#i went in totally blind which is atypical for me

[agirlking]

Stumbled my way into 'Everyone Lives' in the casting of Frank Stone!

[imagine-loki]

It was his idea

TITLE: It was his idea

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.

 +

i’d love an imagine where Loki turns someone looking for him into a long and convoluted game of marco polo or something

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I told y'all that prompt was giving me ideas. And now look at where it’s landed us! Face-first into a load of fluff! Sickly sweet fluff! Warnings of language and very soft Loki. Related to I signed up for this & I signed up for this, too.

=

Loki prided himself on his responsibility. Whenever he committed to something, he saw it through to the very end. It was a point of pride and he would be damned if, living on Midgard, he would let go of one of the fundamental traits that made him, him. So, when Stark had mentioned a reduction of his total workload, including the disappearance of a certain name on his roster, he did what every responsible, principled adult would do… he pretended not to have been informed.

And it wasn’t like that person had complained or made absolutely any mention regarding his continued presence. In fact, they often made plans with each other–books they want to read together, albums to listen to, meals to prepare together. It wasn’t his fault. It just made him atypically nervous to think of her alone in her apartment, clumsy and lonely. And, no, this was not some silly sentimentality… he was just fulfilling his promise. He just had a conscience. Wasn’t that the very reason he had been sentenced to this stupid little experiment?

Loki took the steps up to Charlie’s apartment by twos, his long legs easily climbing up to the fifth floor with an ease that belied his centuries of training. He could have used the elevator, he knew, but there was something incredibly awkward about being stuck with someone else in the small metal box for what seemed like an eternity (though he knew the trip was barely a paltry few seconds). He would very much rather just take the stairs. He needed the exercise after all the lounging he had been doing lately, anyway.

The front door was unlocked, as usual, despite Loki’s many warnings that it was unsafe for her to do so. Not that Charlie ever listened to more than half of what he said. She was a dear and seemed to like him well enough, but he would be lying if he said that she tended not to put a whole lot of weight behind his words of warning. Especially when those words of warning were mocked back in a perfect imitation to his own accent and cadence. He should have found her attitude irritating–she was obstinate. Like a mule. A very, very cross mule. It made him smile.

However, there was no way he could, in good conscience, just let her mock him. At least not without the littlest bit of payback. Loki had decided quite a few weeks ago that if she was not going to listen to what he said, he wasn’t going to talk, at all. Not in any significant manner, anyway. Not until she was forced to listen. He couldn’t decide if he was being brilliant or cruel, if he was honest. He hadn’t just brought this idea up on a whim. In fact, he would be ashamed to say how many books and research articles he had devoured on the use of similar techniques. Still, he was so taken by her cautious precision and reluctantly excited intensity that it was difficult to give the negatives any thought, even when she got annoyed.

Silent as the night, he slipped through the front door and closed it behind him. Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a glass of water. Nothing in her demeanor betrayed that she had heard Loki come in. In fact, she was perfectly content to hum to herself while she drank, seemingly waiting for that same Asgardian to arrive. Loki smiled to himself, putting his bag down and clasping his hands behind his back as he tiptoed around her to the living room.

Charlie bristled, sitting up straight after being slouched the entire time he’d been watching her. “Loki?” Her body shifted left and right and tilted her head, as if she would be able to see where Loki had gone off to, if she could even tell he was there. “I can smell your soap. You might as well have taken a soak in a pine tree smoothie.”

So, maybe she could tell he was there.

Her fingers itched at her scalp, a nervous fidget that Loki found her doing quite often. It left her plentiful curls all the more mussed and wild than what they usually were, though he found it quite cute. He noted that her locks were still slightly damp from an earlier shower, to which he tacked on the blame for the smell of sweet oranges floating in the air. Another fidget brought him to smile, especially now that Charlie was barely holding on to that annoyed groan rumbling at the back of her throat.

Charlie grit her teeth exceptionally tight and her eyes fell closed in irritation. “Marco.”

Loki snorted immediately. “Polo.”

“I fucking hate you. This has to be mistreatment.” He smiled, though he said nothing in response. Charlie seemed conflicted between throwing something in the general vicinity of where she thought he was and actually playing his game.

Focus, Charlie. Don’t rush, Charlie. You know there’s a chair there, Charlie.

His words rattled noisily inside her head, despite her best efforts to be rid of them. They were well-intentioned, as was this whole stupid game. She was just astoundingly bad at it. Half the time Loki had to remind her of the furniture that was in her own apartment, even though she navigated it just fine when she was on her own. The demigod riled her up in such a way that she often tripped and cut corners, until she inevitably ended up on the floor. Having to admit that he was right and that she did jump the gun whenever he was in her abode was more irritating than the game of cat and mouse he had concocted. And that’s not even admitting that this foray into sound sensitivity had improved her accuracy of every day tasks a considerable amount. 

“Marco.” She slid out of her seat and readied herself to follow the voice.

“Polo.”

He sounded further away than he had a moment ago, and Charlie swallowed the urge to scream. “Marco.” A whisper of a touch ran across her shoulders, over the skin exposed by her dress. She shuddered against the feeling and turned on a dime, eagerly pawing at the air and coming up empty.

“Polo.”

He sounded like he was in the kitchen now. Turning back around, she stepped lively towards his voice. While her mind was quick to pinpoint the exact location where she knew Loki was now standing, it seemed so focused on its task that it failed to remind her of the possible obstacles in her path. Several steps in, and her progress was halted by the tangle of her legs with something on her way. Her brain went into fuzzy panic as her feet flew out from under her and there was nothing to do but brace for the inevitable impact.

The breath got knocked out of her. Not by the floor, but by a sudden jolt in her momentum.

“I’ve got you, dove. Never fear,” he murmured into her hair as she clung to his shoulders like a lifeline.

“I hate you,” she repeated, though the phrase lacked conviction. Because it never mattered how many times she would trip and fall, he was almost always ready for a save.

“And, yet, you’re still holding onto me.” He was right. He had set her on her feet, but Charlie’s fists remained tangled in the fabric of his soft cotton t-shirt.

“Because the second I let you go you’re gonna start with the Marco Polo shit again,” she huffed. “Echolocation is clearly not for everyone.”

A second later she pressed her forehead into his chest and sagged into him. Loki chuckled under his breath and held her loosely to himself. She was warm and smelled like an orange grove and it distracted him long enough that he could quickly shove away the voice in the back of his head trying to guilt him. He was a monster. He couldn’t fix this. This would never be enough. On occasion he still wholeheartedly agreed, but maybe that was OK, to be that imperfect.

“What did you trip over?” He quizzed in an attempt to reign in his thoughts.

“The credenza. Again.”

“You know where everything is, Charlotte. Don't–”

“Rush to get to anything or you’ll forget in your haste,” she finished, imitating his cadence and accent perfectly. He laughed again and gave her a squeeze.

“If you spent half as long getting a sense of your surroundings as you do practicing that voice, you’d be crime-fighting through the city streets by now.”

“Color me uninterested, demigod.” The crisp, precision of her vowels prompted him to roll his eyes. “I can hear you rolling your eyes.”

“Me? Roll my eyes? Blasphemy,” he joked. Loki released her somewhat reluctantly, allowing Charlie to settle back in her seat at the kitchen table and himself a quick moment to survey her.

Charlie was wearing a flowy, canary yellow sundress, her feet bare as they swung back and forth beneath her seat. Despite her grumbly attitude, she looked bright–just short of incandescent–and it nearly hurt to watch her. Another set of voices, different from the first popped into his head, but these he promptly squashed and disposed of into the abyss before he could give them any mind. They, too, were distracted by the contrast of colors between her skin and clothes, and the flouncy ruffle at the bottom of her skirt. She looked pretty and he decided just then and there that it would be a waste for it to stay within those four walls.

“Let’s take a walk.” He dipped silently into her bedroom, grabbed a pair of sandals out of her closet, and dropped them into her lap with a pat on the head.

“And go where, exactly?”

“The park would be nice. We can grab some ice cream and–”

“And, what? Enjoy the greenery?” The sarcasm accompanying her smirk made him proud and exasperated in equal measure.

Loki sighed. “You haven’t been outside in a month. And last time it was to see, and I quote, that fucking fool of a neuro-ophthalmologist.” He kneeled on the floor in front of her. “Come on. Let’s get some sun, stretch our legs.” His fingers drummed on her knees, while he stared hopefully up at her face. Charlie frowned.

“You’re aware that I physically can’t see whatever stupid puppy dog face you’re making at me, right?” Her hazel eyes had still zeroed in on him in, regardless, when his hands caught hers on her lap.

Though his cheeks were now burning and his brain berated him for letting that detail, the whole reason he was here in the first place, momentarily slip past him. “Please.”

“Hard pass, buddy.” Loki sighed, getting back to his feet. Even though Charlie was all-in-all in a better place emotionally, he knew that she struggled with being out among people. More often than not, she would get overwhelmed by the ambient noises of the city, which at one point in her life had lulled her to sleep. She also complained about the fact that she could feel people’s gazes on her every time she stopped at a crosswalk or walked around a store. She said they felt heavy and awkward, though as often as Loki caught himself simply staring at the young woman, he wondered whether or not she was just picking up on his own brooding intensity.

He pressed a kiss to her crown before going entirely silent. Charlie groaned knowing exactly where this was going. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Her hands swiped in front of her, closing around empty air. “Ugh, Loki!” There was more silence. Muttering under her breath, she slipped on her sandals. “Marco.”

“Polo.” His voice carried the richness of laughter that Charlie would be more than happy to slap out of his system if it weren’t for the fact that she couldn’t physically find him.

Charlie stomped her feet. “You know, I can just stay inside, right? I don’t have to hang out with you.”

Loki shrugged, leaning against the open doorway. “Then, don’t.” She was glaring in his direction, arms crossed over her chest. After a moment, her shoulders slumped, the thought that he had actually left crossing her mind.

