#i walked around night city just scanning people for their criminal records for this one it was fun

[cybernomads]

➤ NCPD WANTED DATABASE

➤ NAME

Maddox de Vasconcelos "V" Schaeffer

➤ SUSPECTED AFFILIATIONS

Wraiths -> Bakkers -> Maelstrom -> VDB -> ?

➤ WANTED FOR

murder, kidnapping of a corporate representative, battery, resisting arrest, possession of drugs, blackmail, grand theft, smuggling, receiving of stolen property, unauthorized possession and installation of military-grade cyberware, data theft, breaching the blackwall

[yuriisclumsy]

𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝙰𝚌𝚝 𝙸: Midnight Stroll

𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝗒 @udretlnea & my lovely friend. Say 'thank you' to them! 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 3398

Author's note: Hello, lovelies! How are your days going? This will be the beginning of a side series for the "Divine City." All of the stories here will be cannon to the Divine City, unless stated otherwise.

The night sky’s tapestry is as beautiful as the last one. The stars don’t dance but are bright with the stories of the ones they’ve been assigned to. The moon in all her glory, graces the land with a dim white light, charing her cold nature with the world. The children and animals sleep peacefully, while the drunks and late workers dawdle around; they will remain up until the crack of dawn, when the next shift comes around to occupy their place, and the drunks wake up with a hangover.

This night in particular, is pleasant for a walk in the city. Because of its architecture, the city’s lights–along with the glow from the night sky–bounce off of the windows to give a spectacular show of lights; a show that the stars had to compete with. Warm colors mix with colder ones, birthing brand new colors never seen by the naked eyes; or, at least not seen by appreciating gazes.

“Such a shame…” a soothing voice said from the empty streets, “...if only more people saw the beauty the city holds at this hour, other than on festive nights, then maybe we could look past our differences.” Pink hues for hair, and orange with blue colored gems as eyes, the man who spoke wore this signature look; a look no other could miss given his status in the Upholder’s. The man who was known as the General of the Upholder’s. The one, and only, Vimlar Tridalia.

He hummed while on his daily stroll; he had been accustomed to walk the same path each night. ‘Patrol,’ he called it. Though if you were close to the guard in question for tonight's safety, you are well aware this is just an excuse to laze around. But, to him, this is a time for relaxation. He’s still doing his job–even if others might disagree.

The ever-carefree General took in the wind that passed by with gratitude for another day alive; many have been the days he had seen with his very eyes.

“Even the weather agrees with my sentiment…” he said to no one in particular. Just random musings to oneself, “if any of the students were to hear me, they’d think I’m crazy… Given they think I’m sane.”

In the dead of night, Vimlar’s ear picked up a low-muffled scream that sounded through the empty alleys. His eyes dilated in concern. That scream, it sounded like a girl’s… With no further delay, he jumped to the rooftop of a nearby building. Surveying the area nearby, he didn’t see a moving object. He closed his eyes and opened the gate for his more refined skill: hearing.

His pointy ears detected small vibrations of disturbance on the south of the core section. It wasn't just a damsel in distress. The south zone is known for its criminal record with the Upholders. Vimlar had to hurry if he wanted to save the girl in trouble. Como on, you old fossil…run faster! He yelled at himself internally, making him go faster than before.

From rooftop to rooftop, Vimlar arrived at the location he last heard the noise. There’s…nothing here. The small city square looks abandoned, there’s no sign of anyone living here for a good amount of time. Perfect for underworld dwellers. Seems I have to take out my little friends for help. Vimlar’s vision lit up. With a slow and swift hand movement, and a small “Psyche’s Butterflies,” manifested a hoard of cyan colored butterflies.

“Dear friends,” Vimlar addressed them, “flowers of the sky, aid me in search of a girl around this place. If you see any threats, inform me immediately.” The blue insects fluttered in understanding and got to work in a matter of seconds, flying above, then bursting into different directions all at once. The revered General hopped off from the skylines and landed silently on the ground.

Scanning the area for any traces to follow. Behind the drained fountain? Nothing but old spider webs. The old broken crates in the corner of a closed down restaurant? Just a bunch of shattered plates. And then, a small green ribbon caught the gaze of Vimlar. He quickly went to inspect it. Its color was vibrant, and the silk still reflected light, meaning it was newly bought. Looking up, a messy alley pointed to the trajectory of the suspects.

“They must have taken her this way…” before he could continue, one lone butterfly shoved its tiny body into Vimlar’s face. “Oof… What is it?” he let it rest on his index finger, “did you find the girl?” It flaps its wings urgently, “the girl…down this alley… She’s in danger?!” Vimlar hurried down the small pathway between the torn down houses, ignoring the little bug's plea to be gentle.

Taking out his claymore, he readied himself for confrontation. Please…let me be on time…! There were some twists and turns, but he managed to exit the narrow alley. On the other side, he saw all of the summoned butterflies shielding a small child from a group of thugs. These bastards..!

“Where did all of these damn bugs come from!?” a small fry said to the big muscular man in the center.

“Oh please, they’re nothing but small, harmless, and defenseless creatures who need a little…help,” the ‘Boss’ said, preparing his flamethrower to burn the butterflies to ashes. In a panic, the butterflies dispersed themselves across the scene. Some got in his mouth, “Plack! Blah! …Why you little demons… I’ll help you alright.”

“I think the only one who needs help here…is you.”

“Huh?” The big muscular man turned around, only to face Vimlar’s Claymore head on. “AGH!” The man fell backwards. He smothered his head from the pain, and slowly got up looking at the one who caused his agony. 

“Who the hell hit me…!” His yell fell silent when he realized who was standing in front of him. “...F-ck,” with that, Vimlar gave him another whack of his claymore, knocking him out completely.

“That’s one down…” he noticed the soft cries of the little girl that was surrounded by his elemental energy. “Are you alright?” He went to check on the girl to make sure she was not hurt by these crudes. “It’s alright now, I’m here.”

“*Sniff, sniff*… General..Tridalia?” the small child asks.

“The one and only,” he replied. “Now let’s get you out of here…–”

“General, watch out!” the girl pointed behind him.

“Ahhh!”

“Ahh!”

Two of the pawns remaining from the big boss’s gang ran up behind Vimlar from two different angles. His eyes widened. He got so distracted by the cries to the child, that he forgot the other members that remained.

 I have gotten rusty… Gabbing the tilt of his weapon, he masterfully abated one of the offender's attacks, kicking him on the stomach. However, the other inched closer with a blade at hand aiming for Vimlar’s throat. 

Crap..! Vimlar closed his eyes and embraced himself for the blade's impact, but the clash of two metals echoed through the walls. He quickly re-opened his eyes to assess the situation for any further threat, but what he saw was a comrade from long ago blocking both his attackers with his sword.

“Spot!” Vimlar’s eyes sparkled with recognition.

“Is this what’s become of the ‘Great General’?” He said with calmness, not having to use much force to subdue the enemy. The men backed away in alarm. They were not expecting another intruder to come.

Vimlar got up from his weak position and stood back up to defensive pose. “It’s nice seeing you here of all places,” he made himself beside Spot, “I would have had a big wound if not for you.”

“Then count yourself one lucky man.” His attention went back to the two remaining foes, “let’s continue this later, after we finish them off.”

“Right,” Vimlar readied his claymore once more.

The two moved in sync, launching forward with their sharp weapons; they split and focused on the thug that was one their respective side, aiming their weapons at a not so vital area – well, at least Vimlar was cautious.

Vimlar’s vision glowed as he got closer to his opponent, a warning to surrender before things got ugly. Though he did not falter, he raised his own sword and went forward as well. They met halfway, clashing with each other's force.

“You're much stronger than that big boss you work for…!” Vimlar commented, his hands shaking a bit from the strength of the other. “Why waste your potential here, when you can join us Upholders?”

“You think I didnt!?” he yelled at him, retreating a step and attacked him again with rage. Vimlar blocked his attack with a bit of effort this time. “If it wasn’t for that damned, self-absorbed, cheater…I would have been a great soldier!”

Vimlar’s eyes widened, “...what are you talking about?” The small pause from him gave the angry man enough time to shove him, regaining distance.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” He charged but missed Vimlar by a few centimeters.

“Calm down! If you put down your weapon, we can figure something out!”

“You think, after all these years, that this mistake can get rewritten!? Well, you’re wrong—ACK!” The man fell forward, hitting the ground face on.

“You talk too much,” Spot said to the now unconscious man. He got knocked out by Spot’s sword. Although one could say it was his strength that did the trick.

Vimlar let down his claymore now that the criminals were taken care of.

“...”

Spot looked back at his silent friend after he rounded up all the men and tied them up. “Why so silent?”

“What he said,” Vimlar’s gaze remained on the man he fought, “that someone cheated on the kights exam.”

“You believe him?”

“Well, there is no harm in thinking about it.”

“A man like that, with hatred towards the Upholders, just didn’t pass the knights exam for lack of skill,” he reasoned. “He’s a petty man”

“But what if what he says is true?” He looked at Spot. “Then there is an Upholder that shouldn't be one. If we failed this man, who knows how many others we have passed like this?”

“...” Spot remained silent. He knew his friend is one to like fairness above all, which is one of the reasons he believes in the abolition of the hierarchy. It’s a mystery why he didn’t get hydron vision.

Vimlar let out a sigh, “...I’ll have to open up an investigation.”

“Should you be more worried about the little girl?” Spot pointed at the child that was looking at them scared.

“That’s right!” Vimlar quickly went over to her and checked for any injuries on her body, “does it hurt anywhere?”

The girl shook her head before letting a small sob out, “...n-...no.”

“It’s alright now,” he picked up the girl, “me and my friend over here will get you home safely to your parents.”

“...are you sure?” She gazed intensely at Spot, “he looks like a hobo.”

“Excuse me?”

“Eak!” She hugged Vimlar in fright.

“Spot, don’t scare her. She’s just a child,” Vimlar said while patting the girl on her back.

“...You got lucky this time,” he glared at the girl.

“Thank you for the help, Spot.”

“Hmhp… I only helped because I was nearby,” Spot scuffed at him. “You would have been with a lot more bruises and cuts if I didn’t intervene.”

“I know, I know... On the brightside,” he smiled at the little girl, “she is unharmed...other than some trauma…but I think she’ll be just fine.”

“That view of yours isn’t going to change anytime soon, is it?” He took the tied men and put them up in one of the walls of the abandoned houses.

“Come on. People like my personality!”

“*sigh…* I can't with you…” Spot grumbled.

The small girl giggled at the antics of the two men. Vimlar smiled at her. “Seems like the little one really enjoys our banter!” he chimed gleefully. Spot scuffed but smiled underneath his scarf. He had a soft spot for children. See what I did there? Not funny? Okay…

“Vimlar,” called Spot.

“Yes?” He was currently entertaining the girl using his little friends.

“You should go take the girl back to her parents. They must be worried sick,” said Spot while taking pictures of the thugs for identification for later use.

“Mhmm, you’re right. You’ve always been a gentle giant,” Vimlar smirked.

“I am not,” he rebuked, “especially after what she called me. I just think it’s a better thing to do rather than wasting your time standing around doing nothing. And wipe that smug smile off your face.”

He sounds like he’s using logic, but it sounds more like a mother scolding their child, Vimlar smiled at how it was a ‘cute’ trait of his.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever the ‘Mysterious Spot-Man’ says must be true,” Vimlar teased, earning a giggle from the small girl. “Are you not going to accompany us?”

“No. I got other business to attend to,” he was done taking evidence.

“Are you really not coming with us…?” The small girl gave him the most adorable and saddest eyes.

“I…–”

“Yeah, Spot. Aren’t you ashamed of making a little girl sad…?” Vimar imitated her.

Spot mumbled curses towards Vimlar as he made his way next to the two. He looked directly at the girl, “Where to?” Vimlar and the girl looked at each other and smiled. They had won this little war. 

“I know I live close to the government residences,” she responded.

“Can you locate your house from there?”

“Uh-huh! You don’t have to worry mister!”

“Then,” Vimlar pointed to the direction to the government residences, “onwards my comrades! We have a princess to return!”

“Yey…!” Spot said with excitement – not.

…

“Thank you so much for bringing our sweet baby girl back!” The girl’s mother profoundly thanked the two for getting the little girl home safely. “You two are heroes.”

“It’s our duty, ma'am. No need for praise,” Vimlar smiled at her.

“Please, have this,” the father brought out a pouch full of mora.

“It was nothing, really!” Vimlar reassured the couple while pushing back the bag of mora. “We don’t charge for this kind of thing!”

“I do— OW–!” Vimlar stepped on Spot’s foot hard. He backed up and winced at the pain. “Mhgmwad…wdasshole..ghtm…”

“Like I was saying…” he stopped glaring at Spot and had his attention fully on the parents, “...Please. Keep the mora. Spend it on something more important.”

The little girl’s father stared at Vimlar not knowing what to do with the mora. “But…how can we ever repay you?”

“You don’t have to,” he shook his head. “But if you’re determined…give it to the orphanages, especially those in the lower sections. Your contribution would be much appreciated there.”

“Then we’ll do just that,” the mother agreed, looking at her husband with a convicted look on their eyes.

“Great!” Vimlar turned around, “We really should get going. Please, stay safe!” He said his goodbyes and ste[ed beside Spot. “Shall we go?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he followed behind.

They had walked down the street in pure silence, both content with their mission being accomplished. The girl was lucky today; fortune enough that her scream was in Vimlar’s area of hearing. But this raises concern. Had she been the only one taken that night? Has this been happening for a while? Was she targeted because she was born into the upper section? Was it hatred towards those higher in the hierarchy? So many questions, yet, no answer to them.

“What were you doing before helping me?” Vimlar began, trying to get his head out of the gutters.

“I was tracking a trail left behind by a member of the Fatui,” he said, taking out a mini map of the city. “There were some reports in the underworld about their strange movement as of late, so I decided to investigate.

“The Fatui?” It wasn’t the first time he heard about the Fatui planning something. “Did you find something?”

Spot shook his head, “by the time I saw you needed assistance, the Fatui agent scurried off into the shadows. I’d need to wait until they surface again to find what they're up to.”

Vimlar looked down thinking of something, “I see…”

“...” Spot stared at him, debating whether he should say what he was thinking. He closed his eyes before getting his attention, “Vimlar…”

He snapped out of his trance, “hmm, yes?”

“The Fatui. I have a feeling their scheme runs deeper than just suspicious activity.”

“...Why do you say that?” he asked.

“There has been a murmur in the Underground Inteligencia Guild, one regarding the ‘Legend’,” he stopped to fully look at him with seriousness.

“Wait…you mean?”

“Yes,” Spot confirmed, “the one that was prophesied by her Grace all those years ago. It appears to be coming true. And the Fatui are preparing for it if it does come to fruition.”

“But…why would they be here of all places? Unless they are here for her Grace’s powers, I don’t see the issue–”

“–Because that’s exactly what they’re after,” interrupted Spot. He got closer to him, “Vimlar. I suggest you prepare for the worst.”

“...” he looked at the ground again, lost in the spirals of his mind. “Alright. I’ll take your advice friend.”

“Good.” He turned and walked off like if they never had a tough conversation. 

Vimlar followed behind, a bit down from all the new information Spot had just given him. He shook his head harshly. He’ll think about it once he's back in the palace, and make preparations for a possible clash between the Fatui and the city. For now, keeping a cool mind does the trick.

He walked father to walk side-by-side with Spot.

“Hmm?” One of Vimlar’s butterflies flew to him with a ribbon on hand. “This…this is the little girl's ribbon! How did I forget about this?,” he looked at his companion,” Spot, wait here. I’ll be right back–”

“No need,” he kept on walking. “I have other business to attend to, remember?”

“But, didn't you say that the Fatuus ran off…?”

“You can never be too vigilant when it comes to them. I’ll see you around Vimlar,” he bid his goodbyes before vanishing.

Vimlar smiled at him, knowing it wouldn't be too long until they met again. “That old fool… Okay, time to return this.”

Three knocks and a creek later, the door opened to reveal the mother of the little girl. “Oh, General Vimlar, what are you doing back here? Did something happen?” She asked worriedly, thinking that maybe some of her daughter's kidnappers were back.

“Don’t worry, I came to return this back,” raising his hand revealed the green ribbon.

“My ribbon!” The girl ran to the opened door and widened it. She extended her small arms and opened and closed her fingers doing a grabby gesture.

Vimlar chuckled at her. “Here you go little one,” he handed her the green silk, “don’t lose it, okay?” He ruffled her hair up.

“Mhm-mh!” She nodded, but her smile faded a bit.

Vimlar took notice of it and kneeled down, “is something the matter?”

“Could you…stay to make sure the bad guys don’t come back to take me?”

“Love,” the mother picked her daughter up and caressed her, “General Vimlar has other things he needs to do. He can’t just stay…” Vimlar stood up.

"Oh…” she looked at the ground, disappointed. “I understand…”

“...” He couldn't handle the sadness in the little girl's eyes, but he had a job to do. “Ah!” He suddenly yelled, “I can stay on the rooftop!”

The girl’s eyes sparkled, happiness radiating off of them.“Really?”

“Yup!” He said with eagerness. “Now, you two go inside, and I’ll keep watching for any bad guys that want to steal our princess away.” The little girl giggled at a wink that Vimlar gave her.

The mother let go of her, “Okay, bye-bye General!” She waved and went off to play.

“Thank you…” the mother whispered. He nodded in recognition, and she soon closed the door.

Vimlar backed away a little and fixed his attention on the roof. He summoned a small wind current which impulsed him upwards. He landed safely and made himself comfortable in the middle of the house’s roof. He rested himself on one of his hands and looked at the rising sun.

“Another day, another life saved…” his gaze shifted towards the core section, where her Grace resided. 

“...”

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: ??? Re-blog or comment if you want to get added to the Tag section for The Divine City: Sub-Stories. Back to The Divine City: Sub-stories Master-List.

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[venushasvixens]

Ch. 9 Home? - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

[A/N] I promise I’m going to get to requests. Enjoy the chapter!

WARNING: implied child abuse? (Nothing happens but it can still be uncomfy)

The soft creak of the second story window was the only sound in your shared bedroom. Having been sent upstairs and denied a meal for the millionth time this week, you were desperate for anything to eat. It wasn’t like the orphanage was barely surviving, but honestly you think the caretaker had something out for you. Always picking on you, calling you names, and finding any excuse to punish you. All around known as the caretaker’s personal punching bag.

“Now I can see why you were dropped off here.” She would say, before taking the plate of food from in front of you and dumping it into the trash.

With your lips sealed shut, you trudged up the stairs, sad little eyes tearing up. Any back talk would result in something far worse. The wilts on your back still stung days after your punishment, an example and demonstration of the cruelness of life.

Like a rabid animal, you were willing to receive any kind of punishment just to quiet the pain in your stomach. Grateful for the bushes located underneath your second story window, you swung your legs over the ledge, preparing to jump. With a small humph, you landed softly on your feet. Leaves and small branches pricked at your thighs as you wobbled out of the bushes. You gripped the small pouch of coins in your pocket, running your fingers over the opening of the bag.

A childish dream that a few coins were your ticket to everywhere and anywhere. The city you lived in was labeled as UN-1889, which was far into its development to retain its old name. Unofficially called “Yun” by the locals, it also held the record of absolutely nothing exciting or entertaining. Crime was moderate, chain restaurants and shopping centers were the place of excitement and that was it. Vowing to leave and never come back, you made sure to keep that promise by collecting and stashing away any money you could get your hands on. In the end, the most you had in your possession was enough to buy half a ticket, and you were ready to blow it all off in a matter of minutes on something that will only last seconds.

You spotted the bright, blue neon lights of the only local diner in the area. Parents looking to adopt will do nothing but rave about this place. Hearing just how good the food sounded compared to the gruel you were forced to eat every day, it made your mouth water and your stomach do flips. Jogging up to the entrance, you quickly opened the door to the diner. Air condition hit your dirty, sweaty face, cooling you down instantly. Much to your surprise, there was not one patron in the diner. Leaning against the counter was a middle aged woman with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun. She stared at the TV in the corner, sighing deeply. As the door closed, your presence was made known.

One look was all it took for her to know everything about you.

“Oh great, another one.” She mumbled from where she stood. “What do you want?”

“Food. I’m hungry.” You replied annoyingly.

“Have any money?” She asked, standing up straight.

You dug into your pocket, grabbed the bag of coins and held it out to the waitress. Snatching it out of your hand, she emptied the contents onto the counter. Shifting through the coins lazily, she huffed.

“Kid, this isn’t even enough for a plate.” She poured the coins back into the bag, tossing it back at you. “Door’s over there.”

Too tired and weak to fight, you slumped your way out, disappointed and embarrassed.

“Hey wait!” You heard someone shouting. You turned around, seeing another woman popping out from the kitchen. Her soft, platinum blond curls bounced as she walked out to stop you from leaving. Ringlets of silver hung from her ears and wrists, clanking softly as she motioned you to come closer. “Are you from the orphanage down the street?”

You nodded vigorously.

“I know how she treats those babies over there. You come on over and get yourself something to eat.” She said, tapping on the counter.

“I don’t have enough for-“ you started. She waved her hand, her signal for no ands, if, or buts. As you pranced over, you heard the waitress groan.

“Lou, you can’t be serious.” She muttered.

Lou held her hand up. “I don’t like seeing children go hungry. It’s not right.”

“Pick whatever you like.” She smiled, handing over a menu to you. Everything looked so delicious and tempting. You only see people like this on TV. It seems so fake, portraying kindness in a sickening, sweet way. It was enough to hurt your teeth.

You watched in adoration as Lou passed you a basket of warm rolls, butter shimmering off the golden buns. Forget manners. You gobbled down the bread in minutes, hiccuping softly. You weren’t focused on trying to quiet your hiccups down, just to fill your empty stomach.

“My goodness, slow down.” Lou chuckled, placing a cup of water next to you. “What’s your name, baby?”

“It’s (Y/N).” You replied, mouth still full of bread.

“(Y/N). Now is that your actual name or was it given to you by that devil woman?”

“It’s my actual name. They tried to change it, but decided to keep it.” You said, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Lou handed you a few napkins. “I swear that lady does not like anything or anyone. An all around horrible person.”

You nodded sadly, trying to dissipate the knowledge that you were probably going to receive the harshest punishment you have ever had in your short life when you came back “home”. As your stomach was dropping at the thought of your imminent demise, Lou slid your plate of food in front of you. Eating a basket of rolls wasn’t enough at all. This food looked better than anything you consumed at the orphanage.

While Lou and the waitress babbled and bickered, the static and switch of the TV in the corner was the only noise in the room. Eventually the waitress decided to settle on the local news. Expansion of some parts of the city, a deadly crash near the asteroid belt, and so on and so on. Suddenly, the screen flashed with the words BREAKING NEWS splayed on the screen.

The news reporter quickly tapped through her data pad, smiled and addressed the viewers.

“Good evening, we bring to you some breaking news. The criminal Kedo, who was wanted on both planets Earth and Ganymede for the murders of multiple people, has been caught right here in UN-1889.”

The reporter then drone on about his crimes, and how he left his trail. You chewed slowly, hanging onto every word. Crime was at a middle to low level, but you have never seen something as large as this.

“It has been reported by BIG SHOT, a new TV program broadcasted specially for bounty hunters in the solar system, that Kedo’s bounty had jumped from 500,000 woolong to over a million woolong.” Your eyes widened. To a small child, one million woolong was a whole lot more than what it actually was. You were probably never going to see that sort of money in your lifetime. All the possibilities of having that much money ran through your head. The first was getting the hell out of this city.

“We are informed that the courageous bounty hunter, or huntress, known as Lady Jo, caught Kedo red-handed in hiding right here in UN-1889.” The reporter stated.

The screen switched to live coverage at the police station, cameras flashing and reporters clamoring to get a closer look at the infamous criminal who was now being led into the building in handcuffs. His hair disheveled, eyes scanning his surroundings like crazy, fitting a perfect description of a crazed murderer. The cameras shifted their attention to Jo, standing proudly with her hand resting on her holster.

Intrigue and fascination filled you. You couldn’t help but watch in awe of her. Her auburn hair was curly and volumized, laying softly on her shoulders, eyes a striking green that shone like emeralds in the harsh lights of the TV crews. The waitress scoffed at her outfit, which consisted of a revealing button up white shirt, tucked into black leather pants, with a matching jacket. She was truly a sight to see.

“Can you believe that? She’s not a cowgirl, she’s a goddamn model.” She said.

Lou snorted. “You know, I used to have an outfit just like that.”

You smiled back, finishing your plate. Not wanting to take your eyes off the TV, the silverware clattered loudly onto the plate.

“I’ll tell you what, there is absolutely no honor in being a bounty hunter. They’re rude, selfish, and I hate every last one of them. Especially Lady what’s-her-name right here.” The waitress nagged, taking your empty plate.

“They can do a way better job than actual law enforcement.” Lou retorted.

You didn’t pay attention to their conversation. If there wasn’t any honor I’m your choice, so be it. Your new bottom line was set into place. One million woolong was going to be a possibility for you, one way or another.

-

Jet sat at the navigation console on the bridge, pressing buttons at a lightning fast speed. On his right side was the computer TV, playing some late night television as background noise. Faye stood near the windows, smoking a cigarette and looking out into the nighttime sky. There was something that must have been discussed.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Jet sighed and got up. “I went ahead and placed our coordinates for our next bounty back on Mars. Should only be a week.”

“Dinner was a little off, don’t you think?” Faye said, ignoring Jet.

Jet’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying something about my cooking?”

“What? No. I meant with-“

“With Spike and (Y/N)? Then yes, there is something off with them. I’ve noticed it since we got back home the other day.” Jet said.

“So much more talkative, that’s for damn sure. Couldn’t keep up with it.” Faye replied as she descended the steps to the navigation console.

“The big baby wasn’t all too happy about her staying with us. So I wonder why he’s acting all buddy buddy with her.”

Faye chuckled, a sly upturn of the mouth growing on her face. “Hmm, sounds like someone is jealous.”

Looking up from the console, Jet scoffed. “I’m more than happy that I’m not playing therapist anymore. Everyday it was, “did you see the way she did this” or “did you see the way how she did that”. At that point, I should’ve started charging Spike.”

Faye had given some deep thought since dinner. The outline was in plain sight. A touch on the back. A squeeze on the shoulder. A tap on the thigh. It thrilled Faye to be the only one to know of the growing tension between Spike and (Y/N), to be the one to hold a secret without being told of it. But in the midst of the excitement, there was another feeling circling, weaving it way into her head. Jealousy.

It hurts to see couples walking by, hand in hand, romantically flaunting each other openly. Bothering Faye for a second, she knew she didn’t have to go home with them. But now that it was only a few feet from her, it was going to be a problem.

If the game doesn’t go as planned, someone has to interfere to ensure a win. And Faye did not like losing.

The computer TV turned to static as Jet flipped through the channels, trying to find the right program to end the night on. Settling on tonight’s showing of Big Shot, he leaned against the console, pondering about dinner. A conversation consisting of 100 words and more between Spike and (Y/N) was non-existent for the time that she had been staying on the Bebop. One afternoon alone, and suddenly they’re two peas in a pod.

We’ll just see how it goes, Jet thought.

A big red WARNING sign displayed on the screen, waking Jet and Faye right up.

“Folks, it seems we have an important message to relay to all bounty hunters in the solar system from the ISSP.”Punch said, his playful, exaggerated facade never faltering.

“Go ahead, we are all dying to know!” Judy replied, apparently cheerful about a serious topic at hand.

“Bounty hunters, look out! A mysterious criminal is on the loose, and his target is not the innocent civilians of the solar systems, but our esteemed, hard working hunters.”

“What makes him so bad, anyway?” Judy questioned.

“I’m glad you asked! Some of our amigos already know what we are talking about. There have been multiple reported incidents of hunting vessels being set ablaze with the intent of murder all across the system. The ISSP believes that this individual is ONLY targeting bounty hunters, and no one else.”

“Mysterious you say? Well goodness, looks like there’s no bounty for them yet!”

“Right you are. Until we get a face and a name, no dinero can be placed for the bounty. So be aware, and be safe out there, buckeroos!” Punch finished, smiling alongside Judy. Knowing they were playing a character, it was off putting by the serious news given.

Jet and Faye looked at each other in silence, eyes wide and full of questions.

Happy hunting, amigos.

[zuttersvoid]

ℍ𝕆𝕎 𝕐𝕆𝕌 𝕄𝔼𝕋 ℙ𝔸ℝ𝕋 𝕊𝕀𝕏/???

HOW YOU MET (PROS AND VILLIANS EDITION)

CHARACTERS: HAWKS/ENDEAVOR/ALLMIGHT/SHIGGY/DABI

PRO HEROS

HAWKS—

You two met in a hotel suite. You booked a room in an expensive hotel suit under your agency name. Not knowing that a pro hero named Hawks had also booked that same room under the same agency. When you first entered the room it was magnificent, everything it described on the website. Luxurious with an ocean view. A bar stocked with most amazing booze. Plus a great place to track enemies. You being a pro hero had its perks especially when you get paid so much that you can afford a room like this. Although the room in questioning seemed a bit off.

The luggage that was brought up to your room  seemed to have doubled in size. And when you entered the room. Room service was already place with shrimp cocktails even though you were allergic. Not to mention you hear sounds from upstairs like a shower running on. You quickly run upstairs thinking someone like a maid had left it on. Though as you enter the master bedroom which you expected to sleep in for the night you come across another men’s clothes set up on the bed. You quite confused what was going here.

Soon the shower water turns off making you alarmed. You started up your quirk expecting it to be the guy you’ve been tracking. Though it’s the Pro Hero Hawks. Hawks as in your colleague and he’s dripping on the floor stark nude with nothing covering him. His eyes are closed as he scratches her hair and walks into the room.

You cover your eyes with your hands. Hawks slowly opens his eyes and sees you standing there with your eyes covered. Soon you felt a body heat radiating off you and something at your neck. “Who are you?” He asked, you remove your hand and see he got dressed somehow and is now holding one of his feathers at your neck. You raise your hands up and introduce yourself. “I’m Y/N I work under the same agency as you and I’m here under a mission.”

“Is that so Kid. Then what are you doing in my room?” He asked and you looked back at him, though he brought the wing much closer. “This is my room.” You corrected that’s when you realized you both were sharing a room…

ENDEAVOR—

You’re a massive fan of Enji Todoroki. Some would say you are obsessed with this man. You had all the collectible figurines. Tape recorded all his interviews which you watched religiously. Your room is decorated full of him scattered with posters. So when it came down to your 31st birthday your best friend of all times got you and her tickets to the press conference he was having in your city. You were definitely excited to go especially to meet the number one hero. Though when time had come for you to go things just didn’t seem to work out right.

Your best friend is sick. Meaning you had to go alone. You missed the train and had to wait an hour to catch another one. When trying to enter the venue your ticket wasn’t being scanned right and you had to wait fifty minutes till it finally was accepted and deemed real. And just as you're about to see your all time idol it seemed that the conference was over because everyone started leaving. You were so upset and rushed your way inside practically screaming.

“Endeavor!” At the top of your lungs. Just as you manage to get through the crowd you find yourself alone with just a mere Endeavor poster and not the pro hero for he had already left. You were depressed that day thinking you lost your one chance. As you head back home you decide to make a stop by a Chinese restaurant so you can take it home and mope. Though this place don’t go right either a villain with an explosive quirk blew the building in order to make a distraction to get away. When the building blew everyone and anyone around you was severely hurt or tried to run.

Debris was everywhere. And you managed to get stuck, your leg caught under a roof top banister. You barely feel the pain and yet you screamed out for help. To the people who were running not caring about the others like you who was stuck under debris. You probably screamed a lot because soon enough you couldn’t anymore your mouth was dry and hurting from all the screaming. “Endeavor!” You hear someone yell and your eyes widen as you glance around some of the rubble to see an illuminating Endeavor with all his fire picking up people who are in danger.

“Endeavor!” You practically scream, a tear begin to stream your face as you called out to him. Endeavor after putting others back to safety he glanced over to you. He makes his way over to you and lifts up the heavy banister and you slip out from underneath it. Endeavor helps carry you back to safety. As you were carried your eyes were mesmerized by your favorite hero. You felt happy. You wrapped your arms around the pro hero which caught him off guard. And you thank him and praise him a million times. Till he settles you down in an ambulance. “Thank yo—”

“Don’t thank me. I’m just doing my job.” He noted and you smiled wide. “I was at your press conference this morning though I kind of missed it and there was a lot I wanted to ask you.” You rambled

“Well, you got to tell me these questions. How about you visit my agency and I’ll give you a private interview.” When you heard that you practically fluttered and nodded wildly. “Thank you!” You squealed and soon you said your goodbyes.

ALL MIGHT—

You met All Might on a blind date when he was in America. Your friend Dave set you up since he knew you were single. When you were alone waiting for this All Might person whom you’ve heard about all over the media you were quite nervous. Thinking he might have a stigma against you being a non quirk person.

You’re sitting at the dining table twirling your wine as you look around for this face. Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turns into hours. The date of yours hasn’t shown up and you are on your third glass of wine right now and trying to keep yourself together. Though you felt like you could cry any minute.

Since people have been glancing at you and the waitress has been giving you sympathy for the past hours. You finally decided to pay for the drinks you had and leave the place. You make your way downstairs to the main floor of the restaurant to go home. Though suddenly busting through the doors Toshinori is inside his crystal blue eyes widened when seeing you upset and disappointed.

“Sorry! I had villains backing me up. I'm sorry for being late!” He said as he ran up to you. You looked at him surprised and you slowly made your way up to him. You don’t do a thing and he speaks, “However um I got a coupon from a pizzeria for saving them. We can get a pizza and have it at my place if you want?” He says nervously as he looks off to the side and then back at you.

“Yeah I would love that.”

“Great let’s go!”

VILLIANS

SHIGGY—

You met through an associate of his Kurogiri. Kurogiri had promised that if you joined the league he'd help save your brother who’s been imprisoned in the high security prison. Though you didn’t fully trust his word you still joined anyway. When arrived upon what seems to be a Karaoke bar he opens the door for you and you step inside to see Shigaraki sipping on a glass of bourbon a disdain look on his face and slowly his eyes fall upon you.

“Kurogiri who’s that?” He asked as he took one more swig of his drink and he got up from his seat walking towards you. “This is Y/n.” Kurogiri introduced and explained to him that a destructive quirk of your body is acidic making it easy to kill someone if someone touched you. “A destructive quirk aye?” He questioned your gaze on each other was intense, more intense than you ever known for his crack dry skin wrinkled with a smile.

“You’d make a great addition to our League.” He said holding out his hand for you to shake which you just looked at. “Thanks...though I’m doing it for my brother,” you said as he grins. “Well at least it for someone—Kurogiri won’t you show our new member to their room?” Kurogiri nods and takes you away to the very back of the place where there was a single room, placed with only one bed.

“Huh? Where’s the room and why is there only one bed up here?” You asked and Kurogiri pointed at the bed. “That’s where you’ll be sleeping unless you want the couch downstairs?” He said and you shook your head and questioned, “Is there not like a ton of your guys. Where do you sleep?”

“Downstairs on the floors or couches. I’m honestly quite surprised you’re getting this room, "he explained and you knit your brows together. “Why?”

“Shigaraki sleeps here.” And he doesn’t say much after that and leaves you alone.

DABI— You are a pro hero known to most of the people in your city. While on a night patrol. You were called in for a disturbance in a museum. Your expectations are low when you go thinking it’s a low band of criminals. You are making your way to the museum at full speed using your trusty motorbike you got from the agency you work for.

As you roll into the side entrance of the museum you make your way inside noticing the door frame of the museum has been broken. While you’re entering inside you notice a disturbance of what seemed to be a fight. Blood trickles the ground as you go further inside. “Hello, is anyone in I’m pro hero (name) and I’m here to save you—” you walked into the green room which displayed all the expensive paintings from the dynasties of Japan.

Though what you didn’t expect to see inside is a body torn to pieces. Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at it terrified. “What happened—” you were caught off guard and had a hand cover your mouth pulling you back you kick and scream. You tried activating your quirk but he held a strong grip on your hands.

 You are turned around and you face Dabi who’s holding a finger to his lips. “Who are you and what happened here?” You asked, trying to get out of his grip and he went back to cover his mouth. Soon a low growl fills your ears. Your eyes look to your left and there staring at you is a feral dog-like creature ten times the size of what a regular dog is. He’s growling at you sniffing the air. The guy pulls you in close noticing you could be caught.

The dog takes a couple more sniffs before walking off. “What’s that?” You whispered soon after his hands come off your lips. “That’s the idiot I hired to do my bidding. I didn't think his quirk was that monstrous.” He muttered to himself and you stared at his eyes wide. “You’re a criminal?”

“Can’t you tell I mean I don’t look quite hero-ly.” He says and he smirks at you, seeing you still clutching up against him. “Though I have to admit you are quite the cutie.” He says and you roll your eyes. “Whatever.” You pull out his grasp.

“Though I have business here and with this disturbance and creature I’ll take care of it so you can leave if you want.” You said and he didn’t like that fact that you were looking down at him. “Um, I can take care of it myself. I have a strong quirk than you, hero.”

“Doubt it.” You muttered as you then opened your mouth wide. “You might want to cover your ears.” You say and he scoffs and does as told. Soon enough you begin singing at the top of your lungs. Your voice being your weapon causing trances and illusions to whoever your face. As your voice vibrates around the museum halls and walls. You hear the monstrous creature approaching back to where you were.

You’re singing more and more and also preparing for when it comes. “Hey you sure you got this?” He asked the ground rumbles underneath you as the low snarls vastly approached. Within seconds bursting into the room is the fowl creature. And with one claw he strikes at you and you tread back taking the hit. You screamed out in pain which brought you to tears for you were slice at your side.

Though you didn’t stop singing changing octaves ever so to see the creature slowly fall into trance and when it does fall you don’t hold back. You get up clutching your side and sung to your highest note and watched as the creature crumbled into dust. You huffed and puffed once the creature had finally been taken down. Dabi released his hands from his ear and turned to look at you. You stared at him and felt yourself become dizzy. You fall and fall to the ground you black out and don’t remember much after that.

[afewnovelideas]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Magia Record: Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story, DCU (Comics), Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Kyubey (PMMM), Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Selina Kyle Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake is Robin, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Alternate Universe - Madoka Magica Fusion, Soul Gems (Madoka Magica), Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Magical Boys, Origin Story, No Beta We Die Like Mami, Don't Have to Know Madoka Magica Canon, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent Series: Part 1 of Eques Magi: Originem - Magicka Knights: Origin Summary:

"The Labyrinths of Gotham City are so tightly concentrated, no human born here can escape the influence of at least one or two Witches, if not more. Despite the aura of despair and the constant work of the Witches' various Familiars, there are still those souls who persist in clinging to hope and will do whatever they can to try and make this city a better place, even though all their efforts will ultimately fail in the end.

"It's the perfect environment to find a new Magicka Knight."

---

"Have you ever seen an albino cat?"

Catwoman, aka Selina Kyle, glanced over at Batman's newest Robin curiously. She hadn't been expecting to cross paths with him, but since it was obvious the Big Bad Bat was out of town and Nightwing hadn't shown up at all in the past week, she decided to keep an eye on the new kid for at least the evening. He certainly wasn't like the previous Robin. This thirteen-year-old boy was quiet and thoughtful, which had been quite a change from the previous brash impulsive kid Batman had been mentoring a little over a year ago before they were murdered by the Joker. 

She also noticed that this Robin was glancing over his shoulder at something on the rooftop on the other side of the street. "An albino, huh?" she said as she tried to follow his gaze. However, despite using her binoculars to zoom in on the far rooftop, she couldn't see any sign of any animal, feline, albino, or otherwise. "I've heard of them, but never seen one in person," Selina admitted casually as she put away her binoculars. "They are extremely rare." She smiled at Robin. "Have you seen one around town?"

Robin leaned against his bo staff thoughtfully. "I think so, but I'm not really sure." 

"Not sure?"

The boy looked up at Selina earnestly. "Y'know how a cat has two pointed ears about here?" Amusingly to the professional cat burglar, Robin made a vague pair of cat-ear shapes with his hand at the top of his head.  She smiled affectionately. 

"Yeah. It's kind of a defining cat trait, having pointy ears."

Robin pouted slightly at the teasing tone he caught in Catwoman's voice. Then he continued. "Well... This cat I've been seeing... It looks like they have a second set of ears too."

"A second set?" 

He nodded. He made a motion with his hands that seemed to make another vague shape that started at the base of where the cat's ears ought to be and downward along either side of its head. "Yeah. They kinda start out here and go all the way down there."

"Are you sure what you're looking at is an albino 'cat'? That kinda sounds more like a white rabbit to me."

"But it has pointy ears like a cat," Robin argued. "And its got a long fluffy tail, and its legs are like a cat's." The young teenager frowned slightly. "It's really weird looking."

"Well it does sound like a unique creature, whatever it is," Selina said thoughtfully.  "Maybe it's some sort of cryptid or mutant? This is Gotham after all." She smiled at Robin. "Tell ya what. If you can catch a photo of the critter, I promise I'll take a good hard look and let you know if it's a cat, a rabbit, or something completely different." Then she gave him an almost stern maternal look. "But be careful. Don't get too close. If it does turn out to be something 'not normal', it could be dangerous."

"Okay."

 ---

  It was two nights later and Tim Drake, fully decked out as Robin for another solo patrol, had just finished trussing up a pair of would-be carjackers. As soon as he placed the anon call to the Gotham PD for pickup, he glanced up to fire his grapple gun and froze.

There, on the rooftop above him, was a familiar white shape with two sets of ears and red eyes. The "cat" was peering down. He could see the animal's long fluffy tail swishing this way and that. Tim's breath caught in his throat. This was the closest he'd ever seen the animal come to him before. Rather than risk his grapple gun startling the animal and scaring it away, the young vigilante quickly indulged in some impromptu parkour up a garbage bin and a chain link fence to reach the metal fire escape attached to the side of the building. 

When he pulled himself on the rooftop, Tim was disappointed to find that it appeared to be empty. Not a trace of red eyes or white fur anywhere. He walked across the roof slowly, scanning the area for any sign of the small creature as he pulled out a small portable camera from his utility belt. "Hey there," he whispered softly. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty. I'm not going to hurt you. C'mon out please. I just wanna take a picture." 

When no one came out of hiding, Tim tried a different tactic. He reached into another pouch on his belt and pulled out a small package of beef jerky. He shook the bag temptingly before opening it and setting it on the ground before stepping away from it. "Got some food here if you want. All for you."

"Thank you, but no. I'm not hungry."

Tim froze. Then he glanced around himself as quickly as he could before zeroing in on the form of the albino "cat" sitting on top of a large A/C unit just a few yards away from him, its white body practically glowing against the cloudy night sky of Gotham City. This close, Tim could see this was not a normal "cat".  It did appear to have two sets of ears, but the two longer rabbit-like ones had golden rings attached to them and were tipped in pink with red spots. Its tail also appeared to be unnaturally long as it swished back and forth casually.

"Did you... just... talk?"

The cat-like creature flicked its smaller pointy ears. "Of course I did!" it said in a childlike voice without moving its mouth at all. Its long white tail finally stopped swishing and settled into a question mark shape behind it. "How else am I supposed to introduce myself?"

 ---

  Tim Drake gave up caffeine for the rest of the week. When the boy returned to the Cave from patrol and declared that he was quitting cold turkey, Alfred asked about it curiously. All the old butler got from the thirteen year old was a confusingly vague answer about talking albino cats with pink ears and clearly not enough sleep with too much stress before marching himself into the showers before he would make his eventual way back to his bedroom. 

 ---

  Unfortunately for Tim, giving up his favorite sodas, teas, and coffee did not stop the appearances of the strange cat-like hallucination that had introduced itself as "Kyubey" and seemed hell bent on following him and talking to him both day and night, in and out of uniform.

"You think I'm a figment of your imagination?"

Tim sighed as he reached over the creature sitting in his high school locker in order to grab his workbooks for math and english. "I'm not talking to you here," he whispered as he slammed the locker door in hopes of locking the hallucination behind it.

"It's probably better that you don't, at least not out loud," Kyubey agreed, after reappearing on the top of the locker to look down on Tim. "If people catch you talking to something they can't see, they might think you're losing your mind."

Somehow, Tim managed to choke down the near hysterical giggle that wanted to bubble up at that matter-of-fact remark. Kyubey had made it quite clear that night on the rooftop that no one else could see them except Tim.

"Besides, why waste your breath?" Kyubey said as they trotted along the top of the lockers, keeping pace with Tim as he walked to his next class. "We can speak telepathically just fine."

Tim paused at the end of the lockers and glanced at Kyubey. "Telepathically?" he asked experimentally without voicing the word.

"See! Easy!"

"Oh my god, I AM losing my mind," he thought with a grimace before sighing and stepping into the classroom and tried to ignore Kyubey as best he could for the rest of his school day.

 ---

  "So why are you here?" Tim finally asked Kyubey after tossing down his pencil and finally giving up on trying to concentrate on his homework. "What is my subconscious trying to tell me?"

"I'm not your subconscious, and I'm not a hallucination. I'm a messenger of magic." 

Tim raised his eyebrows at Kyubey as he echoed incredulously, "A messenger of magic?"

The cat-like creature made themself comfortable on Tim's bed. "That's right."

The teen noted with a slight measure of concern that he could see the disturbance Kyubey's form made on his pillow and blanket, proving that, at least right now, they had a solid physical state. Still, he was not about to reach out and try to touch the creature. "I'm probably going to regret asking this, but why is a 'messenger of magic' in Gotham City, and why am I the only one who can see and speak with you?"

"I'm on a mission to find people with the potential to become Magicka Knights to fight Witches and save the Universe, and you have that potential."

"Seriously? Magical knights? Actual witches?" Tim shook his head as he scoffed lightly. "This sounds like the plot of some generic magical girl anime."

Kyubey titled their head to one side. "And you and your mentor go out at night in masks to fight criminals who can control plants, have freeze guns, are living clay, and are occasionally half reptiles. How is that more believable than Magicka Knights and Witches?"

Tim snickered awkwardly. "I guess I'm in no position to throw stones in glass houses."

"You really aren't."

 ---

  Finally! Bruce was back from his Justice League mission and he was going to go out on patrol with Tim. Batman and Robin flying through Gotham City for the first time in over two weeks.

At least that was the plan until a call came through from Oracle barely an hour into their patrol.

"A report of potential Joker gas exposure has been put out by the GCPD in Chinatown near the Dragon's Den."

Batman and Robin paused on the roof of St. Peter's Cathedral. Tim felt a weight settle in the pit of his stomach as he took in the tightness of his mentor's jawline. He knew what was coming next.

"Go home, Robin."

"But B--"

"It's the Joker. I need to handle this alone."

"You don't have to. I can stay out of the way and watch your back. Make sure no one gets the drop on you."

Batman shook his head. "Head back to the Cave, Robin."

The leather of Robin's gloves creaked a little as he clenched his hand into a fist and turned away from his mentor. "Fine."

Without even looking, Tim could tell when he was left alone on the cathedral's roof with just the gargoyles for company.

Then, he wasn't alone.

"He doesn't trust you?"

Tim looked up to see Kyubey sitting on the head of a nearby gargoyle. He sighed. "It's not like that," he said telepathically. No need to risk Oracle or Agent A overhearing him talking to Kyubey. Not like the mic would pick up the magical creature's voice anyways. Still, better safe than sorry. "The Joker is really dangerous. He killed the Robin who came before me. B just doesn't want to risk me being anywhere near him."

