#id forgotten to send my mom a file she needed for work and she got mad

[everyfandomever]

Ugh

[thelibrarianintraining]

The Division - Chapter Five - Mitch Rapp

Author: @thelibrarianintraining

Title: “This Time Tomorrow”

Word Count: 3,372

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, oral (female receiving), protected sex

Summary: As they seek more information about their target, Rapp becomes more suspicious of Eve’s intentions. She reassures him that she’s not working against him.

Masterlist

Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

Eve grunted as she rolled onto her side to check her phone’s caller ID. It was Hurley, so she had no choice but to pick it up. The sun was just beginning to rise, it's light barely peeking in through the windows and she had a slight headache. Talking to her father was near the bottom of the list of things that she actually felt like doing. The top being go back to sleep.

"Hello?"

"Eve, I just finished going over your report. Do you think you can handle King?" questioned Hurley. She wanted to ask if he knew what time it was, but he probably did and he probably assumed that she had already been awake. He expected her to be up before the sun, but she didn’t live on Barn time anymore. Eight was her early and besides, she still had jet lag.

"Of course. I'm ready this time and I'm sure that Rapp won't let him get away anyway," she answered, glancing to the other side of the bed, where Rapp had been when she fell asleep. She’d almost forgotten he’d slept there. Almost. His presence had nearly hindered her sleep more than it had helped it. He was awake. His brown eyes were watching her and he didn't mind that he'd been caught. He just kept his eyes on her.

"Yeah, well, just be careful out there, all right?"

"Of course, Hurley. I'm ready this time. You made sure that I was prepared."

In the night, Rapp had shrugged off the covers and he was on top of them now. His shirt had been discarded, probably because of her tears, and he had nothing on but his boxer briefs, she realized. For the second time in less than twelve hours, he was mostly naked in front of her and she wasn’t sure that she could handle that.

"I've tried to make sure that you're both prepared."

"I think you've been successful. I'll update you as soon as I've got more information. Look for my next report," she stated, her eyes still on Rapp's. He’d prepared them for a lot of things, but working with each other wasn’t one of them. She hadn’t been prepared for this kind of partner at all. She’d been prepared for annoying and she’d been prepared for disobedient. Rapp was a whole other ball game.

"Make it worth my time, Gallowin," ordered Hurley. "I can't give the kill order until I have good strong proof."

"Yes, sir." The line went dead and she set the phone back on the nightstand. Rapp finally looked away and she felt somewhat disappointed. He'd only been interested in her conversation, while she'd been solely interested in him.

"So do we have the go ahead on King?" he questioned, all business again.

"Not until I have some solid proof. I can't do anything until I can show them that he really is involved," she stated and he shifted onto his side, while she struggled to keep her eyes on his.

"Then I guess that we should get started for the day."

"Real tourists wouldn't be up before the sun," she stated, glancing toward the window.

"Maybe some wanna get out and see the sights before the crowds."

"Not a young couple. They'd be taking advantage of their private suite and their big king size bed," she laughed. Rapp's eyes shifted, glancing over the upper half of her body, what wasn't hidden beneath the sheets. That's when she realized how he might have interpreted her suggestion. "I mean, who doesn't want to sleep in? Especially a young couple who stayed up a little too late."

He raised an eyebrow at her. He was catching on to where her thoughts were roaming. She shouldn’t have corrected herself.

"A young couple who stayed up too late enjoying each other and woke up early enough that they had time to enjoy each other even more?”

She stared at him for a moment and then laughed.

"That's a good point."

Eve showed Rapp King's home. It didn't look like the home of an international arms dealer. It looked more like the home of a wealthy elderly woman. And maybe that was the point, but it still seemed ridiculous.

She shared with him everything that she knew of the home's layout, including the grounds. They noted how many men there were and the placement of security cameras. She explained the home's security system, or what it had been the last time that she'd been to the house, three years ago.

Then, they returned to the hotel to go over the details and formulate a plan of action.

