at Mickey—really looks at him—and each of them watches the other’s heart shatter. I don’t see it the way a lot of people do, though. On Mickey’s side, I don’t see it as being because Ian lied. I think it’s so much bigger than that.

Ian looks at him when they can’t hear each other anymore, and if he didn’t seem ready to cry before, he looks it now. Why? Because there’s nothing he can do for Mickey besides that. Ian, ever the giver, can’t give him anything. At that point, he couldn’t even help himself. He can’t be what Mickey needs in that moment, just like he couldn’t be what Mickey needed while he was sick, and it kills him. It kills him to know that by the time Mickey does get out, he’ll be older than he can fathom being and has no idea if he’ll even be around that long. It kills him to feel like even if he is, he’ll still have nothing to offer because, in his own words, this is where he lands. And it kills him to have to walk away and leave what he loves most behind glass.

Mickey is watching this. He knows Ian, and as painful as it was to get exactly what he asked for, it’s even more painful for him to see what him being here does to Ian. Where Ian is a giver, Mickey is a fixer. He makes things better. When stuff is broken, he puts it back together. When there’s a problem, he resolves it. Ian was going to leave because he couldn’t be an unacknowledged number three in Mickey’s life anymore? He jumped to solve the problem by coming out. Ian was acting strangely and wouldn’t get out of bed for so long that Mickey realized something was wrong? He immediately went to hunt down Lip, who he knows is closer to Ian than anyone else in his family. Fiona tells him that Ian is sick and needs to be cared for? He jumps in to do it, even to the point where it did more harm than good. Sammi caused a problem that Mickey couldn’t solve? He fixed the problem of her being there at all. But here he sits, behind glass, watching Ian that whole time and knowing that he was trying to maintain some emotional distance—and, because it’s Mickey, knowing why. There’s nothing he can do about this. He can’t fix it. For the first time since s3, Mickey is absolutely helpless to fix a problem. He takes a breath as Ian walks away as though he’s about to say something, but what can he say? What can he do? Nothing. He can do nothing but hang up the phone and weather the storm.

In the end, the heartbreak in this scene isn’t about them hurting each other, from my perspective. It’s not about Ian being callous and cruel or purposely trying to hurt Mickey. They know each other too well for that. They’ve been through too much. To me, this is about two people who love each other more than anything not being able to be what the other needed when they needed them—and that’s a whole lot more painful.

#shameless meta #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich

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juuten · 4 years ago

Text

For You | Tenma Sumeragi

@chewie-santatoast says: Merry Christmas! How about ‘secrets’ with Tenten? ❤️💚🤍🧡

Aimee replies: Hello! Thank you so much for requesting! Sorry I couldn’t greet you ‘Merry Christmas’ during that time :< That’s why I wish you a very advanced Merry Christmas! Also, stay safe and healthy!

This fic really took me a while to finish mainly because I needed to revise/shorten lots of parts. But surprisingly, I didn’t stray away from my initial idea when I thought of secrets and Tenma.

Anyway, the story takes place before Act 2. I hope this story will make you smile :D

For ‘A December with You’ event.

Today, Summer Troupe made sure to have the living room for themselves.

Fairy lights hung on the walls, painting the living room with an orange glow. Blankets and pillows surrounded the coffee table with a plate of onigiris on it. However, a winter’s night would never be complete without steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Muku delicately placed three mugs beside the onigiris, Yuki setting down the other two.

“Mr. Triangle!” Misumi grinned at the familiar triangle drawn on his cup of hot chocolate.

Muku grabbed his cup and giddily sat on his star-patterned blanket. "Mine's a crown!"

"The bear's almost like mine.” If one looked closely, a small smile dangled on Yuki’s lips.

Tenma reached for his mug and peeked at what Kazunari drew for him. "Is this a bonsai?"

"Yep yep!" Kazunari sat on his spot in the living room. Then he winked and made a peace sign. “Kazunari Miyoshi’s latte art, everyone!”

Tenma's lips curled upwards. "Not bad."

"Yippie! Now everything's set," Kazunari clapped his hands, "Operation ‘Tenten Living as a Non-Celeb: Christmas Edition,’ start!”

But before Kazunari had the chance to show off his plans, the doorbell rang. Muku, being closest to the door, set down his mug and stood up.

"Who is it?" Muku said as he opened the door.

A brunette man wearing a gray suit smiled at him. “Good evening and advanced Merry Christmas, Muku-san.”

“Ah, Igawa-san! Likewise." Muku politely bowed.

Igawa set down an enormous sack on the ground. It looked like it was about to burst at any moment. "Please accept these gifts for the MANKAI members. Sumeragi-san and I chose them with utmost care."

Then Igawa placed a thick scrapbook on Muku’s hands. "Also, please give this to Tenma-kun."

Muku obediently nodded. "I will! And thank you so much, Igawa-san!"

Igawa bowed and bid farewell before driving off. Muku secured the scrapbook under his armpit. Then he rolled up his sleeves. Pulling the sack with all his might, he trudged towards the living room.

“Mukkun, are you- Woah! Where did that super-duper big sack come from?” Kazunari’s eyes became as wide as saucers when he saw the boy set down the sack beside the Christmas tree.

“It’s from Igawa-san and Tenma-kun's parents. They're gifts for us," Muku said in between pants. Tenma made a mental note to call his parents later.

Misumi put a familiar yellow triangle with a Santa Hat on Muku’s palms. “I'll give you Mr. Triangle Claus!”

Muku giggled and said thanks. When Muku returned to his spot, he presented the scrapbook to Tenma. “Tenma-kun, Igawa-san said this scrapbook was for you."

Tenma looked at him with confusion. Igawa always dropped off gifts from fans at his house while he delivered the important ones to the dorms. The gifts for the members were certainly one of those. However, the scrapbook was questionable. He was sure his parents did not make this; their careers always ate almost all of their time. Igawa was possible. However, Tenma knew managing his schedule was currently hectic. He always received more offers for both acting and modeling during the Christmas season.

Suddenly, another potential person popped inside his head. With wide eyes, Tenma said, “Muku, who did it come from?"

“Um…” Muku flipped the scrapbook. He stumbled upon some initials at the far corner of the scrapbook. “There’s (First Letter of First Name) (First Letter of Last Name) written at the bottom.”

Within a blink of an eye, Tenma grabbed the scrapbook from his hands. All of the Summer Troupe members looked at each other in mild bewilderment.

Kazunari was the first one to recover as he playfully nudged Tenma’s arm. “Hey, Tenten, who’s (First Letter of First Name) (First Letter of Last Name)?”

“S-someone I'm close with!”

Yuki suspiciously eyed Tenma as he drank his cup. “Hm…”

Tenma fidgeted under his gaze. “Wh-what is it?”

Yuki placed his cup on the coffee table. Then with a menacing look, he said, “If you don’t tell us who they are, I’ll make you wear that rabbit costume again on Veludo Way. This time, alone.”

Misumi grinned. “I want to see rabbit Tenma again."

“That was supposed to be a one-time thing!” Tenma protested.

“Maybe the money-grubbing yakuza will increase the budget for costumes if I tell him the hack will advertise MANKAI Company this Christmas.” Yuki tapped his chin in thought.

Tenma grumbled. He was always careful to not expose your relationship with him when he was barely prepared. But now that his reputation (dignity) was on the line, he could not remain tight-lipped. Letting out a defeated sigh, he said, “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Tenma breathed in before saying, “The initials stand for (First Name) (Last Name). It’s my girlfriend’s name.”

“Someone managed to date the hack, huh," Yuki said.

“What do you mean by that!” The man in question violently reacted.

"Hold up, fam. Since we're on this topic," Kazunari wrapped his shoulder around the orange-haired man and shot him a grin, “we should look at the scrapbook together!"

Tenma glared at Kazunari. “No way. And this isn’t part of your operation or what in the first place!”

"It's fine, it's fine!" When Tenma still had a scowl on his face, Kazunari clasped his hands and pleadingly looked at him. "C'mon, Tenten! Please!"

Tenma hugged the scrapbook to his chest. He knew he was doomed to be teased once he showed the scrapbook. Knowing you, you put lots of pictures he was unaware that you took them. Nevertheless, this was a risk he would rather take instead of wearing a rabbit costume for the whole Veludo to see. Besides, he trusted that his members would never leak his and your private lives to the public.

Tenma unwrapped his arms from the scrapbook and placed it on his lap. “Fine. But no taking of pictures or videos.” With that, everyone sat closer to Tenma.

Tenma’s heart pounded as he opened the scrapbook. A photo of a smiling couple sitting on a flowery meadow filled up the upper part of the first page. Below the picture was a handwritten caption that said, "First date planned by Yours Truly ☆." Then at the bottom of the page, there was a colored drawing of the meadow. Tenma's eyes widened in astonishment. Your illustration looked the same as he remembered. The difference was you put a dried sunflower at the center above the flowery meadow and drew its stem.

"(First Name)'s drawing and design are totes amazing! Kudos to her!" Kazunari said, which Tenma replied with a proud 'of course!'

Muku turned to the orange-haired man with excitement gleaming in his eyes. "Tenma-kun, what did you do on your first date?"

"Did you find triangles with her?" Misumi asked.

"Only the Trianglian will do that there," Yuki commented.

“We had a picnic, talked and took some photos. Then, uh...” Tenma scratched his head, trying to remember any fascinating but not too embarrassing moments from his first date. "We also played Twenty One Questions.”

“So what do you do?” Tenma asked the moment you proposed this game.

“We just alternately ask each other twenty-one questions and answer them. The questions can be about anything at all!” A mischievous glint passed your eyes, which you covered up with a smile.

Your boyfriend seemed to be unaware of it as he smirked. “I’ve handled many interviews, so this one’s easy.”

“It’s still your first time playing this though. That’s why I’ll start asking you.” You intertwined your hands with his. Then with the most serious face you could muster, you said, “If you meet an alien who lands in Japan, what is the first thing you will give them?”

You tried to hold back your laughter when you saw his dumbfounded face. He was so confident seconds ago, and now, he was a flustered mess.

You brushed your thumbs on his hands to help him relax. “It’s only a hypothetical question, Tenma-san. You don’t need to think too much about it.”

“Still, how did you even come up with that question?”

You wagged your index finger. “It’s not yet your turn to ask a question.”

“I can’t ask at all?!”

“That’s a question, Tenma-san.”

Tenma groaned, making you laugh. Then he scratched his head. “I’ll give the alien a map of Japan, I guess.”