Suddenly, Tim heard a pinging from his comm link, a sign that Oracle was attempting to signal him. "Yes O?"

"I know B ordered you home, but do you think you could swing by Amusement Mile along the way? I got a report on a Mad Hatter sighting there."

Tim brightened visibly at the prospect. "Sure!" He reached for his grapple gun and loaded a cartridge. "Any idea what he's up to?" 

"There have been earlier reports over the last few months of missing girls fitting the Hatter's preferred victim profile. Children with long blond hair under the age of twelve. But since the children are usually street kids or runaways, most attempts to investigate by the police have been half-hearted at best. Those that have tried haven't found anything but dead ends."

"Well, that's going to come to a stop tonight." Tim declared confidently. 

"Be careful Robin," Oracle warned. "Focus on recon tonight. Don't engage Hatter unless absolutely necessary."

"Understood!"

 ---

  "What's this?" 

At Amusement Mile, Tim was just in time to stop a kidnapping in progress. While the sudden appearance of Robin was enough to send the Mad Hatter scurrying away into the shadows, the young vigilante reluctantly let him go in favor of caring for the victim, a child of eight or nine who appeared to be in a catatonic state.

However, nothing Tim did seemed to be able to wake her up. He was about to notify O to call an ambulance when he noticed a small red mark, like a tattoo, on the girl's neck, right above her pulse point. It was about the size of a quarter and looked like the symbol used in chess to designate the Queen piece. 

"Hey O. I found a weird tattoo on the girl. Sending you a pic now." Tim quickly snapped a photo and sent it electronically to Oracle. A moment later, he got a response.

"Are you sure you sent me the right photo?"

"What do you mean?" 

"There's no tattoo in the pic. All I see is a bare neck."

Tim opened the monitor of his camera and his eyes went wide. Even on the camera, the girl's neck had no tattoo. He took several more pics to be sure, but despite being able to see the crown icon with his own eyes, they defied being photographed.

"Not sure what's going on, but I can't take a pic of it," he told Oracle. "Maybe it's some sort of weird ink that comes up invisible on cameras?"

"That's not it."

Tim glanced at Kyubey, who was sitting beside the girl. The white creature sniffed at the tattoo. "That's a Witch's Kiss."

He felt his chest tighten a bit at Kyubey's words. Tim carefully masked the sudden nervousness he felt in his voice. "Can you call an ambulance to pick up the girl? I'm going to investigate the area and try to find out where Hatter ran off to."

"Will do. Be careful."

Once the comm was silenced again and after the EMTs came to pick up the rescued child, Robin backed into a secluded alleyway and hid within the shadows before addressing Kyubey telepathically.

"What's a Witch's Kiss?"

"It's a mark used by Witches and familiars to control the minds of their prey."

Tim felt a shiver run down his spine. Still he continued. "Is... the Mad Hatter a Witch?"

Kyubey tilted their head thoughtfully before shaking in the negative. "No. I think he's just a familiar being used to bring humans to a Witch's Labyrinth."

"Why? Why would a Witch want a human child?"

Kyubey sighed. "A Witch is a creature that feeds on misery and sadness," they said very matter-of-factly. "What could be more delicious to a Witch than the grief and fear of a kidnapped child? At least this one seems to prefer the despair of children in particular."

A sudden sensation of dread settled over Tim. "That's.... That's horrible! We can't let this continue!"

"But you can't stop them."

"Why not?" Tim's righteous indignation flared up. "Batman's stopped the Mad Hatter dozens of times. Why can't I?"

"Most likely it's because your mentor has never captured him near his Witch, and never within an actual Labyrinth." Kyubey stared at Tim with their round red eyes, their stoic tone never wavering. "You're just a human being, and so is he under all that armor. Even with all your training, there's no way your frail human bodies can endure the strain of fighting a Witch and their familiars in their own Labyrinth. If you get trapped in a Labyrinth, there's no way out until either the Witch is dead or you are."

Tim watched the retreating lights of the ambulance carrying the nearly kidnapped child away. Then he took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"Can you help me find the Witch's Labyrinth?"

"I can."

 ---

  He was going to die.

Tim leaned against the wall and watched helplessly as his blood flowed freely from beneath and between his fingers to pool on the floor under him despite the pressure he tried to keep on the wound in his stomach. The Witch's familiars, not just the Mad Hatter, but a March Hare and other fictional characters pulled straight from the story Alice in Wonderland, had been too numerous and too merciless for him to fight off alone. 

The Witch herself, in the guise of a twisted Queen of Hearts, shrieked for his head through the twists and turns of her Labyrinth. 

   ͙̹̫ͪ̆̏͝  "̶͚̜̪̣̬͇ͭ͑ͅOͩͫ̄͏̬͖̳ Ḟ̖̝̟̜͖̭͑͢ F̡̜̼̰͓͍̟͎͇̆̾̐ ̨͚̫̗ͮ̚ͅ W̐ͧ̑͏͍͎͍̖̤̥ͅI͓͙̤͔̺̦͌̓̌̍͠T̖͍͒͛͢H̡̳̪̭̹̺̒̓̿ ̹̥͉̟͙̝͓̅ͫ͝H̸̝̬̘͕̩͙̤͇̾ͥ͂Į̯͔̦͖̳̣ͥ̌͆̂S͆̑ͪ͏̦̥̭̺̞̳̪͔ ͙̪̯͗̑͞Hͧ͏̤̯̪̩ E̶̯̣̰͌̆ͨͯ A̬̦̻͍͒͝ͅD̖̹͂͒͟ !ͫͯ́͆҉̺̦̩̹̺

 ̠͓͈͎ͧͨ͡Ō̵̪̻̭̩̯F̣͙̲̖̈́̋͝ F̌̅̾̓͏̭̺̰͉̹̖̯ ̡̮͔͇͚̬͎̝͊̆ͪͅŴ͙̠̽ I̘̬͇̖͑͂̏̂͞ T̨̗̫̜͙̩̖̮͒ H̴̙̝̀ͥͣ̚ ̘̯̮̺̥ͣ̑̄H̻̭͇̮̮͕͗͗ͬ̊͠ͅ Iͮͪ͋͏̬̺̖̝̥̭̘ͅ S̵̝̖̙̿ ̛̬̳̠̪̰̑͗̽ H̸͙̟̱̝̳̰̄͑̃̊ Ě̳͓̝̗͎͟ A̴̤͖̬̖͓͇̖͗̆ͫ́Ḋ̜͚̬̐̋͟!̨͇͚̞̩͚̗̣̿                                        

                  Ơ͚̹̜̥ͮͥ͑̏F̴̯̤̮͉̰ͫF͈̱͍̌ͩͥ̍̕ͅ ̧͎͕̱͚͍̥͔̐W̩̦̯̹̏͊̏̌̕I͐҉͕̪͔̥̞̭͈̲T̖̝̖̪̑̿̓͢H̤̠͍̣̻̠͚ͧ̍̐̿͢ ̴̲̖̫̫̺ͭH̗̤̒̆͆͡Î̤͓̭̻̝Ș̵͉͔͙̗̝̌̍̍ͬͅ ͎̫͉̞̲͆͡Ḫ̨̪̅ͧ̏E̵̮̲̩̤͓̱̙ͦÁ̻̦̘̜̂ͩ͝D̸̯͖̦͔̲͕̠̜̓̓̆̚!̨͖̓̐̈́ͪ̏ͅ҉̬͉̰̫"̙̺̬̯̹̦͖͛͗͘  

  Her magic.. too powerful.

His… everything... too weak.

Trapped in this magical Labyrinth that resembled a scene from Wonderland, he couldn't even get a signal out to call for a rescue. He'd tried early on to call Oracle... Nightwing... Agent A... Batman... But the only thing he got for his troubles was static.

Tim felt tears flow down his cheeks as his vision became dark and hazy around the edges and his limbs began to grow numb. He could hear the sounds of his pursuers coming closer, searching for him, and he just didn't have the strength anymore to run. All he could do was hide and wait for the inevitable.

Batman was going to lose another Robin.

Dick was going to lose another little brother.

Jack Drake was going to lose his only son.

He was going to die.

"Oh dear. I was almost too late."

A set of dainty white paws walked into his sight line, contrasting starkly against the pool of crimson blood on the floor. Weakly, Tim lifted his gaze.

"Kyubey?"

The magical creature stepped closer to the fallen teenager and took a seat in front of him. They tilted their head slightly. "I tried to warn you. A normal human isn't able to fight a Witch. Only a Magicka Knight has the power to defend against a Witch's curses and attack them in kind."

"I know," Tim whispered. "I should've listened to you."

Kyubey titled their head to the other side. "It's not too late. You can still listen to me."

Despite the cold feeling in his limbs and the shadows in his vision, Tim did his level best to keep his gaze locked on Kyubey, on the one bright spot in his dying world. 

"If you enter a contract with me, you can become a Magicka Knight." Kyubey explained. "You'd be duty bound to fight Witches, but in return I can grant you one wish. Anything in the world your heart desires."

"If I become a Magicka Knight, I'll have to fight this Witch right away, right?"

"I'm afraid so. It's the only way to escape her Labyrinth."

"And there's no guarantee I'll win?"

"I won't lie to you. Turning you into a Magicka Knight is not a promise of victory. But at least you'll have a fighting chance."

Tim closed his eyes and smiled sadly. "Then I want to make a wish that can outlive me, in case I die." When he opened his eyes, tears slipped down his cheeks again. "I wish Bruce Wayne's son, Jason Todd, was alive."

Kyubey's round red eyes seemed to shimmer in the darkness, and the twin gold rings that encircled their longer set of ears started to glow brightly even as Tim's vision finally faded into blackness. As his consciousness slipped away, he heard Kyubey's voice, as if it was very far away.

"As you wish."

 ---

  "Dinner was great, Alfred. Thank you." Tim set down his fork and watched as the kind old butler retrieved his dirty dishes.

"Will you be heading out with Master Bruce this evening?"

Tim got to his feet and placed the cloth napkin that had been on his lap onto the table, though he fidgeted with it a little before finally letting it go. "'Fraid not. B wants me to stay in and 'do my homework'."

Alfred gave him a knowing compassionate look. "I see. Well, if you want to take your dessert upstairs to have while you work on your homework, I'll allow it for tonight. If you need anything else, I'll be in the Cave on comms tonight..

"Thanks Alfred," Tim said with a smile and a quick side-hug. "You're the best!"

Tim made his way upstairs with a small plate of cheesecake topped with strawberries. Once in his bedroom, he closed the door behind him with a sigh.

"Bruce isn't letting you patrol again tonight?" 

The teenager glanced over and watched as Kyubey unwound itself from the fluffy white ball it normally curled into while it napped on Tim's pillow. Tim couldn't help the fond smile as his little friend stretched leisurely and indulged in a wide mouthed yawn. 

"Nope. He's still got his cape in a twist over Jason's whole empty grave thing." Tim shook his head before making his way to the window seat and making himself comfortable. "I think he just wants to make sure I don't wander off either, but it's still annoying! It's been nearly a month and B still won't let me go on any solo patrols." 

"Well, look at the bright side. Now you can get a full night of sleep and wake up early to go Witch hunting before school."

"I suppose."

Tim and his sullen mood weren't alone for long at the window before Kyubey leapt gracefully from the bed to his shoulder. The startled expression on Tim's face lasted only a second before it melted into one of amusement as Kyubey headbutted him affectionately against the cheek. Once they'd managed to wring a chuckle out of the boy, Kyubey hopped down to the window seat where Tim had placed the cheesecake and began sniffing at the selection. Tim watched as his friend picked up the reddest strawberry it could find and popped that into its mouth first, eating it with obvious relish. Then he looked out the window and thought back about the night he became a Magicka Knight, about the moment he set foot back in the cave after defeating his first Witch and claiming his first Grief Seed.

 ---

  "Where have you been?!" 

Batman had stormed up to him the moment Robin pulled up on his motorcycle into the Cave. Tim froze the moment he saw his mentor barrelling toward him. "You're back already?"

"The Joker gas was a false alarm," Bruce said as he pushed back his cowl and grabbed Tim by his upper arms, Tim was startled by the frantic way Bruce's eyes were darting over him. "Where were you?! Barbara sent you to investigate a Hatter sighting, then you didn't check in for hours! It's nearly sunrise. Where have you been?!"

Tim swallowed hard. "I... I got lured into a maze trap by Hatter," he admitted quietly. "The place had some weird interference so my comms were scrambled. Hatter got away and it took me forever to find my way out. I'm sorry."

"Are you hurt?"

Tim shook his head. "I'm fine B. Just... tired. It... was a really long night."

After another long moment of Bruce looking over him, the older man finally seemed to relax. He released his hold on Tim's arms and raked his fingers through his cowl-mussed hair. "Please don't go running off like that ever again, Tim. If anything had happened to you--"

"I know," Tim murmured, his eyes focused on the floor even as he wrapped his arms about himself tightly. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Master Bruce?"

Both Bruce and TIm turned to see a shaken Alfred coming toward them with a phone in hand. 

"What's wrong?"

"Commissioner Gordon is on the line."

Bruce and Tim shared a confused look. "Why is he calling at this hour?"

Alfred swallowed hard. "He needs 'Bruce Wayne' to come to the precinct as soon as possible. There's been a robbery."

"I don't under--"

"Someone broke into Gotham Cemetery tonight. They stole Master Jason's body."

As Bruce immediately went after Alfred as the old man gave him the phone, Tim stood in the Cave in shock before daring to glance at Kyubey, who had materialized at his heels. 

"My wish... It really came true?"

Kyubey curled their tail around Tim's legs in a comforting gesture. "Of course it did. We made a contract."

 ---

  "I wonder where Jason is," Tim mused aloud as he continued to stare out the window. "I thought he would've come straight home. Bruce has looked everywhere. I've looked everywhere..." He looked at Kyubey who had taken a delicate bite of the cheesecake itself. "Do you have any idea where he went after I made my wish?"

Kyubey looked up at Tim, a curious tilt to their head as they stared back at him with their round red eyes. "I was with you in the Labyrinth when the wish was made," they said matter-of-factly.

Tim shrugged. "Yeah. I know... I guess I was just hoping... Well, I hope he's alright, wherever he is." 

Quietly, Tim studied the new silver ring encircling the ring finger of his right hand as well as the green alchemical symbol of Mercury that was now on his fingernail. The small emerald gem inlaid within the ring itself shimmered with magic. With a smooth motion, Tim turned his palm up and the ring morphed before his eyes into a brilliant green gem encased in an intricate cage of gold, just like a faberge egg. 

His Soul Gem. The source of his power as a Magicka Knight.

For several minutes there was nothing but a comfortable silence as Tim watched the swirling glow of his Soul Gem and Kyubey ate their fill. Once the plate was empty and their paws and muzzle were thoroughly cleaned, Kyubey trotted onto Tim's lap and laid down comfortably. Unconsciously, Tim began to stroke Kyubey's soft whilte fur with his free hand. 

"I just hope Jason comes home soon," Tim said as he finally put his Soul Gem away, turning it back into his ring. "That way, he and Bruce can reunite, they can be a family again, and I can step away from being Robin so I can devote myself to being a Magicka Knight instead."

"In the meantime, it's not so bad for you to be both Robin and a Magicka Knight," Kyubey mused. When Tim glanced down at them, they continued. "You have to admit that nearly every night you go out on patrol as Robin, you stumble upon one or two Labyrinths. Even if we can't get to them immediately to flush out the Witch, at least we know where they are for later!"

Tim grinned. "Yeah. I guess there is a silver lining there." Impulsively, he picked up Kyubey and gathered them into a gentle hug. "Thanks for staying with me."

Kyubey nuzzled the underside of Tim's jawline. "Of course I'm staying with you. You're my Magicka Knight. We're in this together." Kyubey flicked their short pointy ears cutely. "Besides, it's not like Bruce or anyone else can separate us. You're the only one here that can see and hear me."

"I'm glad," Tim said. "It's nice to not be alone all the time." He smiled gratefully at Kyubey. "And it makes being grounded by Bruce easier to swallow when I've got you for company."

Then he glanced back out the window at the dark outlines of Gotham City's skyline when the appearance of the Bat-signal lit up the night sky above it. "Still--" he mused. "I really hope Jason shows up soon. I can't wait to meet him."

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Two Points Higher | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 5380

A/N: I started binging Criminal Minds last week and I’m already on season 5... Spencer Reid is precious and my asexual heart needed some platonic fluff so I wrote it myself. 

Warnings: fluff, interrogation, mentions of murder

Having Spencer Reid show up at your office was not an unusual occurrence. Having Spencer Reid show up at your office in the middle of the night with another FBI agent on his heels was.

“See I told you they’d be here,” Spencer almost tripped over a box of records by the door with the speed of which he burst in.

“I get it, I’m married to my job,” you rolled your eyes, not looking up from your computer, “what’s up?”

“(y/n), this is Agent Derek Morgan,” he gestured to the man behind him as he spoke. Spencer pulled up his usual chair in front of your desk and started rummaging in his bag.

“If you can find a seat you’re welcome to take it,” you smiled at Morgan, who was watching Spencer intently.

“We need your help,” Spencer pulled out a stack of photos.

“Spence, I have work to do,” you chided, though you pushed aside what you were working on to take the photos from him.

“I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. Please?”

“You’re not really asking,” Agent Morgan finally cracked a smile at your comment, “I don’t see how I can help you though, these are neat crime scene photos but I’m not in the FBI.” As you observed the images Spencer stood up again, haphazardly pulling books off of your shelves and piling them on his now vacant seat.

“You missed it. Look again,” you scanned the images again, scrutinizing every detail. This time you noticed it, pulling each image closer to your face to really take in what you were seeing.

“Those are my labels. Why are my labels on human bodies?” Spencer pulled one last book off the shelf and started thumbing through it.

His voice was soft this time, as his eyes met yours, “we don’t know.”

You didn’t normally see Spencer when he was working a case like this, something about him seemed different.

“How can I help?”

“The rest of the team is on the way. Have you talked to anyone about your collections recently? Told them how you label and research?”

“The only one I’ve talked to about it is you, but it’s not exactly an industry secret. Anyone who has looked at the exhibits has seen my labels, people just don’t usually care about them.”

Spencer and Morgan exchanged a look, then Morgan stepped out to make a phone call while Spencer filled you in on the next course of action. The rest of the team would be using your office as a field station while they tried to figure out why the unsub would make exact copies of  your labels.

“Have you known Reid long?”  A blonde woman who Spencer introduced as JJ asked.

“Since preschool,” you recalled.

“(y/n) was the only other kid in class who could read,” Spencer commented from the adjoining collections room where he was poking around for signs of entry.

“Spencer was the only other kid in class who could remember dinosaur names, we made quite the pair until he graduated.”

“You only graduated two years after me.”

“Enough to get you ahead by two doctorates and a bachelors,” you shot back.

“What’s in the water over in Vegas?” Morgan commented, shooting Spencer a look when he started rattling off the exact contents of the water and how it definitely did not affect the development of your brains.

It was already the early hours of the morning, so it was decided that any investigating would wait until a more reasonable hour. The team mostly acquainted themselves with your space, finding places to work, sleep, or follow up on leads. Even Spencer was moving around, restlessly conversing with his colleagues. You kept to yourself at your desk, busying yourself with the bone you were looking at. The research was comfortable, though the background noise wasn’t.

“You should get some sleep,” Spencer said quietly to you after a few hours, leaning over your shoulder to observe the notes you were making. It felt oddly normal, considering the circumstances.

“I’m on to something here, I want to finish this first,” you turned to the next page in your notebook.

“I’m going to go nap in the other room then, wake me up if you need anything, ok?” you looked up at him with a soft smile and nodded. He went into the break room across the hall, laying down on the old couch. You watched after him for a minute then turned back to your work. A few minutes later, JJ sat down in front of your desk.

“Do you spend a lot of time together?”

“If he’s not working with you, he’s with me. I’m almost always here which is why he knows where all of the good sleeping spots are,” you smirked.

“What are you working on?”

“We don’t have any records on this bone, so I do the research and get as much information as I can about it. My official title is ‘Collections Curator’ but Spencer says I’m just as much a profiler as he is.”

“Have you ever thought about joining the Bureau?”

“Spence tried to convince me… once,” you chuckled lightly at the memory, “I like my job, it’s a lot lower stakes than what you do. I don’t need a gun, just some research material and my brain.”

“It does seem… still down here,” JJ observed.

“Our collections are stored down here so it’s all climate controlled. These rooms were free so I asked if I could trade my upstairs office for a collections research suite. Did you know that 80% of a museum’s collection isn’t displayed? The exhibits you see upstairs are only 20% of the entire collection,” you stopped talking when you noticed a change in her expression, “sorry, I’m rambling.”

JJ smiled kindly, “I can see why you’re friends with Reid.”

“I don’t know what I would have done without him growing up. It’s easier to be a kid genius when there’s another kid to be a genius with, makes you feel less alone. He’s always been more competitive though, tougher, too.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re also a genius?”

“I try not to flaunt it, unlike Spencer. If it wasn’t for his eidetic memory we’d have the same number of degrees,” you smirked.

“He’s different with you,” Morgan had stepped into the room and was poking through your stuffed shelves.

“Like I said, it’s easier to be a genius when you have someone else who gets it. Spencer and I don’t talk about what you do in the field, but I see what he looks like when he comes back from traveling. I do my best to make this a space where he can be a genius without all the crime and someone that he can just be himself with.”

“Having a support system is good. He needs one.”

“You said he’s different with me, but he’s also different with you. His behavior is consistent with when he was trying to plan a surprise for my birthday last year, except its a stressful secret not an exciting one.”

“I need to hear the birthday story later, when this is all over. You’re good at noticing details,” Morgan commented. You noticed the way both Morgan and JJ shifted nervously.

“I have to be, that’s how I do my research. One detail can open up a whole string of possibilities, but you all know that. At first I thought it just had to do with him being in the middle of a case, I’ve only seen him a handful of times when he’s working.”

“But?” Morgan’s question was leading, they knew you knew they were hiding something.

“This is the first time he’s ever come into my office wearing his gun.”

There was a pause during which you noticed both agents’ eyes soften.

“I’m no FBI agent, but if dead bodies were showing up with museum labels specific to one curator I would start by questioning the curator. None of you have acted like I’m guilty at all. Why?”

“Reid gave us your alibi and confirmed it all in one breath. The local police still want to bring you in, but they’re having trouble finding you. Reid knew where you were and wanted to get ahead of them, solve this before you were falsely accused.”

“They probably ended up at my apartment. I spend most of my time here, but I keep that lease for storage and other things. Not many people know I practically live here. Do either of you want coffee?” you took off the latex gloves you were wearing as you stood up. They shook their heads with a murmured ‘thanks’.

They started whispering behind you as you walked across the hall to the room where your best friend was spread out on the couch. You paused as you passed him, gently brushing a piece of hair from his face before continuing on to the kitchenette. Leaning against the counter, your gaze fell once again on Spencer as you waited for the coffee to brew. He slowly stirred, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before standing up and joining you by the counter.

“You’re still working?”

“Have to make progress on my own projects while we’re waiting, before your case consumes my workday,” you bumped your elbow into him.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Hey, someone is using my specimen labels for murder victims. That’s not ok, my labels should be for museum collections only. I appreciate you telling me. I don’t appreciate whatever secret you and your team are keeping from me.”

“It’s characteristic for unsubs like this to have a fantasy… an unhealthy idolization that’s expressed in the victimology,” he stuck his hands in his pockets nervously. You thought for a minute as you poured a cup of coffee for yourself and your best friend.

“You think the unsub fantasizes about me.”

“We don’t know for certain. Two of the victims seem random, but three of them have an uncanny resemblance… and the labels…”

“Is that why you came to my office instead of just calling me for more information?” you leaned into his side, gripping your coffee.

“I can’t let anything happen to you,” he pressed a kiss into your hair and wrapped his arms around you.

“It’s not your fault this is happening. You live your life and I live mine,” you took a sip of your drink.

“You only leave this basement to buy groceries and do laundry. Statistically you’re only seen by a small fraction of people in this city and somehow you’ve been targeted by someone who’s now going around killing people.”

“Statistically, the unsub could have seen anyone who lives in this city, including me. It’s not your fault,” you repeated, “you could have told me though, genius.”

Spencer cracked a tired smile, “didn’t want to scare you more than necessary.”

“You’re a better person than me.”

“You’re smarter than me,” he retorted.

“That’s why you’re a better person. That’s how you can do the job that you do. If I had to interact with strangers every day I’d implode.”

“Spontaneous implosion isn’t possible,” you rolled your eyes at his comment. Before you could respond he spoke again, “I love you.”

His words caught you off guard, not because you didn’t return the feeling but because they never needed to be said. You knew from the way his eyes lit up when he read your notes and how he always made you another coffee when he got one for himself. You had spent practically your whole lives together and you genuinely cared about him in a way you knew was reciprocated. You considered this boy family more than most of your blood relatives. Still, with everything going on it had to be said.

“I love you too, Spencer.”

You stood with his arms around you until the coffee in your hands went cold.

“I need to make sure your friend Derek isn’t messing up my office. Sorry I woke you up,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek before stepping away. When you made it to the hallway you started walking down towards the largest collection room instead of your office.

“Agent Hotchner? Do you have a minute?” You knocked on the doorframe of the large room that the agent had set up in.

“Of course, is everything ok?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Spencer. I know he’s supposed to be protecting me, but he’s also my best friend. He would put himself in danger- he’s expecting to put himself in danger for me. With all due respect, sir, I know you’re trying to do a job but please promise me that you’ll keep Spencer safe too.”

“You don’t have to call me sir,” he said as you sat down in front of him.

“I don’t usually get myself into situations this stressful. My brain is rationalizing by flagging you as an authority figure. I know you’re not my boss but it’s easing my anxiety to think of you as one.”

Hotch looked at you calmly, a small smile on his lips, “I should have known Reid’s best friend would also be a genius.”

“My IQ is two points higher than his…sir,” it felt odd, joking with this man during such a stressful time.

“Reid is family to us too. We won’t let anything happen to him.”

“Spencer said that the unsub had a fantasy about me, and that’s why he was using my labels,” since your conversation with Spencer, your brain had been reeling for information.

“He asked that we didn’t tell you,” you sighed at his words.

“Of course he did. Now that I know, what information do you need? How can I be more helpful?”

“Reid asked you some questions when he got here,” you nodded, “if you’re up for it, I’d like to get the team together and ask you for more details.”

“Anything that helps,” your answer was definite, so Hotch rounded up the team with the exception of Spencer.

“Shouldn’t Reid be here?” Emily asked when you were all crammed into your office.

“I don’t want him… interfering. I don’t like biased research,” you told her.

“Then I guess we’ll get started. How exactly do you create the labels for your specimens?” Derek started the questioning.

“They’re printed on a specific cardstock that I get on special order. They’re all made down here, by me. I’m also the only one who handles the specimens, I don’t even let Spencer touch them.”

“Are there any other employees that work down here? Custodians, other curators?”

“What are you doing?” Your answer was interrupted by Spencer standing in the doorway holding two cups of coffee, in your respective favorite mugs.

“We’re doing research,” you spoke before any of your friend’s colleagues could.

“This looks like an interrogation,” Spencer came to stand behind you protectively, setting both cups down in front of you.

“I asked for this meeting, Spence. I want to help.”

“You should have told me,” he leaned closer to your ear, talking quietly so the rest of the team couldn’t hear. You didn’t usually see your friend this upset.

“Nobody comes down here regularly except for Spencer and I. It’s not open to the public, so anyone else needs a personal invite. Usually that’s when we’re changing exhibits, but everyone who helped me most recently has done it before. If it was one of them they would have killed before the first victim, right?” Derek nodded.

“Nobody else has been here in the last two months?” he repeated. You laughed half heartedly,

“I don’t have much of a social life. The only people I talk to are Spencer, the cashier at the grocery store, and Tim if I see him,” you added the last one as an afterthought.

“Tim?” Spencer stopped fuming by your side when your words piqued his interest.

“He teaches a museum history class at the community college in the city. They come by once a semester and tour the museum. You met him, remember?” Spencer averted his eyes from his team.

“I wouldn’t count that as a meeting,” you fought back a smile, recounting the way Spencer ran past the group of college kids as he tried not to let his severe hangover make him late for work.

“Tell me more about Tim, are you close?” Rossi refocused the meeting.

“No, just friendly. We email to schedule the tour, but it’s always professional. I see him at the grocery store most weeks, but it’s usually just an exchange of pleasantries.”

“How do you run into someone at the grocery store most weeks in a city like this?” Emily asked.

“I always go grocery shopping on Friday afternoons, from three to four. Spencer tells me I shouldn’t be so predictable but I work so much I have to schedule it in otherwise I forget. Tim must have the same schedule.”

“Have you seen Tim recently?”

“Now that I think about it, no. The last time I saw him was two weeks after the tour. He asked if I had dinner plans. That was the night we had tacos,” you bumped elbows with Spencer.

“What did you tell him?”

“I said I was making dinner for Spencer. You were all coming back from a trip, Spencer always comes over for dinner when you come home. I know I’m predictable but he’s never missed a dinner.”

“What was his reaction like when he heard you were making dinner for Reid?”

“He looked a little upset. I remember noticing it and thinking it was weird, but at the time I rationalized it. I’m not great at interacting with people. You don’t think Tim did this, do you? He’s really nice, always good with the kids. He asks a lot of questions because the kids don’t- oh God,” your eyes widened when you realized what you were saying. The office exploded in activity, with every agent moving to take action. Even Spencer moved, grabbing your arm and pulling you back across the hall into the break room. You noticed the way his hand was nervously on his gun.

“What happens next?”

“We don’t know for sure that it’s him yet. Garcia will cross check him against the profile. If it’s him, we’ll find him and lock him up. If it’s not… then we’re back to square one.”

“You seem more on edge than for it to be that simple,” you observed.

“Up until the most recent tour, Tim was able to admire you from afar. He saw you every week at the grocery store, and twice a year got to come down here to your personal paradise and see what you were doing. That was good enough for him until he saw me leaving here. That was the stressor. He suspected that we were… uh…”

“Dating?”

“Yeah. He tried to confirm it by asking about dinner two weeks later. It was coincidence that I was coming over that night. That was all he needed to kill out of rage.”

“You aren’t still blaming yourself for this, are you? Tim never asked if we were together. He never asked if I was with anyone at all. If he had this could have gone a lot differently. It’s his fault for assuming, not ours.”

Spencer put a hand on your back gently, “I’m the one who’s supposed to be reassuring you.”

As you rolled your eyes and told him it didn’t matter, Morgan stepped into the room.

“We’re heading out to catch this guy. Prentiss and JJ are staying, Garcia is watching the security cameras at all the entrances. Are you staying or going?” Morgan’s question was directed at Spencer. He thought for a minute, you knew he was considering the possibilities. If he stayed he could protect you personally, and he would also be protecting himself. If he went, he could personally take down the person who wanted to harm you and could be a good lure, but there was also a chance he would be targeted.

“I’ll stay. Keep me posted,” Morgan nodded, casting you a glance before running out.

“Now we wait,” Spencer rocked back on his heels, “will you show me that bone you were working on?” You were surprised he wanted to go back to business as usual, but maybe that was just it. You both needed a distraction from all of the chaos happening above ground without you. You went back to your office where Emily and JJ were. Their conversation paused when you stepped in.

“(y/n) and I are going to work on identifying this bone, there’s coffee across the hall if you want it,” Spencer said to the women.

“Thanks for staying,” you added, earning kind sympathetic looks from them as they stepped out.

“So, a long bone?” Spencer took one look at the fragment on your desk.

“Wow, he’s a genius,” you teased, sitting down, “here’s what I’ve got so far-”

You and Spencer spent hours researching. JJ and Emily popped in occasionally, but you were too engrossed in your work to see the amused glances exchanged between them as you bantered with your best friend. Spencer was trying really hard to keep things normal for you and this side of his genius, the way you fed off of each other’s stream of consciousness, was not something his coworkers usually got to witness.  

Two hours into your work Spencer’s phone rang, causing you both to startle.

“Hotch,” he was quiet as he listened to the agent on the other end of the line, “yeah, uh, yeah we’ll be right there,” he hung up and turned to you.

“They got him, but there was no real proof. They’re interrogating him now, they want us there to help.”

“Us?” you followed him out of the office as he went to find Emily and JJ.

“He’s not talking, Hotch thinks he might break for me…”

“Or me…” you finished the thought for him. The car ride was tense, and even with Spencer by your side you felt very out of place. Spencer made sure you were next to him even through the whirlwind that happened when you got to the interrogation room. Through the glass you saw Morgan talking to Tim, though Tim wasn’t doing much talking.

“(y/n), would you feel comfortable going in and talking to him? Morgan will be there too, he’ll keep you safe,” Rossi asked.

Before Spencer could protest you nodded and squared your shoulders.

“Of course. What do I need to do?”

“Morgan will do most of the questioning. You just need to get him talking.”

You took a breath and stepped into the room, watching the relief on Tim’s face when you did.

“(y/n), I’m so glad you’re here. This is all just a misunderstanding. I’m not the guy they’re looking for.”

“It’s not up to me to decide that, Tim.”

“You’re here to tell them it wasn’t me, right?”

“They’ve already told us everything we need to know. You’re still talking to me,” Morgan said, pulling Tim’s attention away from you.

“Then why are they here? I see the way you all carry those guns around, it’s too dangerous,” Tim said.

“Too dangerous for who?” Morgan pressed.

“For (y/n).”

“So you care about them, are you close?” you watched Tim’s reaction.

“Very, you can ask me anything about them, I know it all,” he was confident in his answer. Morgan glanced at you and you gave him a small nod.

“What does (y/n) do for work?”

“They’re the Collections Curator at the museum. They spend all of their time there, except on Fridays when they go grocery shopping,” Tim was enthusiastic in his answer, and looked to you for validation. You nodded gently, encouraging him.

“How do you know that?” Morgan leaned forward a bit.

“My class has been touring the collections suite for years. That’s how we met, then I ran into them at the grocery store and we got to talking,” Morgan nodded, pausing for a moment.

“I guess you are close. Since you know so much, this will probably be an easy one. What is (y/n)’s boyfriend’s name?” you tensed, waiting for the answer.

“Spencer. He’s tall, I’ve only seen him once,” he grumbled.

“(y/n), you can tell him,” Morgan said, keeping his eyes on the handcuffed man in front of you.

“Tim, I don’t have a boyfriend,” your words were soft. Tim’s eyes narrowed.

“You do! I saw him, that’s why we can’t be together!” he started to sweat under the harsh light.

“He’s just my friend, Tim. You never asked,” you were trying your hardest to stay composed.

“I did ask! You said you were having dinner together! He was good enough for you to have dinner with, I KILLED FOR YOU. DIDN’T YOU SEE, I LABELED THEM JUST LIKE YOU DO. I DID THAT FOR YOU. HE WOULD NEVER,” Tim’s outburst caused him to stand up and lunge across the table at you. Derek simultaneously pushed you back and pushed him down, you weren’t really sure how. Tim was still thrashing around and yelling all sorts of things you were sure were going to incarcerate him, but above the noise Morgan was able to speak.

“That’s all we need. Thank you, (y/n).”

When you stepped out of the interrogation room you moved immediately into Spencer’s arms, like gravity was pulling you into the one person you felt safest with.

“You’re ok. It’s ok. We’re ok,” he kept repeating.

“Spencer,” you mumbled into the material of his sweater. His words stopped so he could listen, “he seemed so normal.”

“I know, I know.”

“Do they always seem normal?” Spencer sighed, you felt his chest move with the breath.

“No, not always.” You felt his muscles tense as he held you tighter. He went back to repeating his mantra of reassurance as you caught sight of two police officers escorting Tim out of the interrogation room.

“Reid, Hotch wants to see you,” Emily approached the two of you once the room had cleared.

“Go, I’m alright,” you told him, stepping out of his embrace. He kissed the top of your head before leaving you alone with Emily.

“You did a great job in there,” she said as you walked back to the bullpen.

“It didn’t feel like it,” you told her honestly, “I’ve known Tim for years, he was always so nice to me. He never seemed…capable… but the way he yelled…”

“I know. It’s over now, though. Is there anything we can get for you? Coffee?” you sat down at Spencer’s desk, feeling exhaustion wash over you.

“No, thanks. I think I’m just going to go back to the museum. I have some work there that needs some attention. Do you think Spencer could drive me? I’m not awake enough to take public transportation.”

“I’m driving, but we’re not going to the museum,” Spencer loped over from Hotch’s office, grabbing his jacket and bag from the back of his chair.

“What? Why not?”

“You’re coming back to my apartment. Hotch’s orders, you’re not allowed to argue.”

As much as you wanted to, you decided not to put up a fight and instead got into the Bureau vehicle with your best friend. It was quiet as he drove, you wanted to say something but you didn’t know what the right words would be to describe how thankful you were to have him in your life. The silence continued until you were inside, when Spencer offered you something to eat.

“Are you sure?” he asked from the kitchen when you declined. You were by his bookshelves, running your finger down the spines of the many books he owned. Even though most of the time you spent with Spencer was in the museum, you had been to his apartment before on multiple occasions. You had never been there long enough to read his large collection of books, though you wished you had the time because you always trusted Spencer’s book recommendations.

“I’m sure. Thanks, though,” you paused to pull a Chaucer book off the shelf, “why did Hotch want me to come home with you?”

“He wanted you somewhere safe and comfortable, where you can process what happened without being completely alone. I know you wanted to go back to the museum but I also know what you’re like when you’re working and going back to work isn’t going to help you process what just happened. I thought coming here would give you a chance to eat and sleep,” he took the book out of your hands and put it back in its place.

“Is it that obvious?” you were having a hard time keeping your eyelids open. Spencer laughed lightly.

“It is, you should get some rest. I’ll be right out here, I have to finish this report,” he gestured to the folder he had brought home. You nodded, padding over to the bedroom. As soon as you crossed the threshold you could feel your distance from Spencer, who was leaning against the counter scratching away at the file with a pen.

“Spencer?” he turned to you quickly, his eyebrows mashing together in concern.

“Is that report kitchen specific, or could you do it in here?” his face softened. He left the file abandoned where it was on the counter as he rushed over to you. He helped you into bed, before sitting at the opposite end and settling by your feet.

“I’m not going anywhere, you’re safe now,” he put a hand on your leg. The pressure was reassuring, to say the least, and you found yourself easily slipping into sleep underneath Spencer’s quilt.

When you woke, Spencer was still at the end of the bed with a book in his hands. His feet, clad in mismatched socks, were crossed by your shoulder. You gently prodded at his foot, causing him to twitch and look up from what he was reading.

“You’re awake,” he smiled, putting the book down beside him. You sat up and stretched out your arms.

“You’re still here,” you smirked.

“It’s my apartment,” his quip was light and gentle.

“You’re right, I should get back to the museum,” you started to get up, but Spencer put a hand on your foot.

“Stay here for a while. You work too much, some time off would be good for you.”

“You work just as much as I do, genius. I’m not going to loiter in your apartment while you’re off fighting crime.”

“Hotch is letting me stay home for a few days. If an urgent case comes up I’ll help remotely, but I’m not leaving you.”

“Spence, you don’t have to-“

“I want to, (y/n). You’re my best friend who just went through a traumatic experience. Your family is 2,431 miles away, but even if they were closer you wouldn’t spend time with them. You said it yourself, I’m the only one you talk to regularly. I’m not going to abandon you now.”

“Haven’t we talked about you profiling me?” Spencer blushed.

“That wasn’t a profile, just information.”

“Sure,” you yawned.

“Go back to sleep, you still have some catching up to do.”

“You’re keeping track?” you asked, though you laid back down to get more comfortable.

“It’s simple subtraction, (y/n). I don’t need a PhD in mathematics to know you have slept far less than is healthy for the last three days,” he picked up the book again, finding the place where he left off.

“What are you reading?” his eyes flickered up to meet yours again.

“Dickens, Great Expectations.”

“You’ve read that one before,” you commented, surprised he didn’t have more to say on the subject.

“I have. I thought you might like it, I was just passing the time while you were sleeping. I can read it to you, if you want. It always made me feel better when my mom read to me.”

“I’d really like that,” you settled deeper into the pillow, listening to your friend’s voice as you drifted off to sleep. For the first time since Spencer had burst into your office, you finally felt content.

[mosh-4]

listen (ii)

harry styles imagine mini series

part ii to listen - harry has a soulmate (soulmate au)

series masterlist

a year had passed since you had last seen Harry. you followed him around on social media, catching up on what he was doing from various fan accounts. the music between the two of you had been quiet. it occasionally would become louder, and then, you would find out through social media that he was spotted traveling. it made sense.

over the past year, you filled your time with your research. for a 25 year old, you were quite accomplished in your work with your research team. you were conducting a second study on neuro-criminology. you spent most of your days analyzing brain scans of criminals while you listened to the gentle melodies brought to you by the one and only Harry Styles.

--

over the year, Harry finished his tour and went onto traveling around the world writing music with friends. he had just gotten back to malibu after traveling for months. he liked being home. he could hear you much louder now.

he hadn’t stopped thinking about his soulmate ever since his show in (city near your hometown). was that her that night? he would never know. it upset him to think about it. he wondered if things would have been different if he had actually got to talk to you that night. would you be with him now? would you be the last person he saw before he fell asleep? would he wake up every morning to see you? would you drink coffee with him on saturday mornings? would you tell him about your day? would you share your life with him?

it clouded his mind. thoughts of what could be. it reflected in his music. that was clear to everyone he worked with. there was a sadness that it held. he was left all alone while the people around him lived happily with their soulmates. part of him envied them.

how could he miss someone he’s never met?

--

             “oh my god. do you play?”

you laughed. your friends were very drunk. you had all traveled to some fancy resort in florida for a weekend summer road trip. it was nice to get to see anyone since you had all been so busy with your careers.

             “(y/n/n),” Eva slurred as she slid next to you on the piano bench. “will you please play for us?”

you rolled your eyes.

             “for you,” you paused turning to look at her. “anything, but you have to buy me another drink.”

Kath laughed as her soulmate threw her arm around her. Eva got up from the bench before taking a drink order from everyone. you were definitely the fifth wheel on this trip.

             “just play us something, you dork,” Kath shouted drunkenly.

you stretched your fingers across the piano keys and began to play a melody that your dad had taught you.

--

Harry was in the shower when he heard it. he thought a shower would help him think. he was having some writer’s block.

that’s when he heard you. he heard your melody. he immediately jumped out of the shower. he had to write it down.

in a towel, he sat at his piano. the melody was simple so he was able to figure it out. he grabbed his phone and began to record a voice memo as he sung along with the melody.

             “i’m in my bed. and, you’re not here…”

--

in october, Harry released ‘lights up’. he smiled to himself as he heard you listen to it over and over again.

unknown to him, you would listen to it as you did your work every day. your co-workers would laugh at you as you bopped and mouthed the words to the song whenever it came on.

Harry couldn’t wait until he would hear you listen to the album.

--

in december, Kath got an odd job in L.A. the music company she worked for wanted her to help work a private event that would be open to a limited audience. she had to help keep the event under wraps while it was going on.

when she arrived, she was shocked to find out who this event was for.

the one and only Harry Styles.

it was his spotify secret album listening party. she knew his album would drop soon. (y/n) had warned her about it.

Kath never expected to hand yellow raincoats out to fans. she never expected to ride in a shuttle with the fans. she felt like she was experiencing the whole night like she was one of them. the group was led to a house where the really party was going to begin. Kath was supposed to help everyone keep a low profile. no one was allowed to tweet about it until it was over so she had to keep an eye on everyone.

             “hey,” one of the caterers pulled her out of her thoughts. “do you mind running this backstage? one of the special guests has requested it, and i’m swamped out here.”

the caterer was holding what seemed to be a glass of water. it was such an odd request for her, but she agreed anyway.

             “sure.”

Kath took the glass from the caterer and made her way to the backstage. a puppet show was to be given in a half hour on this stage. this water was probably for one of the puppeteers.

             “is that for me?” a voice stopped her.

she turned to look at them. it was Harry. she had to take a deep breath to calm herself down.

             “did you ask for a water?” she asked him.

             “i did. i talked to one of the caterers,” he started.

Kath handed the water to him.

             “it’s for you then. sorry, the caterers got swamped.”

             “thanks,” he said taking the glass from her. “how’s it going out there?”

Kath nodded to him with a small smile.

             “it’s going really well. it’s super cool. everyone is loving all the detail and stuff.”

              “that’s good. i’m glad,” he said before taking a drink. he cleared his throat before speaking again. “are you with spotify?”

             “sort of,” Kath said leaning against the door frame of the back room he was in. “i work with a separate music company that works as a subset of spotify.”

Harry nodded.

             “cool, cool, and i didn’t catch your name.”

             “it’s Kath,” she said extending her hand to his.

he shook it.

             “nice to meet you, Kath. i’m Harry.”

he took another drink as Kath broke the silence.

             “can i ask you something?” Kath started. “i know you don’t know me, and i really don’t know you, but would it be okay if i ask you something?”

Harry raised an eyebrow before setting his glass down.

             “of course,” he responded. “it’s okay.”

Kath took a breath. she had to know. she had to know for you.

             “have you found your soulmate yet?”

Harry was quiet. he knew where this was going. this happened all the time with fans and other prying people. everyone wants into his personal life. in some cases, honestly most cases, people claimed to be his soulmate all the time, and he felt like this was just another one of those times. nevertheless, he began the conversation.  

             “no,” he sighed. “i haven’t yet.”

he was waiting for her to give the big ‘i’m your soulmate and i’ve always loved you’ speech.

             “this is going to sound kinda odd.”

great. he knew where this was going. he just wanted her to get it over with.

             “but, i think my best friend is your soulmate,” she said.

she cringed at how ridiculous she sounded.

Harry was confused. why would she advocate for her friend like this.

             “oh,” he started. “is she-uh-is she here?”

             “oh god, no,” Kath said interrupting him. “she doesn’t even know that i’m working this. she doesn’t even know that i would even have the chance to talk to you. she’s states away. she’s working tonight-”

             “oh.”

             “yeah.”

             “why do you think she’s my soulmate?” he quietly asked.

Kath took a breath.

             “i think i started believing that when you were on your second tour with one direction. our other best friend and i would listen to you guys all the time. it drove her crazy. she said that it sounded too familiar and that she could hear it all the time.”

             “hear it all the time?”

             “yeah. she could hear your music all the time. we later found out that the songs she heard followed your exact set list of your take me home tour. it was the same with all of your other tours, too. she heard it every night that you guys performed, and don’t get me started about the concerts we went to. she always had this horrible ringing in her ears, except the last time we were at your show. she was fine. i think it had something to do with being in the front row, you know?”

Harry rubbed his face. he couldn’t believe it. Kath continued to ramble.

             “plus, she always knew when you would be releasing new music and stuff-”

             “excuse me,” another voice spoke out.

Harry and Kath turned to them.

             “Mr. Styles, you are needed on stage in two minutes.”

Harry immediately stood up.

             “uh,” he stammered. “thank you. i’ll be right there,” he said to the worker before turning his attention back to Kath. “do you mind if we continue this later? like, can we go somewhere and talk about this later tonight? i really want to hear more about your friend.”

             “of course,” Kath nodded to him. “i’ll give you my number.”