“L-loki?” Charlie’s voice was barely above a whisper and the little notch that formed between her brows when she was concerned, deepened. “Lo?” He forced himself to breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling as loudly as he could to tip her off, and her body immediately relaxed. “Marco.” Her voice was still small.

“Polo, darling.” She rolled her eyes and made her way towards the door. “Mind your fingers,” he remarked as he closed the door behind them. “Come along. Stay close.” He narrowly avoided her hands when she reached out to grab him. “Just listen and you’ll be alright.”

Charlie whined and pouted. “Yeah, until I walk into oncoming traffic because I can’t hear you over the sound of cars.”

“Have I ever allowed you to come to harm?” Charlie reluctantly shook her head. “I promise I will make sure you don’t get mowed down by traffic. I just don’t want anyone to think I’ve abducted you from your home.”

“Why would they think that?”

Loki chuckled. “I’ll give you a second to remember who I am, Charlotte.”

Charlie smirked. “Oh. Right. Alien attack. Enslaving humanity. That rings a bell.”

“Funny. You’re very funny,” he quipped, deadpan. He quietly walked backwards towards the elevators. “First one’s free. Polo.”

—

“M-marco?” Charlie wobbled over a dip in the grass. An arm swept around her waist and pulled her off her feet, carrying her easily across a distance she could not quite estimate.

Loki tutted under his breath. “I would think you would put up a little more of a fight when someone suddenly carries you off.”

“You smell like a Christmas tree,” she explained simply, sinking easily onto the soft grass she was set down on. Something cold was shoved into her hands and she frowned. “When did you stop for ice cream?”

“You truly do not pay a lick of attention when people are around, do you?”

Charlie giggled, licking her ice cream cone, happy to find a rich chocolate custard on her tongue. The sun was glinting off of her tanned skin and her eyelashes cast shadows over her cheekbones. The combination of the light and her dress made her seem like she was glowing. Loki shook his head, ridding his brain of those uncalled for thoughts as if he were one of those damn mortal drawing toys Stark called an Etch-A-Sketch. However, her second giggle in as many minutes proved more than effective at distracting him.

“What ever are you laughing about, Miss Camden?” He leaned forward and caught an errant smudge of chocolate on her cheek with his thumb.

“You’re an idiot.”

Loki guffawed. “You’ve awful manners, you know.” He bit down on his frozen strawberry bar to give himself time. “No, really. What are you laughing at?”

“It’s not people.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

“That makes even less sense than your snickering.”

“You say I don’t pay attention when people are around. That’s not true. It’s not people. It’s you.” Loki’s heart stuttered so hard he dropped his treat. Charlie laughed again, throwing her head back as her shoulders shook. Her arm held her cone out in his direction. “Come on, I can hear the despair in your soul. And the thud of a popsicle. I know the sound well.” He bent to catch a drip off the side of the cone at the same time she gestured again. Another fit of giggles overcame her. “I swear all that wasn’t on purpose.”

“Yes, of course, it wasn’t,” he grumbled wiping away at the mess of chocolate on his face with the hem of his shirt.

“You know I can’t tell when you’re close, Marco.”

“Polo,” he replied, reflexively, sparking another giggle. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious. You’re just frazzled.” She took another lick, bouncing excitedly in place. “I would pay a hefty sum just for a peek at, y'know, all that deer in the headlights action,” she trailed off, gesturing at her face with her free hand. Fingers wrapped around that same hand, giving her a startle. The soft fabric of a handkerchief was wiping at her digits before dabbing at the very corner of her mouth.

“You’re a mess,” he whispered, touch lingering on her face far after her skin was clean.

“Loki…” His name in such a delicate, innocuous tone fascinated him more than any mystery anyone else could spin.

Loki shuffled closer, swallowing thickly. “Yes?”

“I have ice cream dripping down my hand. I kinda need to deal with it,” she replied, smirking. He released her all at once and watched as she tidied up her cone with an easy smile, though he himself was fighting the urge to scream in sweet, aching frustration. When Charlie offered her cone again, he held her hand steady as he had a taste to appease her insistence. However, the pit in his stomach that had opened up a few minutes prior did not allow him to have much more than that. “I’ve known you for eight months. Is it that incredibly surprising that I enjoy your company or, what?”

“Enough to purportedly have you zone out or trip over things? A little,” he admitted. Charlie shifted just enough to lean into his side, pointedly ignoring the gentle shudder that ran through him and echoed through her. He was extremely grateful for the fact that she seemed to be more concerned with whittling down her ice cream than with his suddenly anxious disposition. He channeled the anxiety into doting concern and let it bubble over. “Are you alright? Not too hot? Maybe I should have brought an umbrella to block away the sun–and you’re laughing again.”

“It’s not malicious.” She pinned her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from another laugh.

He shook his head good-humoredly, with a secret smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know.” His index finger wrapped around a corkscrew-like curl. “You don’t have a single malicious bone in your body.”

“You don’t know that. I might be really mean,” she riposted.

Loki chuckled. “I merely have a feeling.” He tugged the curl and watched it bounce back before he picked another to repeat the process. “Do you want to go back home?” He asked, now worried about pushing her too far, too fast.

“We can stay a little longer. I’m enjoying myself.”

“I’m glad,” he muttered against her temple before kissing her there. He flushed. Loki knew the affectionate gesture had become a bad habit, as of late, but he justified it as an innocent token–a non-verbal reminder that he cared for her. For her wellbeing, his mind hastened to add.

The phone in her pocket buzzed insistently and he bit back a groan. Of course Stark would find a way to ruin even this. He pulled the device out as Charlie crunched on her cone with a ghost of a smile still lingering on her face. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m, er, at the park.”

“I know you’re at the park. I’m asking what you’re doing.” Loki frowned, turning his head this way and that to find where the billionaire was watching from. “Left.” In the distance, Tony and Pepper both waved at Loki. Pepper seemed to have been trying to suppress laughter while Tony was favoring a half-hearted glare. “I thought I told you Charlie switched off of the chores service.”

OK, so perhaps Loki did a little more than pretend he was not informed of his schedule changes. Like, actively ignore the whole conversation, altogether. Loki could barely make out Pepper saying “chores? Is that what they call it these days?” beside Tony, over the line.

“Yes, you said.”

“Is that Tony? Is he mad because I’m enabling you in playing hooky?” She asked, brushing crumbs off of her face with the cleaner hand.

“I guess he is–wait, you knew I was…? Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, ignoring Tony’s complaints coming over the line.

Charlie’s empty gaze seemed to stare at him for a long moment before she pinched the bridge of her nose, and inhaled deeply. “Oh, I was kidding earlier, but I think he really might be an idiot,” she muttered to herself. She gestured with an open hand. “Let me talk to Tony.” Blinking confusedly, Loki handed over the device and she raised it to her ear. “Hiya, Tony. Yeah, we’re just hanging out. Was he expected anywhere else?” There was silence, and up ahead Loki could see Tony pacing as he spoke. “Oh. Then what’s the big deal?” She laughed, pulling the phone away slightly from her ear as she winced. “Jesus, Tony, I promise to have him back home by midnight with his virtue intact. I promise.”

Loki’s head snapped towards Charlie so quickly he felt it gave him whiplash. Charlie was wearing a large smile, head tilted slightly to the side as she listened carefully at the man freaking out on the other side of the call. “Tony, I am not spelling it out twice in one day.” There was a pause. “Yes, I did have to, and I’m not entirely sure he actually understood.” Charlie covered the mouthpiece and craned her head closer to Loki’s. “He’s here, isn’t he? I can hear the ice cream truck on his end.”

“Yes. A hundred meters, maybe,” he replied quietly.

He watched her deftly press the End Call button on the touchscreen and hand the phone back. The hand tucked against his side slid easily up his arm to his shoulder and stopped on his jaw. Her thumb barely brushed at his bottom lip and he could feel all the air in his lungs leave in a rush. Surely, he wasn’t still awake. Her lips nudged his more easily than he thought they would, tasting of chocolate and waffle cone and sunlight. Oh, he would be so angry if this turned out to be a dream.

“CHARLIE!”

Loki startled backwards at Stark’s voice hollering over the din of the park. He’d never had an out-of-body experience, but he reckoned this what that felt like. Tony was cutting right through throngs of people on picnic blankets and lawn chairs while Pepper attempted to persuade him back to their run.

“Time to get really good at Marco Polo, Lo.”

“Shit. Polo, Polo, Polo.” He hissed, snatching her hand in his, pulling her to her feet and sprinting off into a thicket of trees.

They stopped running only when the burn in their lungs and their legs was too much to take. Loki laughed, loud and rich and rumbly, pushing the shaggy mess of his hair back away from his face. Charlie was flushed, curls in disarray and leaning against an elm and panting to catch her breath. He sighed contentedly. Crowding her form against the tree, he buried his hands in the twists and turns of her mane before joining their mouths, relishing the way she tugged at his t-shirt to pull him impossibly closer.

“I was trying to say that I liked you, earlier, if that wasn’t painfully obvious–”

“Yes, yes. I get it,” he chuckled, leaning his forehead on hers. “Just, why?” The voices in his head were fixing to creep up and put a veil of gloom on his cheery heart.

“You’re my favorite monster. You’ve never made me feel like I needed to be fixed and that… has been more than enough.” Her fingers were making tidy circles into a bare strip of exposed skin at the hem of his t-shirt, sending a quiver down his spine at the sheer gentleness of the action. Loki felt a hairsbreadth away from falling apart in the most cathartic of ways. “Even though you felt guilty, you always treated me like a person, not a project, and… well… you kept coming back so I’m guessing you kind of–” He peppered her entire face with kisses, causing her to break out in giggles.

“Oh, Stark is going to have my head,” he whined as he forced himself to make space between them, lest he spend the next several hours snogging the life out of her.

“Why would he?” She asked, and there was a glimmer in her expression that seemed just short of dangerous. “Giving you the chance to play hooky with me was his idea.”