Rapp got into the shower, while Eve was writing her report. He wondered if she was asleep yet. He couldn't stop thinking about the way that she'd looked that morning, sleeping beside him. Then how she'd looked when she was awoken by Hurley's call. Her tank top had ridden up during the night, revealing the smooth skin of her waist and he'd wanted to touch her so badly. He'd probably even stared longer than he should have, but he couldn't really help himself.

His shower was cold and rushed. He needed to calm down and wake up. He was too relaxed around Eve and he of all people should know better. The only people that he could trust were Hurley and Kennedy. He barely knew Eve. Hurley had sent him on this mission for a reason, and after seeing her take down three men alone, he was pretty sure that it wasn't because she couldn't kill King on her own. She'd already confessed to him that she'd killed an assassin.

He'd just pulled on his boxer-briefs and was in the process of adjusting the waistband when he came to a realization. Hurley had sent him to finish off King, if she failed a second time. Maybe he'd even sent him to finish off Eve, if it came down to it. Hurley didn't really trust Agent Gallowin. He trusted Rapp to do what was necessary to complete the mission.

He opened the bathroom door to look at her, hoping that she was asleep. She was and she looked so damn innocent and peaceful. She was right. Who'd ever guess that she was a spy? Who'd ever guess that he was an assassin? That despite their appearances there hid a monster just waiting to take down anyone that got in its way? And that went for both of them. She'd taken down an assassin just to live. Who knew what other kills she had under her belt? And he was well aware of his own ruthlessness when it came to the bad guys.

"What's wrong, Rapp? You're giving off too much negative energy for me to sleep," she mumbled and he realized that her eyes were on him.

"Why am I really here, Gallowin? You don't need me."

She sat up with a sigh, cocking her head to the side as she looked at him. She'd lost the tank top, but he kept his eyes locked on hers. The possibility that she was the bad guy, was definitely a turn off.

"Because Hurley thinks that I need a babysitter. You'd probably guessed that already. After all, I did tell you my history."

"Is that it? Really?" he asked, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest.

"He thinks that I'll fail again and he can't risk that. You're here as a sort of insurance policy that the job will get done...one way or the other."

"You think that he sent me here to kill you?"

Eve laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing that she’d ever heard.

"Hurley wouldn't have me killed. Tortured? Maybe. Locked away? Probably. Under surveillance at all times? Oh, yeah. Definitely. But killed? No."

"You seem so sure of that."

"He's my dad." She shrugged. He stared at her. “I would hope that he wouldn’t send an assassin after me. I’d like to think that he’d at least do it himself. The whole ‘never let it get personal’ deal.”

"What?" he asked, ignoring everything after the first sentence.

"Stan Hurley is my dad." She stated it like it was common knowledge. Rapp stared at her in disbelief. He wasn’t sure that he was hearing her right. "He's all I've got."

"Where's your mother?"

"She passed away when I was still a kid. I barely remember her. I’m the illegitimate kid.  Hence, why I use the name Gallowin. It was my mother’s maiden name. It wouldn’t do me any good to use my dad’s. It’d only put me in even more danger. But I’ve lived with him since I was a kid. I had nowhere else to go. My mom was a prostitute. Luckily, her ‘boss’ was a contact of dad’s so he knew about me and when mom passed away, he took me in. I mean, there was a lot of legal stuff involved. DNA tests, citizenship, etc. His job made that all a little easier though."

"Are you even supposed to be telling me this?" He was sure that his face was probably a little comical, but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"Probably not, but we've got to trust each other. I want you to know that I'm not a double agent. I know that you're thinking it."

He was silent for a long time as he thought about what she'd said. He wasn't really sure that he believed her, but it did seem a little too far-fetched to be a lie.

"I can call him and get him to confirm it right now."

"Would he do that even if he's really your father?"

"He will if I explain the situation. It's life or death."

"I'm not going to kill you unless you give me a reason to."

“Here, actually, it’s in my file.” She picked up her laptop.

“It’s okay. I believe you,” he said, pushing off the door frame. She stared at him a moment before setting the laptop back on the bedside table.

"I'm glad we got that sorted out. Now I can go--"

Rapp cut her off by pressing his lips firmly against hers. He'd made his way to the side of the bed in moments. Now that he was mostly sure that she wasn't a double agent, he didn't feel so bad about the way he wanted her. After all, if Hurley was her dad, then she had a lot more to fear than Rapp if she did something that went against them. She gasped, but then pressed herself closer to him.