You frowned. “I don’t know if they can understand our language though.” Then you shook your head. “Well, a map’s still a good choice!”

You squeezed his hands. “It’s your turn to ask a question, Tenma-san.”

Now that Tenma paid attention to it, you still used an honorific for him. It was progress compared to the early days wherein you called him by his last name. At that time, it was so awkward for him; it felt like you two were co-workers instead of lovers. But even now, he wanted you to be comfortable with him. With those thoughts, he said, “You know you could drop the honorific, right?”

You nodded. “I know. But I can’t just casually call someone who I really respect and admire.”

At the corner of your eye, you saw a pair of bloomed sunflowers near your side. You unclasped your hands from his and plucked the sunflowers. Giving one to him, you said with a tender smile, “To my sunflower who I adore.”

Muku tightly hugged his pillow to his chest. “That’s so romantic of (First Name)-san!”

“Yeah… but then she asked another random question for the game.” Tenma sighed at that. Then he looked at the next page. Red painted his cheeks as he saw a stolen shot of him eating your homemade sandwich.

“The sandwich is a triangle!” Misumi grinned.

“You’re right, Sumi! It is!” Kazunari patted him on the back.

Meanwhile, Yuki pointed at the picture and said, “Hack, you eat like a kid. Look at the crumbs on your mouth.”

“It only happened during that time! Besides… (First Name)’s sandwich was delicious,” Tenma murmured the latter part as he munched on an onigiri.

As Tenma continued to tell what happened in the other photos, his gaze softened. He never thought that he would enter a romantic relationship and last this long. After all, school and his career demanded so much of his attention. But this scrapbook proved him wrong. It carried the many memories both of you made. If he had to choose his fondest memory of you, it would be you watching his performance. Tenma beamed with pride whenever he saw you laughing, crying, or overall getting hooked alongside the audience. It meant that Summer Troupe’s efforts paid off. Moreover, he got to express his gratitude towards you through his acting. Nonetheless, the ambitious actor would never stop improving and showing you the best performance.

As Tenma flipped to another page, a photo fell out and landed beside Kazunari’s lap. The latter looked down and picked it up. Kazunari stopped chewing his onigiri, his jaw dropping in surprise.

“OMG! Tenten, you look super cute!” Tenma had no time to react as Kazunari shoved the photo to his face. Tenma grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand out of the way.

“Kazunari, what-”

The orange-haired man froze. Out of all the pictures, why did you include this one in the scrapbook? It was a photo he definitely could not show to anyone without stripping his dignity away. But you were an exception since you begged for it as your birthday present. Still, you owning the photo did not mean you could put it without letting him know first! Anyone else could see it the moment the scrapbook landed at the dorm. And news traveled fast in a dorm with many people.

Misumi giggled. “It’s baby Tenma.”

“He doesn’t have the ‘Ore-sama’ air around him yet,” Yuki said as he stared at the photo.

Tenma snapped out of his trance and snatched the picture from Kazunari. "Oi! You don’t need to see it!”

Misumi tilted his head in wonder. “But it was in the scrapbook.”

"Yeah, but still!"

Then Muku noticed the black ink on the back of the polaroid. Tugging on Tenma’s sleeve, he said, “Tenma-kun, I think there’s something written at the back.”

Tenma begrudgingly flipped the photo on its back. He immediately recognized your handwriting that wrote the following message:

I hope your true friends will see all of your sides that I love, including this one.

P.S., Merry Christmas, Tenma-san! I hope you like my gift ♡

Tenma covered his face with his hand, trying to fight off the smile forming on his lips.

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3! game #tenma sumeragi #tenma sumeragi x reader #yuki rurikawa #muku sakisaka #kazunari miyoshi #misumi ikaruga #summer troupe #a3! imagines #a3! scenarios #A December with You #aimee writes

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ryik-the-writer · 3 years ago

Photo

CHAPTER 29: Instincts

A03

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy

· Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story)

· Chapter 3: Day One

· Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies

· Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars

· Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress

· Chapter 7: Operation Spotless!

· Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down

· Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil

· Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake

· Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1

· Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2

· Chapter 13: The Girl With Blue Eyes: Underground

· Chapter 14. Recovery

· Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more

· Chapter 15: Trapped

Chapter 16: Filth

Chapter 17: Fairydust pt. 1

Chapter 18: Fairydust pt. 2

Chapter 19: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3

Chapter 20: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 2

Chapter 21: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3

Chapter 22: Reflections pt. 1

Chapter 23: Reflections pt. 2

Chapter 24: Closing

Chapter 25: Felix is helping Pan

Chapter 26: Temporary Fix

Chapter 27: The Search Begins

Chapter 28: The Missing Pan

So this is what death feels like? It’s not terrible, just incredibly long.

Dehydration had long set in, so much so that even Pan’s eyes were dry.

Jones was refusing to give him food and water until he “revealed what he knew.”

Pan would, of course, tell him to fuck himself. Nevermind that he had no idea what the fuck he was talking about.

Maybe it was journalistic instincts or his own, but Pan wanted to know what Jones was going on about, why he thought kidnapping him would give him what he wanted.

He had been waiting for the man to finally spill, but Jones seemed to be as clever as he was.

Pan would die a slow painful death with an unknown secret. He could only hope it tore Jones to pieces.

But it was harder for him to focus on disemboweling Jones when his own demise were front and center.

It was odd how unafraid he was. Annoyed and pained, yes, but not necessarily scared.

He remembered wanting to die on plenty of occasions: when he was a snot-nosed little punk in Scotland and his father used to wail on him, when he found out Belle was in love with his fucking brother of all people. When he’d be on a high after writing an amazing story that ruined someone’s life. Even in between the better moments of his life, when he was investigating with Felix or having drinks with Tink and Lily, when he just couldn’t find peace.

When he was with Wendy and he felt so grounded he couldn’t take it.

Shit. He swore he wouldn’t think about her. Wouldn’t think about any of the people he gave a shit about.

Yeah, now that he was on death’s door, he could finally admit to himself that he kind of gave a shit about something.

His pride and his ambition had stood in the way for so long, he had plenty of time to realize when those walls had come down.

Wendy fucking Darling.

She’d gotten under his skin, into his veins. He’d become desperate for her presence, for her validation.

For her smile.

“She’s really beautiful you know,” Jones had gloated to him last night as he drunk from that damned flask of his. “Really something. I might just get a taste of her myself.”

A weak snarl was all Pan was able to muster, but his brain was burning with all the things he was going to do to him the second he had these fucking cuffs off.

Maybe that’s part of the reason he was still hanging on. He wanted Jones’s blood to soak his lips, give him the hydration he had denied him for days now.

Or maybe he truly had gone soft and he wanted to see her and everyone else again.

All the people who hated him and cared for him…he was going to be lost to them now.

It was true then: Peter Pan didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be forgotten about.

And he wanted to see her again.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“What are we doing?” Wendy laughed as Killian drug her up the boat.

Jones hid his smile well. “You shall soon see, Miss Darling.”

Wendy shrugged and followed, charmed that he still referred her to something so gentle. He’d been courting her for three days now, and each time they were together she found herself a bit more star struck.

Killian was so far advanced in the world than she. He had seen things, been places she’d only seen on maps, lived as a person she was far from being.

But Wendy ate up his stories, usually told over brunch or a nice picnic.

Tonight however would be the first time they’d have dinner, and have it on his vast ship she’d been admiring from the dock for some time now.

She was grateful for his company just as much as she was for the distraction from her current dilemmas.

Pan still had yet to return or make his location known. They were both set to return to the Mirror in a few days with their suspension ending, and she only hoped he thought to come back by then.

She could honestly care less at this point, she had decided, squashing the guilt she felt. Pan had made his decision, had chosen to push her so far away he could never find her again. She wouldn’t be the one to try to make amends if he returned.

The “if” part was what was keeping her from falling asleep at night. If he’d been more ceremonial in his departure, she might be more relaxed. But he just vanished. No note, no hints. Not even a plan for his cat. He pretty much left the poor thing to starve.

Wendy still checked in on the creature, but had slowly made the transition to her own apartment. Sometimes at night, when she was getting out of the tub or combing her hair, she’d look down her window at his building and spare the thought that he was coming back soon.

But it was just a flutter of a thought, and she would return to the present. Story ideas for when she returned to work, making peace with Tink, and Jones.

Wendy would be the first to admit she was naïve when it came to dating. Her first and only beau, Edward, had been more boring than a sack of flour and their breakup had been a celebration for her.

What she had with Pan was more of a fight to the death speckled with quick moments of peace. It was stimulating but painful all at once.

Whatever she was building with Jones excited her. It wasn’t the back and forth screaming match she had with Pan. It was tamer, and felt unabashedly like romance.

“You know, the last time my view was obstructed I solved a nearly decade’s old mystery in this town,” Wendy deadpanned as she felt a railing under her hand. They were going up something. And they were on the docks judging by the scent of salt in the air.

Killian’s chuckle rumbled through her back. “I’ve heard a great many about your adventures in town. You’ll have to tell me all about them.”

Wendy felt around until she found his hand, and he paused.

“I haven’t finished learning about you,” Wendy pointed out, her heart speeding up.

She felt Killian’s warm breath on the edge of her ear. “I have to keep some of my secrets, love.”

Wendy swallowed hard. Damn. Now it was more than the darkness that made her heart swell.

Thankfully though, that part soon passed and Killian removed the blindfold.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the setting sun, and then the sight before her made her gasp.

A well-set table decorated the deck of Killian’s ship, complete with a bucket of ice and what looked like champagne.

She could smell garlic in the air, not doubt encased in whatever was under the metal dishes on the table.

Killian had passed her and began lighting the elongated candles on the table.

“What is all this?” Wendy laughed.

“An anniversary dinner of sorts,” Jones winked.

“We’ve barely been acquainted a full week,” Wendy pointed out, following him when he motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs that he had pulled out.

“Then we have something to celebrate,”

Wendy watched him, amused as he popped open the champagne and poured them each a glass. He raised his, tipping it towards her.

“To five days of a beautiful relationship,”

Wendy scoffed. She could toast to that, and she did, tapping her glass to his.

She took a slow sip of the bubbly drink, stilling her flinch at the strong alcohol. She’d never had anything stronger than a glass of wine at her college graduation and she knew her tolerance would be very low.

He drained his glass quickly but made no attempt to refill his or hers.

“And now,” he bowed, lifting the lid off their plates.

Wendy witnessed a well-crafted dish of crispy fish surrounded by colorful vegetables in a sort of white broth.

She glanced up at Killian and noticed the slight hesitation in his eyes.