[catpella]

FFXIV Write #4: Unqualified Success

Prompt: clinch

to settle (a matter) decisively

Words: 1670

Valle’s second carbuncle summoning is also a victory.

Part of the duties of Mealvaan's Gate was to oversee the ships that came in and out, carrying the cargo that served as the lifeblood of the city. The Arcanists' Guild was involved in this process because some of the arcanists acted as assessors, inspecting cargo to determine if it was normal items that might pass through the port of Limsa Lominsa on any given day, anything ranging from fabrics to spices to fine crafts from other nations, or if ships carried contraband such as illegal herbs and drugs.

There were arcanists who grumbled about assessor duty, preferring other aspects of Guild life, such as research, or courses, or going into the wild and being adventurers. Valle Serreta found she and Equinox were rather good at it and didn't get harassed in the same way some inspectors did, that she rather enjoyed assessor work, and she never dramatically grumbled when she was assigned to it or came up with ways to get out of it. She'd noticed that she'd been assigned to it more often lately and suspected it was some combination of those factors that was causing it.

It wasn't as though she was a full-time assessor, though; she still had time to work on the academic studies she was interested in, including one study that had arisen out of her assessor work. The very thing they were putting to the test today, in fact.

The standard emerald carbuncle summoning array was a well-rounded design, one that  contained tested and guaranteed protocols for the major Guild uses. When it came to cargo detection, the background equations and calculations had remained fairly static for quite some time. There was a learning capability built into them - a carbuncle needed to be trained to learn new types of contraband to find it - but that just increased the range of what they could detect, it didn't adjust the common sensors and detection array at all.  

Valle had heard that a few arcanists here and there had modified the sensors in places, but when she'd asked around, she'd found most of those had been done by senior arcanists and not by ones who were as new in their education as she was. And most of them had been doing it as part of their specialized levels of research - such as Mistress Ingolia training hers to track aetherial trails, which she'd let Valle peek at for a bit just to see what advanced.

Valle hadn't gone totally blind into this. She'd shown her planned equations and designs to X'erys, who had read over them with grave concentration and then said, "They're something, Valle. I never would have thought of this. I think I see it." Then she'd shown them to Synnove Greywolfe, a senior arcanist who had done innovative designwork on her own carbuncles, to see if she was going to be told she was on the wrong track. What she got was, "Test it and see."

Armed with that, she'd finished the design, coded it into the grimoire, acquired a topaz stone from the guild's stores to use as the summoning foci and, and prepared for this trial. When it was all done, she'd spoken to Mistress Ingolia and arranged for a cargo inspection trial.

Now she stood in the training ring, rolling the summoning topaz stone in her hands, hoping she'd gotten it all right. Because this was so experimental, she hadn't wanted to use one of the stocks of good topaz they distributed for summoning. There had been a few stones in the Guild's stores that were smaller, or needed to be shaped differently to deal with flaws in the stone, and so when Valle had talked to the quartermaster she'd requested one of them. It hummed with aether in her hands like it was purring, waiting to be used for this.

The training ring was full of cargo boxes, and she'd been told that there were fewer than 25% of them containing contraband. Mistress Ingolia was overseeing the actual test and for some reason Valle had assumed it would be her alone watching this test, but no. Several arcanists ringed the outside, ready to watch and see what happened. She had an audience for this. Well, it was a test of a new, experimental adjustment...word must have spread. So there was a crowd. Some of the faces were at least friendly ones who she knew were rooting for her, others were just there to watch and didn't seem invested one way or another.

"You may begin the summoning," Mistress Ingolia intoned.

Valle closed her eyes, rolled the stone again, rooted her feet in the ring, in the smell of the wood, imagined the stone below that, took a breath, touched quill to grimoire, and began the summoning cant. She thought of the rich color of topaz, she thought of how she had made these equations so the carbuncle had the clever nose for seeking items as a whittret, she thought of how earth was material and solid and how to sort through material one needed to know what a thing was as surely as stone knew itself.

A topaz carbuncle burst into the world for the first time. Only...slightly different. The body was more slender and less long than a standard carbuncle, somewhere between half- and full-size compared to the normal model and the snout protruding forward somewhat more. It appeared otherwise to be a fully functional carbuncle and made a delightful dance as it rushed up to her, transmitting eagerness by hop-dancing around her heels.

A muted clamor immediately began to echo through the hall, arcanists talking to each other mostly in low tones. Valle heard, - 'looks wrong donnit' and 'awful small for a 'buncle' and 'whats wit its mouth' - among other things. She tried to tune it out as she bent down to inspect the carbuncle, running her hand over it to see if the equations and arrays were right, pausing at the head - yes, there they were, in that elongated snout.

"Arrays and sensors functional," she reported, standing up to face Mistress Ingolia, who seemed impassive. "May I begin the trial?"

"Go ahead," the Elezen said. Unlike the other arcanists, she was showing no signs of any concern over the strange appearance of the carbuncle, for which Valle was glad. "You have 10 minutes to assess the cargo and determine what contains contraband."

"Do we know what we're looking for?" she asked.

"No. Assume this is a ship with Ul'dahn flag and you have no manifest."

The most difficult type of exercise, no hope of knowing what should be there and thus the chance to mess up some things that scented somewhat alike - some herbs that could be used as medicines that smelled like some that were only used as poisons  -  which would ding them points. She'd have to hope her loaded library of recognition would be enough. "I understand," she said.

"And...begin!"

Immediately Valle moved towards the nearest stack of boxes, coaxing the carbuncle and watching as it sniffed its nose and began to move...

And after only one round of the arena, with the topaz carbuncle having climbed on three boxes to get better scents and in one cases slipping between a stack of crates in a way Valle couldn't tell if was due to its smaller size or if she'd accidentally copied in something physics-breaking from someone else's grimoire (which had not been her intention!), they had found 4 suspicious crates of 50.

"Four," she said.

Mistress Ingolia checked her timepiece. "You have four minutes remaining if you wish to check again."

That made it sound like she'd missed some. Briefly, she considered summoning Equinox to check and say she was verifying old vs new protocols but...no she trusted the array matrix. "I'm sure. I trust my carbuncle."

"You pass. Four crates. What was in them?"

"Somnus, an invasive species of snail, and seed packets of some type that I assume weren't reported."

"Correct," the Elezen said, and to Valle's surprise she did hear clear pride in her tone.

The thrill of victory suffused her, making her feel flushed and joyful.

Mistress Thubyrgeim stepped past Mistress Ingolia. "Come see me. Bring the grimoire and the carbuncle."

The murmuring from the audience grew louder. Everyone knew Thubyrgeim had basically become the Guildsmistress in the frequent absences in that of the man on paper. If she wanted to see Valle  - still a student and not yet a full journeywoman - what did that say? What did that mean? Was she in trouble?

Valle beckoned the carbuncle rather than desummoning it, feeling it crawl her her leg, but instead of settling in her arms, this one seemed happy to wind up her body and then to crawl up to wrap around her to hang along her neck and shoulders like a stole made of soft fur. Or, in this case, warm aether. She tried to let the sensation comfort her as she carried her grimoire to the acting-Guildmistress' office, fear beginning to curdle in her belly...

And an hour later, she came flying out the office and to the student lounge on the third floor of the Gate. There were a number of people in there, all occupied but most looking up when Valle came in.

"Did she chew you out?" asked R'awynde.

"Did she say you can't do assessor duty anymore?" X'erys asked.

"Are you still in the Guild?" was Gilded Feather's contribution.

"Yes, I'm still in the Guild. I'm likely on more assessor duty. I'm not in trouble, I'm not chewed out, she loved my carbuncle, she thinks it's clinched my journeyman's research project," Valle rattled off. "It's atypical in design but it had successful practical results and she thinks I can refine it further to maybe help improve future designs!"

"Let's take a look at how you did it, then," Feather demanded, pointing at her grimoire.

"Let's take Valle out to eat first, she must be starving," X'erys said.

And so they went out to celebrate.

[the-gemini-cores]

Penance, 2

Direct continuation of this. Word count of this sequel is about 4.4k (the first part was 1.3k), which is partly due to actual dialogue and Chell’s head being a lot clearer than dear Wheatley’s.

Along with what I intend to be apocalypse Chelley feels there’s a bit of swearing, though I imagine if you’re on this site then that isn’t too much of a problem :)

~~

Her running steps fell on deaf ears –  

“WHEATLEY!“  

– and the knife came down.  

Two inches to the left.  

She spent a moment regaining her balance and then started wrestling the hilt from his fingers. Despite the awkward angle – and the steel’s partial embedment into wood – it gave with little opposition and was hurled somewhere into the far corner of the room.

A few sharp clangs sounded as blade hit stone, but neither person flinched. The air was too frenzied for her to pay any mind. Adrenaline coursed through her fibers. The immediate threat was gone, though. She vaguely noticed her peripheral vision returning.  

Chell faced the wielder.  

With him sitting and her standing they were nearly eye-level. She cast a shadow over the length of his body, only the top half of his head illuminated as it stared at her in quiet astonishment – like he was a child, and the thing she’d just ripped away was his most innocuous toy. 

His irises held no sign of intent or fear. More than anything, he simply looked confused. Almost startled. He gazed at her unfocusedly, a frown punctuating his lips.  

It made her furious.  

Chell tried grabbing him by both shoulders before a ghostlike sensation reminded her this was newly impossible. She remedied her mistake, gripping him by the throat and pinning him to the chair’s back with the side of her forearm against his chest. He jerked a bit with the sudden motion. As his head settled, Chell forced him to see her, taking up most of his sightline.  

She had risked her life for him. She’d done that – she’d lost her damn arm to keep him intact, and he had the nerve, the near spite, to try … to erase – to waste – her efforts. Even if not all of it, a good enough amount to piss Chell off. As if it was oh-so-simple for him to shed a part of himself, to lose so much of his autonomy, his competence, his strength, in just the span of a second.

To do what she did.  