He'd admittedly never liked the taste of red wines, but he couldn't help but think that if they tasted the same as they did on Eve's lips, they'd be all he ever wanted to drink. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned in closer to her. He’d think about the consequences later.

Eve gasped in surprise as Rapp kissed her, one of his large hands sliding up the back of her neck to tangle in her hair as he pulled her closer. She was surprised and confused, but she didn't say anything out of fear of ruining the moment. Instead, she pressed herself in closer to him. She’d been craving him since they’d kissed at the Gala. She hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, but she knew that it was the best kiss that she’d ever had.

He pulled away slowly to catch his breath, but kept his hand at the back of her neck. He moved to sit beside her on the bed as he leaned in again.

"What are you doing, Mitch Rapp?" she questioned, her breathing still unsteady. She didn’t want to ruin the moment, but she had to know what this moment was. She needed to know his intentions. It had been a fairly sudden change.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he murmured, opening his eyes to look at her.

"I like a Mitch Rapp who doesn't know what he's doing," she replied, pressing her lips back against his. She was content with that answer, content to know that he just wanted her and that was all he knew. She fumbled her way out from beneath the sheets and climbed into his lap, straddling him like she'd been dreaming about doing for days. His free hand slipped down to her ass, pressing her closer to him as he let his tongue slip into her mouth. He pulled away only to attach his lips to her neck and she let her head fall to the side, reveling in the feel of his mouth on her skin.

She moaned quietly as he reached her soft spot and he hummed back as he let the hand that had been at the back of her neck fall to the clasp of her bra. He popped it open in one expert motion, never letting his lips leave her skin as he pulled the straps down her arms. He pulled away when it fell, looking up at her with dark eyes before lowering his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. Eve let her hands slide over his chest, through the dark hair there, to his shoulders, and then up his neck only to tangle her fingers in his dark hair and tug him closer.

He moved his hand to her other breast to tweak the nipple there and he groaned quietly against her skin when she moved in closer, grinding her core against his length. She did it again and they both let out moans. She pushed him backwards onto the bed and his hands slid to her hips as she continued to grind against him. She loved the feel of him beneath her. She loved the look of him beneath her, his hands guiding her hips as he matched her rhythm. She liked this side of Rapp, his guard let down and his eyes almost black as he watched her. She leaned down to kiss him again.

In the next moment, he'd flipped their positions with her underneath him and ripped her underwear down her legs. He kept his eyes on her as he kissed his way down her stomach, until his knees were on the floor. He tugged her all the way to the edge of the bed with minimal effort, throwing her legs over his shoulders and ducking his head between them. She gasped, letting her head fall back against the bed, as he pressed his tongue flat between her folds and licked a stripe up to her clit. She clung to the sheets as his tongue flicked against her clit mercilessly. dragging obscene moans from her lips.

Her hips bucked against his hand as he slipped a finger into her heat and he moved his free hand to hold her hips in place as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of her. He stopped only for a moment, to insert a second finger and groaned as she clenched around him. He continued his assault on her clit as he curled his fingers, causing her to scream his name. He kept his steady rhythm through her orgasm until she was pushing him away with a whimper, unable to take anymore.

Or so she thought, until he stood up and licked her juices from his fingers and she shivered a little at the sight. Until she saw his stubble soaked with her essence and his erection straining against his boxer briefs and she realized that she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of her. She wanted him to absolutely dominate her. To make her scream his name until she couldn't scream anymore.

She grabbed a condom from the the drawer of the bedside table while he stripped out of his briefs and stroked himself. She could tell that he wanted to ask, but was glad that he didn't as she handed it to him and he slipped it on and moved his body over hers. He rolled his hips into hers and she shuddered at the feeling of his tip sliding through her folds. Then he was positioning himself at her entrance and slipping inside. They both groaned at the feeling.

“Oh, God, Rapp. Please,” she whispered and he let out a puff of air that could have been an amused laugh before he started to move his hips. The way his hips rolled into hers was unbelievable and she whimpered against his chest as she clung to him, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She needed more and she knew that he was capable of everything she wanted and then some. “Rapp, fuck me like you mean it.”