             “great. thank you.”

after getting her number, he walked onto stage and began to puppeteer a puppet of himself. he then went on to introduce his album to his fans.

--

you sat at home as you watched some Netflix. your puppy curled up next to you on your couch as you sipped on a small glass of wine. it had been a long day, and you needed to relax.

you paused your show as you heard music in your head. it was the new album.

you smiled as you curled up further in your blankets to listen.

--

Kath watched as Harry danced with fans to his new music until the next song came on. the beginning melody made her blood run cold. it was (y/n)’s melody.

how would he know that?

Harry turned to glance at Kath who was standing in one of the corners of the room as the song played. she had a shocked look on her face as she looked around frantically until her eyes landed on him. they locked eyes. her eyes bugged out of her head as he gave her a little smile.

her reaction confirmed it enough for him. she recognized the melody. she knew who actually wrote it.

Kath’s eyes watered as she listened to the lyrics of the song. it was so heart breaking to know how much pain he was in, and it hurt her even more know that that was her best friend’s favorite piano melody. they longed for each other.

Harry watched as she wiped a tear away. his heart swelled in his chest before he turned his attention back to his fans.

--

Kath received a text a little after 11 pm.

             unknown: hi. it’s harry. would you still like to meet?

Kath quickly typed a response as she unlocked her car.

             kath: absolutely

she saved his number into her phone.

             styles: great. i’ll send you an address.

Kath followed her gps until she arrived at a small café. she quickly parked her car before making her way inside. Harry waved to her from one of the back tables.

             “hi,” she waved back before taking a seat.

             “thanks for meeting with me,” he said. “can i get you something?”

             “no thanks. i’m okay for now.”

             “okay,” he said gripping his cup. it looked like tea. “so should we get into then? do you have any questions for me?”

             “i do actually,” Kath started leaning forward. “where did you get that melody for ‘falling’?”

             “oh,” he said leaning back in his chair. “why do you ask?”

             “because that’s (y/n/n)’s song. she plays it all the time. it’s one of her party tricks.”

             “and (y/n/n) is your best friend? the one you think is m’ soulmate?”

             “yeah, her name is (y/n),” Kath said before redirecting the conversation. “so how did you hear that melody?”

             “my soulmate.”

Kath nodded before leaning back in her chair. Harry watched her with a calculated glance.

             “can i ask you a question, now?” Harry asked.

             “sure.”

             “what is the significance of the ‘gummybear song’?”

Kath let out a boisterous laugh. Harry hated that song growing up, but now it helped him figure out his soulmate. it was the one question that stumped everyone who seriously claimed to be his soulmate.

             “that song,” Kath laughed. “it is the bane of her existence. she hates it.”

she wasn’t giving him the response he wanted.

             “why?” he asked calculatedly. he wasn’t going to give her any hints or allude to what he knew about it.  

             “she had to listen to it every morning for 6 years straight until she started bringing her ipod to school. one of the little girls in her carpool was obsessed with it. she cried and cried if she didn’t hear it on the way to school,” Kath laughed. “she came to school every morning wishing that she had jumped out of the moving car and walked. now, why do you ask about that?”

Harry smiled to himself. he got her.

             “i had to listen to it too.”

             “oh nice,” she said. “i’m sorry you had to endure that. it was miserable for her too.”

             “so you mention you went to a couple of my concerts?”

             “oh yeah. we near (the city near your hometown) so we went to all of those shows. the concert for your solo tour was crazy.”

Harry thought for a moment until it clicked. that was the show he saw her. the show he wished he stopped so that he could get to know her. the show that he lost the mystery girl from the front row.

             “i think i remember that. you said you were in the front row, right?”

             “yeah, you gave a water bottle to her. Eva and i-oh Eva is our other friend-we freaked out when you did that because of course (y/n) had some suspicion that you were her soulmate. she didn’t want to admit it to everyone. her family thought she was crazy.”

Harry sat in shock as he thought back to that night. the girl he gave the water to. the girl he watched the entire show. the girl he fell in love with, but never spoke to.

             “so that was her?” he asked Kath quietly.

             “mmhm,” Kath nodded. “do you want to test to see if it’s her?”

that hadn’t crossed his mind, but he definitely should. he didn’t really know if he could trust Kath. he had just met her after all.

             “here, i’ll play you a song, and you can text her from my phone and ask her what her soulmate is listening to,” Kath said placing her phone on the table between them.

             “okay,” he nodded as he watched Kath scroll through her music until she landed on a song.

             “ready?”

             “yeah, let’s do it.”

Kath hit play as the sound of the ‘gummybear song’ filled their ears.

             “text her,” Kath said opening your messages.

Harry texted her the question, and the two waited until she responded.

--

it was 1 am when you received a text from Kath.

             kath: what’s your soulmate listening to?

the annoying repetitive chorus of the ‘gummybear song’ filled your head. you rolled your eyes in frustration as you typed back.

--

Kath’s phone lit up from a notification from you.

             you: the mother effing gummybear song

Harry’s eyes bugged out of his head. he couldn’t believe it.

             “oh my god,” he choked out.

he found her. he was shocked. it took him almost 26 years to find you. he rubbed his hands over his eyes thinking that this all might go away. he must have read it wrong. he reread your text.

             “so that means?” Kath asked him.

she wanted him to say it.

             “she’s my soulmate.”

Kath squealed in excitement.

             “i knew it,” she shouted throwing her hands up in the air.

the two stayed in the café until it closed talking about you, your family, your job, your friends. he wanted to know everything about you.

his soulmate had a name. her name was (y/n).

--

it was thursday, one day until the album release. Harry sat in another café waiting for Kath to arrive. they agreed to meet again. he watched as Kath entered the café and went to the counter to order herself something.

he smiled as he heard you listening to some old rock music. he wondered what you could be doing right now. were you working? were you getting breakfast? he didn’t know, but he wanted to. he wanted to know you. his heart could burst with how much he wanted to be with you.

             “hey,” Kath drew him out his thoughts as she took a seat at the table.

             “hey,” he greeted her with a smile.

             “so i was thinking we could call (y/n/n), and i could introduce you to her,” Kath suggested as she placed her bag down on the chair next to her.

             “really?” Harry asked before taking a drink of his tea.

             “yeah. i don’t think she is super busy today.”

             “right. okay. what does she do again?”

             “she’s a neuroscientist working with a research group right now.”

             “right.”

             “so do we want to call her?” Kath asked raising her eyebrow.

Harry was stalling. he was nervous.

             “yeah. sure. let’s do it,” he nodded. “should we go somewhere a little more-” he stopped to look around the café. people slyly watched the two of them. “-secluded?”

             “sure,” Kath said as she eyed the people watching them. “do you have a place in mind?”

minutes later, Harry and Kath sat in his range rover in a secluded parking garage. Kath’s phone rang waiting for you to pick up.

--

you sat at your desk going over paperwork as you ate your lunch. your phone began to ring. you had an incoming call from Kath. you smiled as you answered your phone.

             “hey, Kath. what’s up?”

--

Harry smiled as he heard her voice. Kath had her phone on speaker.

             “hey, (y/n),” she greeted. “are you busy?”

             “nah. i’m on my lunch break. what’s up?”

             “not much. i’m just sitting here with your soulmate.”

--

you sat frozen. you had stopped breathing. why would she joke about this?

             “Kath, you know that’s not funny,” you sighed.

you were too tired for this.

--

             “i’m not joking,” Kath defended. “i’m being deadly serious. he’s sitting right next to me.”

             “and how do you now that for sure?”

Harry didn’t blame you for being skeptical. he was at first too.

             “he was the one who was listening to the ‘gummybear song’ last night when i texted you.”

             “Kath.” they heard you pause and sigh. “i don’t know…”

             “c’mon,” Kath started. “what if we facetime you? you can see for yourself.”

--

you rubbed a hand over your face and sighed once more. you didn’t know what to do.

             “i guess,” you agreed. “facetime me.”

you waited as the call turned into a facetime. Kath popped up on your screen. you could tell that she was in a car or something similar.

             “(y/n/n),” Kath cheered as she saw you appear on her screen.

             “hey,” you gave her a wave as you propped your phone up against your laptop.

             “say hi to your soulmate.”

you watched the screen as it turned to the person next to Kath.

it was the one and only, Harry Styles.

--

Harry laughed as he watched your jaw drop. he shyly smiled at you. you were beautiful.

             “hi,” he said giving you a little wave.

             “hi,” you said while copying his wave.

             “y’all are too cute,” Kath interrupted. “awkward, but still cute.”

             “heyyyy.” “heyyyy.”

Kath laughed at your both as you tried to defend yourselves.

--

you locked eyes with him.

             “how do you know for sure?” you asked him.

you had to be sure. you weren’t going to let yourself get your hopes up if he turned out not to be your soulmate. you had your suspicions, but you had no way to really know. it could have all been coincidental. you couldn’t just trust yourself with this. you weren’t going to let yourself get crushed like that.

             “you can test me if you want,” he shrugged.

             “okay,” you said reaching for your headphones.

you plugged your headphones into your laptop and pulled up your playlist. you placed your headphones over your ears and hit shuffle.

--

Harry heard the soft melody of the song play through his head.

             “work song, hozier,” he said confidently.

             “mkay. how about this one?”

he heard a new song play.

             “jackie and wilson, hozier.”

             “okay, and this one?”

that’s when he heard it. the song she played for him a couple years ago. it was his song. the song that he wrote.

             “i love you, alex and sierra.”

--

you sat at your desk with tears in your eyes. you had a hand clasped over your mouth in disbelief.

             “well, (y/n/n), how’d he do?” Kath called over the phone.

you cleared your throat willing away the tears.

             “3 for 3. he got them all correct.”

             “so that means?” Kath asked motioning for you to say it.

             “you’re my soulmate,” you said as you stared into his eyes.

--

Harry smiled at you with tears welling in his eyes. he was so happy that he found you. you knew him now.

you both spent the next hour talking about anything and everything.

             “when can i come visit you?” he asked.

             “i’m free until christmas, you know, beside going to work.”

             “great, okay,” he started.

Harry scrolled through his calendar. as he did so, it became very apparent to him that he was fully booked from now until after new year’s.

Kath saw his scrolling of endless events until it stopped in mid-january.

             “you know what?” she started. “december is just so busy with the holidays and stuff. why don’t you both just meet up sometime in january?”

             “uhhhh…okay. that works, i guess.”

she sent him a wink, and he gave her a grateful nod.

--

january it was. you had to wait until january to actually meet your soulmate. it was frustrating. you talked to him on the phone every day. you texted, occasionally facetimed. he was so close now, yet still so far. it was infuriating.

you had to bear christmas by yourself as you watched your cousins laugh and celebrate with their soulmates. you were the only recipient of multiple backhanded comments from your aunts that lived out of town. ‘why haven’t you met your soulmate yet, (y/n)?’ ‘you’re getting to old to be single, (y/n).’ ‘why don’t you just settle down with some nice boy, (y/n)? you don’t need a soulmate, (y/n).’

you were growing tired of the nagging. you just wanted to see him. you wanted to spend christmas with him. would he sit by the fire with you? would he laugh with your cousins? would he drink coffee and eat cookies with your grandparents? would he share his life with you?

you missed him. absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

--

on january 14, Harry sat in an airport. a blizzard had delayed his flight. he brushed his hand through his hair. it was frustrating. he was a three-hour flight away from you, and all that way keeping him away was this stupid blizzard. it didn’t help that everyone was obsessing over the fact that it was the biggest snowstorm they had ever seen. he was growing tired of it. he just wanted to see you.

his flight was delayed until 8 pm so he had five more hours until his flight. he was growing incessantly bored. he downloaded about 7 pointless games on his phone just to pass the time. one of them was getting quite addicting, but nonetheless, his attention fell elsewhere. he scrolled through his instagram instead. he found pictures of you and your family from the past holiday posted on your page. he smiled at a picture of you holding a baby, which must have been one of your relative’s. there was another picture of you standing with your friends at a bar. you were wearing the ugliest christmas sweater he had ever seen as you smiled posing with Kath and who he assumed to be your other friend Eva.

his heart longed for you even more. he decided to take his mind off you. he put his headphones on before listening to his playlist. at some point, he must have fallen asleep because he was awoken by something bumping into his leg.

             “trevor,” a voice called.

Harry opened his eyes to find a little boy, who had to be no older than two, holding onto his leg.

             “i’m so sorry,” a woman said reaching to pick up the child. “he likes to run sometimes. i’m sorry that he disturbed you.”

             “hey, no. it’s no problem,” he said straightening up in his seat.

             “are you on the next flight to (your hometown)?” she asked as she bounced the little boy in her arms. “if you don’t mind me asking?”

             “no, i don’t mind. yeah, i’m on the next flight,” he answered. “are you?”

             “yeah, heading home after visiting family. you?”

             “i’m going to see m’ soulmate,” he smiled.

the woman smiled and nodded.

             “that is a special thing.”

he nodded in agreement.

             “it is,” he said. “it really is.”

their attention was then torn from each other when their gate announced that it was boarding early.

             “i better get back to my husband. again, i’m sorry if he bothered you. have a safe trip,” the woman nodded.

Harry nodded to her as he bid her a safe trip as well.

after boarding the plane, he soon found himself buckled into his seat as the plane ascended into the air. he slipped his headphones on as he closed his eyes.

3 more hours until he could be with her.

--

around 11:30, Harry found himself in an uber driving to the address Kath gave him. he watched as the snow fell upon the town. everything seemed so quiet and peaceful. the trees were covered in a gentle frost, and the local shops had their christmas lights shining brightly in the snow.

he soon arrived at a small house in a small neighborhood just outside of the city. he got out of the car and thanked his driver before grabbing his bags. he stepped onto the sidewalk and admired the home. white christmas lights gently framed the house, and he could see a small christmas tree in the front window. unlike most people, she kept her decorations up even after the holiday. he admired that.

--

you were sitting on the couch when your dog started barking out the front window. rolling your eyes at your overdramatic dog, you paused your show and went to inspect what she was barking at. it was almost midnight, and for her to be barking at anything this late made you weary.

that’s when you saw it. well, him not it. you stared at the man standing on the sidewalk outside your house at 11:56 pm on a tuesday night.

this was no stranger though. you quickly ran to your front door tripping over the blanket you had wrapped around yourself with your dog following right behind you. she barked ferociously at your sudden outburst, and you threw open your door.

you stood there on your porch stunned.

was this all a dream?

--

Harry stood at the bottom of your porch with a gentle smile on his face. you were wrapped up in a large thick blanket. it practically swallowed you up. the snow fell gently around him.

             “hi.”

             “hi.”

he watched as you combed a hand through your hair. you looked away from him placing a hand over your mouth.

             “are-are you real?” you asked tilting your head to the side.

your eyes prickled with tears, and Harry saw you squint your eyes at him. unknown to him, you were trying to will away your tears.

             “i’m real, love,” he smiled with tears in his own eyes.

             “okay,” you choked out as you launched yourself off the porch into his arms.

.

.

hope you enjoyed! - mosh

taglist: 

@winchesterwife27 

[seijch]

futakuchi kenji + gender neutral!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

superhero au, action/fluff with a bit of angst

content warning !! (nongraphic) descriptions of violence, mention of alcohol

14.2k

recommended listening

BY DAY, you attend classes and sling drinks at the campus cafe. By night, you’re known as the Harbinger, an individual with the Gift of shadow and darkness. Your two jobs have never had any reason to collide...not until the appearance of a fellow Gifted by the name of Ace, anyway.

"Your next job is an assassination," says the informant. He's tall, with blond hair going a little unruly in the wind. The real attention grabber, though, is the unblinking third eye that rests on his forehead. You feel his fingers probing at your brain, prying it open to tell you everything you need to know about your next target. This was a commonplace interaction between you; there were eyes and ears everywhere. The landscape of your mind was the safest place for secrets and information.

This time, it's some bigshot CEO allied with the Seijoh Conglomerate. He's trying to curry favor with the much smaller Johzenji Incorporated.

Negotiations are on Saturday, Three-Eyes (you'd never learned his name, not even his alias, and he'd never provided one) tells you. I've given you the location. You should know how to get there.

"Got it," you reply as his grip on your brain recedes. "Anything else?" The young man shrugs.

"The usual. Fly high. Don't fuck up. It'll look bad on all of Karasuno if you did." With that, his figure goes blurry and blips out of sight. Left standing alone at the rendezvous point, you sigh and slip into the darkness, riding the shadows all the way home.

 "Let me guess," Futakuchi says, shifting his gaze from his notepad to you, "a carbonara, extra cheese?"

"You know it." Say what you will about the simple dish, but it's been your favorite ever since the restaurant opened down the street before your first semester of university two years ago. Your eyes trace the brick walls of the small establishment, flit over Futakuchi's back as he enters the kitchen.

Due to its proximity to campus (and more recently, your apartment), you've been a regular patron since its opening. Despite this, though, it was your friendship with Futakuchi (and his employee discount) that kept a broke college student like you coming back for more.

(It started with an economics class you'd both taken in your first semester to raise your respective GPAs. You knew vaguely of each other, never having any reason to interact.

It continued the next semester with a group project for your communications class, once again shared with one Futakuchi Kenji. "Do you want to work together?" had spilled from your lips before you could think it through. You weren't friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was just the only one in the class you felt familiar enough with to ask.

"Sure," he responded. "Let's meet at the cafe close to the quad.")

"Here you go," Futakuchi says, taking you back to the present. "Without you, I'm sure this old place would've gone under months ago," he chuckles, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. He's thanking you, in his own roundabout way.

As always, you play along. "Aw, you'd miss me if I stopped showing up, wouldn't you?" He narrows his eyes at the grin you throw his way. You're sure he's about to hurl some sort of curse your way when an elderly couple walks past.

Schooling his features into something more refined, he gives you (and them) the smile of a saint. "Oh, please," he grits under his breath, "I give you three days tops before you come running back." You're left gaping at him like a fish, scrambling for a response, but nothing comes. His grin widens: he's won this one.

(After weeks' worth of research and countless cups of coffee consumed between you, the project was complete. You'd learned a lot about him — he was an electrical engineering major, played volleyball in high school, thought that Disney's Tangled was nothing short of a cinematic masterpiece — and the easy camaraderie you two had fallen into made your heart skip a beat.

Not that you'd ever admit it to him. He didn't need his ego to grow even bigger, lest his head get too swollen to keep upright. Whenever he walked into the cafe, the very same one you had your first meeting as partners at, to order his stupid chai tea latte, you would be forced to give it to him with a bright smile and held tongue.

You might've swallowed your feelings, but they've always been there, like a flower that had not yet met the right conditions to bloom.)

Saturday comes quickly. The venue is the most opulent hotel in the city, the crown jewel of the entertainment district. The whole place reeks of cigarette smoke, a result of the casino located on the first floor. You wrinkle your nose at the smell, darting between shadows to reach the room you're looking for.

Three-Eyes needs to work on his navigational skills, you think. The penthouse suite could've been better reached by taking to the skies and landing on the roof. (Plus, you've always liked the feeling of twisting the thin, watery darkness into wings with which to take flight.) You chalk it up to needing to exercise the utmost caution, and for good reason: there are two armed guards stationed at the door. No way around it.

From around the corner, you send your shadow to strangle one of the guards, sinking incorporeal fingers into his throat. He gargles as his body falls, and you curse as it thuds on the marble floor. The other guard's on full alert now, his gun locked and loaded. He tries to move, to look for the assailant, but he can't: you've pinned his shadow where it stands.

Inky black tendrils make their way to the guard, his eyes widening. You wonder, dimly, what he must think. The thoughts people have before their lives end at your hands has always been a point of speculation for you.

Not that you ever give them much time to think; it's a small mercy, to kill someone swiftly. You may be a criminal, but you’re far from a sadist.

You crack the door open, catch a glimpse of the scene inside.

The target's running his mouth, his glass of red wine coming close to spilling with each flourish of his hands. They're decorated with gaudy rings, each outfitted with a flashy gem. A small staffing of guards watches the scene, all stone-faced and no doubt better trained than the goons you took out less than two minutes ago.

The room's nice, furnishing sleek and minimalist. It's also well-lit, bringing a frown to your face. You were at your most effective when it was dark as pitch, but the cogs turn in your head as you formulate a plan.

What intrigues you the most, however, is the young man standing behind your target. His mask covers his eyes, as though he were attending a masquerade ball and not overseeing a critical business deal. It's outfitted with...card suits. One side the spade, the other the heart, with the club and diamond in the middle. His stance is relaxed, bored, even. You're not sure who he is; Three-Eyes didn't tell you about this. He must be a new addition, you think. He's not armed. Is he Gifted, like you?

Doesn't matter. The modern chandelier above does well to light the room, but you find purchase in the shadow of a stool on the kitchen island. You leap into it, molding yourself to the darkness as you lie in wait.

"Those are the terms and conditions of our deal," the CEO from Seijoh finishes, lacing his fingers together as he leans back in his chair. "Do you have any questions?" The Johzenji representative opens his mouth, but you're only half aware of his response.

Fact: When you're assuming the form of another shadow, you can't send your own to do your bidding.

Fact: Making this quick and easy isn't possible.

Fact: Confrontation is inevitable.

Fact: You have a bad feeling about the man in the mask.

That being said, you wouldn't have gotten this far in Karasuno if you were afraid to get your hands dirty, whether you liked it or not.

In a single instant, you emerge from hiding and trap the masked man's shadow before he can spring into action. All eyes are on you, but before the CEO can sputter commands, you send an appendage of darkness to pierce his chest. He gurgles, blood spilling from his mouth, before he slumps into the chair. The red wine spills all over the plush carpet, seeping in to stain.

The guards launch into action, forming a protective circle around the Johzenji representative. They're all aiming for you.

Perfect.

Before they open fire, you lock yourself in a barrier. The shots, as you predicted, ricochet and knock out some of the lights from the chandelier. Once the roar of gunfire ceases, you force the barrier outward to skewer your attackers.

They choke, last cries strained as their bodies fall to the ground. You scan the room, all shattered glass and bleeding bodies. Well. I should clean this up a little before I leave. You don’t dwell on the thought for too long, though; there’s still one person left on the floor.

The masked man's stayed perfectly still and silent throughout this whole encounter. (Of course he would; he wouldn't be able to move, even if he tried.) "You're good," he remarks as you close in on him. "It's just a shame," he tuts, sidestepping—sidestepping?—your attack, "that I'm better." He's broken from your hold, somehow, and is out the window (when did it open?) before you can get a hold of him.

"Don't take it personally," he calls after you. "You were just unlucky." You curse under your breath; Three-Eyes is not gonna like this. You shackle the Johzenji representative to the ground, looking down at him as he quivers in fear.

"Well then," you sigh, cutting your losses, "why don't you tell me all about this deal Johzenji is making with Seijoh, hm?"

There was a young man with the Seijoh CEO, you tell Three-Eyes, though you know he's long since sifted through your memories of last night to know. I don't know if he was Gifted or not.

We have no record of him. When we meet tomorrow, I'll give you a supplement that will let you temporarily see who around you is Gifted. Take it before your next mission.

You make the mistake of letting your mind wander, and curse his stupid psychic Gift when he adds, tone bone-dry, No, not a suppository. Supplements are taken orally. He releases his hold on you and you swear you see him shake his head at your train of thought.

(Really, it's not your fault the two words were so closely related; as much as you've given to this second job of yours, you weren't ready to insert anything odd into your most personal crevices.)

"Meet in the usual place tomorrow. I'll also be giving you the details of your next mission." That's all he says before teleporting away. You glance at your phone, color rushing out of your face in record time.

"Fuck!" You fling open the service door of the campus cafe, retying your apron as you rush in. Cramming the cash from Three-Eyes into your bag, you rejoin your boss on the floor. He's chewing you out, and just as well: you've extended your fifteen-minute break to something akin to a twenty-five.

You're only half listening. Instead, you're replaying the events of last night, the man in the mask the only thing on your mind.

No one’s ever broken free before. You’re staring at your hands, clenching and unclenching them in the motion to trap a shadow. How did he do it?

"You in for a long night?" you ask Futakuchi, setting his chai latte on the table. He's come during dinner hours, rendering the cafe mostly empty.

"Yeah. The professors in my department have been working us to the bone." He stops to take a sip, nodding in appreciation. "I mean, I get it. Top five engineering school and all. But shit," he huffs as you wipe down a nearby table, "I feel like I can't catch my breath." You clean the store as he rolls his shoulders, a brief break before his fingers fly over the keys of his laptop. It's companionable, the lo-fi tunes from the speakers the only real sound.

(You were no stranger to all-nighters with Futakuchi by your side. In fact, that was the only way your project could have ever reached completion.

"College is not what I expected it to be," he'd groaned one night, the two of you holed up in a corner of the library. It was getting late: you're sure the staff was going to kick you out any second now. You looked up from your laptop to see him with his head in his hands, tablet pen still between his fingers.

In truth, you'd also been hoping for more of an opportunity to let loose. This was supposed to be the time of your life, the transitory period between what remained of your youth and true adulthood. Instead, you'd spent all your time at work, in lecture, or working with Futakuchi on this damn presentation.

None of those things were inherently bad, but they certainly weren't in line with the more...entertaining college lifestyle you'd envisioned yourself leading. To sympathize, you'd told him as much, garnering a laugh as he agreed with you.

"Well,“ he’d looked at you then, eyes hooded with drowsiness, “at least we're in it together."

Your heart leaped to your throat, and you fumbled over your reply. "Who said I was going to stick around?" It sounded less like a verbal jab and more of a stab in the dark.

"And here I thought you enjoyed the mutually beneficial relationship we had," he lamented, a hand on his chest in mock hurt. "Never again will I let you use my employee discount." You'd kicked his shin under the table and told him to get back to work.

When you'd gotten home that night, those seven words had kept you awake, tossing and turning. You were brought together out of necessity, after all; who's to say that he'd stick around once the shackles of obligation were broken?)

The amount of light pollution in the city has never done your powers good, rendering the sky almost starless, but you'll be damned if it doesn't look amazing from above. You land at the top of the old clock tower, the building standing only because of its history. It's a relic in a city bustling with modernity, and you find solace in the low ticks and tocks as the seconds pass into minutes. 

You watch cars race by, blips of color moving in the cityscape. You'd met with Three-Eyes earlier to receive the supplement (he'd reminded you once more to take it orally) and the location of your next mission. Your head still buzzes when you shake it, his influence not so easily forgotten.

Your wings drip with liquid shadow; when you'd first come into your Gift, you had been surprised at the almost milky texture of the dark. You're stretching them out, practicing your control, when you're interrupted.

"Huh," he says. "I wasn't expecting to see you here." Before he finishes his sentence, you've bound him from the neck down in an uncomfortable sort of straitjacket. You tighten your hold; he's not getting away this time.

"Good evening to you too," he grins. "How rude of myself to not even properly introduce myself," he barrels on before you can get a word in edgewise. "They call me Ace." His voice is casual, like he's meeting with a friend and not tied up in front of someone who wants to kill him.

You've turned the wings at your back into razor-sharp edges that itch to skewer his poor body. One of them grazes his Adam's apple, and he tilts his head up in defiance, looking down on you. "So you're Gifted?" It's barely a question, but one you figure you should ask regardless. As much as you’d love to skip to the part where he lies motionless on the floor, the idea of never scratching that itch, never getting the answers you’ve been wanting since you first met leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

"What do you think?" he asks, placid smile pasted on his lips. In the blink of an eye, he's wriggled out of your binding—how? "Pretty good, if I do say so myself," he preens at his accomplishment. You make to end him once and for all, answers be damned, but he dodges every spike that comes his way. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth in disapproval, leaping out of the way of a particularly nasty advance that pierces the floor. "I introduce myself, act nothing but cordial, and this is the thanks I get?" He lets loose a long-suffering sigh that only pisses you off.

"Not like it matters. I already know who you are." You try to close the distance, but he's quick to widen the gap. "The Harbinger...did you come up with that one yourself? It's a nice name, for sure. A bit vague, if anything, but oh so frightening." He's overcome with fake emotion, the end of his sentence condescending. He has the nerve to talk down to you, and you return it by pinning his shadow before he can run away again.

You're almost there. He's within reach, but your foot gets stuck in the hole you'd made trying to get to him. You curse, the sound guttural as it comes from the back of your throat. "Darn," he simpers, throwing in a pitying snap as you yank your foot out. "You almost got me there too. Unfortunately for you," he shrugs, once again free from your grip on his shadow, "I'm getting bored. Do better.” If being such an insufferable asshole was a real Gift, you’re sure Ace would be among the first to manifest it.

"Well,” he says, voice closing the door on the interaction, “'til next time, Harbinger." Before you can even try to get to him again, he's gotten a running start. Your eyes widen as he jumps from what must be a terminal height to the nearest building—and lands it.

Ace? Three-Eyes asks, once again in your head. Do you know what his Gift is? He's rewatching your encounter with him, and you ignore his snide comments about how easily he managed to wipe the floor with you.

No clue. He didn't attack me. The admission causes Three-Eyes' eyebrows to raise as he plays the encounter over again, looking at it through a new lens. Frankly, you're getting tired of seeing your ass get kicked. Definitely a slippery bastard. He's probably working for Seijoh.

We'll send an agent to do recon on their Gifted. This could just be an independent. Seijoh was fond of attracting Gifted to their cause, promising wealth in exchange for power. Three-Eyes seems satisfied with what he's seen, and you shiver as he returns your mind to you. No matter how many times he does it, you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling.

"At any rate," he throws over his shoulder, "don't fuck up tonight."

Seijoh is awfully fond of glitz and glamor, and it shows: the charity banquet is decorated to the nines. A part of you longs to participate, but you're here to gather information, to play the part of the fly on the wall. The waitstaff glides across the floor in a dance of service, offering champagne and hors d'oeurves alike to the chattering elite.

Take the tablet thirty minutes before you enter, Three-Eyes had told you. Once it kicks in, any Gifted should glow orange at the edges. A memory through the eyes of a stranger had entered your mind then, and in it you saw Three-Eyes outlined in neon orange, the edges softly blurred.

Sneaking in is much easier this time, a shadow creeping far enough past the door that you can slip in without a hitch. You're prepared to assess whatever shady deals Seijoh is setting up this time, but you see a man near the door stiffen. He's glowing orange at the edges, and you swallow. The man is big, with a shock of white hair. Leaning against the wall next to him is Ace, the orange outline bleeding in the space between the two Gifted.

"Harbinger," the unfamiliar face says, voice deep. You blanch, holding your breath as he turns to face you. He's fast for his size, head whipping in the direction you move to, taking the form of a different shadow. The guard detail tonight, armed to the teeth, focuses their aim where you hide.

This is bad. Gunfire claws against your ears, and you leap out of the shadow to put up a barrier before they tear you apart. Glass shatters. A lightbulb goes off in your head, feeling deja vu tug at the corners of your brain. You break into a sprint.

The security detail picks up on your plan, aiming one step ahead of you as you run to the now broken window. From the corner of your eye, you see one such bullet speeding towards you.

It feels like the world around you slows down, like you can see each detail of the dusky yellow metal as it hurtles to the point of impact. 

This is it, isn’t it?

The bullet will lodge itself (or worse, pass through) your midsection. This opulent room will be where you meet your end. They’ll clean up your body, mop up the blood. The cleaning staff is going to have their work cut out for them, you think.

You wonder if time slows for each of your victims before you take them out. You regret not being quicker about it; you thought you were doing them a service, but this? This is nothing but agony.

All you can do is keep moving. Your feet are heavy as one moves in front of the other.

The world returns to its normal pace.

Your momentum carries you forward. The bullet is off by what must be millimetres, grazing your back. You leap out of the window.

The last thing you see as you fly away is Ace's eyes on yours, heart hammering against your ribcage.

Three-Eyes has never been the most expressive nor the most emotional, so to feel the fury rolling off him in waves stuns you silent. "You failed the mission?" he asks. It's a rhetorical question, of course; he's seen your memories. Multiple times. "You had a job to do, and you...what?" His voice stays even, but the eye that rests at the center of his forehead trembles slightly.

He exhales. His third eye stills once again.

"Look," he reasons. "I know you're pretty new around here, but the higher-ups demand results. You cannot fail. Keep that in mind next time we meet."

Your informant leaves after that, phasing out of your sight. Your failure probably reflects poorly on him, too; you've never met the higher-ups, the head honchos of Karasuno, but you figure they must be forces of nature. Shame washes over you as you return home.

For the first time since you joined Karasuno, you don't return home with an envelope of cash.

“I feel like I’m seeing more of you these days.” Futakuchi sighs when you call him out, raising his hands in surrender.

“There’s a paper due at the end of the month. My GPA can’t take it if I fall behind, so I asked them to cut my hours at the restaurant.” He’s had impeccable grades since the day you met, but you figure they weren’t entirely borne of natural aptitude. You, on the other hand, have been taking on more shifts in an attempt to offset the cost of failing your last mission.

One paycheck from Karasuno was almost twice as much as you made at your day job. You close your eyes, see rent’s due date glaring at you. Three-Eyes was right. There can’t be any more fuck ups; you literally cannot afford it.

“Well,” you hand him his latte (he’d only admitted it once, but you were the one who made his order the best), “you’ve come to the right place.”

It's been getting colder recently. The chilly night air nips at your skin, sends goosebumps up your arms.

"I get it, this is a nice lookout spot," Ace says, jolting you out of your reverie. "But really? Once was bad enough. Imagine if I found you here while I was on the clock." You don't immediately move to kill him, so he stands a respectable distance away.

"On the clock? For Seijoh?"

"Who's to say?" he deflects.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It can mean whatever you want it to. Just because I'm seen with Seijoh doesn't have to mean I'm working with them." He says that, but his presence alongside some of Seijoh's bigwigs begs to differ. "At the end of the day, I'm just some guy with a mask on, right?"

"No."

He laughs, incredulous. "No? Are you denying it?" He taps his mask, the ornamentation of the spade shifting beneath his touch. "The evidence is right there, isn't it?"

"I meant that you're not just some guy." When you swallow, it's heavy. You've started having nightmares about that day, ones where you don't make it out alive. You were so sure the bullet would connect...until it didn't hit at all.

More than anything, you remember the look he gave you as you ran away. It's that gaze that makes an appearance behind your eyelids every night. You've given up on trying to piece it together by now.

"Aww." Ace tilts his head, pursing his lips in sarcastic affection. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" You (once again) start to wish you'd killed him where he stood.

Instead, you say, "What did you do?" He gives you yet another look you can't decipher, another thing to mull over alone in your room under cover of darkness.

"Who knows?" he shrugs, avoiding a straight answer once again. "Maybe you just got lucky. Why do you assume I had something to do with it?"

(He has a point; all you have to go off of is a look and a feeling. You hate that he's right.)

The only noise at this point is the steady tick-tock of the clock tower and the breeze passing by, a gentle tap on your shoulder, a kiss on your cheek. You don't respond, soaking in his words. He could be lying. He could also be telling the truth.

You're not sure which you'd like to hear more.

"You said you were off the clock," you say after the silence has set in long enough to change the topic. He nods, gaze focused on the few cars on the road below. "I take it whatever...arrangement you have with Seijoh isn't permanent."

"Is work all you talk about? Man, I hope you're not this much of a stick in the mud behind the mask."

That hits a nerve. "I'll have you know I am very pleasant beneath the mask," you defend. He smirks, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Harbinger."

“Okay, be honest,” you begin, shutting the menu with a snap (as if you even read it). “Am I...uptight?”

Kenji inhales sharply, taking your menu with careful fingers. You’re well aware you’ve just dropped him in a minefield, but you watch him squirm with serious eyes. Ace’s words from the night before ring in your ears, and you’re itching to prove him wrong.

Poorly equipped to answer the question at hand, Kenji instead asks, “...You sure you want me to be honest?” He yelps when you aim to whack him with a roll of complimentary bread. “You were the one who asked!”

“You’re supposed to be a good friend!” you hiss between bites of another dinner roll.

“You asked me to be honest! What was I supposed to do?” he sputters. “Lie?” Kenji confiscates the roll of bread, uttering a mocking hum when you whine.

“Yes!” He doesn’t bother replying, muttering under his breath as he takes your order—and your makeshift weapon—to the kitchen.

You'd think that a business conglomerate with its fingers deep in the city's underbelly would do a better job at hiding confidential files. You guess Seijoh's got bigger fish to fry. Not that you're complaining, of course; this only makes your job easier.

(We've done extensive recon on this location, Three-Eyes had informed you. He was still tense with the knowledge of your last fuck-up, but you were given a mission regardless. It's where they keep their records of the Gifted in their system, hired or not.)

The job, for once, is simple. Get in. Collect the files Three-Eyes had drilled into your brain. Get the fuck out.

(Just watch out. They have this guy running point on their security. In your memory was the image of a man, hair dyed blond save for the twin black stripes running parallel lines around his head.

He...kinda looks like a bumblebee, you'd thought, hoping to draw a laugh from your informant. It didn't work. His jaw had hardened, and his eyes—unfortunately, not the third one—had rolled.

They call him the Mad Dog. If you see him, do not engage. His Gift—if you can call it that—is the ability to break bones and pop blood vessels with a single touch. Okay, yikes. You'd breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of examples Three-Eyes had given; he was often very thorough, but you were grateful he'd refrained from providing a visual this time.)

To his credit, Three-Eyes' navigation skills are getting better. Getting to the archives poses no problem, the office completely dark. If you got into a fight, you were almost certain you’d come out on top.

The only catch is the dozens of the drawers you'll have to open to find the files you're looking for. With a sigh, you fish out the small flashlight given to you by Three-Eyes the last time you were tasked with recon.

(I should also warn you, Three-Eyes said, that you might be terminated if you fail this mission. We won't kill you or anything like that, he'd assured you when you'd flinched. At least, I don't think so. But your memories of this time will be erased entirely from your mind.

His gaze was devoid of any levity, any mercy. I can put things in your head no problem, but I make no promises to be gentle if I have to take them away.)

You're thumbing through the files of the independents Seijoh has hired when you see not one, but two faces you recognize.

The first is the large man with the white hair that had managed to sniff you out from the shadows. His real name is redacted, the same as every other report, but you catch a glimpse of his designation. Bloodhound Unit 1-A. Fitting. You'd already collected the files of other members of Seijoh's bloodhounds; this was the last one on your list.

They all possessed similar enough Gifts, in the end: the ability to locate Gifted whenever they used their powers.

The second file you recognize is Ace, pictured in all his masked glory with a shit-eating grin. You stop to read this one; it’s not every day you learn the ins and outs of the biggest pain in your ass to date.

Gifted #1110 has the ability to manipulate the probability of events (moderate effect), the classification reads. This makes him uniquely suited to an escort position for negotiations with other companies.

That explains why you've only seen him around officials. You trace your encounters back to the beginning, to all his comments about luck. He'd escaped you because he'd willed it, forced the hands of fate in his favor.

This casts the events of your last mission under a different light: he let you live.

Why?

You take both reports, the last two files needed, and make your escape.

It’s midnight. The clock tower rings out behind you to welcome the new hour, but you’re not paying much attention. Bouncing around in your mind like an old computer’s screensaver is the project due at the end of the month and the need to confront Ace about what exactly happened the night of your last mission.

You're about to call it a night and leave the clock tower when he appears. "Why is it that every time I come here to think, you show up?"

"I wasn't aware you were capable of cognizant thought," you fire back.

"Wow. Okay. Low blow." You manage an indignant laugh from him. "And especially rich, might I add, considering I'm the one who's come out on top every time we've crossed paths."

You don’t bother beating around the bush; you’ve waited too long to engage in his verbal sparring matches. "You really are a lucky bastard, aren't you?" It's not a question. He grins in response, as if you’ve passed a test.

"Took you long enough to notice. I was beginning to worry I'd have to spell it out for you."

Your meetings at the clock tower become routine. Ace shows up at midnight, you notice, fond of startling you as the tower rings.

("Are you stalking me or something?" you'd asked at the start. "Is your friend with the white hair sniffing me out so you can work up the courage to ask me out on a proper date?"

He laughed at that longer than was really appropriate, long enough for you to wonder what could possibly be so bad about posing yourself as a dating prospect. Second occupation aside, you were a catch and a half, and you were about to let him know when he caught his breath enough to reply. "Don't flatter yourself, Harbinger," he wheezed. "If anything," he'd sniffed, now nonchalant, "I should be asking you that question."

"What was it you just said?" You tapped your chin, coming to a realization, "Oh. Don't flatter yourself," you replied flatly. At this point, he was standing next to you. You'd turned to look at him, then. Not to look in the way you'd done several times before, but to really look at your...enemy?

You didn't know what to call him. Live saver might have been accurate, but you would rather have taken the bullet than call him that to his face. You weren't friends, nor were you enemies—not right now, anyway.

You didn't know what to make of this in-between you've found yourselves in, this space between hate and friendship.)

To throw a wrench into things even further, you find that he looks...handsome in the low light. You add the thought to the growing list of things you'd be quicker to take to your grave than admit to him.

(There was truth to the statement, though. You couldn't make out all of his face, of course, but the slicked back hair paired with a strong jaw looked promising enough. It's not like he was spindly either, body all lean muscle. You'd been staring for much longer than was considered socially acceptable, and he'd noticed. "Like what you see?"

"Not at all," you'd lied.

The worst part had been the fact that checking Ace out—sizing him up—wasn't on your list of regrets. What it was on was your laundry list of things regarding Ace that you couldn't wrap your head around.)

You learn things about him, things you'd sooner learn about a normal person instead of someone you seek to kill half the time.

He likes dogs.

(“I had one back in junior high. When I move out of the city and into a real house, I think I’ll adopt one of the same breed.” He’d shuddered before continuing. “I could never get one of those small dogs, though. All bark and no bite.”

“I think they’re a perfect fit for you,” you told him.

“Oh, ha ha. Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one on a losing streak.”)

He spends an inordinate amount of money on candy.

("You should see my pantry," he laughed. "I used to really like those like…” he was talking with his hands, gesturing in the air, “sour gummy worms back in high school. I guess the habit of buying them never wore off."

"I’m surprised you don’t have cavities."

"Please. My dentist loves me.")

He refuses to admit to crying when Mufasa died in The Lion King.

("So what if I was five?" he'd huffed, crossing his arms. "That's no excuse.")

It's humanizing.

It's concerning.

Now, when you look at Ace, you no longer see an unexpected roadblock, the joker being put into play. You begin to agree with what he told you weeks ago: he really was just some guy in a mask.

You begin to wonder when you became so quick to agree with him.

Your fork twirls around the pasta, you and Kenji sitting cross-legged on your carpet as a Marvel movie plays.

You'd been the one to suggest a celebration, having made it out of midterms alive. He'd agreed, bringing over some of your favorites from the restaurant after his shift.

The movie is good (though Kenji's uncanny ability to chime in during emotional scenes makes your eye twitch, just a little), the food even better. Before you know it, both of you are blinking bleary eyes awake in the morning light.

"What time is it?" you mutter, hand slapping the surface of the coffee table you'd fallen asleep on in an attempt to find your phone. Kenji rolls his head around in a circle, trying to ease the crick in his neck.

"Too early. Maybe around eight," he yawns, trying to once again make himself comfortable on the couch and go back to sleep.

You, on the other hand, have never been more awake in your life. When you find your phone, you find that he's right—it's almost eight. Your shift starts at nine. At this time of day, it takes half an hour to get to work.

"Shit," you curse, forcing your half-asleep body to move and do as much damage control as you can manage. "I have work in an hour. You can leave now if you want, but you gotta be out when I am."

"Nah, I'll give you a ride. My place is in that direction anyway." There's something about the way he says it, his voice a touch deeper with the morning and the way it rolls off his tongue like he's said it a million times, that makes your heart clench. There's not enough time to dwell on it, so you let him stay while you get ready for the day.

(Somewhere, deep in the pit of your stomach, that same seed of infatuation you'd swallowed months ago threatens to sprout.)

The name Ace, as it turns out, is one he came up with himself.

"You really couldn't have come up with anything better?" you ask. "It's a nice name. A bit vague, sure," you parrot the words from your first meeting as Ace narrows his eyes at you, unimpressed, "but oh so frightening." Emboldened by his confession and greedy in the light of your victory, you tilt his chin to meet your gaze head on.

The touch is electrifying, like a spark igniting for the first time in a brilliant flame. You force it to fizzle out as quick as it came, hand drawing back in shock.

These midnight meetings have changed your dynamic with Ace. It's delicate, like a house of cards that stacks higher and higher with each encounter. You worry that the slightest deviation from what's been established might send the whole thing crashing down.

"The people at Karasuno were the ones who named me," you fumble, trying to defuse the tension. "They saw me flying when I was still learning what I was and offered to take me in."

Almost a year ago, you'd been discovered by two boys. It was embarrassing, in hindsight: you crashed into the taller one, leading to the other doubled over in laughter.

You learned that their names were Kageyama and Hinata, and they were pretty new to this whole Gifted thing, too. You haven’t seen much of them recently; once you three “graduated,” for lack of a better term, into full-time operatives, you often found yourself flying solo.

"So what?" Ace asks. "You just joined a criminal organization?"

"I didn't know it was Karasuno at first," you snap. "Not until it was too late. But I'm here now. Money is money."

"You could've just..." he lets the words hang in the air, trying to find the best response. "I don't know." Instead, he asks a different question: "Would you have joined Seijoh or done something else if not for Karasuno?"

"What difference does it make?" you ask. "When you break it down, we're the same. Our Gift manifested, so we joined the first organization willing to pay us enough in exchange for being the ones to do their dirty work. Besides," you huff, head tilted to try and find any hint of starlight in the night sky, "I'd be doing exactly what I do now if I was with Seijoh."

"...You don't sound very pleased about that."

"Yeah?" Your laugh is humorless as you chew on your bottom lip. "I wouldn't be doing this at all if I could afford it. This all started because I wanted to get in touch with my Gift and learn more about it." You bring up a web of darkness, warping it into different shapes in a show of control. "Just so happens they help me with my rent enough that I don't have to live paycheck to paycheck."

He's pensive, nodding along with your words. "You know, we should bring drinks up here sometime. I think we both need a break. You from your rent, me from my tuition deadlines. How 'bout it?"

Despite yourself, you reply, "Yeah. I'd like that." 

(Even worse is the fact that you don't think you want this to be an empty promise.)

You're at the clock tower again. The routine's stabilized into a weekly affair; it's unspoken between you two to meet on Friday nights, right as the day rolls over into Saturday morning. "Do you remember our last conversation?" Ace asks.

"About how you still owe me drinks?" Your legs are dangling over the edge of the tower, knocking against Ace's feet as the world whizzes below you.

"I thought it would be a potluck-style affair. We did establish that we're both broke, right? Why are you making me buy everything?"

"Wasn't my idea to get drunk with someone I've tried to kill," you offer. "Multiple times. I figured Seijoh's dirty money would be more than enough to afford a pack of shitty beer."

"If I'm going to drink with someone that's tried to kill me," for your benefit, he tacks on, "multiple times, I'm going to make it good. But that wasn't the part of the conversation I was talking about."

"Then what was?"

His shoulders tense, almost imperceptibly. You wouldn't catch it if you weren't sitting next to him. "Do you ever wonder..." He's reticent with his next words, as though they're better unspoken, "what would've happened if we worked together?"

"If this is some ploy to get me to join your so-called good side," you drawl, throwing up some jazz hands, "I'm afraid it won't work. We've been over this: it wouldn't make any difference."