It’d been slow-going. The last couple of weeks were inconvenient, to say the least. Demanding, no question, but Chell had managed. She’d had to, there was no way around it, no way to undo what had happened. The medics could bandage her and prevent infection, but they couldn’t repair her. They couldn’t give her back what she’d lost.

It didn’t matter. 

Chell remembered the attack. It was as fresh as if it’d been that morning, and given how monotonous time had been as of late, it very well could have been. One singular stretch, lasting for what felt like forever. She hadn’t seen sunlight since. The only thing confirming the separation of days was the leisurely recovery of her stump, marking time as it eventually stopped bleeding out.  

She recalled the noise up there. She could still hear the yelling and shooting, trajectories concealed through fire and smoke. Billowing clouds had closed them in from the world. It’d felt like an oven, the door shut in on them as the walls grew hotter and hotter.

Chell could smell something like ash, even now if she tried. She could taste the whirlwind of hysteria – and she could hear the whistling. Not from wind. There hadn’t been any wind.  

But the critical point in her recollection, the thing that stood out to her like a crystal in rock, the clearest and most colored portion of this memory, was him. Standing, in the grass, his noises unintelligible but discernibly frantic. He’d been scanning the area – for her, possibly. Probably. 

And he was right in the way of it.     

Chell could never know what would’ve happened if she’d not made her decision then. If instead she’d stalled, or run a different route, or merely called out. She didn’t know whether he would’ve ended up like her or gone off worse – the latter, given where he was. Extent was debatable, and she was neither expert nor seer but if she were to make a guess, which she wouldn’t, she didn’t think there’d have been much left to salvage. 

But that was precisely it. In her mind, the details of his fate ultimately didn’t matter. She’d managed to prevent it.  

She’d made a sacrifice. She’d gone in totally blind, having hardly weighed the situation, but she’d done it. She’d done it – so that Wheatley wouldn’t have to suffer.  

He was here. Sitting in front of her, whole and living. Breathing. Looking at her. 

Shamelessly believing he had the right to suffer anyhow.  

That it somehow wouldn’t make things worse.   

Her teeth clenched harder.  

Wheatley squirmed, his blank, innocent disposition rightfully dropping, but a simple change in visage wouldn’t cut it. He hadn’t said a word this entire time. Physically, nothing was stopping him – his windpipe was allowed plenty of room under her fingers.   

Chell held him carefully but without slack. In that quiet space, deep underground, nothing was relevant except him. What the hell he’d been doing, what sort of warped rationalization could have led him to attempt this. For it to even emerge in his brain and be deemed a feasible option seemed an otherworldly case. 

She wanted his acknowledgment of a mistake. She needed his recognition that delimbing himself as a way to cope – it never could have ended well, or even left things as they were. Chell didn’t want a simple apology as a means of placating her, but assurance that he could handle himself. Quite obviously, from what she’d just witnessed, opening the door to see him sitting there with a blade over his arm…

Chell almost shuddered. That image had shaken her, but it also made her fiercely intent on getting to the bottom of things. 

She wouldn’t chance Wheatley trying something drastic again, as he’d maybe not get so lucky next time. He wasn’t thinking. Even now, fidgeting and swallowing against her hand, Chell’s face impossible to miss, he seemed faraway.   

That wouldn’t do.  

Chell steadied her breath, bracing herself.

“What did you think it would accomplish?” she asked.  

Questions – Wheatley couldn’t resist. Commentary was always offered, or perhaps his presumptions in what he thought might possibly be correct. She didn’t expect the trademark quick response this time, but perhaps some sort of signal that he’d registered. A perk in his brow, a clarity in his gaze – a spillage of quips maybe, coaxed by a question and the implication that she wanted to hear him. Or, in this scenario, that she’d hear him out. 

But he gave absolutely nothing. Her voice, ballistic upon entering the air, lingered and then dropped, unsupported in the half-meter between them. Wheatley was unmoving on his end. He didn’t do anything to show that he’d heard, much less bother to speak, though his mouth hung agape. His eyes were wide. 

As she took note of his countenance, Chell felt herself slipping, just for an instant. The lack of reaction was atypical. More unnerving than she would’ve cared to admit.  

Chell willed herself to cool down, if only briefly. She knew her demeanor was less than friendly – she didn’t owe it to him. But for what she wanted, she might’ve come off too strong. Chell unsharpened her words, though she didn’t loosen the hold on his neck. 

“Answer me."  

And she waited, as patiently as her sanity would allow as she ignored the way her heart hammered. But Chell quickly came to realize that the command didn’t get through to him.    

She remained where she was, trying to echo the words through her gaze, but seconds ticked by as silence festered like poison. They wouldn’t end, one after the next, slowly and steadily growing louder until they were downright ringing in her ears. For much, much too long, she bore it. Chell was almost convinced the sounds weren’t imaginary.

The stretch was taunting, as was he – Chell stopped minding her own expression. Her only anchor was the throat she currently clutched with her surviving hand, but even that seemed to be failing her. Its attached head was looking, still looking at her, with unease, like those blue orbs couldn’t understand what was happening and just gave up. Turned off.

He’d turned off.  

Chell wouldn’t take it anymore.   

She changed her grip, fisting the front of his shirt, and pulled. "TALK!"  

Chell practically screamed the word in his face – she’d had to, if she wanted to break the quiet – and its sheer volume in such emptiness nearly made her choke. Wheatley appeared to hate it even more than she. There was a grimace at the way her voice caught, but screw his discomfort – it did the trick.

He’d winced, and then, his eyes saw her. Finally. After a few lasting pauses, Chell partly expected nothing more would happen, but then – God, that was better – the floodgates began shuddering open.  

"W-w-what did I think – it would accomplish?”

In response to his long-awaited speech, she held firm.

“Well, it…” He blinked several times. In a flash, Wheatley reached back to grip the arms of his chair. He met her with alarm now, adopting a higher octave. “It wouldn’t fix things, that’s – that’s for certain, it, it wouldn’t get y– … your arm back, firstly, which isn’t ideal as, that’d definitely be the optimal case in helping matters. And – and you know if I could, if I could hit some kind of rewind button and put things back, I’d do that. Immediately. No questions asked, no need to stop and think about it. I’d absolutely do anything I could, any viable options I’d go for. ‘Cause, ‘cause if it worked – oh man alive, it’d be a miracle! But … but I can’t do that. It’d solve most of everything but … no miracles here. Except – except, of course, that you’re still alive! That is a miracle, that’s – tremendous, better than … the greatest possible outcome. Except for, uh, being alive and also … coming out in one piece.” 

His notes had fluctuated the whole way through. Wheatley went from rushed to careful, certain to meek. That last part ended on a whisper. He’d attempted to sound matter-of-fact, she could tell, but Chell heard his vocals shake, barely concealed behind their natural fluidity. His irises weren’t doing much better in trying to seem calm – Wheatley peered into her own as if they were the barrels of a loaded gun. 

But then abruptly, his voice picked up again.  

"We – we can’t go back and change things … like you’ve said! Very much remember that. On the, multiple occasions you’ve expressed your … adamance, on the matter. And I agree, there is – that is true, there’s very little that can be done to affect things that have already happened. Sealed in time. But…” 

He stopped, lost. Uncomforted, Wheatley glanced down to her hand after a few moments. 

Chell watched as Wheatley’s brow gradually knotted. When he turned back to her, she was on the verge of letting go. His lids had narrowed. He looked her dead in the eye. He spoke with deliberation. 

“… I have to do something. I can’t try and ignore what’s happened. Not like how you’re doing. Going about, not saying anythin’, treating things like nothing major’s occurred, shutting me up whenever I try and broach the subject. ‘Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong, what the hell are you insinuating?’ Any differences you notice are as trivial as an aching shoulder. You brush it off like it’s a bloody fly in your ear, like there’s no issue at all.”  

Seamlessly, he sat up straighter, and her fist – still grasping the front of his shirt – followed. He leaned closer, searching her expression.  

“But that’s just on the surface, isn’t it? A front?”  

He waited, as if expecting some sort of reaction, some hole in her visage. Something revealing. But Chell wouldn’t give him the satisfaction – who was he to be interrogating her? After the shit he just tried to pull? He’d taken on a different tone, and hell, she did not appreciate it.  

Wheatley went on. “You’re different. You’ve, lost something. More than your arm, I mean – which is enough as it is. But, something else … I’ve noticed. It was important. It was – well, can’t really put a word to it, but it was important. You sort of carried it around and, it made you who –” He faltered. Perhaps she’d glared harder. 

Wheatley struggled to collect himself for a moment, but once he did, the accusation was totally gone from his words, and he sounded more pleading. 

“And – and I don’t mean – you are getting along. Sort of. I – look, the point is, I can’t…read you anymore. I never know what you’re thinking, or how you’re feeling – or, or if you are feeling. Or what it is that you might want or need. I, suppose the only impression I am getting off of you would be your … well, resentment. A lot of that. Emanating off you. Along with – and I know you don’t like hearing this – pain…And walls. Bloody great big walls that you won’t let anyone through. Just put up recently. Blocking me out. Very noticeable.”  

Again, Wheatley stopped. Watched her for some seconds. Chell continued to be still.

“I … I don’t suppose you might know what I’m talking about? ‘Cause, you’re not really being very responsive. To any of this. Apart from, glaring. Like how you’ve been doing. For the past … I don’t really remember how long it’s been, actually.” He attempted a laugh, but it came out more like a cough. 

Chell observed his back slump. Wheatley’s pupils darted to the wall – he was clearly becoming nervous. He tried again, voice roughly cracking over a swallow. “You know I’ve just felt … a bit useless lately … kind of left in the dark … and all…”

“…”

“… God dammit would you PLEASE JUST GIVE ME A SIGN?!” 

Chell nearly jumped. She stepped away, hand releasing the fabric and moving back a few inches on its own. She brought it to her side, fist still clenched. 

He hadn’t been facing her when he shouted. His irises remained on the wall. Immediately, Wheatley froze.