Oh my gods, she thought, he’s nervous about his food!

Wendy picked up her fork, getting a bite of everything on the utensil. The vegetables were a bit salty for her preference, but the fish melted on her tongue.

She chuckled. Of course someone who lived on a ship would know how to cook a good fish.

She smiled as to ease Killian’s mind.

“Delicious.”

He glowed at the compliment and comfortably began to eat his own dish.

Wendy continued to examine him, wishing more than anything that she could figure out his game. Jones didn’t make her uncomfortable, not really, but he did make her question his motive and his interest in her.

“You’re quite distracted for someone eating some of the highest quality crawfish on this side of Maine,” Jones joked when he noticed her inquisitive expression.

He’d been taking small circles around her, disguising his intentions. Tonight was the final test, one last go before he decided—not if—but how he would eliminate her.

He was starting to doubt that she knew anything at all.

“I was just thinking about you,” Wendy said boldly.

Jones stopped chewing, the slightest tension curling his fingers.

“Aye?” he said, keeping his demeanor.

“I was thinking of me as well,” she admitted. “How I know so little of you yet came onto your ship—lovely craftsmenship, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, easing a bit. Wendy was young, and hopefully easily distractible.

“I feel like I should be afraid of you,” she continued, not feeling the least bit foolish about the reveal of such a personal thought. She’d fought off maniacs and barely escaped with her life; she wasn’t afraid to admit if she was scared or not.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know you, and for all I know you poisoned the very food I just ate, or you plan on knocking me cold and dumping me into the harbor.”

One out of two, not bad, he thought.

Still, he to keep the game going, had to pull her out of that state of uneasiness if he wanted to win.

“Allow me to put you more at ease,” he offered. He stood and made his way across the deck where he had set up an old vinyl player.

Wendy gasped when he turned on a gentle tune, looking up at him with stars in her eyes when he came back to her and held out his hand.

“Care for a dance, Miss Darling?”

Wendy’s stomach twisted, the memory of Pan twirling her around the club downtown causing a periscope of emotions to crash over her.

She took Jones’s hand and squeezed it, praying the memory would leave her.

As Jones guided her down the deck and positioned his hands like a true gentlemen, she decided she could leave it indeed.

“Now,” he said as they moved. “Allow me to ease your mind. Ask me a question, anything you like, but I want to ask you one in return.”

“I’m a journalist, Mr. Jones, I’m fairly good at asking questions.”

“Then make them count,” he grinned.

She accepted his challenge, licking her lips as she laid out in her mind exactly what she wanted to know.

“Do you live on this ship?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Hey now,” she chastised.

Jones chuckled. She really was a delight.

“It was an antique I restored for one of my clients,” he said. She didn’t need to know that said client had been disemboweled by him on the very deck they were dancing on.

“He practically gave it to me when I finished.”

“You’re a carpenter then. A traveler as well?”

“One question at a time, Miss Darling,”

“Not a question. More like an observation.” she corrected.

He smiled. Witty as well.

“Tell me, how did such a well-established lady like yourself end up in Maine of all places?”

Wendy scoffed, the life she had before Storybrooke seeming so long ago.

“An internship. It was really an excuse to leave home and see a bit of the world, but I decided to try to make it a career. It’s been…”

Jones’s smile faded when Wendy’s tenseness caused them to stop. As if sensing her distress, the vinyl player abruptly stopped its song.

“Are you alright,” Jones inquired.

Wendy gulped, memories of that devil woman Cruella and that sick bastard Jekyll crawling through her brain.

“It hasn’t been easy being here,” she said.

It hasn’t been easy being with Pan, she wanted to say.

“That lad, the one who abandoned you” Jones pushed. “Does he have anything to do with that?”

Of course, Jones knew the answer to that, having had said lad in his company for several days now.

“More than you could ever know.”

Jones tilted his head. It was really tragic, watching such a vibrant creature fade over such a wretched little creature.

He cupped her cheek and turned her to him, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin.

“Let him go, love,” he said. “He’s not worth it.”

Wendy Darling was innocent, both in spirit and in the crimes he had stacked against her. It didn’t stop what he had to do, but he would prefer that her last memories were pleasant.

But Wendy was plagued by the pandemic that was Pan. She told him in her message to him that she had to let him go, there was no room anymore to wait on him.

Yet he was still in her mind. She wanted to let him go, needed to.

She looked into Jones’s smiling eyes, this enigma of a man who had wondered into her life. Maybe it was fate’s way of telling her to move on, or perhaps just a coincidence.

Either way, she needed his help.

She cupped the hand on her face, keeping him where he was.

He didn’t move, perhaps sensing what she wanted to do, needed to do.

She leaned in, leaning up just enough so that their lips touched.

Kissing Killian was like tasting the rarest of liquor: it was addictive, intoxicating, dangerous. Wendy weaved her fingers into his hair, her other hand unsure quite where to venture next.

But Jones did. He led it to his chest, one of his hands cupping her waist with purpose, the other traveling to tangle in her locks.

He felt Wendy tensed under his touch and he pulled back.

“Please, not my hair,” she said, ashamed.

He nodded, uncertain and shocked when his heart lurched at her pained expressin. “Do you want to stop?:

Wendy wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Was she really about to go through with this? Have relations with someone she’d only known a few days?

She thought about all the morals that had been lodged into her mind since girlhood. They seemed so faint now, a side effect, she thought, of being in the presence of someone as moralless like Pan.

Truth was she wanted to do it, wanted to fill that emptiness Pan had created in her.

“Where…is there…”

He nodded, knowing her mind and lead her to his sleeping quaters.

He sat her down on his bed, hands twitching by his side while the rest of him remained still.

This had to be her choice. He couldn’t continue unless she made the first move.

They stared at each for a moment, their heavy breathing subsiding as Wendy made up her mind.

She reached a hand out, inviting him.

A small smile curled on his lips. He took it and got down on one knew, hands guiding up her smooth knees.

Wendy leaned forward and began to remove his shirt as he lifted his arms up to let her.

The weight of her inexperience began to thrive as she gazed upon his lean, mature form. He had little knicks and scars on his arms and chest, tales of a life he . Just like her.

She felt so small compared to him, so young. She considered calling this whole thing off—she knew he’d respect it.

“Nervous, love?” he inquired.

He intertwined his fingers in the hand that had undressed him.

“Let me lead, Wendy,”

She allowed it. Allowed his hands and lips to seek her out.

He was gentle. He wanted to be.

Wendy wasn’t like the other women he’d bedded in the past. She had this air of sophistication he hadn’t known before, cutting deeply into the innocence she wore like a torn coat.

But her passion, bless her. She allowed the instinct to take over, to guide her hands and lips to places he wants them to be.

He’s struggling to contain himself, his own instinct telling him to conquer, but Wendy doesn’t deserve that.

It was part of the game, after all. Seduce the pretty girl woman, kill her and be done with it. One last round of euphoria before he moved on to the next target.

His kisses are heated, biting, but patient – she allows him to remove her clothes, carefully.

He moans when her soft, round lips mouth down his neck, and he wraps his arms around her waist, caressing her bareness possessively, greedily. He soon draws her mouth to his own once more.

“Wendy,” he breathes, almost trembling. Her name alone is so delicate.

She looks at him and he is so proud of the fire in her eyes.

“I…” she begins, stopping and laughing nervously.

He couldn’t stop his own from breaking free. He picks her up just enough to spread her on his sheets, ready for the next bit.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. It’s a line he’s used on his targets before as he’s reeled them in. The answer’s always the same. Of course they do, why wouldn’t they?

But something in Wendy’s expression changes. There’s no hesitation in her eyes, but an unwavering defiance that changes everything.

“No, Killian,” she said with a sad smile. “I don’t trust you at all.”

Indeed, those few words change everything.

When she leans up to kiss him, he doesn’t return the gesture right away.

Wendy Darling is indeed not like the other women he’s dealt with. She’s young, charismatic, and worst of all, far from a fool.

Her hand strokes his jaw, turning him back to her.

“But I still want you,” she says, her very being glowing. “Is that alright?”

The man between her legs accepts her in earnest, those predatory eyes fluttered shut as he pressed into her hand.

Oh Wendy, run, he wants to say.

“That it is, love,” he says instead, sealing her fate.

Hours later Jones examined her in the fading moon light. The game had stopped. Maybe it had been over the second he asked Wendy her name.

She was breathing so tenderly, so calm despite the fact that she had just slept with someone who had been killing people longer than she’d been alive.

Unperturbed that she and her little friend below were teetering on death’s door.

He rose and dressed quietly, slipping the sheet fully around her body, but he didn’t kiss her temple despite how he desperately wanted to.

He heads below, pausing to grab a bottle of water, an act that surprises even him.

He makes his way below deck slowly, the form of his captive becoming clearer the closer he gets. Within a moment he make out the lad’s deadly glare.

“You fucker,” he wheezes.

Jones smirks. “Oh, so you heard?”

Pan lurched forward, thwarted by his shackles but the malice in his eyes didn’t die.

“I’ll fucking kill you for this!”

Jones chuckled, pulling a barrel forward as he reveled in one-upping the pious lad.

His smirk faded though as he thought of Wendy.

He was due to report back to his contact tomorrow afternoon. He was expected to report two deaths and he hadn’t managed to kill off the one before him.

Now as he stared at the glaring youth and his thoughts stayed on the blonde goddess above his head, for the first in his like Killian Jones was having second thoughts…about everything.

“You don’t know anything, do you?” Jones tested. Of course Pan didn’t respond.

Jones sighed. He couldn’t just let him go. He had been noticed by now. Jones heard whispers in the street of his disappearance. He needed to be dealt with now.

Jones uncapped the bottle he brought with him. Pan struggled to keep his eyes from following the sloshing of the water.

His capture held it out to his cracked lips. “Take it.”

Pan turned his head. No matter how much he needed it, he wouldn’t give in.

Jones growled and grabbed Pan by his hair, forcing his head down. He squeezed the bottle and water spewed all over Pan’s face and hair, the lad struggling fruitlessly in his grip as he cough and wheezed.

Jones threw him back, glaring at him as he cursed and shook the water off.

“What the fuck do you want!” Pan yelled.

Jones stood and backhanded him. “Shut up. You’ll wake her.”

Blood oozed from Pan’s right nostril, moistening his lips.

“I’m going to break your fucking neck!”

“I’m afraid you won’t get the chance,” Jones sighed as he flicked stray water droplets off his hands. “You see, boy, I have to end you soon.”