"No," he says. He's not looking at you, but rather at the full moon that smiles at you from above. "I mean like...a world where it's always like this." He bumps his shoulder against yours, and you become hyperaware of the lack of space between you.

(When did it lessen? You could layer your hand over his, if you so pleased. Are his fingers calloused, are they warm?)

You force the thoughts back into the dark corner of your mind from which they came. "Don't go falling for me," you warn. (You're not sure who you're warning, exactly, but it's a warning nonetheless.) "You should know by now I won't be around to catch you."

His gaze is somewhere far away when he says, "I know."

There's a warm mug in your hands and a show you're barely watching on TV. You're alone, bundled in your comfiest blankets. You and Kenji had scheduled a movie night, but you had cancelled on him, citing your neverending pile of assignments as an excuse.

Somehow, seeing him hours after being with Ace feels wrong.

You take the day to unpack everything about Ace you normally save for the wee hours of the night, when your heart still races as you return home from the clock tower. Your eyes are glazed over as you analyze his every word, every action, try your best to read between the lines.

Then it hits you.

Why bother reading so much into it? Why expend so much energy into trying to figure him out?

It's not like—

Oh.

The realization of your feelings for your sort-of enemy isn't a loud affair, not at all like glass shattering or the freefall felt after leaping out of broken windows. It's quiet, almost unnervingly so.

Taking a sip of your drink, you step into this newfound truth as though it were your favorite pair of pants.

Here's the problem with this new truth: you're pretty sure that being in love with a member of Seijoh is off-limits.

"You'd think that in a city this big, we wouldn't be seeing so much of each other," he quips. Why is he always where you want to be? It had been annoying (until it wasn't), but on this fine Wednesday night, you’d wanted anything but to see him. 

"And here I was, trying to find someplace new." Instead of the clock tower you'd both made your unspoken rendezvous point, you've come across Ace atop a skyscraper.

"Aww, I thought we were friends." Is that what he thinks? You're not sure if that's a testament to the change in your relationship or a confession just shy of what you really want.

(But is this what you want? A life of secrecy and hidden eyes?)

Ace pats the space next to him, motioning for you to come sit. You don't move. You worry that if you do, all the things you’re keeping hidden will come tumbling out unbidden.

(Would it be so bad if it did?)

"I'm fine here," you squeak. Your voice is meek, only serving to raise suspicion.

"...Are you okay?"

(What are you supposed to say to that? That you think you're in love with him when you barely know him, don't even know what he looks like? Are you supposed to tell him that even though you're on opposing sides, his eyes are the ones that haunt your dreams? How do you convey that all you could ever want is for things to stay like this, the city cloaked in perpetual night with Ace at your side and in your heart?)

There aren't any words in the English language that could get the point across.

He draws closer, as if magnetized to you. If words can't do it, maybe actions can.

You don’t think. You don’t speak.

All you do is yank the collar of his shirt towards you, crashing your lips against his. The house of cards you two had so delicately put together is lit aflame, but in this single selfish moment, you have no regrets.

You pour gasoline all over everything you know, tilting your head to take as much of Ace as he's willing to give.

(He pulls you flush against him, and later on you'll try to puzzle out how much of his reaction was instinct and how much of him was wanting for this, for you. For now, you're more than content to burn against him, with him. You take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull.)

“I think I did something stupid,” you groan, head in your hands as Kenji scrawls your order onto his notepad. You’re his last customer, but he doesn’t bother pulling out his finest Food Service Voice for you, not when you’re like this.

“What happened this time?” His question only elicits another drawn-out groan as you drag your hands down the sides of your face. “Yikes. That bad?” Returning to his notepad, he mumbles, “Extra cheese,” adding it to your order.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Kenji, to his credit, doesn’t push the issue.

The food is good, as always. It distracts you a bit from the crippling weight of what you’d done not even twenty-four hours ago. You even find it in yourself to give a heftier tip than usual.

And somehow, that’s enough.

For now.

Your next meeting with Ace is awkward, to say the least. 

The haze of desire that plagued your mind that night has cleared, and you're left to face the consequences of your actions. The stars above twinkle and titter in equal parts at your embarrassment.

He's waiting for you at the clock tower. A change of pace, considering midnight is a ways off.

"Fancy seeing you here." You're trying for normalcy, but it comes out forced.

"What can I say?" There's no wind tonight, and that only serves to charge the energy between you further. "I guess we're just drawn to each other." The accuracy of that statement sinks in, and you gnaw at the inside of your cheek as you roll it around in your head.

"About last night—" comes out of your mouth at the same time as "Listen, what happened—" comes out of his.

Nobody speaks. You're reminded of one of the first nights you spent with him here, the silence almost companionable. Tonight, it's oppressive, suffocating you with its iron grip.

"So...are you okay?"

"Am I?"

"I mean, I guess not. You didn't answer the question last time."

"I did answer it," you defend hotly, stiffening as the words spill from your mouth. Way to go, you grimace. You've done a bang-up job bringing up the one thing you were trying to avoid. Ace shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"Do we...wanna talk about it?" he asks, giving a tentative poke at the elephant in the room.

"Good question." You're looking at the ground, eyes catching against the hole from your very first meeting here. "You seem to be full of those lately."

"Thank you," he replies, on autopilot. For a moment, it's like nothing's changed, the house of cards still standing. "I try my best." There’s another lull in the conversation. You’re not even looking at him anymore, instead finding much to observe about the hole you’d made a month ago.

Fuck it. You've already dug yourself six feet under—you might as well force yourself all the way to rock bottom. "You know that this," you gesture between you, "can't happen, right? You don't even know who I am."

"You seem to neglect the fact that I might want to." Not for the first time, you curse his ability to parry even your worst remarks. Right. Your heart flutters, a betrayal of the highest order.

"You seem to neglect the fact that when you're on the clock, we're at each other's throats."

He grins. "Maybe."

"Are you always this irritating underneath the mask?"

At some point in the conversation, he's come to stand one breath away. "Why don't you find out?" he whispers against your lips as he closes the distance once more.

You're seething, knuckles gone white as you clench your fists at your sides. You're not the only one pissed: Three-Eyes is about to pop a blood vessel, a vein bulging on his forehead. Whatever you think you're doing needs to stop. He plays your exchanges with Ace over, sneers when he sees you kiss like it were gum caught beneath his shoe. There are more important things than...this. 

You might have the worst informant in all of Karasuno, forced to watch as he skims through the month of private memories you'd tried to keep under lock and key. This was supposed to be a quick meeting to receive the details of your next job, but it seems he had caught wind of what you had been so eager to hide.

What you're doing endangers not only Karasuno, but you especially. There are fates worse than termination and much worse than death, he reminds you. There’s an undercurrent to his words, both a warning and a threat. See to it that you change your behavior before your next job.

"For the record," he says, quick to leave your mind, disgusted by what he's seen, "I kinda liked you. Shame you won't remember that if I have to wipe your memory clean."

He's gone before you can respond.

"You look like you just got broken up with," Kenji remarks as you shovel pasta in your mouth. When your only response is a withering glare, his voice softens. "Alright, what's going on? 

"It's nothing," you lie. You're at the restaurant to eat your sorrows away, but the reason why is a can of worms you can't exactly afford to be forthcoming about. Explaining exactly what mess landed you halfway to sobbing with each bite you take to Kenji of all people would only end with you behind bars for all you've done. "I'll be okay, I just...really needed some pasta."

He doesn't look like he buys it, but he backs off. It's a half victory you're more than willing to take. "If you do need help, you know who to call." You nod, unable to respond with your mouth full.

When it's time for you to pay, Kenji emerges from the kitchen to tell you that just this once, your meal is on him.

Kenji's taking his break, sitting right across from you as if he hadn't been waiting your table less than five minutes ago. (His manager had shouted for him to take his break in the back, but Kenji, it seems, has long since mastered the art of selective hearing.) He doesn't say much, scrolling through his Instagram feed while you eat. You continue in relative silence, the only real noise being the sound of your fork against your plate. 

You're more than halfway done with your meal when he pipes up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

He rolls his eyes at you, locking his phone and putting it down. "Ha ha. Very funny. I'll be in the front row of all your stand-up comedy shows," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Thank you," you reply with a smile. "Anything for my number one fan." He pulls a face. "What did you want to talk about?"

Despite being the one to start the conversation, he's clamming up. "Forget it," he says, eyes focused on the people passing by outside rather than on you. "It's not important, anyway. Just some relationship troubles," he lets slip.

"Oh?" you ask. You're in much of the same boat, though you suspect that Kenji, at least, has met someone that he can reasonably be with. "What's wrong?"

"I'm with someone right now," he blurts before he can think it through. "Or I mean...sorta with someone."

"What does 'sorta with someone' mean?"

"I mean...we see each other every now and again, but our relationship's never been clearly defined. I know the feeling is mutual, but there are some," he gestures with his hands, "obstacles stopping us from being together."

"Like?" Kenji's never come to you with anything like this before, but he's being rather secretive about this whole affair.

"We're not...meant to be together?" He doesn't sound sure of that answer himself, considering his wince. "That's not right. There are just...a lot of factors stopping us from being together, that's all."

You twist your straw between your fingers before you take a sip. "Sometimes, timing is a big factor," you tell him. "Maybe you're not meant to be together right now? In that case, it might be better to end things before they go too far." Kenji nods, soaking your words in. 

"At the end of the day, Romeo,” you remind, "the only person you have to please is yourself. What do you want?"

"The only person you have to please is yourself," he repeats. Louder, he says, "I know what I want. Don’t really know what I’m gonna do about it, but..." he rises, his break over, "you know. Thanks, I guess.”

You do, in fact, know. "Anytime."

Pocketing his phone, Kenji whisks away your empty dishes and returns to the kitchen.

Solving his relationship problems had been so easy. You only wish untangling the mess that was your own was that simple.

>> (11:08 AM) kenji: are you free after your shift today

>> (11:13 AM) you: yeah

>> (11:13 AM) you: why?

>> (11:14 AM) kenji: no reason 

Sure enough, when the bell fixed to the door signals a customer's entrance towards the end of your shift, it's Kenji you come face to face with. "The usual."

"No please?" you ask, typing in his final total.

"Sorry, we haven't reached that level of friendship yet.” He pays with his phone, the screen displaying a blue check before he pockets it. "Ask me again in a few months."

"My bad. I seem to have mistaken our months of companionship and movie nights for something other than close friendship," you say, scribbling the name Coochie-kins on the side of his cup. "How will I ever make it up to you?" Your voice is monotone as you pass his order to your coworker. A quick glance to your watch tells you that Kenji is your last customer. Untying your apron with practiced ease, you clock out.

When you emerge from the back, now dressed in casual clothes, you approach Kenji. "Well? Not studying today?"

"Nah. I needed a break. Mind joining me?"

Before you know it, you're at an arcade. It's one of those modern ones, revamped for all ages and teeming with all sorts of bells and whistles. You stop at the entrance, peering into the glass where a large stuffed turtle calls to you. "You want it?" Kenji asks.

Right now, you're not sure if you've ever wanted anything more. After a quick stop to load up a card with enough credits to make your wallet ache, you return to the crane game. "Hit me," you tell him, and he swipes the card for you, looking amused.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You're a fucking supervilain working for one of the most prolific criminal organizations in the city. This stupid crane game doesn't stand a chance.

...is what you told yourself three attempts ago. The turtle slides out of the crane's grip once more, taunting you. You resist the primal urge to bash your head against the glass, instead opting for a drawn-out groan. "Is it even worth it?" you mumble.

"Let me try," Kenji says, hip bumping against yours as he nudges you to the side. "Watch and learn." He cracks his knuckles as he grips the joystick, fingers feather-light as they rest on the buttons to engage the crane. The setup looks exactly the same as your previous tries, and you scoff as he presses the button.

The turtle goes up. Big deal, you think. It'll come down before it goes through the chute. The game is rigged, anyway.

Or not.

The turtle lands neatly in the pickup zone.

"What'd I tell you?" he asks, like it was nothing. "Sometimes it just needs that magic touch." He wiggles his fingers for good measure.

"Wh-" you sputter. "How?"

"It's like that episode of Spongebob," he explains, handing you the turtle. "Be the crane."

You resolve to beat him at something, the competitive side of you flaring up.

(It's the start of a losing battle. Kenji hands your ass to you in every game, be it skeeball or basketball or even those awful ones that demand a button pressed at just the right time. The arcade staff double, triple check the amount of points your card's accumulated.

It's kind of ridiculous, really, but you leave with a Nintendo Switch you claim joint custody over, so it's not like you're complaining.)

"Why did you call me out, anyway?" you ask, the turtle you've named Chichi (after the Dragon Ball character and not Kenji, thank you very much) in your lap. He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

"I said it earlier, didn’t I? We needed a break. I also wanted to thank you for last time." It’s been a couple of weeks since that day; you don’t think you would’ve remembered if not for how out of the blue it’d been. You’re kind of surprised he’d been thinking about it, really.

"What did you do about it?"

"Turns out, I didn't have to do anything," he exhales. His voice is bitter when he says, "I got ghosted."

You wince, sucking in a sharp breath through your mouth. "Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

"Don't worry," he says. "Not like you had anything to do with it."

Your next job goes off without issue 

You don't see Ace at all.

It's been almost a month since that night. Does he still shows up at the old clock tower at midnight in search of your silhouette? You would’ve done more, would’ve said a proper goodbye, but you’ve got bills to pay. Drawing Three-Eyes’ ire is the last thing on your to-do list.

You count the cash given to you by Three-Eyes, toss it onto your nightstand. Unfortunately, this isn’t some fairy tale where you can have your cake and eat it too.

(But was it so bad to long for that bit of fantasy?)

You trade your view of the city at the dead of night for pasta and movie nights on Mondays.

Weeks bleed into months, and you draw closer and closer to Kenji. When he asks if he can kiss you, fumbles with the words a bit before you leave his car, you let him.

He leans over the center console, one breath away, giving you one last out if you need it. You let him close the gap.

You like Kenji, you do. 

But when your lips meet his for the first time, it's not the same. Ace might not be dead, but you're chasing after his ghost all the same, seeking him out in everything and everyone. What was once explosive, electrifying, even, barely manages to simmer in the pit of your stomach. It's not enough to boil over.

You'll take it.

(With your eyes closed and fingers tangled in his hair, you can almost taste the night winds on your tongue, hear the clock tower tick with each passing second. You tell yourself that maybe this is good for you, that the day will come where you see Kenji instead of longing for Ace.)

In the end, being with Kenji isn't at all what you expected. It's not at all what you wanted, either.

It's like coming home and finding out the hard way that all the furniture's moved three inches to the left: not immediately apparent...until you stop to wonder why you keep stubbing your toe on the coffee table.

"Kenji," you pant, pulling away. This is how your movie nights tend to end as of late, your hands in his hair and you situated on his lap. "What-" He's not in the mood to talk tonight, it seems, instead peppering kisses along the junction between your shoulder and collarbone. "What are we doing?”

For a minute, you think he hasn't heard you. "What do you want it to be?" He's leaning back on your shitty couch, eyes hooded and hazy. His face is framed by the low light of the action movie behind you, his chest rising and falling. You know that if you pull him back in now, you can safely bury the topic, cover it completely with your lips on his. 

They say ignorance is bliss, after all.

But your toe's been stubbed to the point of bleeding; there's no ignoring that.

You've spent countless nights examining your feelings. You've held them up to the light, ghosted your fingers along the hairline cracks that run down the sides. And despite all your introspection, the best you can come up with is "I don't know." Even as the words come out of your mouth, they feel like the wrong answer.

The three words hang in the air between you, cruel fingers of guilt and indecision digging into your skin, kissing invisible bruises that bloom purple. For once, Kenji is at a loss for words. The clarity's returning to him, you think, bloodflow returning to his brain. He goes through several emotions you can't place nor process in a matter of seconds.

It's then that you ask yourself the question: What is this to him? Some part, selfish as selfish can be, hopes that you're just as much of a distraction to him as he is to you. It's much better than the alternative; better to set each other alight instead of stoking a fire for someone else.

"Right." The word comes out in a single, stunned breath. "Well," he says, moving enough to force you onto the couch, "call me when you think you've figured it out."

You don't get a chance to reply before he's out the door. The movie you hadn't been watching seems louder now, brought to the foreground of your misery.

You tune it out.

If Three-Eyes is put off by the look in your eyes, the anger that's taken root, he doesn't show it. A tactful move on his part, really; you're just about ready to tear someone's head off if they so much as breathe the wrong way 

He has no reason to stick around. "You know what to do. Good luck." he says, waving a hand around in noncommittance before vanishing.

He's here. Of course he'd be; Three-Eyes had told you as much. Under the darkness of the new moon, you set out to strike a decisive blow to Seijoh's throat.

Tonight, you're aiming for Seijoh's headquarters, where their current leader—a man known only as the Grand King—happens to be holding a very important meeting.

Security here is no joke, and you find yourself creeping around above the shadows rather than within them. The Grand King's spared no expense, his bloodhounds roaming the halls. If you slip up, even a little, you're sure to meet your untimely demise.

The Grand King himself is younger than you expected. He's maybe a year or two older than you; much too young to be running a business conglomerate rife with seedy dealings and the law enforcement on its payroll. (He's also kind of cute, but this is neither the time nor place to dwell on that thought. You shiver when you remember Three-Eyes will no doubt catch this remark when he reviews your performance.)

Standing to his right is another man you've only heard about: the Grand King's most faithful Knight, at his side at all times. Nobody that's ever learned his power has come out alive. Not even Three-Eyes had any clue. His file wasn't with the others when you'd been sent to their archives, leaving you completely in the dark.

To the Grand King's left is Ace; you guess even the mightiest king needs a trick or two up his sleeve. You’re slinking at the doorway, body pressed against the wall, when a voice calls out.

"Welcome, Harbinger," the Grand King greets, a cheerful smile on his face. "We've been expecting you."

Shit. How did he know? You're about to make a break for it, to cut your losses, when strong arms hold yours in place. When you wriggle around enough to see who's got you pinned, you see the same bloodhound from last time, white hair and all.

"You're here to kill me, aren't you?" the Grand King asks, though there's no question about it. You grit your teeth, reach out for his shadow with your own. Your shadow wraps its fingers around his throat without remorse.

Then the Grand King snaps his fingers, and you're forced to squeeze your eyes shut.

It's bright, like he's turned the intensity of the sun itself on you and then some. You barely have anything to work with, light at all angles doing well to chase away the darkness. The Grand King walks toward you, and your mouth curls in a snarl.

He takes two fingers and tips your chin up to meet his gaze. "You're all they sent?" His brow furrows. "I was expecting more of a fight." Whatever he sees in your eyes causes him to lose interest rather quickly, his fingers dropping. He wipes them on the fabric of his pants as though you were a speck of dirt. "You're just a rookie. I was hoping Karasuno would send their biggest and baddest after me," he sighs, palm pressed to his forehead in woe. 

The Grand King has mastered the art of dramatic timing, whether he knows it or not.

There's a deafening boom that rattles your being at an atomic level. It's from the ground floor, but you can feel it shake the furniture at the penthouse all the same. You exhale, shaky and suppressing a grin.

The plan is going off without a hitch.

You've never worked with the other Gifted in Karasuno, so when Three-Eyes told you you'd be joined by two familiar faces, you knew you couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Hinata bounds in, a smile on his face. Between the taller, more intimidating men in the room, he doesn't look like much—until he bends the white-haired bloodhound to his will. The larger man's grip loosens until he lets you go, eyes unable to leave Hinata's.

The temperature drops, goosebumps snaking up your skin. Not far behind Hinata is Kageyama, eyes dark with purpose as he walks towards the Grand King. A swirling storm of snow and hail orbits him, and you feel your fingers go numb when he passes you by.

"Oikawa," he says. The Grand King's Knight moves to stop the Karasuno operative, but Oikawa holds up a hand, orders him to stand down. Despite the fact that the Grand King isn't much taller than Kageyama, he manages to look down on him nonetheless.

"Tobio." Wait, what? 

You don't get to see what happens next, your attention stolen away by Ace right as Kageyama attacks. His hailstorm takes out much of the lights with it, giving you the opening you need.

"Remember me?" he asks, smile mirthless. "I was wondering where you went. So much for getting drinks together, huh?" His jaw is clenched as he dodges the spears of shadow you fling his way. You try to catch him, to lock him in place, but he evades you every time.

"Bastard," you spit, growing more frenzied with each second that passes.

“Oh, I just got lucky," he says with a thin smile, taking off. You know he's trying to distract you, to stop you from joining the fray. You know that he knows you're drawn to him, even now.

He's running out onto the roof of the building, but you finally get a hold of his shadow. Yanking it harshly in your direction, you force him to the ground.

Your feet hit the concrete, each step inching closer and closer to the decisive ending. Ace has done nothing but hopelessly entangle you in an impossible knot; the only way out, you think, elongating your fingers into sharp points, is to cut through.

Fact: When Ace makes contact with the ground, his mask clatters, having fallen from his face.

Fact: Your eyes are wide, so wide they feel like they might fall out of their sockets.

"Well?" Ace asks, only it's not Ace.

Fact: Ace is Kenji.

It's Kenji, and he's spitting blood, rubbing the spot where his jaw connected with the floor.

It's Kenji, with nothing but malice in his glare.

"What are you waiting for, Harbinger?"

It would be so easy. One move, performed with surgical precision. You've done it countless times before. You know how to make it quick. You know how to make it painless.

But Kenji is the one behind the mask. And slowly, all the pieces begin to fall into place.

("Read it and weep," he teased, showing off his grades. "How does it feel, knowing that you're talking to the future Albert Einstein?" You knew he was baiting you into either a battle you wouldn’t win or compliments he’d refuse to let you live down. You played into it all the same.

"What the fuck," you exhaled. "Have you ever gotten a borderline grade?"

"Nope." He pops the p sound, grin on his face growing wider. "Guess I'm just that lucky.")

("Tell me about yourself," you told him, yawning with the late hour. Classes had been taking their toll on you, so you’d flown up to the clock tower to take a break. What you hadn’t expected was to see Ace there, wind displacing his hair ever so slightly. 

"What, so you can rat me out to your murder of crows? No, thank you."

"What's your favorite color?" you asked, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

He’d given you a look, but responded anyway, seeing no harm in such an innocent question. At the time, you hadn’t, either. "...Believe it or not, it's actually pine green.”

"Really?" You turned your head to look at him. You were expecting maybe black or navy blue, but green? "Why?"

"I don't know. They were my high school's colors. I guess I saw enough of it around and on me all the time that I ended up liking it.")

(Sometimes, in the right light, you always thought Kenji looked like Ace. You dismissed it whenever it came up. You thought you just had a type. In a way, you suppose you do.)

You swallow in a poor attempt to rid yourself of the lump in your throat. Your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. What is there to say? There's no way you can unmask yourself right now, reveal to him that his enemy and almost-lover (two different times, to boot) are one and the same.

So you don't.

Your mouth closes, sets itself into a hard line.

And you run.

Your hold on his shadow fades before vanishing entirely once you get far enough, but you don't care. You take a leap of faith off the roof, relying on your wings to come together before you hit the ground.

You're at the clock tower for the first time in what feels like forever. It hasn't changed. You’d flown here on instinct after fleeing Seijoh’s HQ. That’s not surprising, of course; you’ve been longing to feel the wind from up here for almost two months now.

"Why did you let me go?" Ace—Kenji—asks. You don't turn around, and you don't run away. In retrospect, you're not surprised to see him here, either. He must have known that this would be the first place you'd go. "You've never been the type to hold back. Why now?" You turn your head just enough to see his folded arms, his sharp glare.

"I'm just returning the favor from last time. We're even now."

"Last time, I wasn't the one trying to kill you."

"Does it matter?" You can't do this right now. Knowing who's behind the mask is too much for you to take, and you haven't even thought about the implications yet. "Leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?" Kenji's raising his voice, but you can't look at him. You watch the hands of the clock above move instead, counting the seconds in your head. "Like you left me alone the second things got too real for you? Was this all just some twisted game you tried to play to get in my head?" He's accusatory, poison dripping from each word. Beneath it, the question he's too scared to ask: You threw me away so easily. Did I mean nothing to you?

"I did what I had to do." He's about to lash out with some scathing retort, but you cut him off. "It wasn't my choice.

"Oh, like Karasuno wasn't your choice? It's always about what you have to do," he growls, coming so close that you berate yourself for never knowing that Kenji and Ace were one and the same. "Maybe you should start living based on what you want instead." It’s a cruel echo of the advice you’d given to Kenji, your own words twisted and thrown back into your face.

But that's the thing, isn't it? "I don't know what I want." You’re lying.

You’re lying, and he knows it.

He's reaching out for you, meaning to come closer as you aim to pull away, his hand colliding with the edge of your mask. The momentum of two opposing forces end with your mask caught between his fingers as it lifts off your face.

(You know what they say: an eye for an eye makes the world go blind.)

Kenji—Ace—goes still. His shoulders slump, anger leaving him instantly. Behind you, the clock ticks and tocks, steady despite the metaphorical rug being pulled from underneath you both. He's incredulous, whispering your name as he struggles to process the same realization you'd only come to hours before.

The fire in his eyes has gone ice cold. You barely catch your mask when he tosses it to you.

And then he's gone.

>> (12:08 AM) you: kenji i'm sorry

>> (12:08 AM) you: ididn't know i swear

>> (12:11 AM) you: can we please talk about this

>> (12:12 AM) you: please say something

>> (1:29 AM) you: i'll be here

>> (2:17 AM) you: good night

The next few nights are sleepless. You've (once again) done a bang-up job cutting both (can you call it that?) Ace and Kenji from your life. The first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is roll over, unlock your phone in the hopes that the ache that's settled in your chest can find relief.

It never does. What greets you each morning, after each good night sent, is a one-sided conversation with two little words tucked at the bottom: Read yesterday.

After almost a full week of this, of mornings on your phone and midnights hanging around the tower, your phone vibrates.

>> (2:32 PM) kenji: meet me at the clock tower tonight

He's already there when you touch down, wings disappearing as soon as your feet kiss solid ground. He's staring up at the clock: ten minutes til midnight. "How long did you know? 

"I didn't. Not until your mask came off."

"I see." Then: "Did you like Ace more?"

"No." He scoffs, but you barrel on. You might as well show your hand, lay the cards on the table. "You remember back in our second semester, when we had that project? Believe it or not, I..." It’s hard to admit, even if it had been years ago. “I liked you, back then. Kenji you, not-” you’re fumbling with your words, but he gets the hint. The truth of it is enough to bring him to face you.

This isn’t a conversation between Ace and the Harbinger, this is a conversation between you and Kenji, masks nowhere in sight. The sight of Kenji set against the clock tower makes your stomach flip, his eyes boring into your own.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Took me a while to get over it. But then Ace came, and I liked him too. I guess I have a type." You're trying for humor, a shot in the dark. To your surprise, it works, drawing a chuckle from him. "And uh," you add, "sorry for...ghosting you." Kenji quirks an eyebrow. "They threatened to wipe my memories if I didn't stop. Maybe worse. I didn't wanna find out. Sorry," you tack on.

"Yeah. I get it. You did what you have to do," he says, and this time, there is no malice to be found.

There's one thing left to apologize for, but your attempts at it layer over each other.

"What are you apologizing for?" you ask.

"What are you apologizing for?" he fires back.

"I, uh." You're at your most eloquent tonight, it seems. "About the past couple of months..."

"Yeah. I have to ask...were you using me to get over," he pauses, realizes how absurd the question sounds, "me?"

"Will you be mad if I say yes?"

"No. I was," he gestures with both palms, "doing the same thing. Trying to get over getting ghosted...with the person who dropped me in the first place. Just my luck, huh?" You snort. 

"Sounds like the plot of a bad romcom."

It all connects then, ridiculousness and all. When two sets of unhidden eyes meet, they crinkle into crescents, you and Kenji breaking into laughter. When your stomach hurts and you wipe tears from your eyes, you ask, "Do you...want to start over?" It's hesitant. You two aren't perfect. There's a good chance you're going to fuck up somehow.

But you know what you want, and it's Kenji—with the mask and without.

Kenji holds out his hand. "Hi. I'm Kenji. When I need to pay for tuition, I'm Ace. What's your name?"

The clock chimes then, twelve times with the coming of midnight. You take his hand.

The nights are better with Kenji at your side, leaned against his shoulder. The clock tower's pleasant as always, city alight below. It's been a long time since you've felt the need to wear a mask up here. You find that you see more of the view nowadays, anyway. "Whatever happened to getting drinks and coming up here?"

"We're both still broke," Kenji replies. "We could go and get some, but..." he wraps an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer, "I'm not in the mood to move."

"You and me both."

"Next time?"

"Next time."

("I hate to say it," you mused, "but I guess you can be kinda charming when you want to be." Before his ego got too swollen, you added, "Sometimes."

"You're not so bad yourself," he murmured. There was a smile playing at your lips as you drew closer and closer to him, now a breath away. "Tell me, Harbinger," and this time, when your name came from his lips, there was no trace of anger or pain underneath, "am I going to get lucky tonight?"

"Why don't we find out?")

Three-Eyes stops your memory of that night rather early, and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but the tips of his ears are distinctly red. "All's well that ends well, right?" you ask with a cheerful clap of your hands. The corners of your mouth are curved in a smirk that your informant only responds to with a stern glare.

"I'll let it slide, but in the future, I'd recommend not...fraternizing with the enemy." His tone is clipped, which only serves to widen your grin.

"Oh, but he's not the enemy anymore, is he?"

Your informant—you've since learned that his name is Tsukishima, but you’ve grown fond of the moniker—can only sigh. "I guess not."

(After you'd left to pursue Ace, you'd only narrowly managed to avoid the wrath of Tsukishima and Karasuno's admins. Kageyama and Hinata had done such a good job without you that it didn't even matter, and for that you were grateful, even if it had meant acting as a decoy. With Oikawa under Karasuno's thumb, Kenji had come to work under Karasuno, drawn to the money—and you.

And so, you'd gained a partner—in both senses of the word—in Kenji. The once treacherous seed of infatuation had been nurtured with the soil of communication, watered with care until it blossomed into what you might even be ready to call love.)

Kenji’s waiting for you, hands in his pockets and a look that mirrors your own in his eyes. “Did he get mad again?”

“No,” you reply, holding your hand out until he interlaces his fingers with yours, “just embarrassed. It’s kinda cute.”

“First, you try to kill me, and now you’re calling other guys cute?” he asks, shaking his head. “I think it’s high time I get back on Tinder.” Your shadow, lingering behind you both, yanks at the collar of Kenji’s button-up. He chokes, a strangled noise as you grip his hand a bit tighter in response. “And you’re trying to kill me again.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Your question is answered as you trip over your own feet, almost landing face first on the pavement. When you right your balance, Kenji is laughing openly. It’s contagious, pure joy blooming in your chest.

(Out of a million outcomes, you've found yourself in one of the best ones; maybe, you think, this is what they call the luck of the draw.)

dedicated, ultimately, to @wackatoshi​: winter, i know at the time this goes up, you’re currently ia but it was your kenji fics that really kickstarted the love i have for him........

[malcyon]

Dusk To Dawn 

Summary: “Alright. You don’t need my help,” Jason says, voice significantly quieter than it was. He glances at Tim hesitantly. “But do you want it?”

*****

Tim didn't mean to meet the Waynes, it just happened.

Ch 1

Read on AO3

___________________________________________

Tim’s dress shoes are too small as he stands in front of his father, trying not to fidget as the man does his bowtie with sharp, efficient movements. Mrs. Drake sits by the vanity, fixing her lipstick and watching him from the corners of her eyes. He wants to say something about how the tips of his shoes are pinching his toes.

She closes her lipstick with a snap.

Tim stays quiet.

Mr. Drake finishes with the tie, taking a step back to inspect his work, and Tim’s mother raises an eyebrow in the mirror. “Are you finally ready, then?”

“Yes, I think so,” the man says, dusting off the shoulder of Tim’s brand new, too big tux. He fiddles with the long sleeves, trying to ignore the itchiness of the cloth against his skin. His father frowns. Tim stops.

He hates parties.

His mother stands, heels clicking like a metronome on the shiny hardwood floorboards as she walks towards him. Janet Drake isn’t a tall woman, but Tim still has to tilt his head up to look at her. She takes his bowtie in her slender hands, tightening it until it’s snug against his throat. Her perfume smells expensive and it fills his nose.

“It’s an important night, Timothy.” She smiles a perfect smile. “Make us proud.”

Tim nods and smiles back.

They go downstairs and get into the waiting car without saying another word to each other.

He knows it isn’t normal to have parents that come and go out of his life the way his do. That show up for a couple of days every few months before taking off on another plane to another city. That don’t know his shoe size. That weren’t home for his birthday for the past four years in a row.

But it doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t.

And it isn’t hard to play the life Tim’s parents have created for him. His classes are relatively easy, and even though he doesn’t have any close friends, he sits at a lunch table with a few of the other kids. He keeps his grades high, just enough to make the teachers like him. He never gets in trouble and never breaks the rules.

And when his parents pluck him up and shoo him to one of their many parties, he smiles and goes without complaint. He charms the old women, makes the men in their stuffy suits chuckle and remember him as a future networker. Plays the room until his head is dizzy from the champagne in the air and his parents whisk him back to bed, leaving in the morning before he can even wake up.

Timothy Jackson Drake is a perfect student, a perfect son.

But Tim isn’t.

He isn’t exactly sure when he started paying attention to Batman. It began innocently enough; noticing the headlines and the news stories, ears perking up when the masked man was mentioned on the radio. And the information just . . . stuck.

He started to track the known locations of criminal organizations on a map in his closet, signed up for computer programming classes at school to learn how to code (and, on his own, how to hack), and started to listen to kids who he knew had familial connections to gangs. But it isn’t anything serious, just something to do when he got bored. Or, it was.

Tim was two when his parents had taken him to the circus. He still has the picture from that evening on a shelf in his room, him sitting on the lap of an older boy wearing a colorful costume. That same boy would go on to perform the Quadruple Flip of Doom as the rest of the Graysons flew through the air around him, all their tricks done without a net.

They should have had a net.

He had nightmares about it for weeks. Gave the nanny a heart attack every night when he woke up screaming. The tragedy was seared into his soul, branded into his brain.

And maybe that’s why it was so easy to put the pieces together. To figure out Robin.

Richard John Grayson. Formerly an acrobat prodigy at Haly’s Circus, currently operating as Nightwing at the Teen Titans base in New York City. Adopted at eight years old by billionaire Bruce Wayne after the tragic performance that left his entire family dead.

Adopted by Batman.

The realization was like a slap to the face.

It was hard to believe at first, that the man Tim had seen fall into his own fountain could be the same man that punched criminals through windows and dressed up like a giant bat. But the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense.

There was more to Bruce Wayne than he initially thought, and Tim had to know more.

So he watched. Started sneaking out of the house at night and catching the late bus, not like there was anybody that could stop him, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a camera clutched in his hands. And by now, Tim is sure he knows the city better than most people who live in it.

He isn’t an idiot, stays well away from the East End and Crime Alley. He even keeps pepper spray in his bag and a small pocket knife within reach, even if he hasn’t had to use them yet. Most people don’t even notice him as he slips in and out of the subway and bus stops, a tiny ghost among the city’s dim lights. Despite that, Tim keeps to the shadows, has figured out how to blend in with the darkness that appears at street corners.

That particular talent has kept him out of trouble more than once.

It isn’t like he’s seen anything horrible, just glimpses of gang brawls here and there, the Bats attacking one of their Rogues. Not that he sticks around long enough to learn what happens in any of those situations, Tim prefers to not end up as another smear on the sidewalk, thanks.

But still, he can’t help but wish that he could do something. Fight back, somehow—the way Batman does.

He’s never gotten close enough to really watch the vigilante work; it’s hard enough to guess where the man’s going to pop up. But still, hours of monitoring social media sites, searching the depths of the GCPD’s public records, and simply listening to street talk has gotten him pretty far. Sure he doesn’t see Batman and Robin a lot, but he’s seen them far more than anybody else in Gotham.

There’s a pointed cough in front of him, and Tim straightens from his slouch, thrust back into the bitter reality that he isn’t going to be on Gotham’s streets tonight. His mother leans over from where she’s sitting next to his father, plucking a microscopic piece of lint off his shoulder. He tries not to flinch.

Four and a half hours. He just has to make it through the next four and a half hours.

His father says, without looking up from where he’s tapping on his phone, “There are going to be several people I want you to meet tonight, Tim. Future connections. So smile, be polite,—” his dark eyes flick to Tim, once—“and do not be an embarrassment.”

The words are cold and Tim wants to say something in return, but his voice sticks in his throat. Instead, he swallows, nods, and goes back to staring out the limousine window.

It’s not often that Wayne Manor itself is used to hold the city’s annual charity gala, and his parents had pounced on their invitation, ready to primp and preen under the spotlight. They had flown in from his father’s digsite only yesterday, barely spared him a glance as they chattered about who was going to be there and was worth talking too.

He doesn’t know how they do it, this act they put on. Parading him around, telling the other rich socialites how, “Oh, yes, Timmy’s at the top of his class; he’s just so clever for a boy his age,” as if they even bother to check his report cards. Still, he goes along, beaming with every lie that comes out of his mouth about his wonderful, perfect family.

It makes something curl up and wither in Tim’s ribs, playing this game. Rotting him from the inside and making his smiles more brittle with every gala.

He wonders if this should be how most kids feel when their parents come home, like their chest is about to shatter as if made of glass. Like they’re going to snap. Tim stares at his reflection in the car window.

Only four and a half hours.

*****

Dick is already regretting this decision, and he hasn’t even entered the house yet.

The glittering lights and press blend together as he strides through the Manor’s front doors, offering the photographers a bright grin as he goes past. Their cameras light up like fireworks in response.

He ignores the questions yelled out to him (“Mr. Grayson, what brings you back to Gotham?”, “What’s your relationship with the model, Kory Anders?” and the favorite, “What caused the fallout between you and Bruce Wayne?”). Just keeps walking despite the stares burning into his back. The attention is almost tangible as it weighs down on him, and while Dick doesn’t mind being in the limelight now and then, the scrutiny makes him feel like an insect under a microscope. He suppresses a grimace as one particular older woman leers as he goes by.

There’s a reason he’s never liked these things.

Dick doesn’t stand in the front parlor to soak up his old home’s warmth, forcing himself to keep moving with the other guests down the roped-off path that leads to the ballroom. He doesn’t look at the walls, either, doesn’t want to see if Bruce has kept any of his pictures up.

His steps are fast on the old floors, whispers following in his wake as he enters the gala. He ignores them.

The party isn’t anything special, just another one of Bruce’s charity fundraisers. Dick can already feel himself growing bored with the backdrop of expensive velvet dresses and smooth jazz playing in the corner. He scans the people around him as he strolls through the crowd, looking for Jason or at least a familiar face.

Hell, he’d even take Bruce.

He keeps his head down as he passes millionaires and models alike, praying that nobody will recognize him for several more minutes. It doesn’t work.

The first woman seems nice enough, with long, dark hair and a blush covering her cheeks. She reaches up and straightens the bowtie around his neck, a blue that Kory had picked out. She’d told him it ‘matched his eyes.’

But the woman in front of him only says, “Your father really shouldn’t have let you out without fixing this first.” He smiles on reflex, but his stomach turns cold, and her words ring in his ears as several other party-goers quickly approach. Your father.

Their compliments and questions overlap and their faces meld together as Dick stares over their heads at the far wall.

Your father.

The first woman tugs lightly at his arm and he blinks, grinning to let her know everything is perfectly fine. She doesn’t look convinced.

He almost jumps when he feels a hand clasp his shoulder. Dick glances backward, relaxing as he realizes it’s only Alfred. The butler frowns, pulling him away from the small crowd that had gathered.

“I wasn’t aware that you would be making an appearance tonight, Master Richard.”

He shrugs and avoids the older man’s gaze. “It was a last-minute decision; Jason persuaded me.”

Begged was more like it. Alfred raises an eyebrow. “And Master Bruce’s invitation had nothing to do with it?”

Dick shrugs again. The expensive paper had stared at him from his nightstand the past week, a hesitant peace offering he’d received in the mail, one that he wasn’t sure he wanted to accept. At least, until Roy had practically kicked him out of the Tower, telling him to go sort out his daddy issues.

Dick had nearly pointed out how hypocritical that statement was but decided that being petty wasn’t worth getting shot with an arrow.

Alfred says nothing in response and only gives him a quiet smile. Dick returns it and lets the butler guide him in the direction of the desserts. No matter the problems he and Bruce have, Dick won’t bring Alfred into them. After all he’s done, trying to keep their broken family together, the man doesn’t deserve it.

As they pass tables laden with food, Alfred subtly nudges him in the direction of one of the columns in the room’s corner. Jason stands behind it, furiously tapping something out on his phone, and carefully hiding from prying eyes. Dick flashes the butler a grateful look and hurries over, trying not to grab anyone’s attention as he takes cover behind the pillar.

Jason glances up at his sudden entrance and his face splits into a blinding grin. “Holy fuck, you actually came.” Dick beams back and wraps his little brother up in a one-armed hug before ruffling his hair.

Jason grumbles and ducks out of the embrace, face scrunched in embarrassment, and Dick’s smile becomes a bit more real. Settling next to Jason, he says. “Course I came, wasn’t going to miss out on a chance for free food.” He gestures to the phone in Jason’s grip. “What’s that all about?”

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Jason mutters under his breath, “Just some bullshit.” Dick nods, words swirling around his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to that. He takes a stab in the dark.

“Girls?” Jason gives him a glare, and Dick flounders, tries again. “. . . Boys?”

Jason chokes, turning an interesting shade of red, “Jesus, no, no, I . . . Rena’s trying to get back together.”

“That girl in your social studies class? I thought you were still dating,” Dick says, tilting his head in question. A small part of him withers with his lapse in knowledge; when was the last time he had talked to Jason? Actually talked to him.

He knows that some of the other Titans worry about his little brother: Donna mothers him constantly, and Gar always tries to coax him out of his shell. And it’s helped, sure, but a small voice in Dick’s head whispers that Jason will look over his shoulder for the rest of his life. That no matter how much he trusts them, he’ll always be waiting to get stabbed in the back.

And that . . . that makes something deep inside Dick curl up and hurt. And the worst part is that some of Jason’s struggle is because of him.

Dick isn’t blind; he knows the comparisons people make between him and his adopted brother. He sees the wince Jason hides behind his smiles when they talk about ‘the new Robin.’ Forget the fact that Jason has held the title for years now; he’s always the one being dissected with every move, always in Dick’s shadow.

Not that he was always there for Jason either; Dick can own up to the fact that he was a petty asshole the first few months Jason had been taken in. A mixture of hurt, jealousy, and anger made it hard to even look the kid in the eye, knowing that whatever Dick had been as Robin, he hadn’t been good enough for Bruce. That his adopted father had decided to try again with someone new.

It took him too long to pull his head out of his ass. To personally give the kid his blessing and officially hand down the costume. Why the hell Jason even talks to Dick is beyond him considering how much of a jerk he’d been. He’s been trying to own up to it, stealing time for his brother when he could. Maybe that was why he came to the party and—God, he doesn’t want to think about that. That coming here tonight was just out of some messed up guilt for Jason’s sake.

He focuses back on Jason’s sour expression. Girl problems, he can do that. Maybe even give some advice. Isn’t that what older brothers are supposed to do? Give advice?

Dick raises an eyebrow and Jason shrugs, scuffing the floor with a polished shoe. He tries a grin, “Well, if you need any help, I’m only a phone call away.” Jason snorts.

“I think I’ll go to Barbara first, thanks,” he says, then freezes as the words catch up to him.

The air around them chills. Dick looks down.

Jason is the first to break the silence. “How . . . is she?”

He shrugs, ignoring the tight fists his hands have become. “ . . . Adjusting.” Jason nods, eyes flicking through the area around them, and Dick can suddenly see Robin doing the same thing on Gotham’s streets.

“Wanna talk someplace quieter?”

Dick forces a smile that he knows is too sharp. “Lead the way.”

Jason stares at him for a second, and Dick catches something fleeting and sad in his eyes before he turns away. They stay silent as they weave through the room, ducking and avoiding the attempts at conversation thrown at them.

Dick runs a hand through his hair, tries to focus on the back of Jason’s suit as they enter the areas of the house that were off-limits to guests. Distantly he realizes that Jason is leading him to the library, the one right next to Bruce’s study. He glances up at a picture frame as he passes by and openly winces at seeing his own, younger grin behind the glass.

He should have stayed home.

As soon as they enter the room, Jason shuts the door behind them before leaning against it to take a breath. Dick can’t blame him; parties were one of the worst parts about getting involved with Bruce Wayne.

Silence settles between them, and Dick bitterly watches the dust that floats through the air. Jason glances at him. “Seriously. How’s Barbie?”

Dick laughs, harsh and quiet. “Well, she’s lost all feeling in half of her body, so I’m pretty sure she’s not that great, Jason.” The other boy flinches, and Dick screws his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. Fuck, he’s not good at this. “Sorry, I’m . . . that was a shitty thing to say.”

He lets his head fall back against a bookshelf behind him, and Jason shrugs, but Dick can still see the hurt in his eyes. “It’s fine. I know you get tense when you’re around here.”

“Shouldn’t have said it, though.” Jason shrugs again. Dick takes a breath. “Babs is . . . upset.”

“No fucking shit.”

Dick actually snorts at that, stares at the ceiling. “God, it feels like everything is falling apart, you know? Including the Titans, I mean, Garth won’t talk to anybody about Tula, Roy is spending less and less time with the team, and he won’t fucking say why. Wally is literally running himself to death trying to live Barry’s life and–”

He stops, looks at Jason’s bewildered face, then presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. Makes a note to not unload this bullshit on the kid. Jason has his own problems, he doesn’t need Dick’s too. “Shit, I’m rambling, sorry. It’s just that I usually talk to Kory about this stuff, but we’ve been arguing lately.”

“I thought you guys were cool?”

“We are, this is the first time we’ve fought like this and—” He shakes his head—“Come on, aren’t I supposed to be giving you relationship advice?” The younger boy rubs his foot against the ground again.

“Maybe you should talk to her anyway,” Jason says carefully. Dick raises an eyebrow and he quickly continues, “I mean. . . Kory will always be there to listen and she probably wants to listen even if you’re fighting. You just gotta talk.”

Dick looks away and closes his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.” He frowns, forces his thoughts away from Kory and their differences and a million other things. “Speaking of talking, how are you holding up with B?”

Jason hesitates and opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but a thump followed by laughter echoes from behind one of the walls, makes him pause.

The door connecting Bruce’s study and the library suddenly swings open, and Bruce stumbles out, a giggling blonde latched onto his arm. Jason curses under his breath and Dick straightens up, jaw tensing.

Bruce freezes in the doorway with the woman still laughing into his neck. His gaze darts between them, the shock on his face snapping into a drunk smile. “Delphine, I believe we may have some company.”

The lady blinks up, looking over at Dick and Jason in surprise then back to Bruce with a bemused expression. “You need to talk with your children, yes?” she asks in a heavy French accent. Dick’s stomach lurches in a slow roll, and he forces himself not to look away from where Bruce’s gaze narrows at him.

He knows she doesn’t see the tightening of Bruce’s smile when he answers, “Yes, I’ll meet you in the ballroom. Save me a dance?”

She presses a red kiss to his cheek. “Of course, mon chéri.” The woman turns from Bruce, and Dick opens the door for her as she whisks past with a playful, “Merci.”