The seconds were ticking by again, and he still didn’t turn to her. His face was discolored in horror. In her scrutiny, Chell forgot to check her expression. 

He was talking again. “I – I’m sorry I, I shouldn’t’ve…” 

A hiccup left his mouth. He was looking incredibly anguished, breath starting to staccato. 

Wheatley tilted his head to the floor and met his hands with his cheeks. Hurriedly, he rubbed at his temples with knobby fingers, but they soon halted. They wouldn’t take back that outburst. 

Without warning, his shoulders gave a harsh shake. She couldn’t see his face, but his digits moved under his glasses. 

He sniffled. 

The only noise in that dark, throbbing room.

Chell never took her eyes off him.  

She was waiting, she supposed. Truthfully, Chell wasn’t certain of how she wanted to proceed. She wasn’t going to leave – she could take with her the knife that was resting in its corner, but who knew what he’d do if left alone. No, she wouldn’t leave – but neither could she bring herself to disturb him. It’d be like tampering with something that had been a long time coming, intervening in the placement of a much-needed piece. She didn’t want to shorten or prolong it, draw attention to herself or disappear entirely. So she hung back, listening as his gasps morphed into barely-repressed weeping, and she waited.   

It wasn’t very long before he moved his face up again. That single light in the room highlighted wet streaks around his eyes, which Wheatley didn’t bother to dry. He looked at her, yet he seemed just about ready to break down again. 

As their gazes locked, Chell noticed the lack of tension she felt in her own face. The muscles had relaxed. She didn’t bother adjusting them now – Chell doubted she could take on an expression of severity, and anyway, the thought of doing so at the moment felt repulsive.   

Wheatley opened his mouth, visibly distraught. “Chell.” That hurt. “Chell p-please, I want to help you. Believe me. More than anything I want to help you. I know I’m being pathetic but, but all I want is to make things better for you. Or as b-better as they can be, but I can’t. Not –” he caught his breath, “not so long as you refuse to give anything away.” 

Chell was finding it more and more difficult to stay focused. Her goal had been plain at the start of this, but now she could hardly keep her mind on the bigger picture. As he panted, she found herself considering his words.

Chell would never call the aftermath of the explosion “nothing.” It hadn’t been. It still wasn’t. But she was managing. She was handling it. She was fine. She had to be, as there was no time for otherwise. She couldn’t afford to be mulling over it – no one could afford her to be mulling over it. 

Wheatley apparently disagreed with that notion. 

Chell left the gruffness out of her voice. “And you thought cutting off your arm would be the solution?” 

He blinked. It was like, for a moment, he’d forgotten about that, or maybe he wasn’t expecting to hear her speak. “Well … well I don’t know! You won’t talk to me, I can’t tell what’s going on in your head anymore, and you won’t acknowledge that you’re hurting ‘cause you’re too proud to admit it. Even now.”  

Chell could see how drained Wheatley was. He appeared to shrink, curling over and shifting away. His pupils went elsewhere again, dull and exhausted. An exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “You – you hate me.”  

Chell was surprised. “I don’t hate you,” she pressed.

He didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were watering. “I just – I just want things to be okay. Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen…”  

Before she could determine what to do, Wheatley faced her, fatigued and aged. But that broken cadence carried on in earnest.  

"I know you. And – and I know you’re hurting. But…you won’t let me in. I can’t get through to you. I can’t help you.”  

His sightline dragged to rest on her bandaged stump.  

“I did this to you,” he whimpered.   

Something cold clawed at Chell’s chest.

“No. You didn’t, Wheatley.”  

“I did this.”  

“Stop. I made a choice, and –”  

“But you shouldn’t’ve had to make it! And I know you say that, you’ve made it perfectly clear you’re of the opinion that once you make a choice, you stick to it. But as you’ve probably noticed, I have a hard time accepting that choice when it means you have to lose your fucking arm on my account!”  

Wheatley wiped his tears. His breath was shaky. “I wish … I almost wish you’d let me get bl–”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

He removed his hands from his cheeks. “… I’m sorry, I know that’s selfish.” 

Chell nearly gave him the affirmative before stopping herself. 

On the one hand, it was selfish. It was implicitly telling her that he didn’t fully appreciate what she’d done, that he’d rather think about what could have happened instead of what did happen, that Wheatley couldn’t find it in himself to let go of that for her sake now, when she was still dealing with the consequences and had to relearn the most basic practices. 

But on the other hand, she thought wryly, Wheatley was hurt. He was hurt, much more than she would’ve thought, and he was hurting on her behalf. He felt guilty, like he was the one who’d forsaken her. 

He interrupted her thought with a sigh. “I’m just … scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen, I don’t know what the next crisis is going to be, and this is going to change everything. I just thought … maybe it’d help … but, but in retrospect, it’s probably best to keep all the limbs we can, actually. The smartest thing to do. Got that right." 

When before she’d seen a man she cared about, throwing away a gift she’d given him, defying her, going behind her back, foolishly believing that his decision was going to do anything to help them…

Now she saw a man she cared about, and who she knew cared about her, and because of that he was willing to do anything if he thought it might alleviate some of their pain. 

Wheatley had absolutely miscalculated. He’d made a terrible misjudgement – and she was angry about it – but that was because times were hard, and he was hurt, and she needed to make sure he wasn’t hurting anymore. 

“I’m scared, too.”  

At once, Wheatley was reanimated, eyes bulging out of their sockets. It was a sight she would’ve laughed over had the situation been different.

“You … you what?”

“Hard to believe?”

“I just…You haven’t acted scared. I mean, even if you were, I wouldn’t expect you to act that way, but … you haven’t even seemed concerned. More like indifferent to the whole situation. And that’s what’s terrifying.”

For the first time since she’d entered that doorway, Chell glanced at the floor. 

“Maybe I’ve been trying to ignore it.”

Out of her peripherals, she saw Wheatley shift closer. “… Because … you want to move forward. Right, well, that is a very Chell thing. But, but in doing so, you know, you’re taking those feelings and shoving them into a box.”

“… Does it really make a difference?”

“It does to me.”

She peered up. Wheatley openly faced her, no more hunching back or twitching fingers. He was fully attentive, concern etched across every feature, but she recognized the relief in his brow. He was so glad to hear her talking. 

Perhaps she had been holding out on him.

“It’s affected you,” he said. “Sort of … closed you up. Made you undecipherable. And moody, too, if I’m honest.”

“My mood stressed you enough to do this?”

“I –” Wheatley looked perplexed. “… I wanted to know that you were alright. Seeing you like that, like you’d practically forgotten what had happened even with all the new strains put on you, and acting so different while shutting down the conversation…You’d taken it for me, and I couldn’t even do a proper job of helping you through it ‘cause you weren’t wanting to talk to me…I thought, I had to do something. Show you, maybe, how sorry I was, and hope that –”

“I didn’t realize I was hurting you,” said Chell.

She fought the urge to watch the floor again. What she said wasn’t entirely true.

Chell had noticed a change in Wheatley. His attempts at optimism had become infrequent and half-hearted, to the point where he turned full-on despondent. She’d figured it might’ve had to do with her behavior towards him, but didn’t think very much of it as she was recuperating.

She swallowed her compunction. “… I thought you’d dismiss it as me needing time to cope.”

“I…True, yes, that, uh, definitely would’ve been a possibility. And, sort of, I’m hoping, still is the case. Now that I know you’re not…Maybe in time, you’ll be more willing to talk to me about it. ‘Cause, honestly, up ‘til now, I was not getting the impression that we were on good terms. And I wouldn’t have blamed you for that! Given that you did save me.”

Wheatley quieted. “… I am so … so sorry. I – I know you’ve said I’m not to blame, but … I mean, maybe rationally you might think that, but there’s no way you don’t hold some anger towards me.”

Chell considered the man in front of her. She measured his confessions, thought of her own, weighed his actions and reactions and tone of voice.

“Wheatley.”

“… Yes?”

“You’re going to have to learn to stop feeling guilty.”

He was taken aback. “… I…”

“Please.”  

Wheatley opened his mouth as if he were going to object, but then shut it. He gave up, the tension leaving his body as he exhaled through his nose.

Rather than agreeing, he had his own request: “Please don’t ever save me again.”   

But Chell wouldn’t promise him that, and he knew it. She simply eyed him, tired, and without even acknowledging he’d spoken she smoothly stepped forward and wrapped her arm around his neck, settling her head over his shoulder.

Chell had never initiated a hug with one arm before, and it did feel rather awkward at first, but the feeling dissolved when she felt Wheatley place both of his around her back.  

He was gripping her tightly, encouraging her to sit with him, but she wouldn’t just yet. At this height she could still reach his ear. Chell turned to him and whispered as surely and comfortingly as she could, “I’m going to be okay.”  

He took a few moments.  

“Heh, I should be the one reassuring you. Strong as ever, you are. I just hope you know, what I was … doing. When you came in earlier – I really didn’t mean to seem like I didn’t care about what you did. Or, didn’t appreciate it. I am grateful. Really. In a … begrudging sort of way. I mean, it’s complicated, obviously. Bittersweet. So, so thank you for that. I owe you, I do – but, but what I’m getting at is, I’ll make sure it wasn’t for nothing. I’ll do everything I can so that you don’t regret it.”  

Chell had lowered herself onto his lap, nose buried in his chest. “I’m never going to regret it. I just need time … and you around.”

“Oh – well, I’ll be here! If you need anything at all. Probably be best, though, if you wouldn’t mind being more vocal about what you need, or the like. You know, at least until things are semi-normal again. Back in the swing of things, almost.”  

Chell leaned away to look up at his face – it was no longer in shadow. Wheatley was staring at her, stratosphere eyes bright with the idea that, indeed, it would finally be okay. Because she would be okay, even if things would be different, and that was what mattered to him. 

She felt like quirking a brow, but instead reached up as best she could to give him a quick peck on the lips. She’d missed that.

“Deal.”  