He slowed until his hips came to a stop and she looked up at him in disappointment, but he wasn’t even close to done with her. He pulled away, only to throw one of her legs over his shoulder before he thrust into her again. He tangled his fingers in her hair and yanked, exposing her neck to his mouth as she gasped. He sucked at her neck harshly as he pounded into her, the new angle and the force of his thrusts causing her to scream.

“Say my name, princess,” he ordered and she didn’t hesitate when she begged him for more. He glanced down to where their bodies connected and let out a deep moan that made her clench around him. “Fuck.”

“Ra-” his lips pressed roughly against hers before she could finish his name and she moaned into his mouth as his finger found her clit and began rubbing furious circles around it. She was moments from falling over the edge when he picked up his pace, the coil in her stomach tightening. She screamed his name as her orgasm washed over her, her body arching into his and clenching around him, triggering his in return.

"Oh, fuck," he grunted, his thrusts becoming sloppy and then slowing to a stop. He was panting heavily, holding himself up on shaking arms before pulling out and collapsing next to her.

"That...was amazing," she panted as she glanced over at him and he nodded, his chest still heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Rapp's fingers drew lazy circles on Eve's side as he held her close to him. They’d cleaned themselves up and then collapsed side by side on the bed. They were both still partially in a daze and he was enjoying the feeling of holding a woman again. She hadn't pulled her clothes back on yet and for that he was grateful. He was enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against his.

"Keep it up, Rapp, and I'll start to think you actually like me," she murmured quietly, resting her head on his arm. She was looking up at him, probably expecting him to say something, but he didn't know what to say to her. What could he say? Not that he loved her. He could tell her that he did actually like her, but he was afraid that she'd read too much into that. That she’d think it meant something different than how he actually meant it.

She apparently didn't care too much about a response though as she settled in against him, slipping a leg between his and closing her eyes. A few moments later, much to Rapp's surprise, she was asleep. He desperately hoped that she was exactly who she said she was because he could use a few more moments like this one. He wasn't really sure that he could find them again without Eve because for some reason, he trusted her, despite his lack of trust for everyone else in the world. There was something about her. Something beyond just the fact that she was Hurley's daughter. If she happened to betray his trust somehow, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

She'd wanted him to know about her past. She'd put it all out there. All her mistakes, knowing that he'd have doubts about her loyalty. She had to have known that he wouldn't be able to trust her if she told him all of it, but she'd wanted him to know anyway.

[telltheworld-phff]

Chapter 7: Turning the tide

What Carol didn't know is that Harry was expecting something to leak. Every morning he would wake up expecting to see a missed call from Edward or his grandmother with the new tabloid's headline. He was expecting a history about how he had dinner with a co-worker in Brazil or details about his night in a Brazilian night club. He could almost see all the made up things the press would publish, but although he wouldn't admit it he was expecting that things he had told her to make the headlines. If they ever made the headlines, it'd disappoint him in so many levels. Even though he knew they all had signed NDA's, he knew that sometimes it wasn't enough for someone not to sell him. He waited the ball to drop every single day after he left São Paulo, but since after he was back in London, not a single word about the time he spent with her hit the news.