He nods his head and locks the door behind her, the metal knob chilling against his palm. Steeling himself, he turns back around.

Anything left of Brucie’s drunken facade is gone, and the man in front of him appraises Dick with familiar calculation. Dick can see Jason resting against the book-covered wall next to him from the corner of his eye, trying to appear relaxed but not quite pulling it off. Several tense seconds pass, marked only by the ticking clock above the dark fireplace.

Bruce looks him over. “Dick. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Dick stiffens, the words he wasn’t even going to say stilling on his tongue. “Wasn’t expecting me? You . . . You sent me an invitation, Bruce.”

The man blinks, looks between him and Jason slowly.

“I didn’t send you an invitation,” Bruce says, confusion barely marking his voice.

Something inside Dick goes very, very cold. Of course, he didn’t. Stupid, stupid, stupid, it must have been Alfred, or maybe his name had gotten mixed in with the invites somehow. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t fucking matter.

He glances over at Jason, who seems just as taken back, eye flicking between him and their adopted father like he’s watching a flaming tennis match. Dick bites his lip and tries not to squirm under Bruce’s stare as he scrambles for words.

“Oh. Well, I . . . I guess there’s no reason for me to stay, then. I can be gone in ten minutes.” He reaches back to open the door, and the handle jiggles in place. Fuck, he’d locked it, right. He fumbles, manages to get it open even though his hand is stiff and clumsy. “Just got to call a cab. Tell Lucius and Leslie I said hello.”

Shit, shit, shit, he needs to run. Has to get out of this house. Heat is crawling up the back of his neck, horrible and burning and he needs to leave.  

Jason starts desperately, “Dick, you don’t have to—”

But he’s already gone.

His steps are clipped and fast on the wood floor, heart thumping in his ears. He feels sick; hot and cold all at once, and, God, he never should have left New York. Fuck.

He doesn’t know why he thought it’d be different this time. Doesn’t know what he even expected by coming here tonight. An apology, maybe? But Bruce doesn’t do apologies, never has, probably never will. He should have known better.

Dick doesn’t even register the footsteps behind him until a large hand is on his shoulder and turning him around.

It’s Bruce. Face pinched and awkward and looking like he would rather be anywhere else, but it’s Bruce.

“I—No, no, don’t leave. I didn’t mean it like that, Dick.” His voice is cautious, gaze less intense than it was several seconds ago. “Stay, Alfred can make some tea. He’s missed you, I’ve— . . . We all have.”

Dick stares at him, brain scratching like a broken record. He can make out Jason peeking at them from behind the library door, expression hopeful. The younger boy locks eyes with him and nods meaningfully.

He shifts uneasily, looking back at his former mentor and noticing the red stains on Bruce’s cheek. “Don’t you have a dance with Delphine? And a party to attend?”

Bruce almost snorts but not quite. “I’m sure she’ll understand. And I host several parties every year that raise millions of dollars to keep this city running. Who gives a flying shit if I miss this one?”

Dick laughs, choked and a bit wet, and Jason makes an admonished noise from where he’d quietly joined them. “Why do you get to curse and I don’t? That’s total bullshit.”

Bruce deadpans, “And that’s a quarter in the swear jar. At this point, I might as well just put your allowance in there instead of giving it to the middleman.” Jason grumbles and lightly shoves at Bruce’s side. The man smiles at that and gives Dick’s shoulder an awkward squeeze. “You two can wait in the library while I hunt down Alfred for tea. I’ll be back.”

Dick manages a nod, head swimming with twenty different things he wants to say and not knowing how to begin. In the end, he doesn’t say anything at all and just watches as Bruce’s form retreats down the hallway. He looks back at Jason, who’s grinning from ear to ear.

Carefully, Dick lets himself smile back.

*****

It’s not even eleven yet, and Tim is already exhausted. As soon as they arrived, his parents were practically shoving him into the laps of old, rich ladies and men alike. The kind of people who would humor a small boy who gushes about his father, saying ‘how he wants to be just like him when he grows up.’ And when Jack Drake eventually comes up behind him, smiling cheerfully as he talks his way into these peoples’ money and minds, Tim looks away.

He’s used to feeling like a means to an end, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Still, he goes when his father prods him in his mother’s direction. She’s talking to a group of younger women who are wearing jewels as big as his fist. He quietly moves to her side, knowing the game by heart at this point.

On cue, right after Janet Drake makes a particularly witty comment that sends the other women into laughter, she lays a hand on Tim’s shoulder and pulls him to the front. It’s a matter of minutes before he has the ladies wrapped around his finger while his mother watches like a hawk right behind him. There’s no room for mistakes tonight.

Eventually, she nudges him back to his father. And Tim goes.

This is how these nights always play out, moving from group to group. Gathering possible investors and shyly introducing them to his parents. It’s not difficult, if anything it’s mind-numbing, repeating the same conversations over and over like they’re an everyday routine.

So Tim can forgive himself for zoning out for the first couple of hours. It’s not until he’s standing near the refreshments table, after sneaking away to grab some water, that he actually starts paying attention again.

To be fair, that could be because he’d just turned around and walked face-first into a wall of something hard.

Tim yelps, stumbling back, thankfully not into another person, and looks up at the man wearing a now soaked suit. The floor underneath Tim falls away as Bruce Wayne stares back.

Batman. Tim just ran into and spilled his drink all over Batman.

He can practically see the Bat in the seams of Wayne’s dripping, black tux. In the sharp cut of his jaw and brow. His hair is pushed back from his face, which is clean-shaven and a bit tired around the eyes. Tim clambers for an apology, refusing to let the words get stuck in his throat. But all he can think about is how he watched Batman take a bullet to the chest five nights ago during a gang shootout. He does his best not to stammer.

“Mr. Wayne! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—” Wayne holds up a palm. Tim’s mouth goes dry, and he has to tuck his hands behind his back so the man won’t see how they’re shaking. The handle from his empty water glass is cold against his fingers. Bruce Wayne considers him, then shrugs.

“It’s fine. This is why I have a butler. And please don’t call me Mr. Wayne; it makes me sound old. Just Bruce will do.”

Tim blinks.

“You have a specific butler for when people spill stuff on you?”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches. “No, just one butler that does general butler things. Actually, I’m looking for him at the moment, have you seen him?”

“I—uh, no?”

Bruce sighs, “Damn. I was hoping he could keep my CEO off of my back for the night. Or help me make tea. I’m not sure which one is more important.”

Tim scratches the back of his neck. He hadn’t mentally prepared to talk to Batman tonight. This wasn’t a great first impression. “What’s he look like?”

“Who? My butler or my CEO?” Bruce has to tilt his head down to make eye contact with him.

“Your butler, not your CEO. Though you probably shouldn’t avoid your CEO, that sounds like business mismanagement.” Tim says and then nearly claps a hand over his mouth. Questioning the host at their own party is probably terrible etiquette; his mother would be mortified.

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitches again. “Not business mismanagement. Lucius just likes to criticize my life choices. You’re the Drakes’ son, aren’t you?”

“Timothy.” He instinctively holds out his hand for a shake. Bruce looks at him for a second before engulfing Tim’s hand with his own. The calluses on his palm are hard to miss, and Tim can’t help but wonder how Bruce explains them.

“Timothy Drake, huh?” Their hands drop, and both corners of Bruce’s mouth are pointed up now. Tim quickly backtracks.

“Yeah, but you can call me Tim. You know. If you want.” Bruce considers him again.

“Alright, Tim. What do you know about tea?”

*****

“Are you sure that’s the right amount?”

“That’s what the box says.”

“The box is wrong.”

“I’m starting to understand why your CEO criticizes your life choices.”

“You’re twelve; you’re not supposed to understand life choices yet.”

“I’m thirteen.”

“You sure?”

“ . . . Yes?”

Bruce squints down at him and looks back at the teapot on the stove. “To be honest, all children under the age of twenty-one look the same to me.”

Tim frowns from where he’s sitting on the kitchen island’s countertop. He ignores the pounding in his brain that keeps reminding him that he’s sitting in Batman’s kitchen because if he focuses on that, he might start hyperventilating. It’s a very nice kitchen, to be fair. It’s warm with yellow walls and a wooden floor. Not very Batman-like, though.

Tim starts to swing his legs back and forth. “I thought you’re an adult when you turn eighteen.”

Bruce doesn’t look away from the teapot. “Legally, yes. Ethically, no.”

“So . . .  when do you ethically become an adult?”

“Thirty-five.”

Tim stares hard at the back of Bruce’s neck. He can’t tell if the man is making fun of him at this point or not. “How old are you?” Tim already knows the answer, but he waits patiently.

Bruce thinks for several seconds too long. “Thirty-three.”

“And you consider yourself to be an adult? That’s kind of hypocritical.”

“I never said I considered myself to be an adult. Lucius and Alfred would find it hilarious if I called myself an adult.”

“Alfred?” Tim asks innocently.

“My butler I told you about earlier. The one who was supposed to be helping me with this.”

“Oh . . . Why aren’t you looking for him right now, then?” Why ask me to help instead? Tim doesn’t know the answer to this question. He tries not to scoot to the edge of his seat.

Bruce shrugs and looks over a shoulder at him. “I asked if you knew how to make tea, and you said yes. Also, you’re probably the best conversationalist I’ve talked to all night. Is there any way to make this heat up faster?”

Tim struggles to hide his beaming smile from the compliment. “It’s already turned up as high as it can go.”

“Don’t know why you didn’t let me microwave it.”

“That’s not the right way to make tea.”

“There are only so many ways to boil water. It would have been faster.”

“You had a spoon stuck in there with it. It could have caught on fire.”

“Well, then I could call the fire department and get rid of all the drunk people in my house.”

“It’s a good thing you have a butler. I don’t think you can take care of yourself all alone.”

Bruce looks offended. “I am an adult, Tim. ” Tim stops kicking his feet and grins. Bruce closes his eyes. “And now I’m a hypocrite.”

“Really good thing you have a butler.”

The water starts to boil, and the tea kettle squeals. Tim slips down from the counter and straightens up the teacups waiting on the prepared tray. Bruce carefully pours the water into the teapot before adding the tea. Tim tries not to compare the movement to Batman combining chemicals.

Bruce glances at him. “Your parents, they’re not looking for you, are they?”

Tim stills. “They’re not. They’re . . . busy.”

Last he’d seen, before ducking out of the ballroom with Bruce, was his mother engrossed in a business conversation and his father drinking from a nearly overflowing champagne glass. Bruce stills and studies him for a second. In turn, Tim picks up a teacup and meticulously stares at the delicate flower painting on its side.

Bruce looks away. “Well, then. I suppose you wouldn’t mind joining my family and me for tea, would you?”

Tim nearly drops the cup. “Me? ”

“You. Grab the sugar off the counter, please.”

Tim does as he’s told automatically and sets it on the tray. Bruce picks it up. “Um, you sure? I don’t want to intrude or anything.” Or embarrass himself, Tim kind of feels like passing out right now.

“They’ll like you, don’t worry. Besides, my eldest is visiting, and I need someone to fill in the awkward silence.”

Tim’s stomach swoops. Dick Grayson. He’s going to talk to Dick Grayson. Nightwing. And Robin. Jason will be there too, won’t he? He leans heavily against the counter when Bruce turns and starts to walk out of the room.  

Tim takes a slow breath and follows him.

He tries not to openly gawk as Bruce leads him through the halls, especially now that he’s already walked through them once. But it’s hard not to; Tim’s wanted to explore Wayne Manor since he figured out the Bat’s identity ages ago.

One of the paintings on the wall catches his eye. “Is that a Renoir?”

Bruce glances back at him, both brows raised. “It is. You’re a fan?”

“My parents have me read Art World Today. They like to keep me up to date for conversations and stuff,” Tim mutters as he stares up at the artwork. He pretends he doesn’t see the look that enters Bruce’s eyes.

“Your parents seem like they—”

“Brucie!” They both turn around to find an extremely drunk woman teetering down the hallway towards them. Bruce curses too low for Tim to hear.

“Can you take this?” He asks in a voice Tim hasn’t heard before, something cheerful and almost fake, before quickly handing the tray to Tim. Bruce barely manages to catch the woman when she stumbles heavily into his arms. “Delphine, you seem to be having much more fun than when I last saw you.”

She giggles into his shoulder, and Tim pointedly examines an Erte statue across the hall while Bruce tries to straighten her up. “I met the most charming man, Bruce. Jack Drake? We had a contest to see who could drink the most champagne.” She smiles wide and dazed. “I won. Évidemment. Oh! But then he told me all about his business and—”

Bruce must say something in return, but Tim can’t hear it over the rush of blood in his ears; the pounding in his brain as his grip on the platter turns white. Getting women drunk to turn them into investors.

It doesn’t even surprise him.

His eyes burn into the painting in front of them, because he can’t look at Bruce. Can’t see his face when the man realizes he has a Drake by his side. Tim’s head feels hot and dizzy; he trembles a little bit.

So maybe that’s why when Bruce touches his shoulder, Tim nearly jumps out of his skin. The teacups clatter, but nothing spills. The result of honing his reflexes on Gotham’s streets, Tim’s sure. He swallows and forces himself to meet Bruce’s gaze.

Whatever he’s expecting isn’t there. Bruce just looks troubled, with something sad at the corners of his eyes. Tim looks away first. The awkwardness is broken only by Delphine’s mutterings in French as she continues to cling to Bruce’s side.

Bruce clears his throat.

“I think . . .” Tim winces, and he stares down at his too-tight shoes, cheeks burning. Bruce pauses and almost seems to reconsider something. “I think you’ll have to meet the rest of my family alone. I’m so sorry, Tim, but—” the lady sways again, nearly falling face-first onto the carpet— “Delphine needs to lie down somewhere. You can find the boys in the library; just keep going down this hall until you get to my study, the last door on the right. It leads to where they are.”

He carefully leans forward, pulling from one pocket a small key. Placing it on the tray and giving Tim a cheerful grin that’s more Brucie than Bruce, but still kind in a way, he says, “Here, this should let you in. And if either one of them gets too annoying: feel free to pour tea on them.” He gives Tim a wink and tucks Delphine under his arm before whisking her down the hall and quickly out of sight.

Tim blinks down at the tray and then up at the painting across from him. He allows himself five full seconds to freak out.  

Feeling slightly ill, he finally forces his feet to move through the hallway, his small steps echoing in the empty space. He tries not to notice the clinking of the teacups as the tray in his hands shakes. Meeting the Waynes was not supposed to happen tonight.

Last door on the right, last door on the right, last door on the right . . .

He hesitates when he gets there, cautiously takes the key Bruce gave him, and places it into the lock. The hinges swing without a sound, showing a polished study and a Persian rug. He takes a breath and enters. The door clicks shut slowly behind him.

The library entrance is at the back of the room and it’s far more intimidating than it has any right to be. As he walks towards it, something catches the corner of his eye.

A grandfather clock. Old, tall, and quietly ticking away as Tim pauses in front of it. He stares, something deep inside him saying that he should take a closer look. He’s barely moved forward when raised voices suddenly come from behind the library door, startling him. Tim steps back.

Shooting the clock a final glance, Tim focuses back on the task at hand and reluctantly turns away. Cautiously, he nears the closed entrance that muffles unintelligible yelling. He inhales shakily and raises his fist, knocking softly on the wood.

He almost drops the tray when the door is slammed open.

“Bruce! Tell Dick his argument against Hamlet is completely wrong and—Oh.”

A boy stands in the doorway.

Fifteen years old, expensive tux, black hair, and eyes with too much green to be a true blue. Eyes that scan Tim up and down like he’s figuring out every single secret Tim’s hidden away in the back of his mind and examining them one by one. And all Tim can think about is how he once saw Robin take down five crooks before leaping out of a sixty-fourth-floor window, how Robin could end him in the blink of an eye.

Jason Todd raises a brow.

“You lost, kid?” Tim opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so he shakes his head instead. Jason looks down at the tray in his hands. “ . . . Did Bruce kidnap you and have you make tea or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Tim says, managing to not trip over his words.

Jason blinks, glances him over once again. A horrified, blank expression crosses his face before he half turns and says, “We left B alone for five minutes, and he already got a new kid!”

There’s a strangled yell of, “What?” then the sound of stumbling footsteps as another boy appears in the door. Tim’s knees go weak.

Eighteen with a messy blue bowtie that’s the same shade as his wide eyes. The same shade as the Nightwing suit, too. Tim remembers the first and last time he went to the circus, remembers the photograph he still has.

Dick Grayson stares at him in shock.

“Oh my God. He did.”

Jason looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. “Do you think he just wanders around and collects the first lonely dark-haired child he sees? Is it just a thing he does?”

Dick shrugs, his gaze still locked on Tim. “Once is a mistake. Twice is a pattern.” He points a finger at the youngest boy. “Three times is a habit.” He glances at Jason with a frown. “Think we should stage an intervention?”

“Maybe,” Jason mutters, eyes narrowing. Dick hums and notices the tray in Tim’s hands with delight.

“Hey, he brought tea!” Dick bends forward, gently taking the platter out of Tim’s nearly quivering hands. He smiles down at him. “What’s your name?”

Tim swallows past his dry throat and channels years of socialite skills into not seeming like a complete idiot. “Tim Drake. Mr. Way—Bruce told me to come here? He got caught up with some lady, though. Delphine, I think?”

The two older boys share a look. Dick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s not surprising.” He nudges Jason out of the doorway and beckons Tim inside. “Come on; you can help me remind Jason that Romeo and Juliet is way better than some play about a depressed prince.”

“Romeo and Juliet is nowhere near Hamlet, and you know it,” Jason mutters, but shoots Tim a friendly grin as Dick sets the tea tray down on a coffee table.

“If you read the whole thing as a satire about teenage stupidity and dumb love, then it’s hilarious,” Dick fires back and glances over at where Tim has barely entered through the doorway. “Right, Timmy?”

Tim shuffles his feet, not used to this kind of attention. “Um, I’ve only read Macbeth, and that was for school so . . . sure? I don’t know; Shakespeare always seemed kind of overrated to me.”

Both boys freeze.

Jason makes some sort of offended sound. “Oh my God, don’t ever let Alfred hear you say that.”

Flushing, Tim hurriedly continues, “I just prefer novels over plays, you know? Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie, that kind of stuff.”

“Mysteries? Jesus, no wonder Bruce kidnapped you. He used to read Sherlock Holmes to me before bed when I was a kid.” Dick mutters with a shake of his head.

“Huh, I got Jane Austen,” Jason off-handedly adds as he moves to grab a teacup, not putting anything in the drink. Dick takes two spoonfuls of sugar in his. He looks up and sees that Tim still hasn’t moved away from the door. He smiles gently.

“Hey, we don’t bite.” Dick sets another cup down on the table before sitting back on the plush couch. Tim hesitates, his mind screaming out useless facts his mother had told him about etiquette and manners that he’s quickly learning won’t apply to the Waynes at all, and gingerly moves into the room.

He picks up the teacup and carefully takes a place in the chair next to the sofa. Dick beams at him like he’d just found the solution to world peace, and Jason shoots him another half-smirk-half-grin while he moves over to the empty fireplace.

“So, Tim,” Dick starts while Jason tosses several pieces of wood into the grate, “the Drakes, huh? Don’t you live down the road?”

He nods, relaxing his fingers’ grip on the cup’s handle. “Yeah, about fifteen minutes away, I think.”

Jason glances back at him from where he’d successfully lit a fire, gaze curious. The light flickers warmly over the floor and Tim lets himself sink into the chair just a bit. “Really? Don’t hear from you guys that much; most of our neighbors are always asking about the next party and whatnot.”

“Oh, well, my parents aren’t usually in the country for most of the year,” Tim says, taking a sip of his tea before wrinkling his nose. Too bitter.

Dick pauses from where he’s lifting the cup to his lips, and Jason stops adding logs to the growing flames. They share a glance over Tim’s head. “Really?” Dick asks, continuing with his sip of tea. “I’m guessing they’re pretty busy, then. With running a company and all.”

Jason stands and moves back towards them, taking a seat in the chair opposite of Tim. “Yeah, isn’t your dad some kind of archaeologist, too? He sponsors a lot of stuff at the Natural History Museum downtown.” Dick pauses, both brows raised at his younger brother, and Jason shrugs defensively. “What? I paid attention during a school trip.”

Tim distractedly adds several spoonfuls of sugar to his tea. “Yeah, he’s usually flying from digsite to digsite most of the year. And my mom spends her summertime in London or Paris, and winter in the Caribbean, so he’s always visiting her. Plus, they have to travel for business all the time, and every month they go—” He freezes upon looking up from where he’d been stirring his drink. Jason and Dick are staring at him, looking as if they’d just been forced to swallow a very bitter pill. Tim hurriedly adds, “It’s okay! I’m—I’m busy with school anyway, so it’s fine.”

Dick sets his cup down with a gentle clink that makes Tim wince. “It doesn’t really seem . . . awesome, Tim.”

It takes everything within him to maintain eye contact and not stare down at the rug underneath his feet. “It’s fine.”

Jason leans forward, elbows on his knees, his eyebrows furrowed together to make a little crease between them. “You’re not . . . alone, right? You seem pretty responsible, but it’s not just you—”

“We have a housekeeper,” Tim tells him, voice clipped. He tries not to think about how he doesn't even remember the last time he saw her. “And I’m at school most of the day.”

“Boarding?” Dick asks.

“Usually, it would be. But it’s only a few minutes away by bike, so why pay to stay there when I could just come home?” Tim keeps his tone even. His grip on the teacup is tightening.

“It just . . . sounds a little lonely, that’s all. I got bored all the time when I was your age, and that was with Bruce and Alfred around to keep me company,” Dick quickly adds, soothing Tim’s raising defenses. The last thing he needs is the Bats getting nosy about his home life. Or rather, absence of one.

Tim shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

The brothers share another look, too fast for him to know what it means, and Jason tilts his head in a way that strangely reminds Tim of when his father would strike a business deal. “Hey, I know we just met, but, uh. . . You could come over here sometimes, if you want.”

Tim’s eyes widen, and his brain almost shuts down as he tries to make sense of what Jason just said. After several confused seconds, he manages to choke out, “What?”

“You know, if you ever need anything,” Dick swiftly continues, gaze steady and far too kind. “Like help with homework, stuff with school, or uh . . .” He glances at his brother. “Advice for girl problems?”

“You need advice for girl problems,” Jason mutters back. Dick kicks at him but looks over at Tim meaningfully.

“I’m living in New York right now, but I know you’d be welcomed here anytime.”

Jason nods in agreement. “Seriously, feel free to drop by. Bruce has already kinda adopted you, and I need Alfred to change your opinion on Shakespeare, so come over sometime, yeah?”

Tim stares at them, throat strangely tight. He hesitates. “I—”

The library door swings open, and Bruce walks in. Tim straightens up immediately, and from his peripheral vision, he can see Dick and Jason do the same. They all stare at each other for a moment. Bruce speaks first. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Jason shrugs. “Nothing we can’t continue later, B. How’s Delphine?”

“Sent her home with her friends just a few moments ago. She’ll be fine except for one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

Jason hmms and takes a sip of his tea. “You still have lipstick on your collar, by the way.”

Bruce glances down and curses, rubbing at the stain with his thumb. Dick snickers and Tim doesn’t even try to hide his shaky smile. With a sigh of defeat, Bruce glances over and meets Tim’s gaze with an amused expression. “Try not to embarrass me in front of our guest, if you can help it, Jay.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Dad, but you’re capable of doing that all by yourself,” Jason shoots back, amused.

Tim nearly misses the bitter look that crosses Dick’s face, and it’s gone before he can figure it out. His eyes flick to Bruce, who almost seems frozen in the firelight, a warm expression melting over his features as he stares at his youngest son. Jason takes another sip of his tea, his gaze resting on the fireplace and not focused on the two older men.

Tim glances between them and shifts in the strange atmosphere. The sound of the ticking clock is the only thing breaking the quiet.

He looks at his drink.

A different voice ends the silence. “Master Bruce, young Mr. Drake’s mother is asking for him. I believe he will be leaving for the night.” Tim glimpses at the open door. A tall, thin man stands there; his arms folded neatly behind his back. Tim doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so British before in his life.

Alfred Pennyworth. Tim subconsciously straightens his suit, hoping the man won’t notice its wrinkles.

His eyes rest on Tim for a second, brows raising for half a second before his expression reverts into unreadable neutrality. Still, Alfred offers him a small smile that Tim quietly returns. Then another figure enters the doorway and Tim’s stomach freezes.

His mother stares down at him. Her lips curl upwards, all picture-perfect and white teeth. “Mr. Wayne, I’m terribly sorry for any distraction my son has caused tonight.” She holds out a polished hand. “Come along, Timothy, it’s late.” He makes himself look at her face.

Her blue eyes are ice cold. Furious.

His feet feel like lead when he stands, but his hands are still as Tim places his now-cool tea on the coffee table. He meets Jason’s gaze as he moves away from them. There’s something quiet and worried in his eyes, and Tim turns his back on both the older boy and the warmth of the firelight.

He isn’t expecting it when Dick moves with him, though, smoothly walking over and coming close enough to put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“He wasn’t a bother at all, Mrs. Drake,” Dick says, and apparently Tim isn’t the only one who’s learned how to play the smiling socialite. The man even shoots his mother a playful wink as he continues, “If anything, we should be apologizing for keeping him, just lost track of time.”

His mother narrows her eyes at Dick, glares down at Tim, and then settles back on Bruce. “It’s no matter; actually, I’ll have to thank you for making sure my son stayed out of trouble.” Tim slips out of Dick’s comforting grasp and moves silently to stand by her side. She reaches over and takes him by the arm, polished, red nails digging into his skin. Dick’s smile fades. “He tends to find it quite easily.”

Dick doesn’t even blink, only looks her up and down in a way that’s too cold to be mistaken for flattery. “Some might call that curiosity.”

“And polite company would call it meddlesome,” she clips back, words barbed. Dick stiffens, and his hands clenching, and Tim can see the tension in his jaw even from where he’s standing. He grinds his teeth and looks away from his mother.

He isn’t deaf and is well aware of what plenty of people really think of Wayne’s adopted sons. Two charity cases drudged up from the bottom of Gotham’s classes: street rats. He didn’t think his mother would sink to that level, though. Tim risks a glance at where Jason is still sitting.

The other boy is frozen in his chair, tea forgotten. His teal eyes glare daggers into Mrs. Drake, and Tim knows Jason must be biting his tongue to keep his insults to himself. Dick opens his mouth to reply, probably with something just as scathing, but Bruce steps in front of him with a tight smile.“Mrs. Drake, as you said, it’s getting late. Would you let me escort you to your car?”

Dick steps away, gaze bitterly burning into the back of his adopted father’s head, but he whips around to face Jason, and Tim can no longer see his expression. His mother exhales pointedly.

“No need, Mr. Wayne. You seem to have your hands plenty full here, and I’m perfectly capable of finding the way back myself, thank you.”

She tugs sharply on Tim’s arm, and he desperately looks at them, not sure what to say. Dick and Jason both stare back, brows furrowed, and he sees Bruce take a step forwards only to hesitate. He can feel Alfred watching him from the side. Tim swallows past his dry mouth, his mother pulls again at his sleeve, and he quickly gets out, “Thanks for the tea.”

“Oh, come along, Timothy,” she snaps.

And then Tim’s being marched down the hallway, trying to keep pace with Janet Drake’s long strides but not quite managing it. Moments later, he’s ushered into the car, and they’re driving away. But he can’t tear his eyes away from the Manor as it’s left behind, a spot of shining light in the surrounding darkness.

The taste of tea fills his mouth the entire ride home.

*****

“You could have let me say something,” Dick snaps as soon as the two Drakes are gone, and Alfred’s closed the door behind them. He sort of wishes the butler stayed.

Bruce exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It would have only made things worse; you shouldn’t have gotten involved in the conversation, to begin with.”

“You saw his face when she came into the room, Bruce,” Dick mutters back, fuming. Next to him, Jason watches them silently, and Dick forces himself to take a breath. “What kid looks at their own mother like that?”

“ . . . I don’t know either Janet or Jack Drake personally, but they have a reputation for being ruthless,” Bruce says, still staring at the door. He turns around and looks between his sons measuredly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that behavior carries into their family life as well.”

Dick seethes, ears still burning from Mrs. Drake’s comments. ‘Polite company.’ It could have meant nothing but combined with her curled lip and icy gaze; it didn’t.

He rests a hand on Jason’s shoulder, either to comfort the kid or himself, Dick isn’t sure, and Jason doesn’t lean back from it. He wonders if what she said got to his brother, too. Probably not. Jason has always been better at letting shit like this roll off his back. Still, he doesn’t move his hand away just in case.

“I told Tim he was welcome here anytime,” Dick says pointedly, Bruce stiffens. “And he better be.”

“Dick, you can’t just—”

“It was my idea, actually,” Jason interrupts, and both of them turn to stare at him. Jason glares back, unflinchingly. “And don’t pretend that you couldn’t care less, B. You were the one who invited him in here, not Dick. Besides,” Jason takes a smooth sip of his tea, “I think he’s lonely. Could use someone to talk to. If he comes over, I’ll handle it.”

Bruce looks at him for a long moment, several unnameable emotions warring across his face. He seems to settle on blankness.

“Very well,” his gaze slides to Dick, still unknowable. “I’m going to have to turn in for the night. Alfred’s been wanting to redo several stitches and is threatening to drug me again if I don’t let him. Tea will have to wait for another day.”

“Oh,” is Dick’s only response. The disappointment isn’t anything new as it settles in his stomach, but it still hurts. He glances at the door, trying to figure out the least awkward way to leave, then Bruce clears his throat hesitantly.

“However, Jason and I are planning a bust on one of Penguin’s shipping operations later this week. Feel free to join us, if you’d like.”

Whatever frustration Dick has left in him drains away as he and his brother gawk at the other man. Bruce waits for several seconds but is only met with silence as his adopted son blinks at the hanging invitation. Dick starts. “I . . . Okay, I can do that. Uh. Does Saturday work?”

Bruce nods. “Come by the Manor around nine, that’ll let you have some time with Alfred. He’s been wanting to catch up.”

“Right,” Dick says numbly, and as Bruce turns to leave, he and Jason share a glance. The younger boy raises his brows, and Dick can only shake his head in response, mind whirling.

“And Jason,” Bruce adds, both of his sons snapping to attention. Bruce opens the door, smoothing his collar in such a way that the lipstick on it somehow becomes less noticeable. Dick tries not to be impressed with that. “If you’re going to have Tim over here, give him something to eat. Lord knows he needs it.”

They stare as he leaves, the library door not quite swinging all the way shut behind him.

Jason speaks first, “That was . . . unexpected.”

Dick looks at him. “What? That he invited me, because yeah—”

“No,” The other boy interrupts, voice purposefully monotone. “Of course he was going to invite you, he’s been trying to figure out how to do that for months, now.” Dick’s eyes widen, and he glances back at the door. Jason doesn’t seem to notice. “I just didn’t expect him to invite me.”

Looking back at him, Dick frowns. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re Robin. ”

It says something about time healing all wounds because it doesn’t hurt to say that out loud anymore. But Jason stills, his gaze moving to Dick before resting on the flames within the fireplace. “Yeah, and Robin’s benched.”

Shit.

Just add that to the list of things he can feel guilty not knowing about.

Dick is frozen, looking over Jason’s form and frantically trying to figure out what happened. “You got hurt? Where? How bad?”

“I didn’t get hurt.”

Jason still won’t look at him. Slowly, Dick shuts his eyes. “Little Wing, what did you do? ”

That wasn’t the right thing to say. Jason spins around to face him, expression twisted into something painful and hurt and Dick did that. “Are you serious, right now?”

“Jay—”

“Look, I know you’re a fucking Golden Boy up on Bruce’s goddamn pedestal, but at the very least you could try to—”

“Jason.” Jason stiffens with his brother’s raised voice because Dick doesn’t yell. Not at him. Dick rubs a hand over his face. “Jay, just tell me what happened, okay? I won’t judge you for it, I promise.”

The younger boy’s glare hardens for a second before molding into something unbearably tired. “I didn’t . . . Look, I need you to get that I didn’t push the guy, okay?”

Fuck, this wasn’t going to be good. Dick breathes out, “Okay.”

Jason searches his face for a second, eyes falling back to the fire. “We were working a case, there was . . . Our perp was this asshole, Felipe Garzonas, and his father was some kind of ambassador, and he had diplomatic immunity because of fucking course he did. And he . . .” Jason takes a breath. “He raped a girl, Gloria, and was responsible for her death.”

Dick swallows. “So, he got away with murder?”

Jason shakes his head, continuing, “No, she . . . she killed herself. But he was behind it, threatened to keep hurting her and she . . . He got recalled, too, you know that? We busted him on drugs, and he was leaving the fucking country and wouldn’t have been able to touch her ever again. But she didn’t know, and he called her before we did and . . .”

For a long moment, Dick only stares, the pieces coming together to make a grim picture. “You were the one to find her, weren’t you?”

Jason shivers, jaw clenching. “She was already gone by the time we got to her apartment. Hung herself. She was only . . .  a couple of years older than me. Younger than you.”

Dick winces and closes his eyes. “God, Jay that’s . . .”

“I’m just tired of seeing it, you know? Shit like this happened all the time back in Crime Alley, yeah, but now I finally have a chance to stop it, and I fucking couldn’t. I couldn’t save her.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jason snorts bitterly, gaze not wavering from the fireplace. Dick sighs and sits back down on the sofa to rest his head in his hands. It’s a shitty lesson, learning that you can’t rescue everyone. They both wait in the library stillness for several minutes, watching the light from the flames flicker across the floor. Dick looks up.

“Okay, then what?”

Jason exhales. “I went back to his apartment and he was up on this fucking balcony drinking and I . . .” Dick waits quietly as the boy finds the right words. “I dropped down too quick, spooked him. And he stumbled, slipped over the railing, and it . . . Fuck, Dick, it happened so fast.”

Dick nods but frowns. “And Bruce benched you because . . .”

“He thinks I pushed him.”

Shit.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Dick runs a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into his face. Advice. That’s what he’s supposed to do. Older brothers give advice. Fuck. “Okay, look, Bruce is a—” His phone rings, the emergency tone for the Titans echoing throughout the library, and Dick jumps—“Son of a bitch,” he finishes instead, grabbing his cell.

Jason raises his brows, a weak grin etching across his face. “Don’t think Martha would appreciate that.”

A distracted chuckle leaves Dick’s throat as he stares at the message on the screen in annoyance. Deathstroke. Of all the people who hate the Titans, it couldn’t have been someone the team could handle without him?

He glances at his brother but Jason is already waving him away. “Yeah, I get it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Just go, asshole. We can deal with this another day.”

“I don’t ‘deal with you’, Little Wing. I like talking to you, come on, and we are gonna finish this conversation.” Probably. When he can figure out what to fucking say. Dick stands as the alarm on his phone goes off again. “Just not today because I need to go kick Deathstroke’s ass.”

Jason follows as his brother jogs into the study and both of them stop at the clock. Dick opens the case, moving the hands as Jason watches silently. Seconds later, the wall is sliding open and Dick is praying that Bruce has the Tower’s location already set up in the zeta-tube. The sound of feet hitting stone echoes as they run down, and Dick doesn’t even stop as they reach the cave, doesn’t look to see if anything’s changed.

The zeta doesn’t have the Tower’s coordinates pulled up and Dick spends too much time pressing buttons for his liking. As the damn thing finally starts, he gives Jason a half-hearted grin and ruffles his hair. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Jason smiles tiredly as Dick steps into the tube. “Punch Wilson in the face for me.”

And Dick doesn’t have enough time to respond because the world dissolves into blue and then he’s in the Tower, Roy yelling at him to ‘fucking move his ass.’

In the end, he does manage to punch Slade in the face, which is awesome. And they also save New York for the third time this month which is doubly awesome. But when they’re finally out of costume, and Garth’s calling up their favorite pizza place and Donna is laughing into Roy’s shoulder at some joke Vic made, Dick’s stomach is still in knots. He’s still staring at Jason’s name in his phone with no idea of what to do.

And looking around their rec-room, at the bright grins of his teammates, he can’t dampen the mood with his own ridiculous feelings. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid, because it’s just Jason. Still, he only pokes at his huge pizza slice that Raven’s dropped in front of him, the argument between Vic and Gar about meat and tofu fading into the background.

Hesitantly, he glances over at where Kory is sitting across the room. Too quickly she meets his gaze and they both look away. He’d thrown the tie she gave him somewhere on the floor of his bedroom while suiting up. Can’t be sentimental when assassins want to kill the mayor.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not when Wally drops down next to him, nudging Dick’s arm with his own and forcing a soda can into his hand. He doesn’t say anything either, only gives his friend a smart grin and lays back on the sofa, draping his legs over Dick’s thighs.

Dick rolls his eyes but pops the tab of his soda anyway.

The team trails off one by one, either to train or sleep. Kory doesn’t look at him when she leaves and Dick doesn’t call out either. Eventually, the only ones left are the founders, but then Garth has to take his nightly swim and Donna wants to finish editing her photos and Roy needs to fix a faulty sonic arrow and Wally . . . stays.

They’re quiet for a long time, which is weird for the speedster, but he knows when to let Dick think. Doesn’t stop him from eventually kicking the other’s leg and pointing at his untouched pizza, though. “You gonna eat that?”

Dick grumbles and hands it to him, and Wally laughs. And that’s . . . at least he knows he can do something right.

Wally takes a bite and the pizza is gone. “So. It was that bad?”

“How can you tell?”

“Because you’re doing that thing—” Wally does a scrunched serious face that makes him look slightly constipated—“that you do when you’re having an internal crisis.”

Dick’s scrunched serious face becomes scrunchier. “I’m not . . . crisis-ing. I’m fine.”

“Wow. Are you really trying to bullshit me, right now?”

Dick pinches his thigh and Wally yelps, kicking in retaliation. They grapple, and Dick pushes the other boy off the couch only for Wally to grab his arm at the last second. He lands on the floor with an oomph and a speedster crushing him. But one of them was trained by Batman and that one isn’t Wally, and Dick’s got him pinned in seconds.

“You suck,” Wally moans into the rug dramatically.

Dick grins. “Your hand-to-hand has gotten better.”

“Fuck you.”

Dick’s smile widens and he lets up, Wally kicking at him again for good measure. They sit across from each other, legs tangled together, Dick against the sofa and Wally with his head tipped back onto the coffee table. Dick chews his lip for a moment.

“It wasn’t bad. Just . . . a lot of stuff happened.”

Wally glances at him, but doesn’t move his head. The angle kinda makes him look stupid. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dick sorts through the night for a moment. “Bruce didn’t even invite me.”

“Wait, seriously?” Wally actually lifts his head up, brows raised towards the ceiling.

Dick nods. “Figures. It was Alfred, probably, or my name got thrown in or . . . I don’t know, doesn’t matter because it was still awkward as fuck. Almost left, but then he kind of apologized? And asked me to stay for tea? It was weird.”

“The guy who dresses up as a bat to fight clowns is weird? Who would’ve guessed,” the speedster deadpans.

A laugh bubbles out of his chest and Wally knocks their feet together. “Yeah, but then he disappeared for a bit and instead of coming back with tea he sent a kid? Like? One second I’m arguing with Jason about something dumb and then there’s this tiny child with a tea tray in the doorway? He looked confused.”

Wally grins. “Can’t blame him.”

Dick shakes his head. “His name’s Tim Drake. His parents own some big medical company and his mom is kind of a bitch.”

“What’d she do?” Wally asks, blinking in surprise. Dick never talks like that.

“Rude as shit when she came to pick him up and . . . God, the look on that kid’s face when he saw her . . . There’s something wrong going on in that house. I don’t like it. But Jay told him he could come to the Manor if he ever needs anything.”

“You think it’s that bad?”

“She grabbed him, too,” Dick mutters, turning away to glare at the floor. “Jason said he’d handle it and I trust him. And I think B’s worried, he caved on letting the kid come over pretty quick. Then he invited me on a bust on Saturday.”

Wally blinks. “Like . . . to bond?”

Dick shrugs hopelessly because he honestly has no idea how Bruce’s brain works anymore. “I guess? Apparently, he’s been wanting to ask for a few weeks, according to Jay and—” Dick pauses, eyes widening—“Dude, Jason got benched.”

“Benched as in hurt?” Wally asks and sits up straighter. Dick shakes his head, thoughts whirling.

“Benched as in Bruce thought he pushed a perp off a balcony.”

Wally’s mouth drops. “Holy shit. Did he actually—”

“Jason said the guy had been drinking, was startled when he dropped down, and slipped over.”

“You believe him?”

Dick hesitates too long at that. He remembers the look on Jason’s face, the crack in his voice as he talked. He also remembers the sound of bone breaking under Robin’s fist. He tugs at a loose string on the edge of his shirt.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Wally shrugs. “I don’t know him as well as you, but . . . I don’t think Jason would go that far. Kid’s too good for that.”

Dick smiles, but it quickly fades away. “He’s got issues, though. Not that I blame him, we all do—” Wally snorts—“but I don’t know how to help him. I don’t know what to say.”

“He’s just your brother. It’s not like you have to write a speech or something.”

“ . . . That’s actually not a bad ide—”

“That was a joke. Please don’t do that. You talk like Bruce when you lecture, and it’ll just freak him out.”

“Shit,” Dick mutters, slumping back into the sofa behind him. The fabric is kind of itchy, and he shifts, thinking. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you apologize and try again.”

“How do you know that’ll work?”

“It’s what Barry did whenever he messed up with me,” Wally says quietly and something inside of Dick wilts. The speedster looks away, fiddling with the ring on his hand. Barry’s ring. The ring with a costume that wasn’t supposed to be Wally’s. Not ever.

“ . . . He’d be proud of you.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Join the club.”

“No thanks, there’s a major dick in there.”

“You want me to pin you again?”

“No,” Wally answers, but he’s smiling, so Dick takes it.

“Seriously, he’d be proud.”

Wally closes his eyes, looking too old for someone who’s only eighteen. His freckles have been fading away, adulthood coming on faster than either of them would like to admit. Dick doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed that before. “And I seriously don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Then we’ll not know what we’re doing together. And we’ll make a club. Roy can join.”

“Ew.” Dick laughs, really laughs, at that, and Wally’s expression lightens. He bumps their legs again. “You should talk to Jason soon, though. He’ll probably get anxious if you don’t.”

Dick nods. “Yeah.”

They fall silent again, and Dick lets himself drift for several seconds, listening to the distant city outside. Wally hums in thought, the tune vaguely familiar but Dick can’t quite place it. Maybe something from when they were kids. He stares for a moment.

“Hey.” Wally glances at him, green eyes quiet. “Thanks.”

He gets a grin in return, one that’s too teasing to be truly genuine. “And if we’re talking about emotions . . .”

“No.”

“Dude, you were staring at her all night.”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“Was—No, we’re not doing this.”

Wally sticks his tongue out at him. “You have feelings, she has feelings, you’re making it complicated.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Would Kory?”

Dick opens his mouth, then shuts it with a click. Wally points a finger at him in triumph and Dick glowers with resignation. He still tries. “She’s—I’m—we’re both just so—”

“Different isn’t always a bad thing, bro. Haven’t you heard of opposites attracting? You’re just scared of getting hurt, which is ridiculous because she’s head over heels for you.”

Dick sighs. “Can we go back to talking about my Bruce issues?”

“No. Just have a conversation with her.”

“What if I—”

“Mess up? Didn’t we just finish that discussion?” Wally asks, voice flat. “I’m not above locking you two in a closet, don’t push me. You’re both pining and it’s gross.” Dick opens his mouth again. Wally sighs. “What if I tell you it’s upsetting the team dynamic.” Dick’s mouth closes, and the other man groans, head falling into his hands. “Oh my god.”

“Is it? Because that’s really important—”

“It’s not; it’s just fucking awkward, Jesus Christ.”

Dick exhales, steels himself. “Fine. I’ll talk to Kory. And Bruce. And Jason. Happy?”

“Yeah, actually. Jerk.” Wally sticks his tongue out at him, and Dick returns the action.

“Now tell me about your love life so I can make fun of you.”

Wally perks up, starts talking about some hot girl in his Advanced Chemistry lecture, and Dick settles back against the couch. It isn’t too itchy if he doesn’t think about it. Besides, Wally’s leg is warm against his, and, for now, that’s enough.

*****

Tim is picking at his cereal when his parents enter the dining room. Jack still in slippers with the morning paper tucked under his arm, and Janet wearing a silk robe. Last night certainly hadn’t helped with the tension between them, with his mother’s angry mutters and his father’s chilled gaze filling the car ride home. Tim had rushed up to his room, not bothering with a ‘goodnight.’ He doubts they’d even noticed.

Still, it’s a new day. He tries to smile at them but he knows it comes out wrong. His parents pause in the doorway for a second, staring at him like they’re not sure what to say.

Jack breaks the quiet, “Morning, Tim.”

“Good morning,” he answers back hesitantly. The words are strange in his mouth. Unfamiliar.

His mother sits across from him as his father takes the head of the long table. Neither looks particularly comfortable, but Tim isn’t either, so he won’t judge.

Most of his breakfasts take place by the kitchen counter or on his way to school. Rarely in the dining room, with its empty chairs and arching windows. It’s always been too cold for Tim’s liking and he can count on one hand the number of times he’s had a meal in here.

So he shifts in his seat, Janet catching it out of the corner of her eye. “Posture.”

His father opens his newspaper, sips his dark coffee. Tim can’t decide whether or not he likes the overpowering smell of it. “Dear, it’s first thing in the morning. Let the boy relax for God’s sake.”

“He was plenty relaxed last night,” she snaps and Tim stills, his spoon halfway to his mouth. She isn’t looking at him as she adds strawberries to her plate, but her movements are sharp. “I don’t know what you were thinking, Tim. Bothering Bruce Wayne of all people and disappearing to Lord knows where halfway through the night to talk to those children of his. Left us having to brush off questions about your whereabouts, and you certainly lost us several investors—”

“He asked for my help.”

Both of his parents freeze. Tim, too, after he realizes his interruption, his eyes quickly moving down to stare at his bowl. Janet slowly places the spoon in her grip back into its dish. The harsh clink of metal against china echoes in the silence, Tim’s teeth gritting at the sound. Her hands fold neatly on top of the table.

“What was that, Timothy?” Her voice is frigid. Tim hesitates, eyes darting to his father to gauge his reaction. He’s met with blankness.

Tim takes a breath and continues, “Bru—Mr. Wayne was looking for his butler to make tea, but then I told him I could do it. And then he thought that I’d get along with his sons so I just . . .” He gestures helplessly and his mother sighs, rubbing at her temple.

“We’ll try again Friday. I have a presentation with the board, but your father is going to the annual GCPD charity luncheon at Wayne Enterprises. You’ll go with him and pay attention to the other businessmen this time, don’t be completely useless and run off somewhere.” She stands, her chair scraping against the floor.

Both Tim and his father open their mouths to protest, but are met with a harsh look, the kind that Janet Drake gives people during meetings when somebody dares to challenge her. Tim slumps into his seat, but Jack does not. “He’d be missing school, might not send the best message.”

“If he goes with you he’ll be learning more important things anyway. And besides,” she stares down at her son pointedly, “he’ll make sure to stay out of trouble. Won’t you, Tim?”