[wastefulreverie]

Phanniemay18 Day Twenty-Six: Imprisoned

Day Twenty-Six: Imprisoned

Genre: Angst

Words: 2230

This one's sort of experimental with 1st POV because I'm not used to writing with it, but please bear with me until the end.

Maybe I was used to waking up with a pain at the back of my head, but the part where I was chained up in the FentonWorks basement was new. I knew the layout of the lab well enough to recognize where I was after a few moments to allow myself to process my surroundings. After it occurred to me where I was, then I allowed myself to panic because I can't remember how I got here and that's definitely not a good sign, is it?

What had I been doing before this? I was at school... and then I got a bad grade on my test, like usual... and then I went to lunch and... there was a ghost attack? That had to be right, wasn't it? Yeah, there was a ghost attack during lunch, so I went and changed and then....

Jack and Maddie started shooting at me from the ground. Once I realized they were really shooting at me to incapacitate, I tried dodging, but it wasn't really helpful. One of their shots grazed me, and caused me to crash about fifty feet onto a patch of grass. I laid there for a while, and everything was just so cloudy and then... something stabbed my arm, which meant that was probably some kind of drug.

Alright, so they drugged me and brought me to their lab. That doesn't just scream 'I'm totally going to die!' But, I might as well give them the benefit of the doubt, after all. I know that Jack and Maddie can be good people when they don't have their heads up their asses about ghosts all the time.

Once I mustered enough energy, I tried to resist my chains, which were connected to the wall behind me. Despite how much I tried to force myself out of them, the chains still dug tightly into my wrists, indicating that struggling wasn't working at all. I also suddenly noticed that when I passed out, I remained transformed, which was atypical, but incredibly fortunate. I couldn't afford an identity reveal right now, no matter how sketchy the current situation was.

“Jack honey,” I could hear Maddie's voice, but I couldn't see her anywhere, “it's awake.”

“Oh, great,” replied the overenthusiastic man, “I can't wait to ask it some questions!”

I frowned at the rude usage of 'it' as my pronoun. I was literally right here, they could at least act like they weren't talking about me like I was some kind of inanimate object.

My critical musing was interrupted when Jack leaped out from beside me and grabbed the chains that were shackled to my hands. It was raised about an inch in the air, bringing my face to his.  “Hello,” he said, before letting my chains drop. My butt hit the floor unceremoniously and I hissed in discomfort, remembering the long fall I took earlier. Jack ignored my apparent pain and looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, you make a very convincing act, I'll give you that.”

“Act?” I asked. “What act?”

“That you're in pain,” Maddie offered. “That you actually care about the welfare about this town and it's citizens. That you're like us,” she finished distastefully.

I could only blink incomprehensibly in response, “I'm sorry. What?” I paused to iterate my point. “Like, what does that mean exactly?”

“You've been pretending to be Amity's hero,” Jack said bluntly. “But you're not. You're just a fraud who get's... something, from acting like you care. But you don't care, because you're mentally incapable of such diverse emotions. We know what you are. Don't you get it, that you can finally drop the silly charade? You can't fool us Fentons.”

I had no idea what they were talking about, but it sounded like they knew something I didn't at the moment. Apparently they were under the assumption that I didn't actually care, and was some emotionless actor who only hunted ghosts for attention. I don't know what I did recently to drive them to this notion, but whatever suddenly triggered them had definitely come out of the blue. It was a blind-sighted assumption, and it made me mad that they would jump to conclusions and tie me up before asking me my side of the story. My fury expanded within me, combined with my frustration from lack of control over my situation.

“Who're you to say that I can't care about Amity Park?” I settled on asking, defensively. “You don't know anything about me! And what gives you the right to lock me up? I have rights, now let me free!”

Maddie snorted, “Please, you have no rights here.”

I narrowed my eyes, making sure that my anger was visible in my expression. Who the hell did she think she was? First, she drugged and kidnapped me, and then she reduces me to nothing more than some objectified prisoner? As Amity Park's protector, I wasn't going to stand for that disrespect so I spoke clearly. “Say that to my face,” I challenged with soft rage. She wasn't going to suppress me.

Maddie grinned, aware of my anger, but disinterested. “You have no rights!” she declared, again.

What a... bitch.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked, taking a different approach with my inquiry.

“Well, isn't that obvious?” Jack asked. “You're a threat to Amity Park, so we've captured you here for detainment and potential study.”

I scowled, failing to refrain from making a sarcastic remark. “Oh, yeah, like your main defense against the ghosts is Amity's biggest 'threat'.”

“I wouldn't say you're the biggest threat out there,” Maddie countered, “but you're definitely one of them. You've been acting like you're human, when you're not.” She turned around and thoughtlessly trailed her fingers over a nearby invention. “All you are is just a danger to everyone around you, which is why after we experiment on you, we're going to dispose of you.”

My eyes widened. Suddenly this situation had gone from irritating to a lot more serious than I had realized. They were talking about legitimate experimenting. On me? And they were actually for real about it? Woah, woah, woah this wasn't good. I had to get out of here now and – holy crap they're going to kill me and I still don't know why.

“That doesn't explain why you're doing this, though!” I protested. “You're talking about murder! Why would you even want to experiment on me? That's disgusting!”

They weren't supposed to be doing this to me. Jack and Maddie shared a disbelieving look before turning back to explain to me like I was some sort of dumb child.

“Because you're a ghost, and that's a good enough reason,” Maddie crossed her arms. “You have no idea how much data we can pull from an ecto-entity like you.”

My mind reeled. They thought I was a ghost, like an actual dead full ghost! Of course, that explained everything. Somehow they had gotten it in their heads, and honestly, how could I blame them? From their perspective, there were many obvious indicators that I looked like some sort of ghost, but there was also the very clear part of me that was human. If I could tell them the truth, show them that they were wrong, then they'd realize their mistake. They'd realize that I'm not some lab rat! That I'm human and definitely not some heartless ghost.

I closed my eyes to focus and gave the mental command to reverse my transformation, to go back to just regular human me. It wouldn't budge. I was trapped in this form, for some unknown reason, and in my current predicament, there wasn't much else I could do to change. Maybe the drug they gave me prevented me from going back to normal, or maybe something got hurt when I fell and this was some sort of self-preservation mode. Whatever it was, I was stuck the way I was.

My only remaining option: beg and hope they believed me.

(I don't wanna die I don't wanna die I don't wanna)

“I – I'm not a ghost!” I tried to explain. “I mean, sure, it might look like it from a certain angle and I know I fight the other ghosts, but I... I'm human! I swear! I'd change back right now if I could, but under this exterior is just a regular teenager trying to help this town! Please, please believe me. I don't want to be experimented on!”

Jack's gaze was oddly cold and calculating for the usually lighthearted man. “Then explain how you have an ectosignature.”

I gulped in fear. That question completely caught me off guard. How could I explain that?

“It's an inadequate liar,” Maddie decided. “It talks too much, too. With a voice like that, we'll definitely have to use a gag for the experiments. Don't you agree, Jack?”

“Probably, for the best,” Jack nodded. His eyes gleamed with unparalleled excitement. “I can't wait to tear it apart molecule by molecule.”

God, please tell me this isn't happening!

There was a noise. Not from Jack or Maddie, but somewhere upstairs, inside FentonWorks. I flinched against my chains, before realizing what that meant, allowing a spark of hope to ignite within my chest.

Now someone was coming down the stairs – could it be? Was I being rescued from the horrifying clutches of Jack and Maddie and their really not so fun obsession with tearing things apart from the inside? I took a deep breath in anticipation and almost exploded in relief when the new figure made itself known.

Danny Fenton appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, looked around the lab questioningly, and turned to his parents with a really confused frown. “Mom... Dad...? Why do you have the Red Huntress tied up in the lab?”

Maddie and Jack turned away from me and their expressions mellowed.

“Oh, hey sweetie,” Maddie said. “Don't worry about that. Your father and I were doing ectoplasmic scans of your school earlier today, and we discovered that the Red Huntress has an ectosignature, meaning she must be a ghost! It's so disappointing, since we thought she was such a good human hunter. Turns out it's just another fake 'hero', like Phantom.”

“Mom,” Danny said slowly, “I think you really screwed up. The Red Huntress is human.”

I think at that point I would've cried. Danny didn't believe his parents for a second and stood up for me instead. There was no way they were going to be able to experiment on me now.

“Don't be silly, Danno,” Jack said. “We know a ghost when we see one!”

Danny crossed his arms skeptically as if he was having his own ironic epiphany, but his facial expression instantly neutralized and he yielded to his parents.

“You said you scanned an ectosignature from her?” Danny asked, tentatively attempting to explain. “Well, that's not from her. That's from her suit itself. It was made by a ghost, so it uses a ghost's ectosignature to function – but she's completely, one-hundred percent human underneath.”

His explanation was surprisingly accurate for someone who should know little to nothing about me as the Red Huntress, but I couldn't complain. He was right, and what the Fenton parents needed was the truth. Because even I told them everything, weren't going to believe me. Their son on the other hand... they'd trust him in an instant.

“Wait...” Jack said, understanding dawning on him, “so that's not a ghost? It's a girl. We tied up some random girl instead of a ghost?”

“Uh huh,” I confirmed, bitterly. “And I tried telling you I was human, but you didn't listen. So, may I please be let go now?”

“We – we imprisoned a human...?” Maddie whispered, almost broken. “How'd we-?”

“I'll get you out of there,” Danny was weirdly the calmest person in the room. I don't know how that boy did it, having to put up with all his parents' horribly reckless mistakes, like almost dissecting one of his classmates. Well, technically Danny didn't know that I was his classmate, but still. It was strange how unaffected by this he was.

He was very accurate with getting me out of my chains, almost like it was a practiced action. He stared at me sympathetically and whispered, “I'm sorry my parents dragged you into this, Val.”

My blood ran cold. How did he-?

“You should go now, we can talk about this later. I promise,” he said, looking back at his parents behind him.