Pan’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t fret, I’ll be quick, simple. I’ll grant you that.”

“It’s lasted for days,” Pan reminded him with a snarl.

Jones shrugged. “As for our lovely Miss Darling …”

Pan paused, dreading the words that would come from his mouth next.

“Tell me,” Jones said, his tone sincere. “Do you think she’d dig further if I let her alone? Do you think she’d try to find your murderer once your bloated corpse washes up on shore?”

Pan gritted his teeth. Hearing her passion had disturbed him. He had yet to picture her in such a way, let alone with his damn kidnapper.

Now she was above him more close to death than he was, and he couldn’t save her.

And then there was the question of would she try to avenge him.

He hoped not. He truly did.

Jones tilted his head as Pan’s mind raced. He almost felt sorry for the boy, having such a lovely creature so close to his closed-off heart.

He stood, his decision made.

“Good night, boy,” he sighed, closing the door on his returning remarks.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Wendy’s eyes opened, the earliest rays of a new day awakening her.

She hadn’t meant to spend the night here, didn’t expect she’d be welcome.

Yet her bed partner was sleeping comfortably beside her, one his arms draped loosely on her waist, and she did indeed feel welcomed.

Maybe she could stay here a bit longer and enjoy the smell of sea air and warmth.

But natured called, and she did have to at least check her phone.

Maybe Pan…

No, she wouldn’t think about him.

Let him go…

She sighed and regrettably removed herself from Jones’s hold, blushing when the sheets scraped her naked skin.

It was hard to believe. She’d been beaten and traumatized but the idea of giving up her womanhood was what was having the most profound effect on her.

She wasn’t a virgin anymore. It was the last thing she’d managed to hold on to from before Storybrooke before all its insanity got its hooks into her.

Now, with her short hair and circled eyes, she truly wasn’t the same girl who’d left London over two months ago.

She was new, darker.

Pan had given her her start; Jones had pushed her over the edge.

And, despite the morals swimming in her head, she was glad.

She was glad it had been her choice, that it was something she had had complete control of.

She smiled as she put on her underthings and dress, stalling her movements to prevent from making a noise. Perhaps Jones would be interested in hearing her revelation when he awoke?

Perhaps he also wouldn’t mind if she searched for substance in his kitchen? That crawfish from last night was long gone.

She located her bag and cellphone and quietly escaped the room, swiping through app notifications that had all but drained her battery.

She stopped in the hallway when she saw she had seven missed calls, three of which were from Tink.

She had a series of missed texts from her as well.

Wendy, please call me.

Wendy, it’s important.

I know I hurt you, but please I need you to call me.

Do you know what happened to Pan? Have you see him at all?

Wendy glanced around and found a random door. The room seemed to be an office of sorts, or a collection room judging by all the memorabilia, but quiet enough to make a phone call.

She called Tink, her stomach turning with apprehension. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had noticed Pan’s absence then.

Tink answered after two rings.

“Wendy!” she said, her voice winded.

“Hey,” Wendy answered uncertainly. “What’s—”

“Where are you?” she cut in. “You – here – as soon as –”

“Tink?” Wendy said, moving around the room for a better signal. “You’re breaking up. What’s going on?”

“Wend—”

The line abruptly went quiet and Wendy cursed when she saw her phone had died.

She tossed her bag on Jones’s desk and untangled her charger from the rest of her belongings.

She squatted down to search under the desk, hoping to see a charging port, but there were too many boxes in the way.

She made a note to tease Jones’s about his hoarding as she pulled boxes out of the way, one of which was surprisingly lite and came out easily.

She stumbled a bit, tipping the box over and causing its contents to spill.

“Bloody hell,” she growled, her hands gathering the sheets of papers that had slipped out.

She shouldn’t have looked. Maybe it was journalist instincts that caused her to look down. It was defiantly trauma that made her bolt back when she saw the face on the paper.

Jekyll.

“No.”

No…no no…

It couldn’t be. How could Jones … why would he …

Her opposite hand fluttered around her, searching desperately for something to grab on to.

It brushed against something hard—a beeper? Hand’s shaking, she picked it up. She wasn’t sure what force was making her turn it on. She should be throwing it.

But it came to life and revealed its secrets.

WHY HAVEN’T YOU RESPONDED?

COMPRIMISED. BLUE EYES FOUND.

“Blue eyes,” Wendy pondered before the bluest pair of eyes she knew flashed across her mind. “Belle?”

PITY. YOU ARE NO LONGER OF ANY USED TO ME THEN.

GOODBYE.

That was it, and if Wendy had to guess Jekyll had had his brains blown out after receiving that message.

She dropped the beeper, wiping her hands frantically on her dress, not wanting any part of her on him.

She had been searching for Pan that night at the club. He had disappeared. She thought he abandoned her.

Jones had it. All this evidence that had been taken from…where? His secret lab under the hospital…

The car his corpse had been rotting in?

“I … I …”

Panic was setting in. The roots of her hair were standing straight up.

She could see Jekyll’s rotting corpse so clearly.

Pan had been there too. Talking to her. Keeping her from losing her mind.

She was searching for him in a sea of strangers. She felt so lost.

There had to be a logical explanation, right? Jones just picked up the beeper, found it somewhere …

She glanced at the overturned box again, full of Jekyll’s fucking face.

He didn’t pull them out of a dead man’s car, did he?

“Wendy?”

He heard him stop, seeing the mess around her.

She looked up at him and saw everything. The guilt of being caught, the secret of a man who had too many secrets.

And she knew right then that Jekyll wasn’t the only one.

It was like an arrow had gone straight through her skull, carrying a physical rage and boiling hurt that settled into one acidic fire.

She shot around, staring at the man who shot her, but only one thing—one person—had squirmed past the pain.

Pan hadn’t abandoned her…

And she needed him now.

She abandoned him.

“Where is he?”

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Yeah, I don’t write sex scenes sorry ;p

Still, sorry for the, what, year-long wait? Yikes. Going through some stuff and I just haven’t felt like writing. Trying to get into again, so hold on tight!

#darling pan #darling pan fic #papers and sleuthers #wendy darling #peter pan #ouat #ouat fic #ryik's fics #captain hook #killian jones

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sebastianshaw · 3 years ago

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House of M fic

( @sammysdewysensitiveeyes @the-home-kvetch Toad has a cameo in the second section and Pyro in the third. They basically disappear after that, though, then reappear at the very end for a brief but heroic mention , so if you only want to read those parts I shan’t be offended! I read a lot of stuff only for my own faves and then tap out, lol! The Gai are not Marvel canon. I needed some Generic Alien Invaders, so that’s what I came up with!) “So, now that you’ve seen what A.I.M. can truly do. . . can I count on your continued support?” Dr. Monica Rappaccini knew that she had taken a big risk bring a civilian to their Australian base and revealing so much of their operation here. But this civilian, a Ms. Radha Dastoor, given the moniker “Haven” years ago for her good deeds, had the same goals as her---human liberation from the boot of mutantkind. And what set Haven apart from so many other “sapiens” who wished the same was her resources; the woman was ridiculously rich. She’d already been a generous donator to A.I.M’s more. . .legitimate faces, mainly concerning supplying disenfranchised human communities with medicine, clean water, and access to education. And some of her gifts had gone to these, as had been promised, but many had actually been funneled to A.I.M itself for its more. . .radical usage. Indeed, Monica was willing to bet a fair few pieces in this very facility were purchased indirectly by the unwitting Ms. Dastoor. But she wasn’t unwitting anymore. Monica’s agents had been easing her into more and more illicit aspects of their activism. While she didn’t seem ready to condone violence, she had expressed that she did not condemn it in an oppressed people either, just has she not condemned mutantkind for the same before the world’s tables had turned. Monica felt in this woman a kindred spirit, someone who wanted to even the balance, to help the helpless, and who, despite her pacifist demeanor, understood more deeply than she let on that breaking--or blowing up---a few eggs was a necessary ingredient in that omelette. She just couldn’t say so publicly, or the Red Guard would have her head in a second. Even her peaceful, benign activism surely had her on a few watchlists just because of how prominent she was. But here, she could speak freely. And Monica thought she knew what she would say. Monica thought wrong. Now, if Haven had had something affecting her mind, say a demonic entity of evil and chaos speaking to her at the most vulnerable moment of her life, Monica might have more than likely swayed her. But being in a stable mental state — “I am truly sorry, Dr. Rappaccini,” she said, and to her credit she did look it, “But I cannot be party to this methods. I understand the desperation that has driven you to them, and I even admire the---” “How can you say that?” Monica demanded, “After all I have shown you?!” “It is because you have shown me, Dr. Rappaccini, that I--” Haven was cut off again---this time by the klaxon alarm blaring throughout the building. ***