His head is heavy when he nods, but Tim manages it. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You see? It’s fine, Jack. Besides, don’t you have more important things to worry about anyway with that damn exhibition coming up?” she snaps at her husband. Jack’s lip curls, but he doesn’t respond as she swirls out of the room, silk robe flowing behind her. She leaves her untouched plate of strawberries behind.

Tim hesitates. His father turns back to the newspaper. Several more minutes pass by.

“What’s the exhibition for?”

Jack glances up at him for a second before returning to his article. “Just uncovered a few things for the museum downtown. Nothing exciting for your mother to host a celebration party for, so she’s bitter over it.”

“Oh,” Tim says, awkwardly poking at his bowl. There’s more to it than that but he knows when to hold his tongue.

He counts the seconds as they tick by, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass before escaping the room. His father flips to the next page of the paper. Tim leaves without a sound.

When he bikes to school, he goes as fast as he can, legs and lungs burning. He relishes the feeling. At least, out here, he can finally breathe.

*****

Friday comes both too soon and too slow.

His parents will be gone this afternoon and while the house is still quiet with them there (apart from the ever-louder arguments that Tim can hear echoing through the halls), it’s nevertheless nice knowing that he isn’t alone anymore.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss sneaking out at night. Based on what he’d last heard when he was out on the streets, Penguin is going to bring in a huge shipment tomorrow, and Tim’s dying to get a few decent shots of it. If he gets an especially good one, he might even mail it to Gordon. Anonymously, of course.

He knows they use his photos as evidence sometimes. Had heard the Commissioner mention it to Batman, once on a slower patrol. That the resolution of his camera picks up details that security footage can’t make out.

Tim hadn’t stopped grinning the rest of the night, and Gordon had gotten seven extra photos that weekend.

The elevator pings open, and Jack Drake’s shoes squeak on the polished marble floor. Tim’s never been in Wayne Tower before, and he stares as they walk by gleaming offices and busy people. It’s a beautiful place, with tasteful decor and huge windows lining the halls. Everyone around them moves like clockwork and Tim would be lying if he said that he wasn’t impressed. He’d always thought that running a business would be boring, his parents never seem to enjoy it. But . . . Tim wouldn’t mind working here.

He almost runs into his father when the man stops in front of a pair of glass doors. Looking through them, Tim can see a long room with balconies and official-looking men and women standing around.

A few are in uniforms, members of the GCPD. Tim pretends not to notice, pretends that he doesn’t know exactly who each of them is. His father looks down at him.

“Don’t embarrass yourself or me. And don’t bother the Waynes, understand?”

Tim nods, and his father exhales, pushing the doors open. Several businessmen come up to Mr. Drake at once, and Tim knows he’s not supposed to get left behind, but they’re all moving and chattering and suddenly he’s alone in a room full of people. He glances around frantically, but he only sees the same dull suits and stiff dresses no matter where he turns.

Hesitantly, he moves to the lunch table. Pretends that he has everything under control. And it’s almost funny that he’s more comfortable on the dark streets of Gotham instead of this crowded place. He pours himself a cup of water and carefully makes sure nobody is behind him when he turns around. Especially Bruce Wayne.

His drink spills anyway.

The man who just ran into him blinks down in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting someone so short to be there. “Excuse me, Mr. . . . ?”

“Uh, Tim,” Tim answers, trying to straighten his wet suit. The man curses under his breath and reaches up to his chest, handing Tim a handkerchief. He looks up at the man again. Brown eyes behind smart glasses and greying at the temples. Well-cut suit, looks far more comfortable here than Tim does, and Tim knows he’s seen this guy before somewhere and oh . . . Oh.

“I’m Lucius Fox. Are you lost, son?”

“I—uh, no? No, I’m fine, thank you. My dad’s just . . .” Tim looks around desperately, but the universe doesn’t seem to be on his side today.

Lucius studies him for a long moment and something clicks behind his gaze. “You’re Drake’s son, aren’t you?”

Tim blinks. “Yeah, yeah, how did you . . . ?”

“You look like your mother. And she is . . . “ Fox furrows his brow and hesitates, “Hard to forget.”

“That sounds about right,” Tim mutters, carefully folding the handkerchief back into a neat square. It’s silk and a crisp white and Lucius places it back in its pocket despite the fact that it’s still wet.

“Mr. Wayne mentioned you this morning when I told him your father was invited to the luncheon.”

Tim blinks again. “He did?”

“Said you and Jason got along. And that you make better tea than our new Keurig.”

Tim’s brain melts.

“When he mentioned you to me he said that all you do is judge his life choices,” he says without thinking, then freezes horrified. Fox stares at him. Tim starts, “Sorry! I didn’t mean—”

Lucius laughs, true and deep enough to make several people nearby glance at them. Tim doesn’t move, unsure whether to keep apologizing or join in. He goes for a nervous chuckle instead. After a few more moments, Fox settles and smiles at him. “I do judge his life choices, believe me, he deserves it.” He straightens up, looking around for Tim’s father. “Apologies, but I have to check up on a few things. Not sure where your father went, but Jason and Ms. Gordon are back there if you’d like to talk to them.”

Tim’s eyes follow the direction Lucius subtly points at. “Ms. Gordon?”

“The Commissioner’s daughter, Barbara.” Yeah, Tim knows who she is. “I think you two will get along, trust me.” He shakes Tim’s hand, grip strong but not unkind. As if they were equals. Tim likes him. “It was nice to meet you, Tim.”

“You too, thanks,” he manages, watching as Lucius blends into the crowd. Then he turns and tries not to walk too fast to where the man had steered him. At least now he has somewhere to go.

It isn’t hard to spot them in the tucked-away corner, Barbara’s hair is bright in the sunlight, and Tim remembers how it looked when she flew through the air. A shock of red against the dark sky. Batgirl. The Batgirl.

He almost forgets until he sees the wheelchair.

The papers had blown up with the news, every other story focusing on the Gordons or the Joker or Batman. Looking back on it, it’s amazing that no one made the connection between her and her vigilante identity. Amazing no one still has.

Neither of them seems to notice as he quietly approaches, engrossed in their conversation. Barbara’s hands are folded very tightly on her lap and Jason’s shoulders are tense. Tim stills, tries to blend in with the background like he does on the streets. Even from this short distance, he can barely make out what they’re saying.

“—looked at the hospital’s records. Her name wasn’t on file, and they listed Catherine and your father as your guardians, no one else. I’m sorry, Jason.”

Jason slumps. “That doesn’t make any sense, the certificate’s damaged, yeah, but my mom didn’t have an ‘S’ in her name anywhere.”

“B said you were narrowing down a list of women? Based on your date of birth and your father’s associates?”

“Yeah, I’ve got three names. Gonna try and locate them, and then reach out, I guess.”

Barbara reaches out and touches his arm. “Hey, take it from someone who knows; it’s okay not to have . . . I just don’t want you to think you’re worth anything less than you are. There’s nothing wrong with you, and you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Especially not to her.”

Jason stares at her, swallows. “I know that, I do, and I already have a mom. Catherine was my mom. This lady, whoever she is, I just . . . I just have some questions I’d like her to answer, you know?”

Barbara hesitates and then nods. From this angle, Tim can’t see the expression on her face. “Okay, but be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt by whatever you find.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Aw, Barbie, you do care.”

“Shut it, brat.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to—” Jason looks up, eyes landing on Tim and then widening. He hides it quickly, but Barbara sees and she spins around, already an expert with her chair. Jason walks over, and Tim stiffens, wonders if they know he’s heard everything; but the older boy only throws an arm around his shoulder. “Tim! Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Tim tries not to stumble as Jason leads him back over to Barbara, who watches them with arched brows. Tim scrambles to come up with anything. “Sorry, you guys looked like you were talking about something, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Both of them relax a touch. Tim does too.

Jason lets the weight of his arm drop. “It wasn’t anything important, don’t worry about it.” He gestures to Barbara, moving to her side. “Barbie, Tim Drake. Tim, Barbara Gordon. All you gotta know about her is that she’s smarter than everybody else in this room combined.”

Barbara scoffs. “Stop trying to be charming, it’s weird.”

“Not charming anyone, just telling the truth,” Jason responds primly. She swats at him, and he grins widely in return. Her clever gaze moves to Tim.

Tim decides that Barbara Gordon is very pretty and very, very scary. There’s a high chance that even while wearing her expensive silk dress and sitting in a wheelchair, she could beat him up and not let a hair get out of place. But she also reminds him of Lucius, with the way her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. They shake hands.

Strong grip, but not unkind. Equals. Tim decides he likes her, too.

“So,” she starts, a smirk at the corners of her mouth. “You skipping, or did school let out on a half-day like the nerd over here?”

“Hey!” Jason protests, scowling as Tim’s face breaks into a grin.

Barbara scoffs. “Please, like you would ever skip school. Remember when you tried to sneak out when you were sick so you wouldn’t miss a test?”

Jason’s ears turn pink and he rolls his eyes. This only seems to bemuse Barbara more. “That was only one time. Besides, now I know better than to try and get past Alfred.” She cackles, so he lightly pinches her shoulder.

Tim glances between them for a moment before finally answering, “Skipping.”

Barbara looks delighted. Jason sighs.

There’s the sound of speakers turning on followed by the muffled tapping of a microphone. Everyone turns to stare at the front of the room where Commissioner Gordon seems ready to begin a speech, though he doesn’t appear too excited about it. Bruce is standing next to him, smiling broadly like he’s having the time of his life. He must be bored out of his mind.

Tim hears Jason groan behind him. He also hears the stifled oomph when Barbara elbows him.

Both of them come up to his side, Jason grinning in a way that Tim is pretty sure means trouble. Jason nudges him. “Come on.”

Tim blinks once, glances between him and the Commissioner. “What?”

“Come on,” the older boy says again, pointedly tilting his head to one of the balconies, just out of sight. Tim smiles. Barbara shakes her head.

“I hate this habit,” she mutters at Jason. “Cutting your life expectancy in half, I swear.”

Jason shrugs. “It’s Gotham, plenty of things can cut my life expectancy in half. And relax, Barb, it’s not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon. Just cover us, yeah?”

She grumbles and waves them away with a calloused hand. “You owe me, kid.”

“I’ll buy you a chilidog,” Jason tells her, steering Tim to the balcony and away from Commissioner Gordon’s resigned droning. They slip through the doors and into the sunlight, the cool air refreshing compared to the room’s heat.

Tim breathes it in and side-eyes Jason curiously. “What habit?”

The older boy shrugs, leaning against the wall in a way so that no one could see him from inside. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and gives Tim a look that clearly says that he better keep his mouth shut about this.

Tim only raises his brow and rests against the balcony railing. Jason sparks a lighter, the flame standing brightly out against the dull blues and greys surrounding them. He takes a slow drag and relaxes further into the concrete beneath his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he exhales, and the wind blows the smoke away before it has a chance to curl through the air.

He cracks his eyelids just a touch to meet Tim’s gaze. “Sorry, but I’m not sharing, kid. These things will kill you, you know.”

Tim huffs a laugh and looks out over the view of the city.

Gotham’s almost pretty like this, windows shining in the sun with a clear sky above. It’s weird. He prefers it at night when only neon signs and streetlights keep the city from falling into darkness. The lighting is more interesting anyway; and his best pictures are taken when the sun goes down. To be fair, that also may be because his best pictures are of Batman. And Robin.

Jason breathes out another lungful of smoke. The wind blows it away again.

“You never answered.”

“Huh?” Tim asks eloquently, looking back at the boy.

Jason tilts his head. “When I asked if you wanted to come over to the Manor sometime, you never answered.”

“Oh, I . . .” Tim tries, but the words won’t come. He isn’t sure what to make of this; nobody’s ever wanted to hang out with him before. He pulls at the ends of his sleeves. Jason only watches him, still quiet.

The cigarette end burns. Inhale. Exhale. Smoke. Wind. Tim looks away, out over the gleaming city, and gathers the confused pieces of his mind into one word.

“Why?”

Jason cocks his head and frowns. “Why what?”

“Why . . .” Tim shifts uncomfortably under the other boy’s unmoving stare. “Why do you want to be around me?”

“Because I like you,” Jason says, as if it’s that uncomplicated. Tim grimaces because there’s always something more than that. People always want more.

“No, you don’t; you hardly even know me. What do you actually want?” He snaps back, eyes turning cold. Jason looks taken aback, and for a second, Tim almost regrets what he said, but then the boy straightens up, and Tim suddenly realizes that Jason probably knows a lot more about him than he originally thought. And that this conversation is not going to be a pleasant one.

Jason glances back at the closed doors in calm consideration. “When was the last time your parents were home before this week, Tim?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, his hands tightening into fists. “I told you before, I’m fine.”

Jason nods like this is all the confirmation he needed, and Tim wants to backtrack and answer that. But the truth is that his parents were last home three months ago and that fact would only make things worse right now. The back of his tongue is sour.

“Why do you care?” He mutters, and Jason actually hesitates at that. They watch each other for a few tense moments, then Jason sighs and leans back against the concrete. Tim has the sudden urge to tell him that he’s wrinkling his suit. He has a distinct feeling Jason wouldn’t appreciate it.

The other boy taps the end of his cigarette, Tim watching the ash fall through the air. Jason takes a drag and examines him with narrowed eyes. “I care, because I know what it’s like not to have anybody give a damn about you.”

And it’s as if everything’s been punched out of Tim’s lungs. He can only stare as Jason exhales more smoke.

He snaps.

“My parents love me. At least that’s more than what you could say for yours.”

They both freeze as soon as the words leave Tim’s mouth, the city’s sounds filling the silence between them. Stiffly, Jason drops his cigarette, crushing it beneath a polished shoe. Tim suddenly has to fight the urge to step backward. Not that it would help, he's already pressed against the railing with nowhere to run.

Jason meets his eyes levelly. He doesn’t need the mask to be terrifying. “I wasn’t lying when I said I liked you, Tim. But I’m not above punching you, either. Your choice.”

Tim glares down at the flattened cigarette, wishes he could rewind the past few minutes.

“ . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He unflinchingly looks back at the other’s gaze. “But my family life is . . . okay. I don’t need your help.”

Jason lifts his head and rests back against the wall, evaluating him. In turn, Tim’s shoulders relax with the knowledge that his face isn’t about to be broken. In the distance, a police siren wails. The older boy jerks his chin at the balcony doors.

“Alright. You don’t need my help,” Jason says, voice significantly quieter than it was. He glances at Tim hesitantly. “But do you want it?”

The sincerity of the question is enough to make Tim's chest hurt. Enough to make him suddenly want to cry. He swallows, and the words ‘I’m fine’ are stuck in his throat, and he has to look back out at Gotham. Look at the glass skyscrapers reflecting the blue sky and imagine the darkness and neon he can hide away in at night. Where he doesn’t have to worry about things like his parents or Batman or his nosy, righteous, far-too-caring neighbors who keep reaching out and just want to help, and Tim doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, kid,” Jason starts softly, and he must have moved at some point because he’s setting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim hadn’t even heard him. “I’m not saying that I’m gonna report this shit or anything if you don’t want that. I know how that can fuck up somebody’s life. I’m just . . . If you want a place to stay or someone to talk to, you can drop by, okay?”

Tim turns away from the shining skyscrapers and looks up at Jason’s too-gentle expression. He’s made up his mind before he can even think it through. Maybe he didn’t need to think about it at all.

“Okay.”

Jason grins, and it’s too bright for the city around them. “Alright, that’s . . . alright. Though, just to let you know, B and I will be gone for the next few days. Visiting a friend in the Middle East, shouldn’t take too long.”

Tim’s memory flashes back to what he heard between Jason and Barbara a few minutes ago. He keeps his face carefully blank.

Jason continues, “But when we get back, I’ve got to show you all the books the library has, you wouldn’t believe—”

The balcony doors open, and they whip around to see Jack Drake glaring down at both of them. Tim’s mouth goes dry and he stiffens, smoothing out his suit even though there aren’t any wrinkles on it. Jason doesn’t bother with his own rumpled jacket and only gives Mr. Drake a cool look.

Tim glances between them, attempting to ignore the tension in the air. He gestures to his father, weakly. “Jason, this is my dad, Jack Drake. I don’t think you’ve met.”

“No,” Mr. Drake says, just a tad bit too sharp, “we haven’t.”

They watch each other for another beat, then Jason rolls his shoulders, smoothly reaching his hand forward with too much grace to be natural. “Jason Todd, nice to finally meet you.” Jack hesitantly shakes it, eyeing Jason as if the boy was something particularly nasty lying on the side of the road. Jason grins dangerously, and Tim wonders if Bruce taught his Robins how to act or if Dick and Jason learned it from this. From the ruthless people who wear sparkling jewels and fake smiles.

Mr. Drake takes a step back. He’s intimidated, Tim realizes. He’s never seen his dad intimidated by somebody before. He rests a hand on Tim’s shoulder, his grip close to painful, and Tim does his best not to let that show on his face. But Jason must see it because his eyes get impossibly colder.

“It’s time for us to go, Tim. Your mother finished her meeting early, and she wants to go over several things.”

He doesn’t know where the words come from, but Tim is moving away, not quite out of his father’s grip but it’s close, and asks, “Now?”

It probably means something when Jack’s fingers dig even tighter into Tim’s skin. He tries to ignore it, focusing on the way his father’s mouth becomes a very pale, thin line. Even from behind him Tim can still feel Jason’s stare.

“Now.”

His father lets go suddenly, and Tim nearly stumbles back from the sudden release, the man stalking back into the room and leaving both boys to stare after him. Tim automatically rubs his shoulder, wincing, but drops his hand when he realizes that Jason is watching him.

He swallows and glances at the open door. “Look, I have to . . .”

Jason waves a hand in understanding, but Tim can still see the disappointment in his eyes. Weirdly, it almost makes him feel good; knowing that someone can be upset that he’s leaving. That someone cares. He wonders if his parents ever feel like that and immediately his stomach lurches in disgust.

“It’s fine, I’ll, uh . . .” Jason considers him cautiously, hopefully. “I’ll see you soon, yeah? Show you the library?”

Despite everything, Tim grins slightly. “Yeah.”

Something bright enters the older boy’s eyes when he smiles in return, and Tim’s mind flashes back to Dick telling him how he got lonely growing up in the Manor with just Bruce and Alfred to talk to.

Maybe Jason needs someone just as much as Tim does.

A kinder sensation settles in his stomach: the knowledge that someone wants to hang out. Wants to be friends. Tim does his best to not notice the giddiness that sweeps through him. He looks back through the door and sees his father waiting for him, jaw set. He points his thumb over his shoulder, manages not to walk into the glass window behind him. “Um, bye?”

Jason snorts and rolls his eyes. It reminds Tim of Dick doing the exact same thing to Jason himself. “Later, kid.”

Tim turns and takes approximately two steps forward before looking back. Jason has already lit a new cigarette, the flame of his lighter going out before the thing is tucked into his wrinkled suit jacket. Tim hesitates.

“Jason?” The teenager glances at him, brows raised. “Thanks.”

Jason grins and exhales. Tim’s back is turned and he’s walking into the warmth of the room by the time the wind blows the smoke away.

*****

He shouldn’t have agreed to it.

That’s the first thing Dick thinks when he rolls back into the cave, parking his bike, and striding up to the computer. He glares at the files of the assholes who almost got the best of them tonight. At the incriminating photos given to them by Gordon that showed Penguin’s drop-off territory in the middle of a shipment, a big enough order that it would have been enough to put the crime lord behind bars for longer than usual. Useful photos, too, better quality than the usual security cameras. Gordon only said they were mailed in without a return address, a detail which Bruce had been agonizing over up to the second they went out.

Not that it matters now. He glares at the pictures and resists the urge to sweep them off the desk and onto the floor. The sound of the Batmobile ruins the quiet and Dick curses, reaching up to peel off his mask.

He lets it fall onto the keyboard. He’ll have to replace it: one of the lenses is cracked from when a crook got a lucky shot in.

Tonight hadn’t been a disaster, but it’d been too close.

Dick doesn’t look up when the slam of a car door echoes off the cave walls, Batman’s harsh footsteps followed by Robin’s lighter ones the only thing breaking the silence. He glares into the light of the Batcomputer. The inside of his mouth tastes like iron and he wonders if there’s still some blood between his teeth.

Bruce halts right behind him, and Dick’s shoulders manage to become even tenser. He can feel a cut high on his cheekbone drip blood down his face. Shit, that one will probably need stitches.

“What the hell were you thinking?” It’s the Bat’s voice that asks. Somehow that infuriates Dick even more and he turns to see that Bruce hasn’t even bothered to fucking take his cowl off. He has no idea what’s going on in Batman’s head, can only look at the angry line of Bruce’s mouth.

Some part of him knows that some part of Bruce wants Dick to blow up, to prove that the older man is in the right.

Fuck that.

Dick takes a breath. “You were busy so I went after the perp with the kid.”

“You left our backs completely open, we were surrounded in seconds.”

“A civilian was in danger, the guy had a knife, B!”

“You didn’t even call out, Nightwing.” And, yeah, Dick’s chest gets boiling-hot with the way Bruce says his name. Like Dick could have done better than that. Because Dick’s always supposed to do better. “You went against protocol.”

“I was sort of focused on not letting a kid get gutted. Sorry, for letting that be my priority at the time.” He can feel Bruce’s glare through the eyes of the cowl. Dick continues sarcastically, “He’s fine by the way, ran off the site as soon as the asshole lost his grip on him. Didn’t even lose his camera. And we took down the operation, why can’t you just take this as a win?”

Bruce stills. “Camera? Why did he have a camera?”

“Jesus, I don’t know, Bruce! Probably to take pictures of us or something; civilians tend to do that when we’re fighting in front of them,” Dick snaps.

“What did he look like?”

Dick throws his hands into the air. “Small, grey hoodie, didn’t see his face because he was already gone and then I was focused on getting back to cover you.”

“You should have at least attempted to—”

“So now you’re angry because I was trying to watch your back instead of leaving you open? Make up your fucking mind—”

“I’m angry,” Bruce hisses back, “that you didn’t wait for my orders.”

Dick practically snarls, “If I had waited for your orders there wouldn’t have been a kid left to save.” He steps closer, but Bruce doesn’t move back, so he jabs a finger into the center of the symbol on Batman’s chest. “And I don’t follow your orders anymore. I thought we made that pretty damn clear when you fired me, right, B?”

Bruce goes very still, and for a second, Dick thinks he might have actually rendered him speechless, but then—

“You left.”

And there’s so much to unpack with the way Bruce says that. Too much. And Dick ignores it in favor of curling his lip. “Yeah, after you benched me, permanently.” Bruce looks like he wants to say something else so Dick continues quickly, “Either way, I’m not your partner anymore, and I’m sure as hell not your sidekick. So stop treating me like one.”

“As soon as you start acting like an adult, I will.”

“Could you actually be any more condescending? Is it that hard for you to just respect the people you work with?” Dick says frigidly, moving past his adopted father with controlled ease. Bruce turns after him.

“I’m going to get my stitches redone. By the time I’m back, I want you gone.”

Dick’s heart stumbles and stops, and he whirls around, gaze wide. “What—”

“We don't work together—we're not partners, just as you said." Bruce pushes back the cowl and looks at him with steady, sharp eyes. "Come back when you’re capable of not acting like the child I took in. Then we’ll talk about respect,” Batman finishes. He breezes by Dick and up the stairs, as if he hadn’t just turned his son’s insides to ice and fire.

Dick stares at nothing, his thoughts buzzing around his head, drowning out the sounds of the chittering bats above.

He doesn’t know why the words hit harder than he expected. It’s nothing they haven’t said before, but it just hurts this time. Maybe it’s because he and Bruce never operate together anymore. Maybe it’s because no matter how much Dick pretends to not care about what Bruce thinks of him, he always will.

Still, nothing they haven’t said before. They’ll probably just avoid each other for the next few months, more than they already were. So much for progress.

I want you gone.

He feels a light tap on his arm. “Dick?” He blinks and looks at where Jason is standing next to him.

Fuck, he’d forgotten the kid was even there. Dick’s stomach withers with shame.

Jason blinks up at him, hesitation and concern in his teal eyes. “You okay?”

No.

“I’m always okay, Little Wing,” he manages. Jason winces and looks over at the stairs Bruce had walked up, shifting on his feet.

“Um, you don’t have to do that with me. That whole . . .” He gestures at Dick helplessly. “That ‘I’m always fine’ thing you do. You know that, right?”

Dick’s chest becomes way too tight. His voice catches when he says, “ . . . Yeah.”

Jason’s face relaxes and he grins. “Cool, uh . . . I actually wanted to talk to you about something. I found this stuff on my mom, my biological mom, and I wanted your opinion on what I should—”

“Jason,” Dick interrupts, eyes squeezing tightly shut. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he’s tired and bloody and he really needs to either curl up in bed or punch something. “Look, I . . . I care, I do, but I need to . . .” He motions at the zeta tube. The damn thing probably still doesn’t have the Tower’s coordinates up either because Bruce is an asshole.

The younger boy stills, catching Dick’s meaning and probably remembering Bruce’s words.

I want you gone.

Nothing they haven’t said before. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Jerkily, Jason nods and takes an awkward step back, looking at anything other than his adopted brother. Dick somehow manages to feel even worse. “Right, I—Yeah, sorry, I’ll just . . . Another time?”

Dick nods, moves to the zeta and starts to type in the numbers. He glances over his shoulder and remembers his motorcycle. The blood in his mouth makes up his mind about driving back to New York. “Hey, Jay?”

Jason looks up hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Watch my bike for me?” Dick points at it as the zeta-tube begins to glow, and Jason’s expression falls.

“Oh, yeah I can do that.” He suddenly perks up. “Can I ride—”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Jason huffs and flips him off, and Dick smiles as he returns the gesture. “I’ll call you, I just . . . gotta clear my head for a few days, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, see you later, Dick.” They both grin.

“Later, Little Wing.”

There’s blue light and he’s back in the Tower.

I want you gone.

The cut on his cheek stings. With Jason no longer around, now he really, really wants to punch something. He walks through the halls, noting how they’re actually quiet for once. Seems like everybody is out somewhere.

Not that he can blame them, that’s what teenagers are supposed to do on a Saturday night.

Even though he should head to the med bay, Dick goes to the kitchen instead. Maybe there’s some pizza left from the other night. But considering that Wally exists, probably not. He half expects the kitchen to be empty, too, but Roy’s in there fiddling with the toaster. The redhead looks up when Dick enters and his eyebrows rise to his hairline.

“Wow, you look like shit.”

Dick throws him a half-hearted glare as he moves towards the pantry. “Could say the same about you.” Roy stills.

Not like he didn’t say anything other than the truth. During the past couple of weeks, the bags under Roy’s eyes have seemed to be darkening and he’s taken to wearing long-sleeves instead of his usual tank-tops. It’s an issue everyone’s been politely ignoring, even Donna, and Dick knows he’s going to have to step in soon.

He doesn’t know what kind of shit Roy’s going through, but he isn’t going to let it drag his friend under and drown him. The problem, though, is getting Roy to even talk about it.

And with the way Roy levels his gaze, Dick knows that’s not going to happen tonight.

“Well, aren’t you peppy.” Roy lays his tools on the table, and Dick stares forlornly at the disemboweled toaster. He’d just bought that one. The other boy follows his gaze and rolls his eyes. “Relax, I’ll put it back together.”

Dick grabs a protein bar and settles across from his friend. “That’s what you said about the blender.”

“You’re only upset about that because you got burned by the lasers.”

“Why the fuck does a blender need lasers? Who even likes the lasers?”

Roy smirks. “Kory likes the lasers.” Dick kicks his shin and doesn’t even feel bad when Roy yelps. “Damn, you’re testy. What? Did Bruce—”

“Spar with me,” Dick interrupts, and Roy shuts up and stares at him for so long that Dick shifts in his seat.

But this is something that they both tend to do when they can’t find the right words, and Roy nods. Dick relaxes, stands, and he doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Roy is following him to the training room. He doesn’t bother taking off his suit and Roy keeps his shirt on.

They make their way to the mats, stopping near the center. Turning, Dick examines the other boy, Roy watching him right back.

It's easy to forget, sometimes, how much the archer sees. How much he notices. Roy lowers himself into a basic stance, tilting his head in question. “Basic hand-to-hand? First one pinned for three seconds loses?”

Dick nods.

“Okay.”

They circle each other, and even though Dick usually waits for his opponent to strike first, he finds himself lunging forward. Roy avoids him easily, but this isn’t about skill; it’s about moving until they can’t think anymore.

Out of all the Titans, Roy’s the one who fights the dirtiest. Sparring with him feels like brawling on the street, all bloody grins and bruised knuckles. Dick kinda likes that about him; no bullshitting or honor in the ways he moves; Dinah’s doing, no doubt. He’s direct and effective and never fucking misses, which Dick is sorely reminded of when Roy lands a punch.

He went into this expecting he was going to lose. He’s half-assing this fight, they both know it, and he thinks Roy finally pins him out of exasperation more than anything else.

Dick grunts into the mat, not even trying to wriggle away from where Roy’s got his elbow buried between Dick’s shoulder blades. Above him, he hears Roy huff, “What the fuck was that, Grayson?”

He kicks at where the ball of Roy’s foot is resting on the floor, taking satisfaction in how Roy rolls off of him with a curse. Dick flops onto his back. “What the fuck was what, Harper?”

Roy sits up, crossing his legs, and shoves Dick’s side. “Why’d you let me beat your scrawny ass?”

“Fuck you, my ass is not scrawny.”

“I can't believe I bother with you,” Roy says to the ceiling.

“You have a scrawny ass . . . “ Dick mutters back, and Roy’s gaze drops back down to him, mouth quirked at the corner. His eyes narrow in on Dick’s cheek. Distantly, Dick realizes that his cut must have split open during their fight, and that blood is running down the side of his face and into his hair.

It’s gross, but he doesn’t care enough to get up and clean it. Roy considers him.

“So. What did Batman—”

I want you gone.

“Fuck, Batman,” Dick snaps, the venom coming from everywhere and nowhere, surging through his body.

Roy blinks.

“Guess the mission didn’t go as planned.”

“He’s such an asshole. He won’t fucking listen to me because he always has to be in the right, can’t even be bothered to compromise. I think he wants me to stop trying and just let our whole fucked up family go our separate ways.”

“He say something like that?”

Dick glares at the lights far above. “Said he wanted me gone. To come back when I could act like an adult, when he really just wants me to stop questioning him and to follow his orders like I’m some mindless soldier. And just . . . Just fuck that! And fuck him, too, for saying it in front of Jason when the kid does not need our drama on top of what he’s—”

“Jay was there?” Roy asks, sitting up straighter, and Dick glowers at him for interrupting his dramatic tirade.

“Jason’s Robin, Roy. Of course, he was there, why wouldn’t he be?”

Roy’s brow furrows. “Yeah, but he’s benched.”

“It was his first operation since—” Dick pauses, frowns, and cranes his neck to look over at the other boy. “How’d you know that?”

“Know what?” The redhead asks, going still as Dick’s eyes pin him to place.

“I didn’t tell you Jay was benched, did Wally?”

Something like realization crosses Roy’s face, and he stares with an expression Dick can’t place.

“ . . . Jason told me.”

Dick sits up too fast, and the world spins for a few seconds. He ignores it. “What? When?”

Roy watches him for a beat, then sighs with the resignation of someone who wishes they’d kept their mouth shut. “Remember when we broke into Bruce’s liquor cabinet and shared our fucking feelings a few weeks ago? And you were late as shit showing up and left me alone until Alfred took pity on me? Well, Jason was there and we . . .” Roy hesitates, searching for the right words, “We had some kind of heart-to-heart session.”

“You,” Dick says, pointing at Roy in disbelief, “talked about your emotions willingly and without the aid of alcohol?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not always an unfeeling asshole, you know,” Roy replies. He’s grinning, though, and Dick gestures for him to go on. The smile fades from his face. “Did, uh, Jason tell you about Garzonas?”

Dick stiffens. “You knew about the Garzonas thing? This whole time?”

“Hey, don’t start with me, Jason wanted to tell you himself and I wasn’t gonna get in the middle of that,” Roy says, bristling.

“Yeah, but I just learned about it, and you’ve known—”

“Well, maybe if you hung out with the kid more you could’ve found out sooner,” Roy snaps, and Dick reals back as if he’d been slapped. He turns away to look over at a far wall, guilt churning around in his stomach. Roy takes a glance at his face and sighs. “I know it’s hard for you, and Bruce is an asshole, but . . . he needs someone to talk to, Dick. That someone could be you.”

“Seems like he’s already found that someone,” Dick mutters sullenly.

He knows it’s stupid and petty, and that he should just be grateful that Jason found anybody to talk to about this stuff, but he can’t help the jealousy swirling inside him. Or the shame.

“No, he doesn’t need me,” Roy says too quickly. Dick frowns and looks at him. Roy is staring at Donna’s weight set across the room, pointedly avoiding Dick’s gaze. The tips of his ears are pinker than they were a few seconds ago. Probably just embarrassed that Jason looks up to him or something.

“Why not? I thought you got along, and he clearly likes you or he wouldn’t have talked to you in the first place—”

“Well, it’s not like I can just walk up to the Manor while Bruce is there. Should I remind you that he thinks I’m a bad influence?” Roy mutters.

“Nah,” Dick tells him. “He’s just not over that time you messed with his microwave and gave it robot arms.”

Roy looks wistful. “Fuck, that was awesome. Absolutely worth the lecture.” He shakes his head and gets back on topic. “But now he can hardly stand me. Maybe you could get Donna into the Manor to kidnap the kid so he can help when we have missions or something? She could totally get by Bruce, he’s always liked her the most.”

“That’s because he thinks Donna is responsible.”

“God, I wish he knew how many times she’s helped me hijack Ollie’s cars. Responsible, my ass.”

Dick snorts and then gets quiet. Hesitantly, he asks, “Jay say anything else?”

Roy glances at him, not uncomfortable but uneasy. “Besides the standard Bruce and self-esteem issues that all you Robins have, not really. You showed up and he kinda . . . disappeared. Had to think, I guess.”

“Really?” Dick asks, pursing his lips.

Roy looks away. “Really.” His ears are even pinker, and Dick is pretty sure he’s leaving something out, but he won’t push.

“Well, thanks for talking to him, I . . .” Dick swallows and turns away from Roy. “I haven’t really been there for him as much as I should have.”

Roy glances at him, and something in Dick’s face makes his shoulders droop. “What happened?”

Dick looks down and notices that some of the blood from his cut had dried on the mat. He scratches at it. “He wanted to tell me something about his mom, but Bruce had just told me to leave and I kind of . . .”

“You blew him off, didn’t you?” Roy says bluntly. Dick’s back hunches and he nods miserably. The other boy blows out a long breath, cheeks puffing up from the action. “Not much you can do about it until we get back, I guess.”

“Get back?”

Roy blinks in realization. “Shit, you weren’t here for that, were you? Donna has some space mission she wants us to go on, something about gods or whatever. She didn’t go into the details, wanted to talk to you about it. We’ll be off-world for a week and a half? Maybe two? It’d be a chance to get your mind off of this Bruce bullshit and figure out what you’re gonna do about Jaybird.”

Dick raises a brow. “Jaybird?”

Roy freezes. “Uh.”

“Jesus, you nicknamed him, Roy?”

“I didn’t—”

“For a guy who says he doesn’t care, you’re pretty shit at acting that way,” Dick teases. The pink is back, and Roy rubs at his ears self-consciously. Dick watches him, clearly amused.

Roy scowls. “Whatever.”

“You’re a good person,” Dick chirps annoyingly. Roy shoves him and Dick falls back onto the mat, snickering.

“If you want me to clean your cuts and stitch you back together, you better shut it, Dickface.”

Dick jumps up, still grinning. “Didn’t peg you as a softy, Speedy.”

“Are you asking me to shoot you later?”

He laughs, nudging Roy’s shoulder as they walk to the med bay. Roy doesn’t laugh back, but his eyes are lighter than they’ve been in a while and the corners of his mouth are twitching despite his best efforts.

And even though his cheek still hurts and his mouth still tastes like blood and Bruce’s words are still echoing in his head, Dick smiles.

*****

Tim scrambles through his unlocked window, camera clutched close to his pounding chest. He falls to the floor and just lies there for a moment, panting. The fan in his room goes around and around lazily and he tries to focus on it. Tries to calm the jack-rabbit pulse in his throat.

Tonight had not gone as planned. At all.

As in, he almost got himself killed.

Staring up at his ceiling, still attempting to calm his racing heart, he attempts to organize his brain.

His parents had left early in the morning, he’d even woken up before they’d gone. His mother had kissed him on the cheek and his father had ruffled his hair. It was the most affection Tim had gotten from them in months. But his mother had apparently gotten an amazing deal across during her meeting, so that was probably the cause. Still, it was nice.

He’d lazed around the house, even considered going to the Waynes a few times, but couldn’t bring himself to. Besides, Jason might have already left for the Middle East by then so what was the point?

At nightfall, he’d caught the late bus, hiked until he made it to the docks where Penguin’s shipping operation was supposed to happen. He waited for hours and had thought about calling it quits more than once, but something convinced him to stay.

He honestly still can’t decide if it was worth it or not.

The Bats had come out of nowhere, all three of them, and Tim was so relieved that they apparently made up, that he’d started taking shots of the beginning fight without thinking twice. Didn’t even look around before he started, either.

Stupid.

Incredibly, ridiculously stupid.

The guy had been so quiet and Tim hadn’t even noticed he was there until the back of his hoodie was grabbed by a meaty hand. In his defense, how was he supposed to know that Penguin’s goons had somehow become semi-good at their jobs? And it’s not like Tim didn’t fight back. He’d scratched and kicked and struggled until there was a knife at his throat and the crook started hissing threats at him to give up his camera.

That’s when Nightwing showed up.

One second Tim was sure he was about to be ripped apart, then the man that’d been holding him was getting slammed into the ground by a blur of blue and gold.

And Tim had turned away and ran.

Because he doesn’t even want to know what might have happened if Dick had seen him.

Or . . . maybe Dick had seen him. Tim sits up as if he’d been electrocuted, all attempts of trying to calm himself forgotten.

But, no. No, there’s no way Dick would have let him go if he’d glimpsed at Tim’s face. He’d have chased Tim down instead of letting him make it all the way back home. He forces his muscles to relax. It’s fine.

Shakily, he looks down at the camera still held tight in his grip. The pictures had turned out great, and he still wants to send a few to Gordon, but now there’s a chance that the Bats could trace those photos back to the skinny kid Nightwing had saved.

It’s not worth the risk.

He still kinda wants to, though.

Tim flops back onto the ground, exhausted. With all the Waynes out of town, there won’t be much activity at night anymore. All he’ll have to fill his time is school.

Man, the next couple of weeks are going to suck.

At least he has Bruce and Jason coming back to look forward to. Biting his lip, Tim stares at nothing, debating silently.

He’ll go, he decides. He’ll let Jason show him the library. He’ll let them help.

He’ll show up after they return home, ride his bike down to the Manor. Alfred will remember him and let him inside. Maybe he could help make tea again? He wants to do something useful, not just stand around until Jason appears and starts talking about books.

He could bring his camera with him and show them the pictures he takes. Not of the Bats, obviously. But the ones from when he stays out late enough that dawn comes and the city begins to wake up, the streets filled with mist from the rivers and windows glinting with morning sunlight. He thinks Bruce would like those.

Yeah. Yeah, he’ll go.

And for the first time in a long time, Tim falls asleep without loneliness clawing at his chest.

*****

Everything hurts.

His ribs feel like they’re on fire, and there’s blood in his lungs that he keeps choking on with every breath. Several of his fingers are bent in the wrong direction and he stares at them in sick fascination. Well, he tries to stare. The left side of his face is really swollen.

Distantly, he can hear Sheila screaming and hitting the door. She’s crying and looking at him with huge, teary eyes.

Bruce said he has her eyes.

She yells for help again and he kinda wants her to shut up. She’s making the pounding in his head almost unbearable. Besides, the door is too close to the bomb. He tries to tell her they should move, but his tongue is thick and bloody in his mouth and it won’t work right.

He struggles to stand in front of her instead. He’s dying anyway. Might as well die for someone.

Sheila seems to understand what he’s doing and she shakes her head, takes his face in her cool hands. He wants to hate her. He really wants to hate her. He only shuts his eyes instead.

After a precious second, he realizes that she’s saying something and his eyelids flutter open because his hearing is kind of messed up after getting hit so many times to the head. He stares at her lips and tries to get the words to form.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Oh. He supposes she should be sorry. She left him. She pulled a gun on him. Only smoked a cigarette while the Joker took his time with the crowbar. Maybe he got the smoking thing from her? Her eyes and a preference for cigarettes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs it into his hair, and he doesn’t know why she’d want to do that because he’s still soaked in blood. Shit, he probably messed up her white shirt, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry.”

He tries to tell her it’s okay, but his throat feels like he’s been swallowing glass and gravel and the words won’t come.

I’m sorry.

He can’t tell if she’s still saying it or if it’s him now.

The numbers on the countdown are getting smaller and smaller. It suddenly hits him that Bruce won’t make it, not this time.

I’m sorry.

He’d promised to buy Barbara a chilidog. Told Tim he was gonna show him the library. Swore to help Alfred with the garden next Sunday.

I’m sorry.

What was the last thing he’d said to Rena? He thinks they ended on good terms, but the memory is fuzzy. He’s fairly sure she smiled at him after class. Oh. He isn't going to be able to finish his part of their group project, is he? Hopefully she'll still get a good grade.

I’m sorry.

His last interaction with Roy hadn’t ended nearly as well. Wish he could redo that. Dick is going to call him soon and his phone will only ring and ring and ring.

“I’m so sorry, Jason.”

Sheila is still talking into his hair. At some point, she’d wrapped her arms around him, but his good eye can still see the countdown. After another second, he relaxes and lets his eyes close. He understands her in a way.

He’s sorry for a lot of things, too.

[goldenfawnwriting]

Birds Of a Feather- Part 16 Hawks Fic

Summary: Finch has been missing for over a month with no trace and Hawks is getting very nervous.

A/N: So I started writing this and had it halfway done two days ago but when I went to save it, it deleted it all so fuck me I guess lmao

Warnings: Angst, mentions of abuse, I think that's it.

It had been a month now. Finch had started wearing heavy eyeliner, foundation to cover her freckles. Menial things to try and evade the commission's dogs a little longer. She kept her wings wrapped up in bandages, telling the people she worked with at the small cafe that they had been burned badly beyond recognition and that they used to be a pinkish hued white.

When she got home every night to her much too expensive, tiny apartment, she unwrapped them, staring deadly at the fallen feathers. They were breaking off from the tight wrapping. She only threw them away, going about her usual showering and watching a bit of tv before going to bed. She had been doing alright for herself but she was going to have to go withdrawal more money soon. She sighed, she really was dreading having to do that. To go about withdrawaling money she would have to travel at least 50 to 100 miles away just to avoid tracing.

Which would just be annoying. The more she traveled the more of a chance someone would recognize her. She knew that, but she also knew she couldn't put it off for much longer.

Hawks on the other hand was pulling his hair out at the office. They wouldn't allow him to go search with the other people out looking for her. He was told to just sit still and look pretty and if anyone asked during interviews he was supposed to tell them that she was fine and just taking a break.

His mind was going off the wall. He had looked over the papers over and over and over and just couldn't find a lead no matter what. The last time she had taken money out it was in the city before she left. She must've gotten another phone, another number, cause her old phone was both missing and unresponsive. She probably turned it off and dumped it somewhere. He was at his wit's end.

"Mr. Hawks? They're asking for you in conference room three."

A petite, older woman called from his doorway. He huffed, running a hand over his face before setting the papers down on hid desk and standing from his chair. He glanced over at Finch's old desk, there was a thin settling of dust on everything and he grimaced. It had been so long. He just wanted her home.

He made his way to the conference room and knocked before entering, swinging open the door to enter. He was greeted with all the higher ups of the commission and he swallowed hard. What was going on?

"Hawks, nice of you to make it. We've missed you at the last couple meetings."

He only nodded to the man in the black suit.

"Why am I here?"

He questioned gruffly. He really didn't feel like another interview, let alone some menial publicity event.

"We have a new ping on her bank account. We want you to investigate."

Hawks snatched the papers from him violently, looking at the location and time. 4 minutes ago, about 58 miles away.

He could go now and get there in an hour. If she was moving under cover she wouldn't be flying so he could get there and still have about an hour to search before she would really be gone again. He didn't wait for them to say anything else, he took off out the window at the speed of light, pushing his wings to go as fast as he possibly could.

He made it in about 30 minutes, a new record for him. He was absolutely exhausted as he slowed down over the city it pinged from, flying around the perimeter before going inwards to look down on the sidewalks. He scanned and scanned and was upset to not come up with any brown wings strolling down main street. Not that he expected her too. As he continued looking he noticed an odd woman, looking up at him before tearing into the entrance of a store. Was she a criminal? He hummed but decided not to persue. He was here for one reason.

That's when it hit him. The bandaged appendages. He whipped around, flying back to the store and ripping the door open, searching it quickly before turning to an employee.

"Did you see a woman with bug bandaged wings?"

"U-uh she just went out the west entrance!"

He was running then, pushing through people before he spotted her again, running through the crowds away from him, trying to disappear into the people but he wouldn't allow that. He sprung up, using his wings to propel him over the crowd before coming down and grabbing her, tumbling them both to the ground.

"Let go of me!"

"Why were you running?!"

He huffed, getting her up and handcuffing her before getting them out of the crowd. He needed a more private place to talk. She thrashed, trying to get away. She knew she was screwed. He had found her and there was no way out of this. He was going to catch on to her at some point, why was she so surprised? Maybe because she thought she had disguised herself pretty well? Of course that would mean nothing to Keigo.

They entered a back alley where Hawks turned her around to face him, leaving the handcuffs on just to make sure she wouldn't run off.

"Finch?"

"W-who are you talking about?"

She tried to play dumb but she was way too nervous, fidgeting with her hands and looking off. She had never been a good liar.

"Stop playing stupid, where the hell have you been? Why did you go? Do you know how much everyone has been worrying? Asami, me, everyone at work!"

"Oh stop, I know no one at work missed me! You've probably had girls at your knees every day since I've been gone..."

He grabbed her chin and made her look at him, his thumb and index finger digging into her jaw and forcing it into an upward angle.

"Stop it Finch. I'm not kidding, where have you been. I've been killing myself trying to find you."

"I just wanted to get away..."

"Is this because I didn't say I love you back, because if thats the case-"

"That's not it! I just wanted to get away, I needed some time.."

"Ya and to stress out everyone who loves you. We thought you were dead Kore."

Her eyes were filling with tears and Hawks let his hand slip away from her jaw. Her short, choppy bob moved to veil her face as she looked down. He sighed and looked around, anywhere but her.

"What happened to you? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine..."

"What's going on with your wings?"

"Nothing, they're fine."

"Then unwrap them and let's go home, Asami has been up my ass-"

"No!"

There was a pause as he stared at her. No? He was dumbfounded. She wasn't going to come home?

"K-Keigo... I can't..."

"What do you mean?"

"C-can we go somewhere else to talk...?"

He nodded and uncuffed her, opting to grab her hand instead.

"My apartment is like sixty some miles away. Can we go there?"

She offered. He couldn't lie, he was curious about how she'd been living.

"Ya, that's fine. I'll follow you.."

He was appalled when she started walking.

"Wait- you're not gonna walk there right? Just fly..."

"I can't."