Too stupefied to speak, I managed to re-summon my jet-sled, and flew out through the Specter Speeder tunnel to the outside. Jack and Maddie didn't try to protest my exit, and I didn't look back at them at all when I left. I'd be okay if I never saw either of their faces again, considering what they had almost been prepared to do to me because they underestimated how my armor worked. Luckily, I had a savior who already knew everything, somehow.

That was the other thing; I didn't know how Danny knew my secret, but I supposed it was probably for the better. It didn't make me feel secure knowing that my ex-boyfriend knew about my ghost hunting activities, but I'm glad he was there for me when his parents had almost experimented on me because they thought I was a ghost....

Funny how life works out sometimes, isn't it?

Pretty bold of you to assume that Danny's the only teen ghost hunter who can be imprisoned.

[pjbehindthesun]

chapter 6: orchids, stars, and polar bear turds

Friday, June 29th, 1990

Okay, okay, suck it up, you coward, you can’t hide in this bathroom all day eavesdropping. You know he’s stalling and waiting for you to come back to your desk… I mean, no one in their right mind actually just comes by to talk to Greta. I’ve been ducking him all week, but it’s starting to become obvious. Ugh, you’re such a fucking chicken. You can do this. Go. Go. GO!

I open the restroom door and walk around the corner and see Jake engaged in polite conversation with my bridge troll of a supervisor. He’s been listening intently as she drones on about her commute, smiling and adding his own quips about the traffic on I-5, offering the occasional helpful suggestion for an alternate route or a book on tape she might try to help pass the time. I’m dying inside just having listened to her diatribe for a couple minutes, but if he’s feeling the same desperation, none of it shows on his face.

All the same, he grins and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees me, so maybe he is actually grateful to have an escape from Greta. “Lucy! I’ve been looking for you!”

I try for a smile, but I’m sure it’s more of a wince. We both know I’ve been dodging him ever since the Strawberry Incident. It was so sweet of him. So sweet, and so poorly timed. He’s everything I always thought I wanted in a guy – hey, Mom and Dad, here’s that charming, handsome doctor son-in-law you ordered! – except that he’s kind of… too perfect? Is that possible? Can someone be too perfect to be interesting?

“Hey, Jake.” Greta grunts at me and scuttles off, sensing that her attentive audience has evaporated.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” he beams. “I’ve been wondering if you saw my package.”

I bite the inside of my cheeks and internally curse Cora for being such a bad influence on me. He doesn’t seem to notice he’s said anything funny, so I get a grip, although once the giggles pass, my heart’s still in cornered panicked rabbit mode. “Yeah, uh, the strawberries? Yeah, thanks! We loved them.”

“We?” His smile falters for a nanosecond.

“Oh yeah, a couple of the nurses and I, even Greta. They were delicious.”

He chuckles. “You’re sweet to share them. I was just, uh, thinking of you. I do that a lot, actually…”

Here it comes. Can’t dodge it forever. God, I want to puke.

He goes on. “I was actually thinking we might go out sometime, maybe get some dinner?”

“Oh, uh, Jake, you’re… that’s so sweet of you, really…uhm, I would, but I’m sort of… I’m seeing someone…?” It feels so odd rolling off my tongue, but even after just one week of knowing Jeff, it’s hard to deny that something significant has changed. First, he tracked down my apartment, then I stopped by the Raison d’Etre to spend some time with him after one of his shifts, and tomorrow we have an actual, scheduled, non-stalker-y date. I haven’t had much room in my head for anything else.

I brace for the awkwardness, or maybe even the defensive mockery or insult that usually comes with turning down a guy in my experience. But Jake just blinks before hitching his good-natured smile back into place, and I’m flooded with relief tinged with guilt. Why does he have to be so fucking nice?

“That’s great! I didn’t know that! Of course, girl like you, you must be swatting us away.”

I open my mouth to explain why he’s so wrong, how atypical any of this suitor stuff is for me, but he continues, “well, uh, he’s a very lucky man. Though I’m sure he knows that. What’s his name?”

I bite my lips in to keep from smiling rudely, hanging on to his name as long as I can, wanting to keep it for mine.

***

Saturday, June 30th, 1990

“Epi-what nows?”

“Epiphytes,” she giggles, tugging me by the hand through the greenhouse. She’s been geeking out over all kinds of flowers and plants for the last two hours, but if possible she’s even more worked up about the ones in this part of the exhibit. We stop in front of this giant cylinder covered with tufts of spiky little plants. “See?”

“I see ‘em, yup…there, uh, there they are, alright,” I nod approvingly, not having the slightest clue why we’re staring at these things but not wanting that excited look on her face to go away.

“Air plants, Jeff, look. See how they don’t have any roots? They’re not planted in any soil?”

“Son of a bitch, you’re right,” I take a step closer and squint at the plants she’s pointing at and realize they’re just hanging onto this column through sheer force of will or something. The more I look at the wall, the more variety I see, like noticing more and more stars the longer you let your eyes focus on the night sky, and I’m starting to understand, if maybe dimly, why she’s staring so raptly at them with that smile dancing on her lips. She turns to me and blushes, her hair a little wilder than usual thanks to the humidity in here.

“I know, it’s weird, I’m really into plants,” she cringes, “you probably hate it, right? We can go if you –”

“No no, how the fuck does this even work?” At first, I was kind of hesitant about a date at the conservatory – I mean it’s free and all, so it’s got that going for it, but who wants to stare at flowers all day? But I’m starting to see the appeal of staring at Lucy when she’s staring at flowers, and now I just genuinely want to understand what the fuck I’m looking at.

“They just grow on all different kinds of surfaces, and they take their moisture and nutrients from the air instead of from extensive root systems in soils. Like, uhm, mosses and stuff? Spanish moss is a good one. But also orchids, and all these bromeliads in here.” I remember the window full of orchids in her place and begin to understand why she wanted to come here. I follow her gaze back up the display wall as she continues in a hushed, reverent voice. “I just think it’s beautiful, the way they fall all over a tree or another plant, not doing any damage like a strangling, needy vine would… just, just a soft blanket all over… just breathing together.”

She falls silent and we both stare at the plants, and I’m trying not to think too hard about how romantic fuckin’ epiphytes turned out to be when I feel her take hold of my hand and lean lightly against my arm.

***

“Our feast, m’lady,” Jeff turns around holding a giant brown paper bag, having just tipped the delivery guy and nudging the front door closed.

“And what’s the damage?” I grab my backpack and reach in for my wallet, but he takes the bag out of my hands and sets it down, sliding his arms around my waist.

“Nah, forget it, you’re a cheap date,” he mumbles, planting a light kiss on my lips.

“Sure know how to woo a girl,” I grin against his mouth.

“You’re one to talk, Miss ‘I’m really into plants,’” he tickles my ribs and I break away, dodging for safety in the kitchen and sticking my tongue out at him. “You save all the best stuff for the third date, huh?”

“Oh yeah, I’m the mistress of seduction alright. The castration and branding stories were just the bait to reel you in before we started the real foreplay. Chopsticks?”

“Drawer next to the sink. Gotta hand it to you, though, it’s not the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

“Well, this sounds like a promising game…” I hunt around in his kitchen cabinets until I’ve got a couple of plates.

“Shit,” he laughs. “You know I’m just kidding, Luce, right? I had a great time.”

“You’re not getting off the hook that easy, bud. I mean it, what is the worst date you’ve ever had?”

He glances mischievously up at me while dishing out his low mein. “I dunno, I sort of want to hear about yours, you seem too eager for someone who doesn’t have a good horror story up her sleeve…”

“Nuh uh, I asked you first.”

He screws his face up thoughtfully as we sit on the couch with our dinner. “I don’t know, I haven’t had a lot of really awful ones, I guess… there was a blind date in college once that was pretty fuckin’ awkward.”

“Details, please,” I sit opposite him on his couch with my legs folded, awkwardly managing my rice with my chopsticks.

“Okay, so I got home to Big Sandy after a semester away and one of my mom’s friends wanted to try to set me up with her daughter, so my mom went along with it. I don’t think this girl’s mom had any idea who I was or what I looked like or anything, she just knew me as, like, the mayor’s kid…”

“Your dad’s the mayor?”

“And the barber,” he nods with a mouthful of food, “I don’t think I can impress upon you just how tiny this shit town of mine is… anyway, so I had to be pretty well behaved, and pretty clean cut, right?”

“Gonna need some evidence of this ‘clean-cut’ concept when story time’s over,” I tug on a piece of his hair.

“I mean, relatively speaking. Well, I come back from Missoula, having made a bunch of friends who were into punk rock, and I looked the part, you know… or more than I did when I moved away. And this girl’s, like, Polly Purebred, never left home, just completely sheltered and totally freaked out. I probably looked like Sid Vicious to her or something,” he chuckles. “So it wasn’t the end of the world, but she was pretty terrified the whole time, so I found excuses to cut it short and take her home.”

“Very decent of you for a depraved monster.”

“I thought so. And very much my last blind date, too. Your turn!”

“Ah, fuck,” I groan… “I don’t even know which one to go with. Yours was so tame, mine are all going to sound insane.”

His eyes light up as he sets his empty bowl down and rubs his hands together. “Go on…”

“Okayyy… well, it doesn’t really count as a date, but my two most serious boyfriends both came out to me while breaking up with me…”

“Jesus!”

“No, that was the other guy.”

“You dated Jesus?”

“Not quite, but I did go on a date with someone who tried to convert me. Brought all his “so you’re going to hell” pamphlets and shit.”

“Okay, no, that’s got to be your worst one.”

“Don’t you want to hear about the puker?”

He blinks like a deer in headlights. “The…”

“The guy who took me out to dinner and turned increasingly green throughout the meal, and I kept asking if he was okay, until the waiter sets this big piece of salmon down in front of him and he pukes all over it.”

“That’s fucking disgusting!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you the rest…” I wince even thinking about the memory of it, but he’s watching with wide eyes. “…that he… drained it off and then…”

“No he did not. He did not fucking eat the fish. Nope. We’re done here, get the fuck out!” he takes my bowl from my hands and pulls me off the couch, gently shoving me towards the door, but we’re both howling with laughter.