The Red Guard was storming the base. The technological hurdles had been considerable to get over, but once those were overcome by the tech division---S.H.I.E.L.D’S mutant technopaths helped considerably with that---the sheer physical power of the agents was practically bulldozing the poor A.I.M guards. Agent “Toad” Toynbee used his agility to spring off the walls and land on the agents shoulders, jumping from on to the other, knocking them off balance with each landing, allowing his fellow agents to hit them while they were distracted. His comrade and friend Agent “Nightcrawler” Darkholme used his teleportation to scout ahead, Agent “Marrow” Rushman punctured organs and blocked guns by firing bone spikes right up the weaponry barrels, while Agent “Rogue” Darkholme and Agent “Diamond Lil” Crawley simply barreled and brawled their way through every body in their path like the bruisers they were. “Too easy!” Crawley bragged as she slugged one of the guards, who had practically been propelled into her fist by the thrust of Toad’s feet. “Precisely”, concurred Director Shaw gruffly, and he grabbed the nearest scientist before the cowering woman could flee. They were deep in enough that the brains the operation were starting to be sighted between the garish yellow A.I.M. suits. And unlike those suits, the white coats over office casual clothes worn by the scientists exposed skin. Just hands and faces, the occasional legs from beneath a mid-length sensible skirt, but that was more than enough. “Agent Darkholme,” he said, and though he did not specify WHICH Darkholme he meant, Rogue knew it was her. She removed a glove and brushed a single finger against the woman’s whimpering face for the briefest of moments. If Shaw wasn’t telling her to dig deep, that meant she didn’t have to, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to go sucking someone’s whole psyche into hers just for fun. But she got enough to confirm what Shaw was suspecting---a trap. “We gotta get out, y’all!” she exclaimed, the whites of her eyes widening, “If someone gets past the guards, there’s orders to blow the place to kingdom co---” *** The clearing that had once been green and dotted with trees was now scorched black, dotted with flaming wreckage of what had once been the AIM base and the bloodied, moaning remains of what had once been its members. “Save any survivors you can!” Shaw barked, “We need them for interrogation! And Allerdyce, get out here and get the fires under control! This is potoroo country!” Shaw, Rogue, and Crawley all possessed mutations that allowed them to survive the blast, allowing Nightcrawler to only need to get Toad, Marrow, and Pyro out, which he could do in one trip, albeit an exhausting one, and on to the safety of their jet. Thus, they were all safe, though Darkholme was winded and done for the day. Hearing Shaw’s command over his earpiece, Agent St. John “Pyro” Allerdyce made a swift thanks to his teammate and ran out to push the flames back from touching the rest of the forest. Potoroos were a protected species, and their safety was of utmost importance in the House of M! Meanwhile, Rogue and Crawley dug through the wreckage, the former tossing car-sized hunks of metal aside like pillows and the latter just punching a path through it, as Marrow pinned down anyone who attempted to flee using bone spears---through their clothes, since Shaw insisted on them alive—and Toad tripped them up with his tongue before pulling them back so their leader could place them in cuffs. “That’s all of them!” the amphibious mutant proclaimed proudly as the last yellow-suited AIM member—the last MOVING one, anyway---was hauled into the jet. “Clear out then” Shaw ordered, surveying the scene a final time. Something caught his eye. “Wait---Allerdyce! Those flames there, in the center---get them somewhere else, there’s someone caught in the center!” “Get them somewhere else, he says, like I can just freaking teleport them or some shit,” Pyro muttered, but he cleared the flames, revealing indeed something who had been surrounded by them. It was a wonder that her long hair and salwar kameez---yes, Pyro know the term for it, thank you---hadn’t been caught alight, but more miraculous by far was the way the wreckage encased her in such a way that she had been protected from harm. She just also couldn’t get out. Not on her own, anyway. Shaw strode towards her, flanked by the flames that Pyro had pushed aside Moses-style. He took the cage apart carefully, knowing that pulling out the wrong piece could bring the whole thing crashing down on the woman inside. It wouldn’t have mattered much to him if this had just been another AIM flunkie; they had more than enough for the Psy Division to scan for intel. But this woman. . . he recognized her, and he didn’t know what she was doing here---though he had a hunch---and he wasn’t about to let her be hurt. Not until he had the full story. “Don’t try anything, dirtbag!” Marrow hollered, coming to Shaw’s side as the last of the metal prison was removed from the soon-to-be prisoner, bones ready to hurl should she make one move that the mutants didn’t like. “That won’t be necessary, Agent Rushman,” said Shaw calmly, not looking away from the woman, to whom he reached out a hand, “Can you stand? Please, let me help you. There we are. Lean on me. We’ll have you treated for any injuries immediately. And. . . Radha Dastoor, it is my duty to inform you, that you are under arrest.” *** The AIM prisoners had been brought in, read their rights---such as their were---and the charges brought against them, given their prison jumpsuits, and put in holding awaiting prosecution after the Psi Division got through them. That was what counted for interrogation these days. The crude, ineffective ways of sapien grilling and guesswork were over. But Director Shaw still speaking with one of them personally. Just one. “Our telepaths confirm your story, Ms. Dastoor,” he said. The pair of them were seated on either side of a table. Shaw was still in his uniform. . . Haven, in her newly issued one. Orange was a good color on her, though perhaps not fitting in this amount. She was cuffed as per protocol, and while Shaw did things by the book, his eye twitched slightly at the sheer absurdity of it. But he did not remove them. He didn’t get where he was by making exceptions. “We know you were not knowingly in league with Dr. Rappaccini,” he continued, “But we also know that you did knowingly aid and abet several illicit activities.” “Yes,” Haven replied calmly, with neither coldness nor defiance, but nor any submission or remorse, “I did.” It was matter of fact, and perfectly polite. “Your forthcomingness strengthens the decision I’ve made,” he said, his own voice also matter of fact, though his was more frank and detached, “To advocate for leniency in your case. You have been cooperative, you have denied nothing---as some people do even when faced with their own memories as evidence---and, as noted, you were not involved in Rappaccini or AIM’s terrorist activities. Your crimes, rather, have been more along the lines of providing funds, food, and medicines to, say, illegal protestors. Given your history, I am inclined to believe you will not escalate to more extreme measures, and should not be considered a public threat.” “I appreciate that, Director Shaw.” “It’s not a gift, Ms. Dastoor. Merely my professional opinion.” “Nonetheless, I do.” “I do have to ask you now, because you will be asked on the stand---once you have served your time and are duly released, will you cease in all such activities?” “No, Director Shaw.” There was a long, grim silence. “Ms. Dastoor, I cannot give you my recommendation for a reduced sentence if I believe that you will re-offend.” “It would be very disrespectful of me to lie to you now, Director Shaw, just to help myself, after you have shown me such goodwill.” “There will be no goodwill, Ms. Dastoor, if you do not.” The conversation didn’t last long after that. He soon escorted her back to her cell. A private one, to protect her from the AIM prisoners. “You can ask the guards from anything within reason and it will be provided to you if possible. if you feel you have been mistreated in any way, get word to me and something will be done about it if your claim proves true. Shaw wasn’t bending any rules for her. None of this was outside the law, or even a gray area. It just wasn’t something he had ever told any prisoner short of the occasional foreign royal who had fucked up but still had to be handled with care to avoid political disaster. As Haven started to thank him for the courtesy, an alarmed voice called over the intercom, ”Director Shaw---the AIM prisoners! They’re all dead!” *** The one person that hadn’t been recovered from the base was the real prize---Monica Rappaccini herself. The assumption of SHIELD was that she had escaped before setting off the blast; the idea she’d simply been blown to pieces was too optimistic. In fact, neither was the case. Monica had a much safer plan than escaping the building---she’d stayed in it. More specifically, in a blast-proof container specifically survived to withstand it, which dropped down a shoot far underground where the bomb wouldn’t reach it anyway, and she wouldn’t be found by the accursed Red Guard. The fools---they hadn’t brought a psychic to sweep for any minds missing, but it wouldn’t have mattered, the tech was telepath-proof too. If only they could do that for the entire place, but alas, it was difficult, tricky, tended to only work on a small scale. But that was enough for her. Once the danger had passed, Monica emerged and got in contact with her best agent---Thasanee Rapaccini, aka the Scorpion. Monica’s daughter. In another world, her name was Carmilla Black and she worked for SHIELD, against her own mother! But in this world, Monica had raised her, and raised her well. She was a (mostly, usually, except for a hiccup) loyal agent to AIM and mommy dearest, and she wanted to see the mutant tyranny she’d grown up under fall as much as Monica did. But, like all teenagers, she could be a bit rebellions. Like questioning her mother. Something Monica would never have allowed her to do and survive if she hadn’t been her own preciously bio-engineered flesh and blood. ”Is that really necessary, mother?” Thasanee asked when given her new mission, ”They’ve already psy-scanned all the agents by now for sure anyway. What are they going to get from that lady’s mouth that they didn’t get from our guy’s brains?” ”It’s not about containing information,” Monica explained, ”It’s about public opinion. Haven can do more damage to us now than Magneto himself. She’s well-respected by the rest of the humans rights activist movement and even by many mutants. If she publicly denounces our cause, it will rob us of countless new recruits, funding, everything. She’s the most dangerous threat of all---a moderate. Do you see now? They’ll offer her a deal--leniency for collaborating with us, so long as she denounces A.I.M and everything we stand for. And people, even those who share our goals, our beliefs, will listen.” ”You really think she would?” Thasanee asked “I mean, all that good stuff she did for humans. . . maybe she’s just not cut out for our work. You’ve said yourself not everyone is. But that doesn’t mean she’d hang us out to dry.” ”I wish I had your faith in people,” Monica sighed, and it was true. She certainly wished she could be certain that Radha Dastoor wouldn’t do exactly that. But, she’d been so sure that Haven, who shared her cause, would join her and begin providing direct funding, and she couldn’t have been more wrong about that. So she couldn’t take a chance on Radha here either. ”And listen,” Thasanee continued, “If you’re worried about us looking bad, won’t we look WORSE if we kill her? I think that’s what REALLY would get people mad at us! Our own allies too! ”Thasanee,” Monica’s voice turned sweet, cajoling, truly motherly, as she put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and looked loving into the girl’s green eyes, ”My beloved child. I know this is difficult to understand. But Radha Dastoor dying mysteriously while in S.H.I.E.L.D custody would be very, very good for our cause. A peaceful activist, a nonviolent offender, a model moderate. . .and after her arrest by the Red Guard, who claim such a person was in cahoots with a terrorist organization, she dies while in their hands, and they try to blame that same organization? My dear. . .connect the dots the way the Average Joe would, and see what conclusion it brings you. The kind that makes the opposition look like the monsters we know they are.” Thasanee was a clever child, and she clearly got exactly what her mother was saying. Her conflict was clear on her face, her lip twisting in thought, her eyes flitting doubtfully downwards. But she reached the right answer, as Monica knew she would. ”I’ll do it, mother. You can count on me.” *** ”So what happened to them?” Jessica Drew asked as Agent Darkholme---Mystique, who had not been on the earlier mission---returned from attending to the matter of the AIM agents dropping dead. ”Chemical implant,” Mystique replied, “Rappaccini must have put it in them when they joined up with AIM. Probably to “motivate” them if they ever get cold feet. Or, in this case, fail her by getting captured.” ”G’awful way t’go,” Rogue shuddered. Whenever she had any doubts about what the Red Guard did, people like AIM reminded her who the good guys were. ”What I wanna know,” said Agent Crawley, “is who is this Dastoor broad, that she gets the royal treatment from Sebastian Stick-Up-His-Ass Shaw?” ”No idea,” Rogue said, putting her cooling coffee to her lips. “Before your time, daughter,” Mystique explained, ”Back when mutants were actively oppressed by humanity, before the rise of Emperor Magnus, Radha “Haven” Dastoor was one of the few sapiens on our side.” ”Our side?” Rogue looked intrigued. ”A sapien?” Crawley looked doubtful. ”Oh, she didn’t go all out for us, not by a long shot,” Mystique scoffed, “Don’t get the wrong idea---she was a peaceful protester. Didn’t get anything done. But. . .she did reach a lot of her own kind, or try. And ran with a very upscale crowd, so there was. . . influence, I suppose. Ran some shelters and such.” The blue-skinned woman sniffed slightly, torn between wanting to give credit where credit was due, but also not wanting to oversell the woman as a saint when she’d barely done the bare minimum in Raven’s view. ”Anyway. Now that the tables have turned, so has she. She’s all about her OWN kind’s rights now. As if things are as bad for them as it was for us. Ha! Not even on our best day back then, were we ever treated with the grace that Magnus has granted THEM. But trust a human to not even be able to stomach a DILUTED taste of their own medicine. She shrugged her azure shoulders, “But since Director Shaw is old enough to remember her work---such as it was---I suppose he thinks she’s earned some professional courtesy. And he is, after all, nothing if not professional.” *** As promised, Haven was well treated while she was held at the Australian S.H.I.E.L.D base. She would be taken to Genosha to stand trial tomorrow, but in the meantime. . . In the meantime, Thasanee Rappaccini had spent all evening infiltrating the base successfully without setting off any alarm to her presence. It was no mean feat, as one might imagine, but she had been trained for this from birth. Not infiltration specifically, but anything and everything relevant to taking down Magnus’s mutant-supremascist empire. And, much like how many unlucky souls never noticed a scorpion in their shoe before it was too late, this Scorpion had creeped in subtle as a shadow, unheard and unseen and undetected by man, mutant, or machine. And now. . .now she had a clear shot with her Stinger, as she called her left arm from which she fired energy bolts containing concentrated toxins. Like the Rappccini’s daughter of myth, Thasanee was literally poisonous. Yeah, she was pretty sure her mother hadn’t been born with that surname. Haven didn’t even notice as the slim girl slid into the room. She was busy tending to a flower in a pot, to Thasanee’s surprise. Who had given her that? Scorpion had expected to find the captive in chains, not--- BOOM! CRASH! The entire base rocked as Scorpion’s eardrums rang, and it wasn’t just shock that made it difficult for her to keep her balance. Thas had a clear shot, not for any gun but her Stinger; the name she had given her left arm, from which she fired the accumulation of toxins and poisons her naturally immune body stored in her left lymph node. Then crash that rattled entire base. A klaxon began to sound, reminding her unpleasantly of the one that had blared throughout the AIM base before its destruction. Yells, shouts, and more smashes reached her ears through the alarm as well. Thasanee had just enough time to wonder if her mother had sent Adaptoids to attack the place before one of the hulking culprits burst through the wall, sending Thasanee leaping into the hiding among the dust and debris; she could hear Haven cough from the same, but, she noted, the woman never screamed. Odd. Maybe she was too petrified too. She’d seemed like such a refined ladylike priss, Thas would have thought--- The Gai. That’s what was causing all this. Thas had encountered them a few times before. They were alien invaders, huge and monstrous, looked part insect and part reptile with a turtle-like shell from which their six limbs extended. Some wore additional hi-tech battle armor but this one was bare. All of them were the same thought; they didn’t care who they killed, only that they killed everyone. Human or mutant, warrior or prisoner, all Earthlings were the same to them. Something to be wiped out. Why, no one knew yet; telepaths couldn’t get in their heads and they were seldom in the mood to talk, though Haven seemed to be trying as the beast advanced. Thas was about to--- BONK! It was an almost comical sound, followed by a crack, as the force from Director Shaw’s fist collided with the stone-like shell of the Gai and, a moment after impact, splintered it. Where did he come from?! Scorpion wondered, then saw he must have rushed in after it through the hole it left, then leaped on to its back to strike his blow. And then another. And another. He was hitting it with every step he made over its back, but once he got to its head, it tossed him like a rodeo rider being thrown from a bull before he could punch its ugly skull in. Scorpion wasn’t sure who she was rooting for. Shaw was launched into the bars of Haven’s cell, and they bent in under the force of his indestructible body like overcooked noodles. Haven, luckily for her, had moved out of the way, and he wasted no time getting in front of her as the Gai advanced. Scorpion wasn’t sure how smart the Gai were--no one knew if they were sapient beings or merely mindless drones sent down to fight by a greater intelligence---but she for one thought it must be thinking how convenient it was that Shaw had taken down this obstacle for it. Until he wrenched off the end of a bar and impaled it through the Gai’s bulbous multifaceted left eye. However alien this creature might be, it had a commonality with most beings on Earth, which was that getting a long sharp metal rod jammed into your skull was an unpleasant sensation, and the Gai responded in kind, reeling back and . . .shrieking? Scorpion wasn’t sure that was the right word for it. She wasn’t sure there was a word to describe it. Like all the sound files in the world glitching at once. She had to cover her ears, but Shaw was apparently part deaf---it was the only explanation---because he didn’t even pause as he grabbed Haven and ran. Scorpion was fairly sure he didn’t see her on the way out though; the Director clearly had bigger things on his mind. Like the Gai, which was more dangerous than ever as it thrashed around in pain. Scorpion supposed to humane thing was to put it out of its misery. . . not to mention, it’d be valuable to know how susceptible they were to poison. . . But she had a target already, and it had just breezed by her in a bright orange jumpsuit. No time for mercy kills; Scorpion followed them. She didn’t notice who was following her too. *** Shaw lead Haven at a rapid pace through the sleek corporate-esque hallways of the building, which were even more rapidly being destroyed. They dodged the claws of more Gai, huge chunks of falling walls and ceilings, sprays of crumbling dust that she might inhale. . . or rather, Shaw dodged the claws and dragged Haven with him, shielded her with his force-absorbing body from the falling walls and ceilings, and commanded her to hold her breath through the crumbling dust from the destruction. He faced a few more Gai on the way out, and while hurting them was easy once they provided him with enough energy, keeping Haven safe---his priority---was difficult to do in tandem. But Shaw was professional, and Shaw was experienced, and Shaw not only got her out alive, she didn’t have a scratch on her. “Everyone good?” he said into his ear piece as he steered Haven towards the door that would lead them out at last. In addition to guarding her, he’d been guiding the Red Guard and the rest of the personnel as best he could over the communicator. “I’m getting the prisoner secured, after that we can---hello?! Over?! Over?!” The line had gone dead. It could be an accident during the destruction. But Shaw wasn’t sure about that. He’d figure it out soon. Getting Radha Dastoor to safety came first though. And he believed he had succeeded. They made it out the front doors, to the jet, into the jet--- And then Shaw cried out and fell to the floor, green toxic energy crackling around him. Not the kind he could absorb, either----it was pure concentrated poison. Scorpion stepped out of the shadows. “Took you long enough, old man,” she said, “I made it out way sooner. Of course. . .” Her eyes traveled to Haven, her real target. “. . .I didn’t have a load to carry. You must be tired from that; please, don’t get up.” She fired another blast into Shaw, who had been rising to his feet, despite the fact the first should have been enough to kill him. Haven cried out this time in front of Shaw, throwing herself in front of his fallen form, begging Thasanee to stop. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to you,” Scorpion assured her, “But before I do, I want to know one thing from him.” She addressed Shaw again, “Why has a mutant fascist pig like you been risking your life to defend a human? I saw you in there. You protected her. Why? Is it because of what she used to do for you guys? Has she been a double agent all along? Is she really a mutant?”