And he was grateful for that. Grateful for having trusted her with small bits of information. Some of them were true and others were not, something that he hated doing to anyone he met, but that was necessary for him to know if he could trust the person or not. Four weeks have passed since he left São Paulo, and specially that morning, he'd have to talk to her again. He was surprisingly excited. He kind of missed their banter. And Edward needed some more explanation in one of the reports she made. Harry had wanted to talk to her since he left, but he couldn't find a good reason to. And this morning he took advantage of the British punctuality to time the best hour to speak. Harry made sure to ask for Carol's report when Edward was busy and with packed work. He played an act of "I need it now", and Edward just asked him to wait a little bit before he would look for Carolina's number and call her. If it was any other day, Harry would just come back to his office and wait for the paper, but now he wanted an excuse to talk to her. "I'm going to call her myself, Ed.", Harry said already looking through the files where she added personal information in. He got her phone number and with a mischievous smile he went back to his office. He sat a his chair with her number in his hands and wondered a little bit if it was the right thing. If he was completely honest, the report was already very good and it was ready to be signed and archived. Harry had spent the last three days looking for faults in it, and it was so damn hard to find. But he found some information that hadn't made the cut (because they weren't needed in the report) and started asking Edward to change it or have someone to do it. He grabbed his work phone and added her number. It took him a couple more minutes before he texted her. H: Hey Carol. What's up? He didn't want to check on his phone every five minutes, so he set it aside and found something to work with. He started sorting his emails and trying to not think about it. He even scolded himself for being so nervous about talking to her again. She was a colleague. She's Carol. Only Carol. And he had a girlfriend. 45 minutes later an answer made his phone buzz. C: Who's it? Her phone buzzed beside her and woke her up. Who was texting her at 6:00 am? She could sleep at least 40 more minutes before she had to get ready for school and someone was daring to text her at that time of the morning. She cursed a bit before grabbing her phone to discover who was about to hear a very pissed Carolina complaining about messages at that ungodly hour of the day. She thought she was still sleeping when she saw way too many numbers in the screen. There was a message from an unknown number, from London (which she discovered after a quick Google research). She wasn't going to answer it. She didn't know anyone that lived in London anyway. She got up and went to the bathroom to have a shower. After she finished, and she was more awake now, it hit her: It might be Harry. But she then laughed at herself. Why would Prince Harry be texting her? She was going crazy. Prince Harry wouldn't waste his time texting her. But the message did say "Carol", so it wasn't just a coincidence, was it? Her curiosity got the best of her and she answered it while she was fixing her some breakfast. The answer came faster than she thought. H: Forgotten me already, have you? ;) It was him after all. She didn't have to ask. She'd recognize that tone and that sass anywhere. She stopped eating midway when the answer arrived, she even spit a bit of the orange juice she was drinking. How did he find her number? Why was him texting her? C: Probably have. Since I don't really know who you are... Harry rolled his eyes. For someone as smart as Carol, she should've noticed right away who it was. As long as he knew, the only person she knew that lived in London was him. Or Edward. Or one of his PO's. But why would any of them text her if not him. Duh. He typed and erased the answer a few times before hitting send. H: It's your favorite prince! Carol decided to have some fun and she never typed an answer as fast as the next one she sent to him. C: Carl Philip! :O How did you get my number? Harry rolled his eyes. Again. H: Not Carl Philip... C: Haakon, then? H: No, Carolina. It's not Carl Philip and not Haakon. It's the best looking prince in the UK. With his reply she laughed out loud. Harry could be so full of himself when he wanted. She was hot, of course. But she wouldn't admit that out loud... or, worse, to him. So she decided to push even further to see what he was going to say. C: George! I didn't know you knew how to type that well being only 3 years old. But yeah... How's Lupo and Marvin? H: Fuck off, Carolina. C: Your Royal Highness, what do I owe this pleasure of waking me up at 6 am? H: Oh. I'm sorry. I forgot we were in different time zones. C: That was awfully unkind of you. My sleeping pattern is a sacred thing. But since you're a prince - not the very best looking one, btw - I won't tell you off. I'm on my way to school. In that moment Harry laughed out loud. Carolina's sleeping pattern came as close as a hibernating bear. He wouldn't mention it to her, but she was the most sleepy person he knew so far. H: I said I'm sorry. So... how are you? C: I'm fine and you? How did you get my number? H: I'm alright. And I just looked through your file. But I also could've asked James Bond to fetch it for me. C: Should I know why would you disturb Mr. Bond's