"What do you mean, you said they're fine-"

She turned, undoing the bandages to unwrap her wings. When she finally let the bandages drop his jaw went slack, his eyes wide. Her feathers slowly were falling out, molting if you will.

"It's from keeping them wrapped, almost all of them are gone. I can't fly without feathers..."

"You haven't been flying this entire time?"

He whispered. He was almost brought to tears. Her wings, once so beautiful, were so hideous now, marled and torn apart.

"No. If I flew people would see me. And I couldn't just let the colour be known, you guys have been reporting every fucking second of the day."

She growled. He reached out, his fingers nearly grazing the broken feathers before she ripped her wings away, folding them up.

"If you want to come let's go, I'm not waiting around forever."

He blinked away the shock before sighing and following her lead. He hated walking through cities. He always got wayyy too much attention.

[marvels-writings]

Escape (4)

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Series Masterlist

Maria Hill Masterlist

A/N: Question, does everyone plan their series? I checked my plan for this and all it said was ‘Talking, being a smartass then escaping, then the INTENSE PART’ for this part, which is basically what happens but like, still.

“You said you didn’t want this life, I can get you out of it.” Maria offered, you groaned.

“I doubt that, but tell me how anyway.” You said, smirking and walking to sit next to Maria on one of the barstools. Your knee brushing hers lightly as you turned to face her, Maria subtly clenched her jaw, causing your smirk to grow, this was going to be better than you thought.

“If you work for SHIELD for a year, they could get your criminal record cleared and a fake identity.” Maria offered, clearing her throat when your knee brushed hers again. You rested your head on your right hand, observing her as she turned to look at you. 

“A year of following orders?” You asked, unamused as you raised an eyebrow. 

“I might be able to get you in with the Avengers for some time.” Maria thought aloud, you tilted your head skeptically.

“You’re telling me the minimum to get out of this is to either work for Nick Fury or Captain America for at least 6 months?” You verified, Maria hesitantly nodded, about to pull some files out of a bag which had been resting next to her when you spoke.

“You can’t just clear my record if I promise to lay low for a year?” You asked, exasperated, Maria raised an eyebrow.

“You expect me to trust the word of a liar?” Maria asked you grinned apologetically, looking down at the ground before meeting her cyan gaze.

“If you’re mad at me for the date, I am sorry about that.” You apologized, fidgeting slightly with your hands.

“Why did you do it?” Maria asked, you half shrugged in response.

“I didn’t have a better way to spend the night, and you asked me out too politely for me to reject.” You told the last part of the sentence a lie.

“So when is the backup going to take me in?” You asked Maria’s eyes widened, you sighed and slid off the stool, walking towards your room with Maria following you.

“There were files in your bag, but any third rate agent could see you pressed a button of some sort, since I didn’t agree to your terms, you’re calling backup to take me in.” You explained, walking into your room to change.

In all honesty, you didn’t want this to happen, you should’ve checked your bags for trackers. This was one of the few hideouts you liked, now SHIELD knew about it. You knew you could get out of this easily, Maria knew it too.

“I don’t have an alternative for you,” Maria stated, standing in the doorway, curious to what you were doing, she had a few knives tucked into her dress, a thigh strap holding a gun but she didn’t want to attack you.

“Well I have an alternative, turn around so I can change.” You quipped, moving to quickly take your shirt off.

Maria turned around quickly, a prominent blush on her face, you used the opportunity and hurriedly slammed the door shut, shutting in the deadbolt and moving to your closet to get the tactical suit. You heard the brunette trying to kick down the door and groaned, tripping over your suit as you rushed around to get as many of your belongings as you could into your backpack.

Black cars with the SHIELD logo skidded to a halt just outside your house, you saw them through the window and picked up a grenade you had in one of the drawers. You smashed open a window with the nearby lamp, throwing the grenade near the cars so they couldn’t chase you. The cars turned over, the damage wasn’t too bad. 

you glanced back to make sure no one had been killed before grabbing a few time bombs from a hidden compartment in your closet. After slipping on the bracelet to activate the time bombs, you tucked a few in your pocket.

“You know, this was one of my favorite hideouts you’re ruining.” You shouted through the door when you heard the front door being broken down.

“If you’d agreed, this could’ve been your home,” Maria shouted back, you heard rapid footsteps approaching your door. 

You hid a time bomb inside the closet and rushed to the ensuite bathroom, leaving another bomb there and climbing out the large window and jumping onto the grass-covered floor. You looked around, SHIELD cars surrounded the house, there was an empty spot where the woods were, but you needed to make sure the house was blown up in case they arrested the person you’d bought the house from. 

You threw a knife at the thigh of the SHIELD agent guarding the front door, planting a bomb there, and shoving the agent behind the car so they weren’t affected before running towards the woods, hesitating to press the button on your wristband to set off the bombs. The only papers showing your existence were in the closet, you clenched your jaw and squinted your eyes shut, pressing the button and watching the house blow up. 

The rest of the agents rushed in and made their way to the back of the house through the forest where there was a car that hadn’t been turned on its side. You quickly ran in, grinning when you noticed the agent had left the key in before backing out of the road and driving as fast as you could away from the burning house, regret filling your head. 

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

After a few hours of driving on the highway, you ditched the car away from a road, making your way into an abandoned building to change into a fav/color crew neck sweatshirt, high waisted black leggings, and black sneakers. You moved to the side of the road, making the hitchhiking signal on the road heading towards the city.

A kind woman in her mid-forties noticed you and stopped, welcoming you in. You scanned her, she drove a black land rover, she wore navy blue capris and a light blue, quarter sleeved t-shirt. She had dark brown skin tones, hazel eyes, and short black hair, she smiled at you and welcomed you in. 

You made up a backstory about running away from your parents and trying to find opportunities in the city, she bought the story and offered you some money which you quickly rejected. She drove you to the heart of the city, pointing out a few cheap hotels to stay in on her way before dropping you off at an indie coffee house.

After ordering a cinnamon hot chocolate, you flopped down on one of the couches near the back of the shop, near a few bookshelves. You took a book off the bookshelf and started reading, your backpack leaning against your seat. The waitress gave you your drink and chatted with you once in a while as she worked. You read and had your drink for almost an hour, ordering another drink just to feel a little peaceful.

The waitress got off her shift and sat next to you on the couch while talking to you about your book, she was nice. Her name was Maxine, she had a light brown skin tone, blue eyes, curly hair, and an athletic build, she talked to you about random things, about her job and everything she could. You smiled at her and continued talking, trying not to attract the attention of anyone else, until you noticed a large explosion near the cafe.

You tugged the backpack near to yourself and looked outside, there was a tall man encircled in a fire, most of it shooting out of his hands at some Iron Man suits. 

“Why the heck is the iron legion here?” Maxine asked, you shrugged, clenching your jaw as you debated to engage or not. 

The suits were blown out of the air by fire blasts, all of the people in the coffee shop ran towards the back door, Maxine tried to get you out but you said you’d help a few people then go with her, but you had other plans. You noticed a few of the Avengers get involved, it wasn’t like them to get involved on the streets.

You groaned and rushed out the door, pulling a few knives out of your pocket as you analyzed the scene in front of you. The man was tall, average build, styled black hair and sharp features, he wore some sort of a tactical black suit with the sleeves cut off, he scowled at you and started throwing fireballs. 

You dodged them easily, glancing around to see SHIELD agents coming in from both sides of the block, there were Avengers trying to shoot at him and stun him. Tony Stark, accompanied by Falcon, the Black Widow, and even Captain America was trying to stop this homicidal maniac.

“Ma’am, you need to get away from this scene.” Steve Rogers walked over to you, you raised an eyebrow at the statement. 

“I think I know how to handle myself, star-spangled banner.” You quipped, using one of your knives and throwing it at the psychopath's thigh when he wasn’t looking. 

The man screamed out pathetically, yanking the knife out of his thigh and throwing at you, you pushed the man in front of you out of the way, ducking under the knife smoothly. Steve’s eyes widened and nodded at you, rushing off to shield an agent who almost got blasted. 

The Avengers could do little to nothing at a distance, Iron Man was flying in the air, shooting blasts which the man somehow dodged easily, trying to shoot him out of the air while keeping everyone at a distance. 

You ran into the coffee shop and grabbed the fire extinguisher, taking it towards the fight with you as quickly as you could. 

“Cover me!” You screamed at an agent, he looked at you confusedly.

“Do as she says.” A familiar voice commanded from behind you, you whipped your head around to see Maria standing there, decked in a tactical suit similar to the rest of the SHIELD agents but in navy blue.

You grinned and gave her a nod, the agent shot at the man, turning his attention away from you and exposing his back to you. You pressed the pump on the fire extinguisher, instantly knocking out the flames dancing on the man’s back. He looked stunned, looking down at himself, you threw a small taser in his direction where the extinguisher didn’t blanket him, he shook and fell to the ground. 

“And remind me who you are?” Tony asked, gesturing to you while still flying, he was stunned that a woman in civilian clothing had just taken out a threat who he couldn’t.

You rolled your eyes and started walking away, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. You were stopped by someone yanking the back. 

“You know you can’t leave,” Maria stated, you almost groaned when you turned around.

“But you know I have to.” You answered, meeting her intense gaze.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” Maria asked, her voice soft and hesitant. 

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, you were at a loss for words, you opened and closed your mouth like a fish, trying to think of something to say but you couldn’t. You searched her blue eyes for an emotion, something that would tell you she was lying, but it was sincere.

“I don’t know, I really don’t, I wish I could give you an answer.” You answered, sighing and gesturing to the mess around you, shifting your weight slightly as you looked down at your feet.

“Just come with me for a few days, we’ll clear everything out so you can escape this,” Maria said, thumb hooking under your face to force you to look up at her. 

You bit your lip, unsure of what to do, you knew you had to decide soon when you noticed SHIELD agents and some of the Avengers approaching you to ask questions.

“Fine,” You sighed, Maria, smiled at you, taking her hands away from your face and winking at you before heading off to deal with everyone else. 

Maybe Maria could help you escape.

| Part 5 |

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver​, @versdan​, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught​, @lovebotlarson​, @dhengkt​, @5aftermidnight​, @hstoria​, @natasha-danvers​, @veryfunnyal​, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ , @ophelias-heart​  , @never-didbefore​ , @justarandomhumanhere​, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn​ , @lesbian-x-blackwidow​ , @marvelbbyx​ , @wlw-imaginesss​ , @marvelb00kwolf​ , @ohfuckno​ , let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

A/N: I tried to go one day, one day without writing and I started to lose my sanity, anyway I knew this part was long awaited so tell me what you think!

[wolferals]

🌙TROUBLE🌙

arón piper imagine

🌼@bbaronpiper and I wanted to try something and got some basic keywords for a story and both of us wrote our own interpretation! A so seen little project🌼 hope you like it🌸

and check out her story as well TROUBLE

also check out her writings, shes amazing! @bbaronpiper

*

*

friday july 12th 2019

„Have you ever considered becoming a vegan officer?" you asked the tall handsome cop who sitting in front of you.

He looked at you in disbelief before speaking up:"Y/n, its one thing being a proud vegan but its another thing to carry out violet actions against Mr. Rodriguez. You overreacted and you have to deal with the consequences."

You scoffed and leaned back against your chair.

„And how long is that going to take here?"

He slowly lifted himself up from the wooden chair and turned to you once again, saying:"Apologize to him and maybe he wont sue you."

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

He was the one who had provoked you by pushing you out of the way, making you fall. You had just asked him what that had been for and he had responded:"Get out of the way little girl. Maybe go to school instead of protesting against something you cant stop. Maybe eating some meat wouldnt harm you."

And yes maybe you had overreacted by kicking him in his left leg. But how were you supposed to know he had just had surgery?

When you had heard about the protest against animal cruelty in the middle of Madrid you had immediately called your best friend to tell her to make some signs.

And that said friend was now hiding somewhere, just as the cops had arrived she left you alone and ran.

In that very moment you could've screamed but you were too busy trying to hide. But they caught you eventually, thats why you were here.

„Alright Ms. Y/l/n, we only need your personal details and then you can go. You will receive a letter from us in the next week."

You looked up and listened to the police man talking to you. Then you grabbed your bag that's been sitting on the floor throughout this time and walked outside.

„Alright, sit down." An older woman ordered you.

You unwillingly sat down on another chair in the main area of the police station.

There were two other people you noticed. A young girl, maybe around the age of 11 who had probably lost her parents in the city. And a rather damaged boy your age, perhaps a little bit older, who had scars in his face.

Your gaze fell to his hand that had bleeding knuckles.

He noticed your stare and looked at you.

He didnt look very charming you figured. He looked pretty serious and was probably one of those guys that got into fights on the regular or maybe even did drugs.

„Full name." the unpleasant female cop yelled at you.

You looked at her and then took a deep breath. Your parents would kill you, but you had no choice, you were already in deep shit.

„Y/n (y/m/n) y/l/n)" you spoke and looked to the ground.

The lady mustered you and eventually wrote down the information.

„Birthday", „Place of birth" , „family status (parents names and birthdays)"  and other personal information followed. You unwillingly answered each time.

Great, now you were officially fucked.

„Wait here." She said after she slammed the „questionnaire" on the front desk where a young woman took it and started typing something on her computer.

So you just sat there for what felt like an eternity until another police officer entered the room and grabbed a chair to sit in front of the guy with the bruises.

„Alright. So, beating up teenagers is now cool or why did you do it?" he asked him while leaning back.

The guy just laughed and then replied:"First of all, they are not teenagers, they are over 18. And second, this fucker wanted to rob me. I just defended myself."

You listened interested until they both looked at you, making you look away rapidly.

„So you're saying that this boy who is about 5'6 wanted to rob a man who already has a criminal record?"

The guy nodded and added:"I know how this sounds but look what he did to me! The guy can do karate. I just hit back to run away."

The officer took a long breath in before answering:"Well too bad you got caught and are already very well known here Arón."

The guy suddenly looked very mad again and leaned towards the old police man.

„I didnt fucking start this!"

The man got up, put the chair back to its original position and said:"I'll get the report ready Mr Piper."

The guy cursed and then leaned back against the wall.

You were looking at his face. The bruises you had noticed before looked very fresh, there was still some liquid blood in them. But in general he was quite handsome. He had a sharp jaw, a very chiseled face structure and a shaved head. He looked like a criminal, judging from how the criminals on tv look like.

„Qué??" he then asked, making you snap out of your thoughts.

„Uh nothing." you replied and coughed.

You turned your face away from him.

„First time in trouble huh?" he asked and you could hear the grin in his tone.

You looked back at him, looked him up and down and replied sassy:"Duh."

He chuckled at you.

Then he spoke:"Welcome to the real world."

You had to laugh at his word choice. Next he sat up right.

„Did you beat him up?" you then asked out of curiosity.

„Arón" stared right into your eyes and eventually stated:"Did you kick the man out of nowhere?"

You responded with a small laugh. „Yeah." he just claimed and looked around.

„I'm fucked." you mumbled after a couple of seconds.

You could feel him looking at you. „Nah the first time isnt as bad. Plus, you just kicked someone, you didnt kill anyone."

Your head shot around. „Ah someone knows his way around huh?"

Arón chuckled again. „Nah. Not yet." he smiled.

You noticed a little gap between his front teeth. He didnt look as dangerous when he smiled.

„You know I'm good at assuming things about people. And you dont seem like a killer girl." he suddenly said.

You smiled and scanned his face secretly.

„What do I seem like then?"

He grinned and the next thing he did was stare you up and down for a bit. Until he finally spoke:"Rich girl, who lives with her parents. She likes to say what she thinks and sometimes gets into fights because of that. But she's never been arrested before so mommy and daddy are going to ground you for that."

You scoffed at him.

But he wasn't completely wrong.

„Well. Okay." was all you could say. He was pretty right about his statement.

After sitting in the hall for a little, the old officer finally came back and handed you your ID.

„You can go."

You got up and grabbed your bag with your left hand.

„Hey princess, tell mommy and daddy I'm sorry for their criminal daughter." you heard Aróns voice as you wanted to leave the police station.

„Ha ha very funny." you replied and faked a smile that turned into a frown.

„Hey girly, can I crash at your mansion some time?" he yelled after you.

„Sure. But I wont tell you where I live." you grinned and looked at his expression.

He looked chill despite the fact that he was in trouble like you had been.

„Dont worry, I'll find you."

You nodded unbelieving and then finally kept walking.

Now you had to explain to your parents why you were late, and why you were expecting a letter from the police. Fuck.

•

•

You somehow managed to tell your parents exactly how it happened without being yelled at. They believed that it wasn't completely only your fault yet they werent happy about the fact that you ended up at the police. But on the other hand you had never had any problems with the law before and you were usually a good girl, so they werent worried as much as expected. You hadnt told them about the lawsuit yet though. That was a future problem.

As it was now the next day you were just at home, finishing some assignments for your second year of college that would start next week.

You had taken a shower after dinner and then went to your room to watch a show before heading to bed.

To be honest, you had almost forgotten about the whole lawsuit thing when you went to bed that night. It got late, you got stuck with the newest season of your favorite show and actually fell asleep at around 1:30.

A loud noise woke you from your sleep and you sat up right, looking around all confused.

Your room was completely dark besides the streetlights from outside your window.

You heard the knock again and a shockwave went right through your body. Where did it come from? The house was all silent since your parents' bedroom was downstairs and your sister was sleeping at her boyfriends' almost every night.

Slowly you made your way threw the hallway checking where the noise came from. Your first thought was that it was probably the neighbors cat in the backyard or something but then you realized the bangs came from the bathroom.

You grabbed the first thing near you which was a vase that had been standing on a little table in the hallway.

Eventually you walked to the bathroom and turned on the light.

You got scared immediately as you saw a face in front of the window.

After looking at the person you realized it was the guy from the police station. You closed the bathroom door and unlocked the window.

„What the fuck are you doing here?" you whisper yelled.

The guy climbed into the room. He was wearing a black hoodie with some dark grey sweatpants and a black beanie. „You said i could sleep here if I found you. And i did."

You were actually creeped out. So you just stared at him until your confidence came back. „How did you fucking find my house?" you asked and pushed him back a little bit. He grinned and leaned against the sink. „I stole the paper with your information."

Your eyes widened. „You what??" you asked him in disbelief. „You're welcome. Now they got nothing against you. For the police you dont exist."

You didnt know if you should thank him for it or hit him in the face for doing such a stupid thing. What if the police thought you stole it? „So where can i sleep then?" he asked you and took a look around. His bruises were still visible but now looked a lot more clean and healed.

„Uh." you stuttered and thought about his question.

„My parents are right downstairs. You cant just sneak in here and expect me to offer you my bed. I dont know you, you could be a psycho!" He laughed at you and stepped closer to you. You were intimidated because you couldnt step back any farther. Your back was already touching the wall next to the bathtub.

„I wont hurt you, I just need a place to sleep." You looked right into his eyes that were only inches away from yours.

He was so close he could probably hear your heart pound. It was about to jump out of your chest. You then offered him to sleep on the small couch in your room, if he promised to disappear before your parents found out.

So you passed him a blanket and two pillows and finally turned off the light the second time this night.

„Goodnight." you automatically whispered. You heard a little chuckle from the other side of the room before he whispered back a quiet:"Gracias."

•

When you woke up a couple of hours later your room was lightened by the sun. You rubbed your eyes and sat up. You almost had a little heart attack when you saw someone laying on your couch. But then you remember what happened only 4 hours before. The guy who's name you werent sure about -was it Arón?- was sleeping peacefully, his closed eyes facing you. You noticed he had taken off his shirt. You didnt see his stomach but you could see his naked, muscular arms over the blanket. And you saw some tattoos on them. And a small tattoo on his chest.

He looked quite cute when he was sleeping.

You then checked your phone and thought about what you'd do today until you heard footsteps coming upstairs.

Your mom! She always says goodbye before work. Its like a mother-daughter tradition because once when you were a kid and she didnt say bye you had a panic attack because you thought something happened to her. You jumped up from the bed towards the couch.

„Wake up! Wake up! You gotta hide, my mom's coming!" you shook him to wake him up. He replied with a raspy groan and eventually opened his eyes.

„Huh?" he asked confused looking at you. -„Hide! My mom!" You whispered and waited for him to get in the closet.

But since he took so long realizing what was going on, it happened what had to happen.

Your mom was standing in your room, staring at both of you. You in your oversized shirt and no pants and this strange boy shirtless. You were fucked.

„Uhh y/n?" she asked and looked at you in confusion.

You were all staring each other down until Arón spoke up:"Mrs. Y/l/n, im so sorry. My name is Arón, I'm your daughters boyfriend." He shook her hand smiling. Your mother on the other hand looked confused as hell. Just as you. Did he just call himself your boyfriend?

„Oh. I didnt know she had a boyfriend." Your mom replied and then actually chuckled. She laughed! She wasnt mad?

„I have to go to work now but nice to meet you Arón. See you later honey, i think we have to talk."

She said after none of you said anything.

„Likewise" Arón spoke before your mom left your room and closed the door.

„What the hell?" you yelled at him and lightly punched him in the chest.

„I had no choice. What do you want me to do? Say that I broke in here because we met at the police station?"

You ran your hand through your hair and then said:"Please go. I'm in enough trouble already. Please leave."

He nodded, then grabbed his sweater and put it back on.

„Can i sleep here tonight too? I dont really know where to go." he asked while picking up his things.

You rolled your eyes but nodded softly.

„Thank you!" He smiled and came up to you.

„Sure." you replied and crossed your arms.

He opened the door to your room and whispered a „see you tonight" before finally leaving your house.

You didnt really trust this guy. Something about him was off but you didnt know quite yet what it was.

•

•

Arón's been crashing at your place for a week now and a lot of weird things happened inbetween. You only saw him at night when he climbed through your bedroom or the bathroom window. Then you usually went to bed and in the morning he left. You never knew where he went and you also didnt know why he couldnt sleep at his parents'.

Your mom and dad had both talked to him before and actually believed he was your boyfriend. Around them he acted like an angel but you knew he wasnt. I mean, he's never insulted you or been rude but he certainly wasnt an example of a good guy.

One night as you were sleeping, him laying on your couch, you were woken by someones voice talking in your room.

Arón was walking around your carpet, speaking into his phone loudly.

„Whats up?" you whispered and looked at him all sleepy.

He showed you he needed a second and kept discussion in spanish.

He was pretty loud and you were worried your parents might wake up from his voice. And he seemed mad, almost aggressive.

He then hung up and before you knew, he slammed his phone on the wall. It broke immediately, shocking you intensely.

„Jeez what the fuck!" you spoke and got up from the bed.

Arón in the meantime put on his jacked and wanted to walk out of the room but you chased him, trying not to make too much noise walking downstairs.

„Where are you going?" you asked.

„I need to see someone before this certain person wakes your parents." he boldly spoke and opened the front door.

You were only wearing shorts and a top and it was chilly outside. But you were far too concerned to grab a jacket.

You closed the door behind you and ran after him.

„Y/n go to bed." he then ordered as he kept walking.

„No i need to know whats happening."

He scoffed at you and finally stopped as you both reached a person standing around the corner.

Aron was just standing there staring at the dark dressed man.

You were right behind him, carefully taking a look.

„Arón." the guy finally spoke and came up to you both, grabbing aron by the jacket.

„What do you want?" arón asked the man, sounding as if he was about to rip his head off.

„Needed to see you little brother." the guy replied and then noticed you hiding behind Aróns back.

„Oh got yourself a girlfriend huh?" he grinned and walked around him to get closer to you.

„Hey you." he smiled and reached out to touch you but you backed off and mustered him.

„She's hot." the guy then said and turned around to arón again.

„What the fuck are you doing here Juan?" Arón finally spoke up. „Taking you home. Mom is worried about you."

Aron laughed fake before claiming:"Oh really?"

Juan stepped right in front of Aron and looked at him.

„I like your new haircut brother. You look like a prisoner."

Arón didnt reply, he clenched his fist as if he was about to hit.

„If you keep going like that, you will be soon." Juan added and smiled at him.

„Fuck off im not coming home." arón mumbled and wanted to step back but Juan grabbed his arm and answered:"You. Are coming with me. Because I say so."

Aron freed his arm and yelled:"Get out of my life."

You just watched as they were yelling at each other. The reason for Aróns stubbornness wasnt quite clear for you until he said one specific thing:"Mom and Dad dont want me back! All they want was you. You're the only son they ever wanted."

He was jealous of his big brother.

What you figured out from their conversation, Juan was a troublemaker himself but then started studying and was now about to be a lawyer. Apparently their parents had always supported him, even though he used to be in deep shit often times. Arón kept claiming that he was „nothing to their parents".

At some point the situation escalated and Juan grabbed Aron rather harshly and Aron pushed him back. Which made Juan fall to the ground, hitting his head on the concrete.

Juan looked even more furious than Aron then.

He got up again and basically jumped arón.

You felt useless, watching those brothers fight in the middle of the streets.

But suddenly you decided to do something.

You went up to them and jumped on Arons back to make him stop.

„Stop this shit before someone calls the cops!" you tried to calm them down.

But Aron was so furious he threw you right off.

You landed on your back rather harshly, moaning out in pain. It had been really fucking painful.

He didnt even notice that he had hurt you, they kept yelling at each other until you heard police sirens getting closer.

Juan seemed to notice as well and let go of Aron.

„You know what, fuck you! You're useless to this family. Come back after achieving something!" Juan yelled and just disappeared between the streetlights and the bushes.

„Fuck." Aron cursed and finally turned around to you.

„Run!" he then said as the police car turned around the corner.

You got up in pain and grabbed his reached out hand.

„Faster!" he told you and pulled you with him as he was running super fast. You almost stumbled over your own feet.

„Where?" you just asked and concentrated on running as fast as you could.

Usually you hated running but right now it felt good. Free kind of. You had never run from the cops, especially not with a known criminal who wasnt as bad as you thought.

„Fuck, run faster." he yelled but you couldnt go any faster.

Eventually he let go of you to make you jump into a bush.

The cops were right behind you but didnt seem to notice you hiding, they ran past you after Aron.

And aron on the other hand did something you hasnt expected. He stopped running.

He turned around and put his hands up in the air.

What the fuck was he doing?

The police reached him and put him in a secure grip in a fast motion. He couldve gotten away easily if he hadnt stopped!

They grabbed him by the arm and pulled him through the alley of trees towards the police car.

You looked him straight in the eyes as they walked past you. He inconspicuously smiled at you.

What was he doing?

As they sat him in the police car you slowly got out of the bush.

So you just stood there. They couldve seen you but you didnt care, you just wanted to see what was happening.

Some of your neighbors were outside looking as well.

Before the car took off you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

Who would text you at 3am?

You took it and opened the message.

You started to smile and looked up to see him smiling at you from the police car.

Arón:"Can I crash again when I get out?"

⭐️

[twrites1]

“Wait”

Time Frame: Sunday Afternoon, May 10, 2020

Location: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma // Tulsa, Oklahoma

Summary: Based on Maroon 5’s Wait, sequel to Love In The Dark.

Sam squinted as he rubbed his eyes slightly, trying to see if what he was seeing was correct. This couldn’t be the way they were teaching these kids in second grade now. Equations? She was only in the second grade. What in the hell?

“It’s fine if you don’t know, I’ll ask my Daddy when he calls on FaceTime.”

“Just..wait a minute.” He hushed the girl as he use the palm of his hand to gently push her away, her giggles running out loudly just as her mother entered the room.

“What’s with all the laughing?”

“I’m helping little squirt with her homework.” He cut his eyes when he heard her scoff, watching as she gave him a knowing look before getting off the couch.

“Yeah right, Uncle Sam.” Virginia giggled as she grabbed her book and headed upstairs to her room.

Sam rolled his eyes at her before he grabbed the mail that he sat down earlier and scanned it, mumbling incoherently as he tossed out all of the junk mail for his cousin before he abruptly stopped, everything falling to the floor except the one thing he was holding.

Quinn turned around when he fell silent, eyebrow raising as she watched as he stared at something, “Why are you going through my mail anyways?” She walked over to the side of him when he didn’t answer, eyes going to the invitation. She sighed before grabbing ahold of it.

“She’s getting married tomorrow?” Even though he knew the answer because it was obvious, just hoping this was some kind of joke. He turned to look at the woman, watching as she sat down on the couch.

“Yes.” She raised her eyes to look at him just in time to see the hurt, incredulous look on his face, “She broke things off with you, not me.”

“But you’re my blood. You’re suppose to be on my side.”

“It’s your fault.” Quinn quipped back as she stared at him, pointing out his misplaced anger, “If you would’ve stood up for yourself and told her the truth, you would be the one at the alter. You’re also so damn stupid sometimes. The help? Really?”

“Don’t keep reminding me and I didn’t call her that, my mother phrase it that way, I just said that she helped around the house.”

“That’s even worse. Again, stand up to them pieces of shit of parents you got. I’m not sorry but I have never, ever had love for them from how they treat my parents.” She started as she shook her head. Quinn’s mother was Sam’s mother sister and they were nothing alike and she was criticized for it. It still amazed her sometimes how they were kin.

Sam stayed quiet for a moment before tossing the invite back on the table, emotions and feelings that he thought he had buried down were bubbling back up to the surface. Sighing a bit, he turned his eyes back over to his cousin, “Were you going to tell me?”

“No.” Quinn said honestly as she looked at him and shrugged, “You didn’t even fight for her.”

Sam nodded solemnly as he stood up from the couch, moving past her and going upstairs to say goodbye to his little cousin. Once he came back down, he put shoes on.

“Where are you going, Sam?”

“Home.” He replied shortly as he stood back to his full height, going over to grab his keys from the kitchen counter. Once he made sure he had all his things, he headed for the door but not without the last words, still not facing his cousin as he opened the door, “And I did fight...more than you would ever know.”

The chatter around the room flowed freely as the bride was helped getting prepared to walk down the aisle. Her mother placing the floral headband on her head that pushed the flowing, curly hair back. This was it, she was finally getting married and she couldn’t for one believe it. She was introduce to her fiancé, Carter, by her mother at the end of 2017 at a Christmas party. She had no plans of getting back into the dating for awhile but her mother insisted. One date, led to ten before the two started dating in August of 2018 and he proposed a year later, leaving Mercedes pressured to say yes because both of their families were there. Carter wasn’t a bad catch either. He was a lawyer, had his own house, no criminal record, handsome, and to Mercedes’ mother...he was just perfect with no flaws.

They haven’t been intimate yet, Mercedes wanting save herself until marriage....which was a lie because her and Sam had sex all the time and they were just boyfriend and girlfriend. Sam. She shrugged off the thought of him, what she had been unsuccessfully doing since that faithful night. No matter how she tried to forget it, she couldn’t but she pushed it down enough to get to the point where she was right now. She came out of her thoughts when she heard someone say it was time. She looked at herself in the mirror and took a deep breath. She could stop this if she wanted to but what was the point? Carter was a good enough man, conceded sometimes, but he’s what her mother wanted. It should be what she wanted....right? After coming from the back, she saw her father and gave him a small smile as she looped her arm with his.

Quinn crossed her legs as she wrapped her arm around her daughter, watching as Mercedes walked down the aisle. She had to admit, after the conversation with her cousin yesterday, she was feeling extremely guilty for even showing up. She knew how much he loved this woman yet he made some stupid decisions. She wished they could’ve worked it out, but Mercedes didn’t deserve the situation that she was in. She was happy for her, even if the man she was marrying wasn’t her cousin but as the vows were being read, she couldn’t help but feel like Mercedes was mechanically going through the motions.

Dirty looks from your mother

Never seen you in a dress that color, no

It's a special occasion

Not invited, but I'm glad I made it, oh

“If there’s anyone who doesn’t wish to see this couple together, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Mercedes smiled a smile as she looked up at the man in front of her, one that didn’t reach her father nor Quinn’s eyes but apparently everyone’s else. It slowly begin to falter when she felt a tug at her heartstrings, all of sudden becoming hot and weak in the knees when she heard clear as day that one voice that she hasn’t heard from in years.

“I object.”

Quinn eyes went wide as her mouth dropped, turning her head around at the entrance door, “No, no, no.” She stood up from where she was sitting, making her way to him. There stood her idiot cousin at the entrance of the church, “Sam, I swear on everything holy...”

Let me apologize

I'll make up, make up, make up, make up for all those times (all those times)

Your love, I don't wanna lose

I'm beggin', beggin', beggin', beggin', I'm beggin' you

“Not now, I have something to do.” He told his cousin as he looked at her seriously before gently moving her aside and continuing to walk down the aisle, ignoring the mixed looks of the people.

“HELL NO!” Mercedes’ mother exclaimed, asking for the Lord to forgive her for cursing up in his house. She stood up from her seat and made her way to the man, “You need to leave, right now.”

Sam looked at the scolding brown eyes that was about to kill him right then and there, “No.”

Carter, Mercedes’ soon to be husband....or was he, looked at her then to the dirty blonde then back to her, “You know him?”

Mercedes couldn’t speak. It was like she lost all ability in doing so. The only thing she could muster up the strength was to turn around away from the crowd, head down as she closed her eyes.

Virginia looked wide eyed between the adults, having no clue what was going on but by the looks of it, Ms. Cedes’ mama did not like her cousin. What is objecting and why was he doing it?

Wait, can you turn around, can you turn around?

Just wait, can we work this out, can we work this out?

Just wait, could you come here please? 'Cause I wanna be with you

“Will you turn around.....please?” He asked her, eyes watching on curiously at the two and the outcry of gasps when they heard his next words, “I need you to know how sorry I am and how much I love you.”

Mercedes closed her eyes tightly, the tears cascading down her cheeks as she stared completely at the ground. This was not suppose to happen. She was not suppose to ever see him again yet here he was.

“You’re not going to ruin this day or any parts of her life ever again. Leave, now. I won’t hesitate to call the police.”

Sam ignored her mother’s words and overpowered her with his own strength as he walked forward, forcing her to let loose of his shirt. He moved even closer to where she was, only to be blocked by this asshole who was standing at the alter with her, “Mercedes.”

“Look man, I don’t know who you but you need to leave. I’m sure whatever past you and Mercedes had, it’s over with. She’s about to be my wife. Let it go.” Carter glared at him, balling up his fist. How dare this man come and ruin his day.

Sam ignored him. He wasn’t relevant. He looked at Mercedes, whose back was still turned, her mother’s nagging long absent to his ears as he continued on his plea, “Mercedes, please turn around and please talk to me.”

“For the love of God, please talk to Sam.” Mercedes’ Dad whispered, or so he thought, when the gasp escaped the people around him once again. There. He admitted it. He did not like this kid his daughter was about to marry. Not that he wasn’t a respectful guy, he just wasn’t fond of him. While he was beyond upset about the situation and was pissed for awhile, he liked Sam. His daughter has never been happier than when she was with him. Sam was far from like his parents and if he went through so much to keep Mercedes hidden, it had to be for a good reason. He had to admit, he should’ve reached out a long time ago to the man, but his wife was adamant that he just needed to disappear from their lives for good. It sounded good, but he wasn’t for it. No matter how much his daughter pretended she was okay, she wasn’t and he knew for a fact that she wasn’t happy.

Mercedes eyes finally met his, tears spilled as she looked at him then at Carter, words that left everyone in shock, “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” She dropped the bouquet and lifted up her dress, running out and past Sam as well, her mother hot on her trails.

“Go get your cousin.” Quinn told her daughter, hoping that the presence of a child would stop any fight that would break out.

Carter was livid and pissed at his day being ruined. He stepped to Sam, only to stop when he saw the little blonde headed girl come up and grab his hand, tugging him away.

Sam let himself be guided out the church and led outside, down the steps and onto the sidewalk, his cousin words bringing him out of his thoughts.

“I honestly can’t say I’m surprised but damn Sam, really?”

Sam didn’t have time to listen to his cousin ridicule him. He was thinking with his heart and not his mind, so the thought of rationality was out the window when he saw the invite in her mail yesterday, “I have to find her.”

“Sam...Sam, come back here.” Quinn could barely get out before the man was running down the street. Sighing, she looked at her daughter, who was looking back at her curiously.

“Cousin Sam really loves Ms. Cedes, huh?”

Quinn just smiled at her seven year old, grabbing ahold of her hand as she nodded her head as she lead them to her car, “Yes, he really does.”

Can we talk for a moment?

Got these feelings that I'm tired of holdin' on

Wasn't tryna get wasted

I needed more than three or four to say this, oh

Mercedes was missing and no one was able to find her. Well, that’s not true. Sam did. When Sam first came to Tulsa to meet her family, she showed him one of her favorite getaways from her overbearing mother. It was a bar, about fifteen minutes away from the church. As he opened the door, he found her almost immediately, the bartender pouring her a glass as she sat on the stool. Contrary to what people may think, Sam did fight, eight straight months to be exact but gave up once she made it clear that they were done.

Mercedes felt his presence as soon as the door opened. She knew he would eventually find her and majority of her was hoping he did, while a tiny part of her didn’t. She was on her second glass of whiskey when he took a seat beside her, hearing the bartender greet him and ask if he wanted something. After shaking his head, he left the two alone.

They sat in silence for a good ten minutes, Mercedes focused on the cup in front of her, Sam observing her. Neither one not wanting to speak first, but both deep down not knowing exactly how to start. What exactly do you say to a person you haven’t spoke to in almost four straight years? Sam was the first to try.

“I’m not sorry for ruining this day...not until I know for sure that you’re no longer in love with me.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, figuring that he was going to be doing all the talking, “I told my parents the truth about us and in return they told me I was dead to them. I don’t care though, because as long as you’re okay, I am. They were going to ruin your reputation, tarnish your name and make it impossible for anything you did. I couldn’t let that happen to you. I know it’s not an excuse and I should have told you instead doing what I did, but I wasn’t thinking rationally. To prevent them from doing anything, I recorded the threats, turn them in to my lawyer and got a restraining order. They won’t be getting to you or me, regardless if we’re together or not.” Sam felt himself getting emotional as he looked down at his hands, tears welling up in his eyes, “I just wasn’t thinking.”

You say I'm just another bad guy

You say I've done a lot of things I can't undo

Before you tell me for the last time, yeah

I'm beggin', beggin', beggin', beggin', beggin' you

“I may have implied it but I never called you the help. Not that it makes it any better and now that I’m here, I really see how selfish I am and once again, I’m ruining your life.” Sam sniffled as he wiped the tears away, trying his best not cry anymore, “I love you so much, Mercedes. So much. If nothing else comes from this, I just want you to know that I truly do love you and I’m so, so sorry for hurting you the way I did.”

Mercedes watched as he leaned forward but stopped himself, shaking his head as he probably figured he had no right. She watched as he got off the couch and started to walk away, “Sam.”

Sam immediately turned around when he heard the faint whisper of his name rolling off her tongue for the first time since he has been here, her eyes meeting his with a solemn expression, “Yes?”

Mercedes nibbled at the corner of her mouth before she got up from where she was sitting. She cleared her throat as she looked at him, “I believe you, I do and I should’ve given you a chance to explain but I was hurt. Four years ago, all I saw was red and I was hurt. I wanted to forget you and although it look like did...” Mercedes gestured to the dress she was still in, shaking her head, “I didn’t. I tried to force this relationship into being something more, but it was something my mom wanted. In a way, I have to thank you for showing up because I was really about to pull the dumbest thing I have ever done and that was marrying someone who I wasn’t in love with and knew I would never, ever truly be in love with. And for what? All because I never stopped loving you despite everything. I want nothing more than to jump in your arms and kiss you until the sun comes up but I can’t. At least....I won’t right now. I need to go properly dump my ex-fiancé and I just need a night by myself to take in everything.”

Sam nodded his head understandably, watching as she did the same while a tiny smile appeared on her lips before she grabbed her phone and keys. She started to make her way pass him but ultimately stopped when she got back in front of him, space now limited. Sam was about to move to the side to let her through but she had surprised him when she leaned up and placed her lips on his. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, which led to her wrapping her arms around his neck.

Mercedes instantly melted comfortably in his arms, tilting her head upward to deepen the kiss. This was the only man she loved. The only man she wanted to marry. Although she was disappointed from the past, she was willing to forgive him in the present, so they could have a future. She wanted that with him.

Feeling himself having trouble breathing, he pulled back breathlessly, leaning his forehead against hers as he tried to regain composure. His eyes met hers, a smile taking over his lips as he leaned forward and lazily pressed a kiss to her lips, “I’m never letting you go ever again. That’s a promise I intend to keep.”

“I’m counting on it.” She whispered as she kissed him once more before stepping back, clearing her throat once she realized that they had made a scene in the bar that was full and the people had been watching on curiously. Her eyes met his again with a smile, “Meet back here tomorrow at three.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sam watched as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, hearing her whisper those three little words back made him the happiest man alive.

“I love you too.”

And with that, she left out the bar, smiling a true real smile that has been in hiding for four years. Truth was, so many lessons were learned. A lesson of being honest, a lesson of listening, a lesson of communication and a lesson of never giving up on someone you truly love no matter how long it takes.

Wait, can you turn around, can you turn around?

Just wait, can we work this out, can we work this out?

Just wait, could you come here please? 'Cause I wanna be with you

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “Darlene”

Summary: Amidst an unsettling arrest at CIStech, Elliot decides it’s time for Y/N to meet his sister, Darlene. He’s also ready to acknowledge his feelings, and afterward, Y/N takes it a step further to offer Elliot some more consistency in his life.

Story Summary,  “The Server Room, Part I”,  “The Server Room, Part II”  “The Long Weekend, Part I”,  “The Long Weekend, Part II”,  “The Aftermath”,  “Undecided”,  **“Decided”,  “Spooked”,  **“Fourth of July, Part I”,  *”Fourth of July, Part II”

Word Count: 7600

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @txmel​ @alottanothing @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @moon-stars-soul​ @free-rami​ @ramimedley​ @hopplessdreamer​ @sweet-charmie​ 

*Updated tags--If you want added or I’ve missed your request, let me know. 

Warnings: Mild sexual content, mild description of a panic attack

“How could this have happened?” I asked more to myself than to Alison Shaye, head of HR, as I rubbed my temples and looked over the substantial brief one more time.

It was mid-August and the summer heat had reached a sweltering climax. It hadn’t rained since the day Elliot and I drove back from my parents’ house in Greenwich, and the city was collectively frustrated by the hot weather.

Everyone except Elliot and me—we had been wrapped up in one another, running our new daily program which now included seeing each other almost every night. Even though Elliot hadn’t yet returned my pronouncement of love, I could tell there was something different in the way he looked at me since that night on the floor of my closet.

As promised, I didn’t push. I never asked for more from him than he was willing to give. I still told Elliot how I felt when I felt it, and he answered me with a smile or with a head shake of disbelief.

And I let it be enough.

“He’s been selling our data for over two years—ever since he had to split the custody of his son with his ex-girlfriend,” stated Alison, yanking me back to the madness of my current situation.

“But it’s Colin. He’s an asshole, not a criminal.”

“Apparently he’s both,” Alison said in her colorless tone, showing for the first time I had ever seen, a less than professional impartiality.  

“And the police were just sent this file? A neat little package of all that Colin’s been doing? This had to take months to put together—bank transactions, meeting dates, cell phone records, IP addresses, logins, everything.”

“So it seems. About a month ago, an attorney called to confirm Colin’s hire date, our company’s pay dates, and a few other simple employee identification questions. I didn’t think much of it because I assumed it had something to do with a custody suit. When I met with a detective last week for more thorough questioning, my confirmation of dates must have been the last thing they needed to make an arrest. Colin lawyered up, confessed, and took a deal. Didn’t even try to fight the allegations.”

“Damn,” I breathed, still in disbelief.

“Ms. Y/L/N? You need to head upstairs for your meeting.”

I stood up and thanked Alison. As she left, I steadied my nerves and gathered up my files. Since Precision Machining was our host company, its Board of Directors controlled us as well. Miles said I would occasionally be called in for meetings with them as the highest person at CIStech, but who knew my first meeting would be one about an employee caught committing insider trading?

I swiped my badge and rode the elevator to the second to last floor of our building. The vibe at the top is always different in any office building. Things are quiet, sterile, and there’s a general feeling of ill-ease, like no one wants to talk too loud or draw too much attention to what they are doing. Even the phones ring quietly on the top floor.

I checked in with the receptionist and she took me straight back to the board room. My father still retained his seat on the board, so I knew there would be at least one face in the room I could focus on as I faced the inquiry.

My eyes scanned the room and I couldn’t help but inwardly sigh at the sea of white, grizzled faces, only two women amongst them, and none of them with a welcoming expression.

I lifted my chin and walked quickly to the open seat at the end of the table, the chattering continuing as most of the members hadn’t noticed my entrance. Only when I was settled, my hands folded on the table and my breathing even, did I risk looking up to find my father’s face—his features etched into a mask of indifference until I locked eyes with him.

He was watching me, and when I met his gaze, his handsome face filled with concern.

“Oh—CIStech’s here,” the president of the board said when he noticed the addition of a body to the table.

The other board members grew quiet and turned in their highback, expensive leather chairs to face me. The table was steel, possibly something that had been done in one of the machining shops to add to the sterility of the room which contained nothing remarkable except for the window-lined walls that opened up to a glorious view of the city.

I looked around, making eye contact, knowing I had to project confidence. They were looking for someone to blame, and I was their best choice until I convinced them otherwise.

The president began the meeting by summarizing Colin’s offense. It was then that I learned Colin took a deal that sentenced him to six months in jail for securities fraud, plus a year and six months on probation. He defrauded Precision Machining of $450,000.

“I guess my question for Ms. Y/L/N, is how the hell did this happen?”

I explained my understanding of the police report, adding in relevant tech details. To finish, I added, “The truth of it is, Colin Greene used his position at CIStech to gather sensitive information he then sold on the dark web that resulted in his own financial gain.”

“How do we get that information back?”

Christ, I thought as I fought not to roll my eyes at the outdated question from someone who had no clue how the internet worked.

“There is no such thing as ‘getting back’ information once it’s been propagated online.”

“The more important question is,” spoke up the baldest, loudest man to my right, “how you stop this from happening again. Isn’t that what you do? Isn’t that what you have a whole company doing?”

“We work very hard to keep your information secure—”

“Damn good job, you did of it, too, tootsie,” spoke up an equally bald, but less loud board member who then shot my father a scathing glare before saying. “I don’t care that your dad’s sitting across from me. 450k is nothing, a drop in the bucket, but what happens when techs like you and yours get greedy?”

“Colin’s arrest has proven there are consequences for this sort of crime—”

“Yes, if someone outside of your company reports them.”

I looked at the woman who spoke up, her mouth set in a firm line, her eyes staring at me with an unrelenting gaze.

“I understand your frustration, but I assure you we prevent far more—”

“That’s supposed to reassure us? It’s not an exaggeration when I speak on behalf of the board to say that we see your charts, your data analysis, and we have, until now, assumed it all correlates to the near-perfect record of cybersecurity this company has maintained. But this event casts serious doubt on your ability to protect us against . . . ourselves.”

She had a point, and for the first time I faltered, looking down at the thick police report, realizing I did indeed fail to stop something dire from happening within the company. I glanced to my father and he gave me a small nod of encouragement, looking at me with eyes the exact shade of mine.

I took a deep breath and began again. I fielded questions for well over an hour, answering every concern and theoretical potential fix the board members threw at me until I had sated them. Though they were all wealthy, many of them far worse people than Colin and with even less regard for the stockholders they served, they were no different than anyone else who wanted to have their voice heard. They felt vulnerable, something people in their position had the luxury of rarely feeling. Their reactions were out of fear of that vulnerability, so I tried my best to alleviate it.