“Because. . . “ Shaw croaked, using all the strength he had left just to lift his head as Haven knelt down beside him, “She. . . is the State’s prisoner. And I. . . am a representive of the State. Of SHIELD. Of Emperor Magnus. It is my duty. . .to protect those in our custody.” He took a moment to breathe, and then continued, less labored this time, but still unable to do more than speak. “I find her activism sentimental soft-minded tripe, and I will see her stand trial for the parts of it that break the law---but I shall NOT see her harmed while she is still my responsibility. Not by the Gai, and nor by YOU.” “Wow,” Scorpion said, and she was genuinely impressed, “Ok, so----I don’t take back that you’re a mutant fascist pig, but you’re a mutant fascist pig with some honor. Not gonna lie---I’m surprised. Enough that I’ll let you in one something before you die---I’m not going to kill her.” Both Shaw and Haven looked shocked. “Yeah,” Scorpion said, and answered the question she knew they must have, “My mom wants her dead, and I was sent to do that, but like. . .I’m just going to fake her death, get her out of here, set her up somewhere. That way--” She turned her gaze specifically to Haven, “That way, you can’t denounce us---if that was ever even your plan---without A.I.M knowing you’re alive and killing you for real, so you won’t, right? And I don’t have to kill you for something you haven’t even done, and maybe were never going to. Everybody wins. I mean, except grandpa there, but I count wiping out one more SHIELD fucker---the Director, no less!---a win. Talk about cutting the head from the snake; he’s one step from Emperor Magnus himself!” “I wish I could be proud of you for this, daughter.” As if she had teleported, Monica Rappapccini appeared before her daughter. Who, judging by her reaction, had NOT been expecting this. ”Invisibility device,” Monica tapped a metal bracelet on her wrist, “I’ve been by your side this whole time. And you were doing so well, too. . . .up until now.” She sighed, “I know adolescence is a time to question authority but you have to follow orders even if you find them difficult. That’s really more what this has been than anything---a test to see how far out of line you’ve fallen. The scientist in me, always having to test a hypothesis before I consider it proven. “ “Well, consider it proven, Mom!” Thasanee barked back, her feelings akin to how a normal teenager might react to finding out her parent had been in her room, “Now what! Going to kill ME too?” “Don’t be silly, you’re far too valuable,” Monica tssked, “As are these two as hostages. Dastoor for her money, Shaw for his political worth to the House of Magnus and SHIELD---much as I truly would love to slaughter him in so many ways. Indeed, I think I might just do that anyway once he’s served his purpose. He deserves it. Do you know how many people he has---” And that was when Exodus, Toad, and Pyro teleported onboard and saved the day. They made short work of Dr. Rappaccini, but alas, Scorpion got away. Shaw made a full recovery after receiving medical aid. And Ms. Dastoor awaits trial for her crimes.

#fic #writing #house of m #hom fic

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kaioken16 · 4 years ago

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Sacrificing your Freedom

Mallek Week 2021 - Day 2

Day 2: Sacrifice Word count: 3020 Rating: Teens and Up Character(s): Mallek Adalov, original background characters

AO3 link

A/N: Set in a canon divergent AU as the previous entry but follows are darker route to rebel fighter Mallek. This will be a angst filled piece, mentions of brief torture, pain, and being enslaved.

Summary: Rebel Hacker codenamed ‘Scorist’ is captured and is then brought before a high ranking Imperial general who reveals his secret and he is forced to sacrifice the most important thing to him for his loved ones.