fight against criminals just to get a phone number? H: We need something from you... And then he explained what was needed of her and he hoped that she'd find a good enough reason for contacting her after so many time. Somehow he thought she'd know it was just an excuse to talk to her again. As always, she said she'd get to work on it when she was back at home. They texted each other for a little longer before she turned her phone off to pay attention in the class that was about to start. When she arrived home she opened her e-mail to see the message she received a few hours before. She soon did what was asked and sent it to Edward and Harry saying she was available for any necessary changes on the file. While she worked, another e-mail came in her inbox. She had been selected to participate in a job interview. The company remained in confidentiality and she'd have to be there next afternoon. She considered not going to the interview. Just because when the company didn't show it's name, it meant that it was shitty position in a shitty place. She answered the e-mail asking for more information about the job position and what field would she be working on. She turned on her radio and started singing along while she cleaned her whole house. She was doing everything she could to not think about her last encounter with Rodrigo. She could say that the love she felt for him, was disappearing. Slowly but constantly disappearing and she was looking forward for the day where she'd not feel anything for him. She actually got a reply from the company. It wasn't a detailed job position, but she could at least see that it was a communication company and that she'd get an internship in revising and editing texts and internal communication. She confirmed her presence and started to prepare for the interview: looking for the address online, getting the information about the buses she'd have to take to get there, picking out an outfit and to print her new portfolio. To avoid disappointments, she didn't mention it to her mom. They chatted for a bit after dinner that night. "You know, Flavio asked me to go have dinner with him on Friday.", she said sitting on her daughter's bed. She was biting her lip, a clear sing she was nervous about the topic they were chatting about. "And what did you say?", Carol looked at her mother. "I said that I had to think about it. Meaning that I'd ask you first. What do you think about it?", her mom was looking for a sincere answer. "Well... you're 60 and you're asking me permission to go on a date with a guy? That's weird.", she laughed and her mom only rolled her eyes. "I mean. If you want to go out with him, then do. You're a single woman." "You won't be upset with me?", her mom asked. "No. You deserve to be happy for a change. Both of you are single and grown ups.", she smiled. Her mom got up and kissed her forehead before leaving the bedroom. "Is now the time we should have the talk?" "What talk?", her mom was confused. "The talk about where babies come from and how two people who really like each other hug..." "Shut up, Carolina!", her mom interrupted her rambling and opened the door to leave her bedroom. "But I don't want anyone pregnant, miss!", Carol yelled jokingly when her mom left. --- She arrived at the place of the interview a few minutes before the time they asked her to. She entered the building and gave her ID at the reception. She was headed to the 5th floor and waited for a while. There were ten people waiting with her. She tried to look for a sign to discover where she actually was. But probably it was just a building rented for a HR company to make the interviews for the employers. The interview was like many others she did. A Portuguese test, that she always finished first; a journalism test, an English test and a brief conversation where they asked about her work experience, her hobbies and how she saw herself in 5 years. They asked about the time she was a freelancer at WorldWide and she told them the work she helped to develop there. The woman interviewing her seemed interested but she asked her to wait on the outside for a couple minutes. This time, though, she got to talk to the supervisor. And that's when she was a bit more relaxed, she knew she had done something right. Talking to a supervisor or a manager was always a good sign. They chatted for a few minutes and he said what she was waiting for the past months: "I think this is it. You're part of our team. You had the best scores in all the tests we gave you." She wanted to scream and run and scream again. But she just smiled and thanked them for the opportunity. He explained what her tasks would be, payments and hours and every practical thing for when you're starting a new job. And that's when she got to know the name of the company: she was the new trainee at BBC Headquarters in Brazil. She couldn't believe it that an non eye-catch ad had led her to be employed at BBC. She had been accepted in one of the greatest companies of media and communication in the world. It took her a few minutes to calm down, for her hands to stop shaking and to her breathing to go back to normal. She thanked her new boss and left with all the necessary paperwork for her admission. Losing no time, she went to all the needed places she had to before going home. When she got there, her mom was making dinner and had a worried expression on her face. "Carolina! Where were you?", she said drying her hands on her apron. "I was doing an