And this time, it worked.

“Thank you for your time, Ms. Y/L/N. We will expect an update on your aforementioned new protocols at next month’s board meeting. You did say you’d have data by then?

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

I gathered my files and left the board room, only to be greeted by Miles who had been waiting to see me.

“How’d it go in there?”

“Well, appalling to start, but I think I brought them around.”

“We need to talk about Colin’s replacement.”  

“Talk or tell?”

“Tell,” Miles said, walking me to the elevator, getting in, and selecting his floor.

We rode down the few floors in silence and I followed him past his secretary and into his office, a corner office with a perfect view—just what Miles had always wanted.

“Nice digs,” I said, smiling a little.

“Damn right.”

“This is going to be painful, isn’t it?”

“Certain individuals within the company feel it would be best to put someone of a particular pedigree and integrity in Colin’s office. They want to send the message that everyone is replaceable . . . with someone better.”

“Okay?”

“Ali Olayan.”

I snorted, surprised, but not actually. I moved to sit down in one of the comfortable chairs across from Miles’ desk and I crossed my legs before tossing my files onto the seat next to me. I rested my hands on top of my knees and looked up.

“And if I say no?”

“You can’t say no. Not if you want this company to continue to take you seriously as Y/N Y/L/N and not just as daddy’s little girl.”

“You remember what Ali did?”

Miles rolled his eyes before continuing, “You made the choice to get involved with Alderson knowing the possibility of a move like this. When we kept Corey and Ali, it would only be up or out for them. It was a 50/50 chance, Y/N. You bet the house, and you lost.”

I looked to the side to look out of Miles’ magnificent set of windows. For the first time, I wondered what it would be like to leave this world, to leave Wall Street and to never look back.

* * * * *

Elliot watched from the sofa as I stormed around my apartment, slamming the refrigerator door for the fifth time having not pulled a single thing out to eat or drink.

“I just can’t fucking believe this! How could I not have known Colin was selling off our data, fucking Martha Stewart insider trading horseshit right under my fucking nose!?”

I walked back the hall, turned around and came thumping back into the living room, circling the couch, ignoring Elliot’s alarmed expression. I slammed my hands on the counter and he jumped, finally tired of twisting to watch my movements, so he used the momentum to stand up.

Elliot was still dressed in his work clothes due to the forcefulness of my invitation to come home with me. Rarely, did we leave the office together, but I gave Elliot little choice today. Everyone on the floor, including JaLeah, watched with interest as I damn-near yanked him out of his chair and told him he was done for the day.

“Why—why are you so angry?” Elliot asked, his face filled with concern. “I thought you didn’t like Colin?”

I took a deep breath, glanced at Elliot, and decided to finally open a bottle of wine to take the edge off. I moved around the counter and fished out my corkscrew.

As I chose a bottle of wine from the little wire rack on my counter, I started to explain. “It’s not about Colin. Well, it is. But it’s more about who they want me to have replace him.”

“Oh,” Elliot said quietly.

“Yeah,” I said, sticking the screw into the cork of the wine bottle and twisting.

“Ali Olayan.”

“Oh,” Elliot said, his voice a lower and darker.

“And I wasn’t given a choice—it’s Ali . . . or me, essentially. Do you want any of this?” I asked as I reached for a wine glass.

“No.”

I pulled a single glass out of the cupboard and began to pour.

“If I comply and make it a smooth transition, I’ll keep the respect I’ve earned, the name I’ve made for myself. If I refuse, if I complicate this promotion, I may as well resign because everything I’ve worked for will be made into a mockery—daddy’s little girl, does exactly what she wants because she can. Because she’s so fucking privileged.”

I took a long drink and continued as Elliot’s eyes flicked between the counter and my face. “You should’ve seen the file this tipster compiled on Colin. It was a detective’s wet dream. Literally everything tracked, everything monitored, times, dates, transactions—everything. Whoever put it together is a fucking genius. Even better than you,” I said with an eyeroll and a snort into my glass as I took another drink.

Elliot looked at me, his eyes oddly focused this evening. Normally, if I was overly emotional, he was unsure how to proceed and kept as much distance as he could. But tonight—something was different. He was much more sure of himself.

“Maybe it needed to happen?” Elliot offered.

“What do you mean?”

“How much longer could he really have gotten away with it? You can bet he would’ve fucked up soon enough—it’s Colin, after all. And you’d be in this exact same position a month or two months from now. If—if it weren’t for me, would you go along with it without protest?”

I looked at Elliot for a long time and felt like I was being tested as his gaze remained fastened on mine.

“I don’t know,” I sighed.

“You’ve made it personal, Y/N. Well, I’ve made it personal.”

“I’m afraid of breaking your trust by not pushing back.”

“Is that the only reason why you want to push back? For me?”

“No—it’s, it’s not the right thing to do, to promote someone because of their connections, their wealth and status, it’s not the right thing to do. I got into tech because I wanted to protect people, people like my dad—good people, not just rich people—who pour their souls into their businesses. When people are that invested in their business, they’re going to be that invested in their employees.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” I said with a conviction.

“You’re a good person,” Elliot said as he moved closer to me. “The best person I know.”

“That’s not saying a lot considering you know maybe five people, including me,” I teased.

Elliot laughed softly, his face set in a sweet smile.

“I guess you’re right.”

I turned to face him, my hand still resting on the stem of my glass as it sat on the counter.

“So what do I do now?”

“You play their game. You protect yourself, gain their trust, and bide your time until you can enact change.”

“That’s not what I want to hear.”

“But,” Elliot continued, moving so close he was now a breath away from me. “You’ll still be a good person. A good person caught in the machinations of corporate greed—you had to know something like this would happen if you stayed on Wall Street.”

I looked into Elliot’s face, his grey eyes filled with concern and also with a confidence I rarely saw—he was right and knew he was right.

“You’re right. Unless I just walk in and quit in a fiery rage,” I finished, remembering the feeling I had in Miles’ office as I looked out of the window.

“You’re not a quitter,” Elliot said, his hands coming to rest on my upper arms. “Places like that need people like you in positions of power. It’s all about balance.”

“I’m vastly outnumbered.”

“All the more reason to stay and fight.”

“Who are you tonight?” I asked with a huff of a laugh.

Elliot’s face turned serious and he gripped my arms a little tighter.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just . . . so sure of yourself.”

Elliot shook his head.

“I’m sure of you,” he said before pressing his lips to mine, kissing me with purpose until I almost forgot the horrors of the day. I was enveloped by him, quickly lost in his citrusy scent that curled around me so totally that I nearly forgot I needed to ask him something important.

I broke the kiss, pulling away and causing Elliot to start stammering out an apology before I shushed him as I waved my hand.

“I almost forgot! Can you do something for me? Can you see if you can figure out who tipped off the police? I don’t have that kind of skill set.”

“Are you asking me to hack? I thought we lived by the rule of, ‘Don’t hack, ask?’” Elliot said, his lips twisted into the perfect curl of a grin again.

“I’m being serious—can you just see what you can find out? I don’t ever want to be blindsided like that again. Dad said the first time the board put Miles through the ringer, they had to call the meeting short so he could collect himself. I get why. It was brutal, and I never want to feel that unprepared again.”

“I can look into it,” Elliot said as his hands slid up my arms to rest on either side of my face, his thumbs settling on the outer corners of my mouth.

“Thanks, El,” I said before his lips were on mine and I let myself go, lost in that citrusy-grey darkness that was Elliot, the day’s events fading away until they were barely visible in my mind’s eye.

* * * * *

A few days after Colin’s arrest, I was sprawled out on Elliot’s bed, answering emails I hadn’t gotten to during the day. It was 8 pm when he walked into my office, the building long emptied, and told me it was time to quit. Once again, he was right, and he knew he was right, so we went back to his place for some takeout.

I had moved to his bed to stretch out after eating, loving the way I could just snuggle in and be surrounded by everything that was him. Elliot was in the kitchen finishing up the dishes when he asked, well, stated that he’d like me to meet his sister.

I stopped reading and stared at him, unsure if I heard him correctly.

“What? Are you sure?”

“It’s been over a month since I met your family. It’s time for you to meet mine.”

“If you’re sure?” I said, my heart picking up its pace a bit as I finally tossed my phone aside, officially quitting work for the day. I could always count on Elliot to provide a thorough distraction, on purpose or not.

Elliot laughed, “Are you nervous?”

“Yes!”

“Darlene is not someone to be nervous about meeting. Buy her dinner and her loyalty is yours,” Elliot said as he toweled off his hands and walked toward his bed.

“She’s not a stray cat! She’s your sister—the only person, well aside from Angela, that you really seem to give a shit about. What if she thinks I’m bad for you? That would be it. You’d be gone. And—”

“You’re babbling,” Elliot said, cutting me off as he crawled onto the bed, moving to sit beside me and to take my hand.

He lifted my palm to his lips and pressed a kiss there before continuing.

“This is not even in the same ballpark of the kind of daunting meet-the-parents plus the whole family thing that you did to me.”

“Fuck me,” I said, thunking my head against the wall.

“Alright,” Elliot said with a mischievous light in his eyes.  

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Not funny.”

“I seem to recall a girl who said something wildly inappropriate to me just as we pulled into her parents’ driveway.”

“That was funny.”

“No.”

You harrumphed and Elliot chuckled before pulling you close.

“I can’t keep you a secret forever. Don’t want to.”

“Adopting my lifestyle now? Elliot Alderson is climbing out of the shadows?”

“Fuck no—I still like my…mysterious persona. Keeps people at a safe distance.”

“Didn’t work on me.”

“No, you little weirdo. You were like a moth to a black flame.”

“I really was,” I said through a soft laugh. “I think I was half in love with you after the night I helped you prep for idiot Colin’s presentation.”

“And now you’re all the way in love with me?”

“For the thousandth, unrequited time, yes,” I said turning my head to smile at him.

“It’s not,” Elliot said, his face growing serious, my own smile faltering as I looked at him in the dim lighting of his apartment.

“What?” I whispered, my voice sounding like it was a million miles away.

“It’s not…unrequited. I—I love you,” Elliot said, his eyes suddenly finding a spot to look at on the bookshelf next to me.

“I love you, too,” I said, my face stretching into the biggest smile it had ever achieved.  

Elliot took a deep breath and his eyes flicked to me now that the danger had passed, relief settling over not just his face, but his entire body.

“Check something for me?”

I furrowed my brow and slowly said, “Okay. . .”

“Check outside and see if hell’s frozen over.”

I laughed and launched myself into his arms, half sitting on his lap.

I pulled back from my hug to search his face, my thumb resting on his cheek as I cupped his jaw.

“Hell doesn’t freeze over when you tell someone you love them.”

“I feel a little sick,” he said, smiling shyly up at me.

“That feeling in the pit of your stomach,” I began as I touched him there, “like everything is just too much, like you’ve just gotten out of a bathtub after having your skin scrubbed raw, that vulnerability. That’s love.”

“I’m not sure if that’s poetic or if that’s even supposed to make me feel better, but it’s pretty fucking accurate.”

“I’ve been feeling it longer, so I’m the expert.”

“You haven’t—I just haven’t been able to tell you until now.”

We looked at each other for a long, long moment and I knew he meant it. Elliot loved me. I moved all the way into his lap and straddled him.

“I want you so much, El,” I breathed. “All of you. All the time.”

“I’ll always give you as much of myself as I can—promise,” Elliot said as he closed his eyes and let me kiss him.

The kiss was as slow and as sensual as our sex; we undressed each other, took turns kissing one another from head to toe. By the time Elliot slid into my aching, wet heat, I was near tears, overwhelmed by the intensity of our now shared, raw emotion.

We came, successively breathing one another’s names over and over, and I was sure that life couldn’t get any better than this.

* * * * *

Darlene Alderson may have physically resembled her brother, beautiful face with big eyes that made me feel exposed as they traveled over my face, but that’s where their similarities ended. She was outspoken, crass, and owned any room she was in. She projected a confidence I only rarely saw in Elliot, and she also seemed to speak each thought as it popped into her mind, very unlike her brother’s labored communications.

The plan was to meet at Elliot’s apartment to watch movies and order a pizza; I asked if we should go out somewhere nice and he outright laughed.

“Darlene doesn’t really do . . . nice.”

“Everyone likes a little nice.”

“Not my sister,” he said with a hint of annoyance.

I thought he was wrong, but then again, Elliot had been right about a whole lot of things lately.

Despite asking Elliot to look into the people who hacked Colin, he hadn’t been able to find anything. I was surprised, but I knew if anyone could find something, it was him. Since he hadn’t, it made me more nervous because so far, we were the vigilante’s only target. Insider trading wasn’t something rare—if the hacker’s goal wasn’t exposure, what exactly was it?

My anxiety had been worsening since Colin’s arrest and resulted in my first full-blown panic attack in months. I woke up, sweating, certain death was imminent as my heart hammered so hard I could feel it pounding when I held a hand to my chest. I was relieved Elliot hadn’t spent the night. I didn’t want him to see how much all of this stress was affecting me.

But thankfully, Elliot continued to provide ample distraction and waiting to meet his sister made me a different kind of nervous, one that forced me to put Colin out of my mind, again.

I roamed around Elliot’s apartment, straightening things that didn’t need straightened. I had made the bed twice and was now giving it another weary eye.

“Please let me buy you a bed.”

“I can buy a bed if I want to.”

I growled and left Elliot to fuck around on his computer, not really looking at what he was doing. He usually wasn’t on it when we were together, but he said he had something to finish before Darlene got there.  

“Stop . . . fusspotting,” he mumbled without turning around and without missing a keystroke.

I stopped in my tracks and marched to stand behind Elliot’s computer chair.

“That’s what my nanny always said! She called me her little fusspot.”

“I know,” Elliot chuckled as he swiveled his chair around. “Your mom told me that. She said you’ve always been a nervous person, even as a child. And, it’s selfish, but I like it when you’re outwardly nervous—makes me feel more normal.”

Elliot scooted forward and ran his hands up my thighs, pulling me close to hug me, his head resting on my stomach as his hands cupped my ass.

I narrowed my eyes as I looked at what he was doing on the computer. It looked like he was creating a virus—

Elliot pulled open the button of my jeans with his teeth and successfully diverted my attention.

“Elliot! Your sister will be here any minute.”

“I’ll lock the door,” he said in a muffle as he started licking at the skin he had just exposed.

But it was too late for that.

The door to Elliot’s apartment flung open and Darlene came in, causing me to jump back from him so quickly I tripped and fell onto the mattress, causing Elliot to then tumble out of his computer chair.

I quickly rebuttoned my jeans and prayed to god for the mattress to open up and swallow me.

“Ew,” Darlene said, staring at the two of us.

Elliot rolled over onto his back, his sides shaking with a silent laugh until I kicked his shoulder and rolled off the bed.

I knew my cheeks were red, so I took a deep breath and gathered what respect I had left for myself and walked over to Darlene.

“Hi—sorry about that. Your brother’s a complete dick.”

Darlene grinned, and I was struck by how much she looked like Elliot when she smiled.

“Finally! Someone else gets it. I’m Darlene,” she said with a wave as she dumped her bag on Elliot’s table.

“Y/N,” you said with your own wave and embarrassed smile.

“I think you dislocated my shoulder,” Elliot said from his spot on the floor as he watched us both turn to look at him.

“Good,” Darlene and I said at the same time before looking at each other and laughing.

“Fuck. I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Elliot mumbled as he pulled himself up and back into his chair.

“Did you fix my virus?” Darlene asked as she moved past me to stand beside Elliot’s chair.

Elliot turned to look at her, clearly telling her to shut the fuck up with his eyes, but I spoke up.

“I can see it’s a virus. And you only popped the button of my jeans to distract me from looking at it.”

They both turned to look at me, twin expressions of incredulity, waiting to see what I would say next.

I crossed my arms and waited—I knew how to wait Elliot out.

“Darlene writes viruses and sells them to companies that make antivirus software.”

I raised my eyebrow, “Interesting niche.”

Darlene grinned, “We can’t all be corporate sellouts like you two.”

“Darlene,” Elliot warned.

“It’s a joke, douche,” Darlene huffed as she plopped on the bed.

“I knew this job would make you uptight—no offense, Y/N. I mean, someone’s gotta do it. Just never thought it would be my brother.”

“Do you . . . want a job? We could always use another tech.”

“No,” Elliot said, a look of horror washing over his face.

Darlene laughed and lifted her head to turn her eyes to me.

“So, you could just do that? Snap your fingers and get me a j-o-b?”

“You’re Elliot’s sister, his family. I’d do anything to help you—if you wanted it,” I added hastily.

Elliot and Darlene looked at each other, and Darlene laughed, laughed so hard a tear squeezed out from the corner of her eye.

“Elliot told me you were, like a good person or whatever, but shit. I don’t think anyone who hasn’t wanted to fuck me has ever offered to do anything that nice for me. Wait--you’re not into freaky siblin--”

“Darlene!” Elliot yelled, the vein in his neck popping.

Darlene raised her arms in a gesture of surrender and said, “Excuuuse me.”

I watched their exchange with a smirk of understanding. I did have three siblings of my own.

“Jobs aren’t exactly a scarce commodity for techs on Wall Street,” I said, crossing my arms and drawing their attention back to me.

“Just something to think about if you ever want some stability,” I added as Darlene continued to look at me like I was an alien.

“Elliot says you’re rich—”

“Fucking shut up, Darlene!” Elliot groaned, twisting his hands in his hair and standing.

“My father is rich, so yeah. I’ve never gone without,” I said with a slight head shake at Elliot’s distress.

“I’m so sorry about her,” Elliot said taking a step toward me while still glaring at Darlene who only rolled her eyes.

I chuckled, “It’s fine, El. She’s curious and clearly doesn’t beat around the bush—unlike you.”

“Ha!” Darlene said, raising her middle finger at her brother’s back.

This was . . . interesting, I thought. Not at all how I thought it was going to go, but there was something refreshing about Darlene, something childish in the same way there was something childish about Elliot—only on opposite ends of the spectrum. She had a child’s impetuousness, while Elliot had a child’s reservation. I wondered for the millionth time just what it was like growing up for the two of them because I had a feeling it was, at best, difficult. Most people shed those traits with maturity, and it was odd neither Elliot nor Darlene ever did.

I did enjoy Darlene’s assertiveness, even though I was certain it had gotten her in trouble over the years, but that’s what big brothers were for, right?

“Anything else you wanna know?” I asked as I sat on the edge of Elliot’s mattress.

“Since you both have fancy ass jobs for a fancy ass corporation, why the hell are we eating pizza in Elliot’s shithole apartment?”

“I told you,” I said looking at Elliot with a smirk.

Elliot sunk into his chair, sighing heavily before he popped the CD from his computer and tossed it to Darlene.

“Let’s go out,” I suggested. “Elliot and I had this debate before you got here, and I’m happy to say that he just lost because I was right.”

“Elliot needs a good check. He’s not always right,” Darlene said, glancing at him and giving him a smirk.

Elliot just looked at Darlene and shook his head.

“So, dinner in Midtown? Do you like seafood?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I’ll make a phone call,” I said smiling, enjoying using my privilege to impress Darlene.

I wanted her to like me; she was the only family Elliot really had, and she could be a good ally if he ever needed more than just I could give him.

“El? Do you feel like going out?”

“Does it matter?”

I looked at him and wondered if our teasing really had bothered him.

“Of course it does,” I said with a soft tone as Darlene looked between us, watching our exchange with interest.

Elliot’s eyes ran over my face, and his lips gave me a ghost of a smile.

“I guess even Darlene likes a little nice.”

“Told you,” I said before I went to retrieve my cellphone.

As I made reservations, I could hear the quiet mumble of Elliot’s voice in the background and Darlene’s much less quiet answers. When I hung up with the restaurant, I ordered an Uber.

“Uber will be here in 15 minutes. Should give us plenty of time to make our reservation.”

Both Elliot and Darlene looked up at me, that twin expression again which was starting to unnerve me a bit. Getting up from the bed, Darlene took the CD Elliot gave her and shoved it in her bag. She pulled out her phone and checked it, her thumbs moving quickly as she answered a text or an email.

Elliot turned off his computer before turning his attention to me.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said quietly as he put his hands on my waist.

“I want her to like me,” I said into his ear as I hugged him quickly.

“She does,” he whispered back, pressing a barely-there kiss to my temple.

* * * * *

Dinner was fun and easier than when it was just Elliot and I sometimes. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy quiet nights with Elliot; it was that, given what happened with Colin this week, I greatly appreciated the distraction. It was nice to get lost in Darlene’s stories, and as it turned out, there wasn’t much she wasn’t willing to share, talking almost nonstop about everything from her love life to her and Elliot’s childhood.

Elliot listened, but I could tell he wasn’t truly present. There was something about his sister that seemed to make him retreat further into himself. I wasn’t sure if it had something to do with me or if it was something to do with their childhood. After the Fourth of July, I hadn’t pressed Elliot. He seemed to be in such a good place that I didn’t want to open up a door he clearly needed to keep closed.

“Do you remember that, El?” Darlene asked.

“Hmm?” Elliot questioned, clearly not listening.

“That first time we went to the museum in Queens with Angela? The place you always ran away to?”

Elliot gave a half-convincing nod.

“Anyway, it has this really cool model of the entire city. You should check it out.”

“I’ve lived here forever and never knew it was there. I love finding spots in the city I’ve never visited.”

“We should go—all of us,” Darlene suggested, looking at her brother.

Elliot didn’t answer, which seemed to be something Darlene was used to. She gave him time, but when it became clear that was as far as she was getting, I spoke up.

“Are you busy Saturday morning-ish?”

“I keep my life pretty open to my whims,” Darlene said as she chewed her roll.

“I need to find a dress for this dinner thing next week. Do you want to come shopping with me? I could use a second opinion—and lunch would be my treat for putting up with my indecisiveness.”

“Sure,” Darlene said with a grin. “Let me get your number.”

She opened her phone and quickly created a new contact for me to enter my number. Elliot watched us with a little more interest now that Darlene wasn’t talking about their childhood.

By the end of the night, I felt like Darlene and I were on our way to becoming friends. When the Uber took us back to Elliot’s, I let them go back to his place alone to have some time, probably to talk about me.

Elliot gave me a look and a wave as he shut the door, and I could hear Darlene chastising him for not kissing me goodnight. I waved and shook my head, giving the driver my apartment’s address.

* * * * *

As it turned out, shopping with Darlene was fun. While I tended to err on the side of being reserved and polite, she was to the point, and I ended up finding a dress more quickly than usual thanks to her frank opinion.

We had lots of time before lunch to wonder through a few more boutiques and Darlene stopped to try on some sunglasses. She looked particularly cute in a pair of heart-shaped ones, and I offered to buy them for her as a thank you.

She accepted with a shrug of her shoulders and a grin, once again the complete opposite of her brother, which I told her.

“I know, right? Elliot said I get it from dad. He was never afraid to say what was on his mind.”

“Does he talk about your dad to you? Or your mom?”

“Not if he can help it. We had a pretty shit childhood. Dad died when I was 5, so I have trouble remembering him. It hurt Elliot—they were best friends. I think my mom was always kinda jealous of that and really took it out on him. Which is really funny because it only made us hate her more.”

“Is she still living?”

“Yup. But she’s in assisted living. Fuck if either one of us was going to take care of her when she started getting sick. When Elliot left for college, I counted down the days until I could get the fuck out of that house. Without him, it was depressing as shit.”

“So you two are really close?”

Darlene gave me a measured look before replying, “How long have you known Elliot?”

“Mmm, almost a year.”

“But, like, you haven’t been close until, what, like a few months ago?”

“We were pretty close at work from the start. I was one of the only people he talked to.”

“But you didn’t really hang out a lot?”

“No.”

“And, since you got close, nothing strange has happened?”

I stopped walking and turned to face Darlene.

“Strange as in . . . occasional memory loss?”

“Yes!” Darlene said, her face filling with relief. “I was fishing because I didn’t want to—you know, Elliot is the best person I know. I would do anything for him, anything to protect him the same way he’s always protected me.”

“I understand. There’s something about him that makes you want to give him a really big hug and tell him the world isn’t as shitty as he thinks it is.

“But fuck if he’ll let anyone. I mean, you’re the only real girlfriend besides Angela he’s ever had. And they had some sort of friends with benefits thing going on—she’s her own basket of freshly baked fucked up.”

I laughed, “What the hell did they put in the water where you’re from?”

Darlene chuckled and shrugged her shoulders.

“Anyway. Elliot’s had those weird blackouts since we were kids. I’m convinced it has something to do with keeping people at a distance, at least that was what it always seemed to be with us. But that shit works on your nerves and for a while Elliot and I just didn’t talk. I mean, we kept tabs on each other, but we didn’t see each other.”

“Well, I think you’re good for him. He needs people who care about him actively in his life. Being alone like he was—that’s not good for anyone.”

Darlene smiled.

“I’m glad he has you—not just because you’re rich, but you seem cool.”

“Thanks, but no worries. I come with my own, how did you put it? Basket of fresh-baked fucked up?” I asked through a laugh.

“That was a good description, huh?”

“It was. So, maybe you can help me figure out how I’m going to tell Elliot I’ve rented him a tux and he has to attend this event with me?”

Darlene threw her head back and laughed, clearly loving that her brother had just been sentenced to a night of boring horror, and we linked arms as we walked to a café around the corner for lunch, grinning as we guessed at his response.

* * * * *

I hung my new dress on the back of my closet door, making a mental note to go through my shoes to see what matched and to remember to tell Elliot he had plans on Wednesday night.

Spending the day with Darlene had been fun, but exhausting. Getting to know people was hard work, especially people as complex as the Aldersons.

Elliot had said he wanted to come over, so I left my door unlocked while I ran a bath, loading up on the bubbles.

As I watched the tub fill up, I thought that maybe I should give Elliot a key to my place. Elliot Alderson most likely wasn’t about to break up with the person he finally got the courage to tell he loved, so the gesture might be another nice piece of consistency for him (and for me).  

I stepped out of my underwear and slid into the tub, luxuriating in the warmth and the sweet scent of coconuts. I had almost fallen asleep when there was a soft knock on my door before Elliot pushed his way into the bathroom.

He gave me a soft smile and took a seat on the edge of the tub.

“So you do use this thing?”

“Everyone loves a good soak in the tub.”

I paused, then seductively asked, “Want to join me?”

“No,” Elliot said flatly, making me laugh. He was such an atypical man that it was refreshing at times.

“That’s okay—I’m wiped. Your sister is exhausting. She has more energy than a child.”

Elliot nodded, his eyes incredibly focused on my face.

“I like her, though. I want to spend more time with her.”

“I’m glad,” Elliot said with relief. “I wasn’t sure if she’d be too much for you. She’s too much for me sometimes.”

“She loves you, El. So much. It’s sweet.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, a) she’s your sister,” I said, sitting up a bit and shaking off my sleep. “And b) she said you were the best person she’s ever known. I’d say that means she loves you.”

“I really don’t deserve that. I’ve done some shitty things to her.”

“Haven’t we all? I mean, to our siblings. Erin told you all about the epic chip battle of 1996.”

Elliot snorted, “I hardly think that counts.”

“I was being funny. We weren’t about to rehash the time she fucked my prom date in our limo the first time you met the family.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Erin was evil to me throughout high school. Granted, she was addicted to pills and to boys—she was six shades of fucked up.”

“What—why?”

“Two excellent questions, both with pretty blasé explanations. She got in with the wrong crowd, loved the attention, and just got sucked into that shitty world. It took years of therapy, and she was in and out of rehab until she finally found a purpose. She’s one of the lucky ones—so many addicts can’t find their way back once they take their first hit.”

“Wow. Never would’ve guess that.”

“You didn’t hack them, did you?”

“What?”

“Don’t sound so surprised—I trust you, El, however, I didn’t define all the grey areas, did I?”

“Not really—but I just assumed the whole ask, don’t hack applied to everyone in your life.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

“Is there something you want to ask me?”

“No,” I said a little confused. “Should there be something I should be asking you?”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Beside the front door, there’s a ring of keys on the very last hook closest to the wall. Bring them to me?”

Elliot got up without saying a word and returned a minute later, the keys jangling as he walked. He handed them to me, and I shook the bubbles off my hand before I searched for my apartment key and wriggled it off the keyring.

“Here you go,” I said, holding the little silver key out to Elliot who now looked like he had a mouth full of peanut butter.

“Huh?” he asked, his mouth barely parting.

“I want you to be able to come and go as you please—and it also means I don’t have to get up to answer the door anymore, or leave it unlocked if I know you’re coming over at some point in the evening. It’s a gift of convenience.”

“Are you . . . sure?”

“It’s just a key to my apartment, El. Not an invitation to our wedding,” I finished as I closed my eyes and didn’t bother to hide the smirk on my face. I could practically hear the pistons misfiring in his brain at the mention of a wedding.

“Thanks,” came his cautious, quiet reply.

I nodded my head, not bothering to open my eyes as I let the warmth of the water envelop me again.

[dreamddana]

Recovery (EUNWOO)

Cha Eunwoo x Reader

POV: 3rd Person

Category: Fluff, Angst

Summary: Reader (Y/N) is a secret agent assigned to work undercover as an intern to gather information about the sketchy forensic science team that collects data for the police department. She gets to be mentored by the head scientist-detective, Cha Eunwoo. 

“We’ll leave you with the team for about 6 months. Here’s your personal data, inside includes everything that makes up your undercover persona.” Chief says, handing me a brown envelope. “You’ll be an intern, we’ve submitted your records to the facility and they’re expecting you today. Hopefully, you’ll be taken care of well there. Try to find out as much as you can about the team and their head scientist.” He goes on explaining to you what you can’t and can do. 

No giving away your real identity. No sharing of classified information. No falling in-love. No secret ties. No unfulfillable promises to anyone. Basically don’t be stupid. In 6 months, gather as much information about the team. Try to get hands-on with their projects. Report everything at the end of the week.

You, dressed work formal in a suit, get out of the car and walk into the precinct. You’re greeted by a tall, dark-haired man in a sweater with files and a cup of cofffee. Casual? He holds the door open for you as he reads a sheet of paper in his hands. He then scurries away. 

“You must be Althea Venn, the forensic intern.” A middle-aged man greets you. 

Name: Althea Maybelline Venn

“Yes! Good morning.” You smile. 

The man smile back. “My name is Miles, the head of the forensic department. I’ll be your boss.” Is he the target? “I’m not sure if the entire team is there yet since it’s only 7:30, usually they arrive around 8.” He says, with his hand on his chin, as if he was thinking. “But I think Eunwoo is there already, he’s always early.” He laughs and asks you to follow him to the office. 

You take the elevator to the top floor and then the stairs going up. “We like to keep the lab and office upstairs where its open and free so it doesn’t make the entire building stuffy.” He explains. You both arrive at the room top and walk to a room with pretty high ceilings. The room was full of test tubes, machines and sciencey stuff. 

“So, Althea, this is the forensic lab and office, its where-” He gets cut off by his phone ringing. “Hold on, I have to take this.” He excuses himself and leaves the room to take the call.

You take a look around, scanning the room for all the evidence, open files, prints and samples you could find. An open folder catches you eye. You walk toward it, and take a glance. 

“Excuse me?” You hear a male voice say. You’re caught off guard and stand up straight right away to greet the man. “What are you-” He stops talking, then continues to say “Oh, you’re the girl from earlier at the entrance.” He says. He walks toward a desk to put his coffee down then proceeds to you where he finds the open file. “Snooping on files?” He interrogates you.

You’re at a loss for words.

He laughs, breaking his straight face. “Bet you thought you were in trouble.” He says, sliding the files toward him and taking a look at them. “I think these are a copy of your data actually.” You give him a puzzled look. “Althea?” 

You two sit down by a desk. He opens the folder of paper with all your fake information on it. “You’re the new intern, huh? Do you have any idea what we do here?” He asks. You shake your head. He lets out a light scuff. “Well, Althea, I’m Eunwoo, the head of the forensics team. I’ll be guiding you through everything we do.” He smiles, closing the folder.

“Eunwoo?” You repeat. He nods his head. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” You say.

“Oh, no need for formal credentials. We’re all pretty chill and casual here.” He says. “Which is why I didn’t think much of you when I saw you earlier. I thought you were a new detective cause you were wearing a suit.” He chuckles. “I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team when they arrive, but for now, you can just relax. I’ll just test a few samples.” He says, standing from his chair and walking toward the lab area.

You take a glance around the room and then immediately snap yourself back into the reality that you’re on a mission. Miles comes back into the room. He looks at you then at Eunwoo who was busy working, gives you a thumbs-up and leaves once again.

“Althea.” Eunwoo calls out. Yeah, you forgot that was you. “Hello? Earth to Althea?” He says, trying to catch your attention. When you finally snap into your senses and stand up and ask what he needs. He laughs, “Could you check the pile of folders on my desk for someone named Jason Dean?” 

You run through about 4 folders before you find Jason Dean’s file. You take it to Eunwoo. And he explains to you how the blood found on a piece of evidence matched with Dean. 

“See, since he’s an old criminal, we already have his file.” He says. “This case we’re testing on is another homicide. And they he’s a suspect because they found his car about 7 feet away from where the victim was found deceased.” You try your best to understand the information. “So, since his blood was found, he’s one of the top suspects.”

“If you hadn’t found that evidence, would he still be a suspect?” You ask. “What if he was just around the area?” You continue, as if you were defending him. 

Eunwoo chuckles. “You really are something. Defending an ex-convict.” He says while trying pour a chemical into the blood sample. Before you could defend yourself, he drops the tube and it spills on the counter. 

You take a cloth from the other side of the counter and motion to wipe it off. He grabs yous arm before you got to close. “Don’t touch it.” He says, sounding concerned. “It might give you a chemical burn.” He takes the cloth from you and wipes all the liquid off. He was wearing gloves. 

After, he tries to pick up all the glass that shattered. “Learn from me, focus on whatever you’re doing.” He laughs lightly. You help him pick up the glass, and you feel a sharp pain in your hand. You lightly groan and look down to see the glass sticking out of your hand. 

Eunwoo looks at you and asks you to sit down. He comes back carrying a first aid-kit. He brings out a pair of tweezers and carefully extracts the glass from your hand. “You should be more careful.” He says sounding really concern. 

“Sorry.” He looks at you and shakes his head, saying “No, don’t be sorry.”

After cleaning the wound, he puts a minions-designed band-aid on it. 

“Really? Minions?” You laugh.

“Hey, minions are like the best thing ever.” He defends his love for minions, making you laugh even more. 

He looks at you as you laugh your ass off. 

It was lunch time. You were sat down by the desk after the accident until Eunwoo asked you to read up on a certain case and review the pieces of evidence that was gathered. 

“I’ll just finish transferring these and we can have lunch, alright?” Eunwoo says, continuing to work with chemicals. “Alright.” You tell him.

As soon as he finished, he takes his surgical gloves off and tosses them in the trash. “Lets go.” He says, grabbing his phone and wallet and proceeding outside. You follow him.

As you both walk downstairs, he checks his phone and sighs. “The rest of the team isn’t going today.”

“Why not?

“It was Friday yesterday, they probably went out drinking again.”

“You don’t drink?”

“I do, with the right people.”

“What does that mean?”

“They’re a little to wild for me.” He chuckles in embarrassment.

“What did you do last night?” You put emphasis on you. “Read?” 

He stays silent and you burst into laughter.

“My mentor is middle aged mom.” You tease. And he just goes along and laughs with you.

You then arrive at a burger place, shake shack. You both order shackburger and cola. 

“So tell me about yourself.” Eunwoo says, munching on his burger.

“You have my data files, you should know everything about me.” You smirk.

“To be fair, all that includes is your basic information, background of study, list of certifications and achievements and the letter saying why you think you should be allowed to intern with us.” He explains.

“That’s my entire life.” You laugh, and he rolls his eyes on you. “Alright well what do you want to know?” You ask, then take a bite off your burger.

“I don’t know really.” He says, scratching the back of his neck. “How about just who you are in general?” 

“My name is Althea Maybelline. I’m 23. I was able to rent out a studio apartment a few blocks away from the precinct. I’m very broke but I the guys who got me the internship give me a weekly allowance.” You tell him. He would nod after everything you said and look as if he was paying attention to you. “I really want to go around the city, I used to live in the UK so this is all pretty new.” You say with excitement in your eyes.

He would look at you with all attentiveness as you spoke.

You continue to tell him about how interested you are in learning so much more now that you’re here.

It had been awhile since someone actually listened to me, you thought.

“How about you tell me bout yourself?” You ask.

“Oh.” He almost coughs on his burger, making you giggle.

Your giggle makes him smile a little.

“Well, for starters, I’m Korean. I’m turning 25 in a few weeks. I live in a house also a couple of blocks away, with my baby cousin; her parents are abroad so I took her in.” He says, picking some fries. “I have pet fish.” He says, really excited and enthusiastically, which you giggle at.

“Stop laughing at me.” He says, laughing as well. “Anyway,” He continues. I usually get out of work early to pick my cousin up, but recently she’s been wanting to go home on her own.” He says as he looks out the window. “She’s growing up so fast, I can’t help but feel a little sad about it.” He says, smiling and shaking his head. He looks at you and catches you staring at him with bright eyes, so invested in his whole being. You both look away, and he breaks the awkwardness by asking you about your family

“When my parents split up, they went separate ways, making their own families and I guess they forgot about me. I worked most of the time while I was in high school and college, eventually graduating with honors. Then they contacted me and asked me to do things like this.” You say and then flinch and clear up, saying “internships and such.”

“Woah, I’m with a pretty cool girl.” He says, smiling at you.

“I’m nothing special.” You laugh.

“Whatever you say” He joins you laughing.

-

thats it for now!! ill update this again soon! hope you enjoyed :>

[spnsimpleman]

With a wink and a smile.

Part two of Anon request series- Unknown gang daughter.  

With the strike of a match Part one of the series- read this first! 

Dean x unknown Daughter, Sam x unknown niece, badass!winchester Reader- is this a thing? Because it should be.

Word Count: 2195

Way down we go- Kaleo

Dean glared at the flickering light over the front door of the police station as he walked up the crumbling front stairs. Sam beat him to the door and held it open watching his brother scan everything with the same frown he gave the stairs. 

“Certainly not up to code, right? No way that can be safe.”

Sam’s brow rose but Dean didn’t seem to need a response as he strode toward the front desk where the only officer in the room stood with his head down writing on something. They pulled out their badges before reaching the desk clerk but the officer didn’t look up from the form in front of him. 

Dean thrust his badge onto the form, shoving the officer’s pen off the page. “Agents Collins and Gabriel. We need to speak to the officer who put out the APB on the suspected arson from yesterday,” Dean practically growled and Sam glanced at him.

The officer’s frown only deepened while glancing at the two badges, “I don’t believe we called in the feds.”

Sam opened his mouth to bring the hostility down a notch but Dean was already racing ahead, “what did you think would happen when someone in your department tacks on one of our most wanted members on that APB, huh, officer…” Dean leaned forward and squinted at the nameplate on his chest, “Simmons?”

The officer pulled back, his confusion hidden quickly behind a mask of indifference, “Detective Briggs can help you. Gutierrez already went home for the night.” He stepped back, turned, and walked through a door behind him.

Dean didn’t bother to wait, going around the desk and heading for the door once it swung shut. Sam grabbed his arm, “we want them to cooperate, what is up with you?”

“What? You’re the one who said this kid needed our help.”

Sam’s brow shot up, “and pissing these people off is going to help?”

Dean sighed, “I’m tired and I want to get this over with. This kid is not going to want anything to do with us and I don’t know what the hell you want me to do.”

Sam looked up at the ceiling, his jaw clenching for a moment before he looked back to his brother. “Take it down a notch and let’s see if we can actually get some real information from these people. At least, see if this girl is just being pigeoned holed or if it’s something else? Is that too hard for you?”

Dean scoffed, stepping toward the door again but froze when it opened and a female detective walked out in a wrinkled pantsuit that flattered not only her dark skin but also her figure. She glanced between the two of them lacking the attitude the desk officer held and Dean grinned. She gave them a tired smile and held out her hand, “Collins and Gabriel?” Dean shook her hand and Sam followed, “sorry fellas, but she was just released. I wasn’t aware there was a high-level target on the girl’s record.”

Sam coughed, “well, not quite a high level, but we get notified when things like that pop. We were in the area so our supervisor wanted us to check it out.”

“I thought all her guardians were deceased, well, besides the foster home she fled?”

“Those Winchesters have surprised us before. Could be relatives to this girl, can never be too sure,” Dean smiled and relaxed, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Sam kept his annoyance under his false smile, “anyway, what are your thoughts on this girl? She’s got quite the record.”

She looked at Dean first then Sam before sighing and crossing her arms over her chest, “honestly, I think the APB was thrown out a little quick on this. My personal belief is that girl might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that’s what happens when things get too close to a certain part of town and there’s any kind of tie to one of the gangs. I’m sure you know how it is in cities like this. Overworked and underpaid but the city still wants quick results when it comes too close to a certain side of town.”

Dean nodded with raised brows, “oh, we know.” She chuckled and Sam rolled his eyes.

Sam tried to give Dean a cool it look but his brother didn’t take his eyes off the detective, “Detective Briggs, do you mind if I ask how long you’ve worked here?”

She tore her gaze away from Dean and gave Sam a small nod, “I transferred two years ago. The chief has been trying to pull in new officers for the past five years. Ever since the budget cuts started. He thought getting some fresh eyes in here might help with these kinds of things. You get officers that jump the gun and just want to get some of the cases closed and out of the way.”

“And that’s what you think happened here?”

She glanced over her shoulder and thought for a moment before meeting his gaze again, “some of these street kids just need an advocate, you know? The young ones are told to take the fall for something so the real aggressors aren’t taken out of the game and youngin’s don’t get as much time but that kinda thing stays with them. The gangs don’t care and these kids fall through the cracks. Was that girl in the area of that fire? Yes. The ash was all over her. Was she the one who started it? I don’t know but I can guarantee you this wasn’t her idea. She sat there for hours and I didn’t see a guilty kid, I saw a girl who’s been blamed for things so many times she’s just waiting to be charged and done with it. My partner didn’t feel the same and tried to get her to pin it on her boss. I’m not a fan of sending a kid in to do a cop’s job.”

“She’s twenty years old,” Dean said, his disbelief clear.

“Did you know exactly who you were at twenty years old? This girl has been in foster care since she was twelve and on the streets since she was sixteen. She’s been pushed around by who knows how many people who were supposed to take care of her.”

“You seem pretty intent on protecting this girl,” Sam wondered aloud.

She searched Sam’s face for something and then nodded, satisfied at whatever it was she found, “I believe in innocent until proven guilty. I grew up in a city like this not too far from here where that wasn’t the case with most. I also take the time to look deeper before I slap a charge on a kid. She got her first arrest less than a year after being shuffled into this side of the city before then she was an ace student living with her mother and stepfather without a single issue on her record. But that’s just me.”

She walked around Dean and leaned back against the desk, “my partner, on the other hand, thinks she’s an ace student that turned into a criminal mastermind. He’s been around longer and has arrested her before. The gangs do like to get them young and train them to be exactly what they want them to be.” She shrugged, “either one of us could be right.”

Sam caught Dean’s frown at the same time his phone vibrated in his pocket. He gave the detective a nod, “thank you for your time, Detective Briggs.”

She smiled and turned to Dean who held out his hand to shake hers again. Sam walked away and had already gotten back to the car, pulled out his laptop, and turned it on by the time Dean made it outside.

Dean looked over at the screen, “what is it?”

“Thanks to Charlie, I’m looking at your daughter’s arrests. We’re going to check out some of these spots and see if we can find her.”

Dean was looking around with wide eyes, “you wanna keep that down. Sheri seems to have a damn good handle on the whole protecting the innocent thing.”

Sam paused and turned to his brother, “Sheri?”

“What?” He smirked, “she also said she’d keep us up to date on the case.”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to his laptop, “we’re splitting these up and we’re going to talk to her before we leave. A few of these places they arrested her for loitering. Probably hoping to catch her on possession or distribution but she’s smart even if she was running with the wrong crowd.”

Dean snorted, “like we’re the right crowd?”

“Better than this.” He waved at the screen filled with her arrest records.

Dean shook his head, “whatever you say, Sammy. Let’s get this over with, I’m starving.”

~~

Dean walked down dirty streets glancing into alleyways as he passed trying to imagine a girl from a good home being thrown out here. What if he and Sammy lost everything in the fire and got thrown into a place like this? He always felt more at ease hunting than trying to do the normal thing. Wouldn’t be that far of a stretch to imagine doing the same things with a gang. Except for drugs and killing people.

He shook his head. What did he know? Maybe he’d see other people as monsters if he grew up around crazy adults that taught him to see it that way.

Who the hell was he to judge anybody?

A dark-skinned boy glared at him from a relaxed stance against a light pole up ahead. The kid couldn’t be older than sixteen. Dean nodded as he passed him.

The kid sneered, “keep moving, old man.”

He shook his head and continued forward. That kid was too young to be out here but Sheri’s words played again in his head. He imagined the girl from the APB picture leaning there, doing the same thing. That girl wouldn’t want anything to do with him. What the hell was he supposed to say?

Hey, I’m the dude from that arrest record. The one they tacked on to make you appear worse. Sorry. Life sucks, right?

He shook the image away and cursed himself for allowing Sam to guilt trip him. Familiar sounds of a scuffle came from the next alley up and he slowed down until he stopped in the mouth of it.

A big guy on top of a girl on the ground, obviously trying to pull at her pants. Dean stepped into the alley, the shout on the tip of his tongue when he froze. She lashed out and moved away so fast, the man’s cry easy to assume she used more than just her fist. Words were exchanged but he couldn’t hear them, he moved further into the alley then the man was jumping on her again but his shriek this time is louder. The man fumbled back and she said something he couldn’t hear over the adrenaline rushing through him.

She turned toward him and started walking.

“That’s right! Walk away, bitch,” the man on the ground shouted.

“What a dumbass,” Dean murmured but still didn’t make a move. She was facing him but he wasn’t sure she could see him. Not with all these burned out lights and nothing but some murky light coming from the other end of the alley.

She turned and moved back to the guy on the ground speaking low enough again that he couldn’t make out the words. She stomped her foot and swung her leg at him but it didn’t look like her foot connected. The guy howled but something was wrong about it.

A shiver ran down Dean’s spine.

She turned and walked away from the guy, nothing stopping her this time.

As she closed in on Dean, some of the light coming from a window smudged with dirt and grease from his side of the alley bathed her face and he stiffened. She looked him up and down, a scowl quickly covered by nonchalance. “Don’t stare, old man. It’s not polite.” Then with a smirk, she winked, “oh and pro tip, around here that’ll get you gutted.”

She sauntered away and Dean pulled out his phone, stabbed the speed dial number he needed, and brought it to his ear as he turned around and stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk.

“You find anything?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, and I don’t think that picture idea is a good one anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Flashing her picture… you were right. Maybe not because of…”

“What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t think she needs our help, Sammy. This… woman can take care of herself.”

“That doesn’t mean she has to. I’m not leaving here until we talk to her.”

Dean glanced down the street and caught a glimpse of her under a barely surviving street light. “I might be able to follow her. Head down towards fifteenth. She’s passing a flickering light post on twelfth now. I’ll text any changes in direction.”

Part Three- With a flick of my blade.

Taglist: I see you! @thefaithfulwriter , @dalia-artistik , @justkending