Mallek is led down the hallway of this vessel, a pair of heavily armored guards on each side of him, each carrying a long spear, the blades were teeming with energy which allowed them to discharge very painful bolts of energy. His head hung down, his face was bruised, with dry blood staining his lip and forehead. His uniform was torn all over, cuts and dirt, stained with his own blood. His arms are tightly restrained behind his back, and his ankles were shackled together. He made no attempt to try and fight the chains as any attempt would result in a swift, merciless reprimand from the guards, as evident by the old scorch marks on his clothing and his skin.

He had been careless, an error on his part. During a mission his role was to disable the alarm system as not to alert the imperial guards at a weapon’s warehouse that they were planning to steal supplies from for the rebels, however, he missed a secondary alert system that had recently been installed after the initial intel that had on the facility. From there, it all went downhill, and they didn't have enough time, and he had to think quickly so he provided cover, transferring a copy of the new weapon data and sending it to his friend, but in the end, only half of his team managed to get away, while the other half was caught.

They had been to a detention station located in some random quadrant of this galaxy that was Empire controlled. There he endured the usual torture and interrogation, he held out but his captured friends…

They weren’t so fortunate.

And now, after weeks of this shit, he had brought onto this ship by order of some high-ranking imperial. What did they want? Was it more questioning? If so, why take him off the detention facility? Many questions raced through Mallek’s head, he wasn’t sure what to expect. And his imagination didn’t help, he knew from first hand experience and from the stories of others just how cruel some of these highbloods officers could be. But what could they possibly do to him that was worse than the treatment he had been enduring…

A grimace look spreads on his beaten face, he didn’t wanna entertain those thoughts.

Finally, they arrive before a giant pair of metallic doors. It was decorated and given gold trimming, very expensive. In fact, everything about this ship was expensive, it was an imperial-class Devastator, part of the X-series which were the latest models and these were the next best ships after the Empress’s personal battleship. Owning a vessel like this could only be someone very high up on the imperial chain of command.

One of the guards approaches the set of doors, he then removes his glove, he had his back to Mallek, so he was unable to the symbol that had been tattooed into his palm, he presses it against the security panel, it scans the logo and then a green light pops on the panel. The doors open, slowly pulling away from each other. The guard places his glove back on and takes a seat back, Mallek’s eyes narrow as a means to get a better look at what was awaiting him on the other side.

The other guard shoves Mallek forward as he’s forced to resume walking, they enter the room. Inside was a long table that could seat 10 people, on the left side of the room was a shelf filled with books, data cards, files, and a set of strange look trinkets. On the right was a set of statues each depicting some kind of troll each carrying an actual weapon, it seemed like the statues were made for the sole purpose of advertising the object they were holding rather than the figures who inspired them.

Mallek’s eyes shifted around the room, scanning everything he could see, no escape routes of any kind except for the doors they entered through. But his eyes did stop at the far end of the room, was a massive view of the vast region of space, and admiring the view was a very tall figure, even taller than the guards who were at least 6ft each. The guards stand to attention, taps their spears on the metal floor, and salutes the figure, clearly, this was the big shot in charge of this vessel. “General Ioktex. We’ve brought the prisoner as you instructed.” One of the guards addresses him by his surname. Mallek’s right twitched, that name was familiar to him.

“Very good… You may leave us, wait outside.” Her voice is disguised but Mallek can tell that it’s a woman. The guards do as they are told and exit the room leaving Mallek alone with her.

“Welcome aboard the Devastator.” She raises her arms out gesturing towards the room, clearly referring to this ship as a whole. She turns to face him, still too far away for Mallek to get a better view but a single red glow catches his attention where one of her eyes should be.

“I must say, it is rather thrilling to meet a male blue caste. Such a rarity.”

She approaches him, her figure coming into his line of vision. He can see another troll, much older than him possibly in her mid-to-late 30s, waist-length black hair that is noticeably curled at the ends despite being otherwise relatively straight with parts of her hair covering her right eye, her left eye was completely red, as if blood and seeped through her pupil and iris, but it wasn’t blind, she could see through it.

Her mouth was covered by a mask that was the source of her altered voice. Her outfit was a long blue dress, but the shoulders were fitted with armor and a chest plate which had a pattern in the shape of crisscross with four points at each end. She wore boots that made a heavy sound each time she took a step on the floor. A high-powered blaster was strapped to her hip. From the colors that donned her attire and her previous statement, it was clear by the colors her outfit adorned, that she purple caste.

“Allow me to introduce myself properly, my name is-”

“Adrani Ioktex. General of the 20th division. Conqueror of the Andrax and Nova systems. Also known as ‘The Empress’s Spear’. I know who and what you are…” Mallek spat out in disgust knowing who she was, remembering the name and her unique features.

“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.” Her voice is filled with glee that Mallek was aware of who she was. Though Mallek doesn’t react, his face remaining blank and neutral not wanting to show any emotion.

“The same can be said for you, the mysterious hacker and rebel operative responsible for the destruction, theft, and reprogramming of many of our imperial drones for your own cause, the genius who is known simply as the ‘SCORIST’.”

She refers to Mallek by his codename, the alias he went by after joining the rebellion, the handle he used when hacking into the systems and stealing from various targets. He had made a name for himself and used it to hide his name for safety and personal reasons as he had secrets and people to protect associated with his real name. Only his close friends and those he trusted knew his real name, he had made sure to erase any and all records of his name he could find.

“Congratulations, you’ve done your homework…” He responds to her conclusion with a sarcastic tone.

She grins at him. “But of course. I’ve done my research and know full well about your past… Adalov.”

Mallek’s face showed a look of shock, and he immediately returned to a neutral look. How did she know his last name? That wasn’t possible. But unfortunately, the general had noticed the brief change of his expression. “Oh yes, I know your real name… Mallek Adalov.”

“Truly you were quite careful in erasing yourself from the records when you betrayed the Empire and defected. A young information spy killed in a crossfire on a mission, just another body to add to the pile of the dead… Another random troll who no one would miss or consider.”

“But you survived the skirmish, and then used your hacking abilities to erase your records… And then found yourself among the rebels. It was a brilliant move. However, you left footprints and breadcrumbs that most would overlook… So I began my investigation into you, studying your trail, your mark left on the servers and drones.” She starts to walk around Mallek.

“You kept your face hidden, rarely coming out in the open and providing support to your team. So I created a scenario that would bring you out in the open.”

Mallek looks at her, realizing that the factory mission had been a trap for him, she had orchestrated it to lure him out. Which meant his captured teammates deaths were, even more, his fault. Mallek couldn’t hide his anger, gritting his teeth, hands balled into fists.

“The final part was identifying you. You were able to remove yourself from most of the off-world servers and you were still fairly new, and you even stopped wearing your sign which would be an obvious tell.”

“But you can’t access any of the homeworld data after being shipped off… Records of you back home still exist after all.”

His eyes widened, he knew that any trace of him that still existed would still remain on Alternia but no adults could return there, it was heavily guarded and the Empress or her heiress would be alerted if an adult troll was spotted on the planet.

“Once you were captured, got a photo of you and then crossed references across the homeworld data, found your sign and then your real name.”

“What do you want?” He says in a slow, angry tone. He hated this, he hated when he wasn’t in control of a situation but she had all the cards.

“To make you a deal.” Her statement caught him off guard, confused by that.

“It must be hard having to follow the noble traditions of your people. A blue caste such as yourself serving as a mere soldier or spy within Her Imperious Condescension’s army. You would’ve preferred to be an information specialist, but your talents and skill as a genius hacker would never be utilized by her the Empress… It’s no wonder you feel so at home with traitors and rebels, allowing you to express your talents freely.”

“But even I must admit that your talents were wasted as a spy. I admire your work, it’s taken 3 years but you developed into a true specialist. So far from the timid anxious boy who feared being shipped off-world 5 years ago…”

“Shut up.” He demands, not wanting to listen to her words. He didn’t need a reminder, and she didn’t know him. She knew nothing about his struggles or his life.

“So I’m offering you an alternative.”

“You can spend the rest of your days rotting away in my detention facility. Dying in some dark, small cell or being beaten to death by some random prisoner… Or you can work for me, become my personal specialist and gather information on my enemies.” She states her offer to him which makes Mallek look at her with a confused look.

“What? Why would I work for someone like you?” Mallek snaps back, he would rather rot in that prison than work for her. Of course, she was expecting that response from him, which makes her chuckle.

“Your rebel friends. The rest of your group that escaped, and the ones you're protecting. And the reason you chose to use an alias and remove your name from the records…” She leans in close and whispers something into Mallek’s ear.

All the color fades from his face, a genuine look of fear and surprise as she pulls away smirking at him. “Your fate is in my hands Mallek Adalov, and if you want their safety to be ensured along with the safety of your own rebel cell, you will take my offer. I have no interest in small fry like your team, the rebel cells are divided, unorganized and there are more major threats, larger groups, and more important matters to deal with.”

“I will overlook your friends, and keep what’s most precious to you safe.” She informs him as a ringing noise begins to fill his ears, this wasn’t happening? This couldn’t be real? How? How could she have known about them, and how could he have been so careless…

What choice does he have now?

Mallek, with a defeated look in his eyes. Looks down, biting his lower lip.

“Good. Your silence is a reassurance that you’ve chosen wisely.” She smirks before taking the nearest seat at the table. “From this moment on, you belong to me. You are a tool and item, and a piece on my board to help me reach higher and eliminate my enemies and rivals. You will never see your comrades again, you have sacrificed your freedom in exchange for the ones you love, and for them…”

“Yes…” Mallek responds, his voice broken with acceptance.

“Very good. Welcome abroad SCORIST.” She grins, before standing up, she presses a button built into the table, and the doors open once again revealing the guards who had been waiting patiently. “Please take him to his quarters, and get him some new clothes.”

Years later…

The location was a planet in a far-off galaxy, it was the next site for the Empire’s eyes. It was full of valuable resources, from rare minerals, being the center of this galaxy, to serve as another controlled planet, and its people as slaves to help build the new facilities. The first steps of the invasion plan, first a team would be sent to infiltrate and survey the world, and general Ioktex had been dispatched to oversee this mission, and she had sent her team to go in first. A small vessel arrives over the planet and begins to break through the atmosphere. Inside the small vessel. Were four trolls, each dressed in imperial uniforms with their caste colors and general Ioktex’s sign engraved on random spots of their uniform, symbolizing that allegiance to her.