“You’re, like… damaged,” he teases, brushing my hair out of my face.

“Nah, just the usual run-of-the-mill lowered expectations. You’ve got it easy,” I bite my lip and he drops his gaze to my mouth.

“Well, you deserve a lot better than puking and proselytizing…” he places a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose, and I close my eyes to hang onto the sensation of it, the way time is slowing down.

“Sweet talker.” He brushes the backs of his fingers against my cheek as his mouth moves down to mine for a soft, sweet kiss. Well, it started that way, anyway… as soon as I parted my lips, he wound his fingers into my hair and wrapped his other arm around my waist, pulling me into him, and now I’m kissing him back feverishly, winding my arms around his neck, trying to get as close as I can. He shuffles me carefully backward until we find the couch, where we lay down gently and I lose track of everything except the sweetness of being all tangled up together.

*

What the hell time is it? I crane my neck to look around his apartment for a clock, being careful not to disturb him, but I’m distracted by how gorgeous he looks when he’s asleep. His mouth’s open just slightly and he’s snoring softly underneath me on the couch, one arm still wrapped around my shoulders. We’d been making out like a pair of horny teenagers for who knows how long, before deciding together that we were in no great rush, and enjoying an endless twilight of soft kisses, cuddles, talking, and laughing. Until I guess we fell asleep, and now it’s… 1:17? Holy shit.

Jeff’s arm tightens around me and he stretches his other arm out to the side, letting out a contented rumbling noise.

“Sorry to wake you,” I nuzzle into his neck, planting a few little kisses and breathing him in as he gathers me up into a hug.

“Sorry? Wake me like this a little more often, would you?” he mumbles against my temple.

“It’s late, I should get back downstairs and let you go to bed.” I’m saying it, but not really believing it, and all it takes is one whispered “stay?” into my ear before I settle back into his arms, with no intention of going anywhere.

***

Thursday, July 19th, 1990

“I’ve fucking missed you! I’m so glad you’re coming home tomorrow. Do you have any idea what a sausage fest my life is now?”

“You say that like it’s bad.”

“Oh shut up, Cor. You had something to do with that, you know.”

Guilty, I think to myself as I laugh at her through the phone. Lucy and I didn’t have a lot of guy friends until a couple of months ago when all these musician types crashed into our lives. Not that I don’t get along well with men. I actually tend to get along with them better than most women, and all my friends in high school were guys, on account of being the only girl in all the science and math clubs. Guys somehow make more sense to my brain. More straightforward, or easier to joke around with, or something. Or maybe it’s having a brother that makes them seem more approachable? Not that my brother is in any way typical of the species, whatever the fuck the stereotype even means. But a crowd of guy friends is something I’ve not had for a long time. I guess since I started college, started dating Alex. Ever since then it’s been one or two close girlfriends. Mad back home, Lucy here in Seattle. Quality friends over quantity, a thought that makes me grin at getting to see Luce tomorrow.

“Yeah, well, I’ll dilute the testosterone a bit when I get back.” I hesitate for a half second, knowing I’m about to embarrass the shit out of my dear, sweet friend, but also just genuinely curious since we’ve been playing phone tag ever since I made it to Alaska three weeks ago and it’s the first time we’ve actually managed to catch up. “And speaking of sausage, how’s it going with Jeff?”

“Damn it Cora!” she laughs. “It’s been going really well. Like, really well.”

“Nuh-uh, not good enough. I need more information. What date are y’all on now?”  

“Uhm, I’ve sort of lost track, there were a few days where it was like, distinct dates happening, but for a couple weeks now we’ve seen each other almost every day.”

I wolf-whistle. “Busy three weeks.”

“Oh, hush. I’m a lady, you dumb bitch.” I try and fail to stifle a snort, but even she’s laughing.

“The most refined, clearly. So maybe not that much of a sausage fest, then?”

“We are taking things slow,” she says resolutely. “I mean, well, we’ve done… stuff, but like, we haven't… not yet…”

“You’re adorable, you know you can’t even say it? Haven’t had sex yet?”

“Not yet. We’re not in a rush.”

“Fair. You don’t owe anyone shit, you know, least of all a guy for taking you out.” I don’t even know why I’m lecturing her, except that she has dated a line of assholes as long as my arm.

“I know, Mom. We’re just in that… that dream-like beginning part, you know? Where it’s all new, and time slows down every time you touch, where everything’s about wanting and not having? The part you just don’t ever want to end?”

“Yeah, totally.” Except I don’t really know, but she sounds so lost in her happiness that I should keep that to myself. New topic.

“So are you guys going to the party thing tomorrow night? Stone and Chris’s thing?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there. Are you going?”

“Mmhmm. I think I talked Alex into it.”

“Whoa! So let it be written, the history books shall show that on this day, July 19th, Alex Henderson agreed to hang out with his girlfriend’s friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, wise-ass. Should be interesting.”

“It’ll be fiiiine!” she sing-songs.

“You have approximately zero data points on which to base that conclusion.” I’m imagining Stone and Chris talking to Alex and I don’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the thought. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.

“I’ll be optimistic for both of us, then.”

“Bless your heart. Speaking of the hermit, I should probably give him a call.”

We say our goodbyes, hang up, and I dial home, but I get the machine. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand and try not to sound too perplexed as I leave him a message: “Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to hear your voice one more time before I get to see you tomorrow, but maybe you crashed early? You’re turning into such an old man on me, love. Well, if you get this, give me a call back, I’ll be up for a while. And if not, well, I can’t wait to come home to you tomorrow. Love you.”

I’m checking every corner of my shitty motel room one last time to make sure I’ve packed everything when the phone rings about 5 minutes later. Figures, Alex probably crashed on the couch but woke up when he heard my message.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I murmur, “did I wake you up?”

“Gorgeous, huh? Finally seen the light? And no, you didn’t wake me up, I called you, genius. You eat paint chips as a kid, Red?”

“STONE! Fuck you dude,” but I’m laughing my ass off. “What do you want?”

“Child, you cut me to the quick. I’m supposed to want something if I call?”

“Well, A, you’re only two years older than me so cut the ‘child’ shit, and B, it’s you, so…”

“Okay okay, I give, you’re impossible,” he chuckles, “just wanted to say hi. Been a few days.”

Before I left, I’d told him to call me and annoy me every so often to keep me sane on this trip, and he’s been holding up his end of the bargain admirably.

“Yeah,” I grin. “So what’s new?”

I listen quietly while he rambles about the songs he’s writing with Mike, bitches about work, unpacks a tense but seemingly productive dinner he had with Jeff the other night to come to an agreement about working together in a new band. He asks about how the sampling trip is going, prods me for the nth time to make sure I’m coming to his birthday thing tomorrow. We take turns giving each other shit, as usual. After a while, the conversation falls into a comfortable silence and a quick glance at the clock shows that we’ve already been talking for almost an hour, although it’s only seemed like a few minutes have gone by. Somehow, Stone became one of those people to me faster than almost anyone else I’ve ever known. One of the ones you can talk about everything and nothing with, who gets the jokes and gives them back, who it’s easy to be easy with. After a while, he speaks back up.

“So, what are you getting me for my birthday?”

“Haha, presumptuous much? Just where and when am I supposed to be doing birthday shopping? Do you forget I’ve been marooned above the Arctic Circle digging in dirt for three weeks?” I’m giving him maximum sass, which is no less than he deserves, but I feel a spasm of guilt. In truth, I already found Chris a present, but I still have no idea what to get for Stone.

“No excuse for poor planning, Red.”

“Okay. Fossilized polar bear turd it is.”

“Nice talk.”

“You knew what you were signing up for.”

He clucks his tongue and sighs, but the conversation sags without his usual immediate zinger. “Yeah,” is all he says after a moment. I shake my head at the phone. He’s weirder than usual tonight.

“Alright, I’ll play. What do you want for your birthday?”

“I was just kidding, Cora, don’t get me anything. Just come hang out.”

“I can handle that. But that wasn’t my question.”

“I mean it. I just want to have a fun night with my friends. It’s… it’s been kind of a year, you know?”

Andy. I nod stupidly for a moment before remembering he can’t see me. “Yeah, yeah.” Once again, we fall quiet for who knows how long before he breaks the silence.  

“So is Alex picking you up at the airport tomorrow?”

He hasn’t been giving Alex derogatory hillbilly names recently. I’m not even sure when that stopped, but I didn’t notice, and for whatever reason, I kind of miss it.

“No, my car’s there, I’ll drive myself home.”

“WHAT?? Where’s the romance in that? Come on, Jethro, step it up, buddy.” Oh, well there it is.

“And you are the expert on romance since when?”

“You don’t even know, Red,” he purrs. “Hey! Stop laughing! I’m serious!”

“Sure you are. Hate to inform you, Stoner, but Friday’s a work day for most productive members of society. My flight lands at like 2. I don’t expect the world to stop turning for me.”

“Yeah, but asking your boyfriend to meet you at the airport’s not asking the world to stop turning. It’s asking for something people are just supposed to do for one another. I’d think he’d want to.”

“I didn’t ask him!” I’m not even sure why I’m yelling. Are we fighting?

“Okay, okay. Easy. I didn’t mean anything by it.” There’s a bit of a pause, a strained one this time, and I’m not really sure what to say to fill it, but Stone speaks up after a moment.

“You know… if you ever need a ride to the airport, some of us unproductive members of society would be happy to oblige. You dropped everything to drive our asses all over the place when you barely even knew us. I’m just saying, I’m happy to return the favor anytime.”

“I…”

“Don’t make it weird, Cora. Just… just ask. Anytime.”

“Thanks, Stone,” is all I can manage to say as I turn the offer over in my mind. I’m genuinely touched, and also a little confused, before he breezes on like nothing happened.

“So we might have a line on a potential singer…”