Piloting the ship, was a tall tealblood, his eyes focusing dead ahead to their destination, checking all the system and making their cloaking device was functioning. A slim blueblood and hulking purpleblood armed to the teeth with weapons and armor, both were wearing helmets to cover most of their faces. And sitting in another seat, typing away and looking at the monitor was Mallek. His expression was cold and dead, his eyes barely moving as he shifted through data, and attached to his neck was a collar device that was blinking. He has several holographic screens around his face. He waits for the virus to download into the flash drive he has plugged in, and once the bar fills and 100% appears, he removes it from the port.

“Here.” He tosses the drive to the other blueblood, who catches it.

“Once you get to a server, insert the flash drive in and we’ll access the mainframe. The virus will be uploaded and we’ll have all the information we need.”

She examines the device in her hand “Huh? It’s that simple huh? What about firewalls and security systems or-”

Mallek cuts her off “Don’t worry about it. It’s a multiagent virus, it’ll be infecting too many systems at once to mask what we’re really doing. Just get in, stay hidden, and don’t let anything happen to the drive.”

“Alright, fair enough. You’re the expert. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” She smiles trying to make small talk but Mallek doesn’t even look at her, not interested in her or any of them.

“We’ll be landing shortly.” The pilot says as he presses some buttons. “Boosting cloaking shield.”

Suddenly a pained groan is heard at the back of the ship. In the generator room, strapped and bound into the ship, by tendrils was a gold caste troll, colorful energy surges through his eyes and then around his body as it is absorbed through the tendrils, powering the ship up. This was the norm for goldblood, but in this one’s case, it was a punishment. He was a rebel agent who had been captured and as punishment, he had been bound to his vessel as a living battery.

The rebels had adapted to using ships powered by alternative means as opposed to the living batteries on gold castes. After all exhaustion and overuse would result in the gruesome, permanent damage or painful deaths of the psionic trolls. But the empire would just replace them with another. Of course like the rebels, the empire did have ships and vessels that were also powered by other non-living energy sources. Only the older models and generation still used living batteries, as a reward by the Empress as goldbloods could last longer than fuel.

Every groan or scream he made was ignored by the crew, the purpleblood, in particular, found it to be soothing and enjoyed the cries of pain. Mallek was forced to endure this, and do nothing. The device around his neck was a precaution that the general had used to further keep him in line. Containing a powerful explosion that would activate at the push of a button or he made any attempt to remove or hack the wiring.

He had sacrificed his freedom, in order to protect what was dearest to him…

And now he was once again a servant to the Empire, an unwilling servant and this would be his life for now until the end of his life. A slave who was no different than that poor soul in the generator, no different from the inhabitants on the planet below who would soon be enslaved and lose their freedom.

He sighs before returning his view to his screen. “Let’s begin…”

#mallekweek2021 #mallekweek #mallek week 2021 #mallek adalov #fanfiction #fanfic #hiveswap fanfiction #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #hiveswap act 2 #hiveswap mallek #sci-fi #angst #canon divergent au #au #sacrifice #freedom #mallek week day 2 #my writing

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stormfall1327 · 4 years ago

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Part 2 of For What It’s Worth! Still planning some revisions, but it’s at least finished! Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28964154/chapters/71075985

For What It’s Worth - Part 2

V flops over onto her back with a huff and slings her arm over her eyes. Another restless night. Reaching over to grab her phone, she lifts her arm and squints at the screen. 0010. Son of a bitch. This is the third time in the last hour she’s woken up, her mind too full of… everything. Resigning herself to the fact that she won’t be falling back to sleep any time soon, she rolls out of bed with a groan and pads barefoot over to her closet.

“Might as well see what’s keepin’ the rest of Night City awake,” she mutters, pulling on her favorite pair of jeans and an old tank. She slips on her leather boots and grabs a plaid flannel shirt from a hanger, pulling it on as she heads for the door with a sigh.

V steps out of her apartment complex and instinctively heads west toward Bradbury Street. In the distance, she hears the gentle roll of thunder above the noise of the streets. Paying no attention to where she’s headed, her mind wanders as she walks, thoughts ranging from her growing list of opened gigs to whether she remembered to eat today.

A few minutes later, she’s torn from her reverie as the first drops of rain start to fall. Glaring up at the sky and cursing under her breath, she ducks into the nearest alley and suddenly realizes where she is. She’d subconsciously made her way to Vik’s clinic. She’s immediately comforted by the green neon glow above his door. Guess he couldn’t sleep, either, she thinks with a smile.

She heads down the stairs, her mind already feeling lighter knowing she’ll be in commiserate company. Just before she reaches the gate, she spots a bloody footprint leading away from the clinic. She calls out to him as she rounds the corner, voice echoing feebly off the concrete and when she reaches the metal gate, her stomach drops into her shoes.

“Oh, FUCK. Vik!” V runs to him, heart crashing against her ribs as she takes in the scene in front of her. Fuck, is this all his?

Vik is slumped over on the operating chair, right hand pressed to his side as blood seeps between his fingers and pools on the floor. He’s coated in a thin sheen of sweat and his face is too pale, but at least he’s still breathing. She crouches down in front of him and cups her hand under his chin to lift his head.

“Hey, V,” he mumbles with a weak smile, eyes fluttering open to look at her.

“Jesus Christ, Vik! What the fuck happened to you?,” she asks, desperately trying to keep her voice from cracking. She reaches for his hand to pull it from his side, but he resists, letting out a pained grunt.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, move your hand so I can see!”

He shakes his head and chuckles, face scrunching into a grimace at the movement. “Heh. Just a scratch. Asshole sure caught me off guard, though.” He huffs out a breath. “‘Sides, I’m the doctor here.” He winks at her before dropping his head again, a fresh gush of blood pouring out over his hand.

“Yeah, a fucking doctor who was gonna, what, let ‘imself bleed out all over the goddamn floor? Why the hell didn’t you call me?! Or Misty?! Or fucking Trauma, for that matter?!” She leaps to her feet, letting out a frustrated yell, hurt and anger and fear bubbling to the surface.

“Told ya. S’not that bad. I’m — fine.”

Her optics flash in warning as she scans him. “S’not that bad,” she mocks as she rolls her eyes. “Says the man who’s blood pressure is in the fucking toilet. You may be the doctor here, but I’m not about to stand here and watch you take one for the fucking team. I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

She pushes him back against the chair a little more roughly than she truly intends to and grabs his hand again, pleading at him with her eyes. Let me help you.

“So, you wanna be my nurse, huh?” He waggles his eyebrows at her, but the gesture falls short as he finally pulls his hand away with a wince.

She laughs as she reaches over him to grab some scissors, gauze and betadine from the side table. “Dunno about a nurse, but I spent the last two years hangin’ with Atlanta’s best medics. Picked up a few tricks from ‘em that I’m sure’ll come in real handy about now. Also, sorry about your shirt.”

Before he can say anything, she grabs his lapels and yanks her hands apart, sending buttons flying before grabbing the scissors and cutting through his undershirt.

“Hey - !”

“Thought you were the doctor here? Just part of the job, right?” She gives him a wink and sets to work cleaning around the wound to get a better idea of what she’s working with. The puncture is deep, but clean and still bleeding heavily. “Hmm. Well-approximated. Clean edges. Must not have been a serrated blade. Should be easy enough to suture,” she says mostly to herself before glancing up at him. She feels her cheeks heat up when she catches him staring at her.

“Your, uh, pressure’s still shit though. Lost quite a bit of blood. Gonna at least need at least a liter or two of fluid to compensate.” She grabs the gauze and presses it to his side to try and staunch some of the bleeding, flinching when he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Huh. Guess those guys did teach you well.” He covers her hand with his and her stomach flips at the contact. “Suture and IV kits are in the drawer next to the desk, and - you should find some LR in one of the cabinets on the back wall.” She nods and pulls her hand away with a small smile. “Thanks. Hold that for me, ya? Be right back.”

She finds what she needs easily enough and begins arranging her supplies on the side table, peeling open the IV kit.

“Fifty eddies says you can’t hit it first stick.”

She gives him a look, but says nothing as she applies the tourniquet and cleans his arm with alcohol . 10 seconds later, she’s taping down a perfect 16g IV in his forearm and hooking him up to a liter of Lactated Ringers, sliding the clamp down to let it run wide open.

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, color me impressed. Now, let’s see if you can suture half as well as you started that IV,” he says with a wink.

Her face flushes at the praise. “Keep eggin’ me on like that and I’ll stitch up more than your wound, old man,” she says without bite, leveling her best glare at him as she fights back a smile. She nudges his hand aside to remove the saturated gauze and grabs the suture kit and local anesthetic from the table. Scanning vitals again, she’s pleased to see his blood pressure and heart rate improving.

She injects the anesthesia and sets to work suturing his wound, letting herself fall back on muscle memory. “So, you never did tell me what the hell happened,” she says, glancing up at him.

“Heh. Old client of mine stopped by for some late night ripper work and went psycho. Tried to get some baloperidol in him, but I guess he figured stabbin’ me was the way to go before runnin’ off.”

She pauses, taking in a deep breath and shaking her head. “Holy fuck, Vik! You’re lucky all he did was stab you once! He could have… you - you could have fucking died before I even got here!” Her voice finally cracks under the sudden onslaught of emotion and she throws her head back, blinking away the hot tears springing up in her eyes.

“Yeah, but I didn’t. And for what it’s worth, V, I’m damn glad you’re here. I owe ya one.”

She laughs through a sniffle and gets back to suturing. “Please, Vik. After all the times you’ve patched me up, this is the least I can do.” She finishes the last stitch and ties the knot, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Vik pushes himself up on his elbows and looks down, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Not bad. A little crooked, but it’ll do.” She shoves his shoulder playfully and leans down to remove his IV before walking over to wet a cloth in the sink. “Asshole. And besides, it’s a helluva lot better than you woulda done,” she calls over her shoulder. Turning back, she finds him sitting on the edge of the chair, legs dangling over the edge. She walks over and grabs his chin, gently wiping the sweat from his face. “Don’t you do that to me again, Viktor Vektor, you hear me?” Her eyes are stormy as she stares him down. He stands up gingerly and pulls her into a left-sided hug. “Huh. Now you know how I feel.”

#my writing #viktor vector/v #viktor vektor #Viktor Vector

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purplehairedwonder · 4 years ago

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Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 12

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 4629 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Nami, Chopper, Usopp, Brook, Zoro, Nami, Franky, Smoker, Tashigi, Doflamingo Notes: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song “Hearts Without Chains.”

The nickname Doflamingo uses for Law in this chapter is a nod to the story “Worth” by Doctor_Cyance.

Warning: This chapter contains the description of a panic attack.

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11