interview, mãe.", Carol answered putting her bag away. "Why didn't you tell me? How was it?", her mom seemed interested and surely more relieved now that her daughter was home. "Because I was tired of always telling you and coming home with bad news. Today, though, I got the job!" "You did? OH MY GOD! OF COURSE YOU DID! I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU", she said hugging her daughter. "Yes, mãe, I did.", she was smiling. "Where are you going to work at?" "BBC." "Holy shit! You serious?", her mom had her hands over her mouth. "Yes! I didn't know it was there until this afternoon, though. But I start Monday". "Oh, thank God! I am so proud of you, Carol." "Thank you mom.", she said smiling at her mom "I'm going to finish dinner and then we can eat, ok? Now I wish I had done something more special for us to celebrate. On the weekend I'll make your favorite food and a cake. You know, your grandmother always said everything gets better with a cake." "Yeah...", Carol said laughing and going to her bedroom to change clothes. She sighed relieved while sitting on her bed. Not only she was now employed, but in her field of study and in one of the best places to have an internship in. She looked for her phone inside her bag and took a deep breath. She texted Julia and was happy with her friend's reactions. Lots of smiling pictures and thumbs up... and even an improvised "well done" sign. However there was another person to share her big secret. The one that made sure to give her an excellent recommendation letter. Carol smiled and texted the number he texted her a few days before, hoping it was really his. C: I got a job! The answer came a few minutes later while she was changing her clothes. H: You did? That's great! Where? C: At BBC. Harry sat up on his bed surprised when he saw what she had written. If anyone would get a job at BBC that person would be her. But he knew it was a very competitive place and worried a little about it. H: REALLY? She laughed then. Everyone was reacting the same way. C: Yes! I just got home from the interview. H: Congratulations, Carol. I knew you'd be working soon. C: Thank you, Harry. Your letter of recomendation helped me a lot. He got distracted with other texts on his personal phone and took a while to answer. She was getting ready to sleep when her phone buzzed beside her. H: But I didn't put my name on it, nor anything Royal related, though. So the merit is all yours. How are you? C: I'm alright. And you? He couldn't tell her the news his grandmother had given him a few hours before, that had killed his humor and made him upset. Nor could he comment on his relationship with Meghan, because it was still a secret. So he went the easiest way. He lied about how he was feeling. H: I'm great. I've got a few free days. C: Always good to have those. H: Yeah. And your mom? How is she? C: She's great. Has a date on Friday. He was trying to keep his mind of it, but all he could hear was his grandmother's voice inside his head repeating those awful news over and over again. He got up and went to the kitchen to drink water. He took only a sip before putting the bottle inside the fridge again. H: Yeah? That's good for her. How are you feeling about it? C: Normal, I guess. I don't really know him. Only a few stories my mom told me. H: Hopefully he's a good lad. C: Hopefully he'll make her happy. That's all that matters to me really. H: That's important, yes. C: So, what are you doing with your free time? He was doing fine, to be honest and was enjoying his free time up until this afternoon. H: Sleeping, mostly. Your panda habits really stuck with me. Then hitting a few pubs with some friends and resting. We're going to have a busy couple of months ahead of us. C: Make sure you're well rested, Your Royal Highness. He went back to his bedroom and rolled his eyes when he read her reply. H: Why do you always have to say that? C: It is your title after all :) H: Never a fan of both the title and that smiley face to be honest. C: No? Why not? I shall call you Your Royal Pickiness then. H: It's a long history... But not calling me Your Royal Pickiness either. C: Can't a girl have fun? She actually pouted while texting that. H: At me? No. With me? Hell yes.

[freudensteins-monster]

Spy vs Poli-Sci

Initially inspired by this post. Just one of my many, many WIP's. I was going through my folder and reviewing some of them and figured I could get this one sewn up easily enough. Could have been better, and I could have tired harder with the ending, but I just wanted to get it out of my WIP folder without, you know, deleting it. :s

The Asset wasn’t built for espionage, as his metal arm could attest, but as it was mid-November his bulky layers and leather gloves wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. At least that’s what his handlers had said, in his general vicinity, and the Asset wasn’t capable of arguing with them. He wasn’t capable of wanting to argue with them.

The mission itself was simple; Go to the meeting point, approach the contact, get the package, go to the extraction point. Simple.

The dark van pulled up in the blind spot of a parking garage three blocks out from the agreed upon meeting place and the Asset’s handlers went over his mission parameters again.

Go to Starbucks across the street from the railway station. Locate the contact. They will be seated in the corner booth wearing a blue shirt. Give them the ID challenge and wait for them to respond correctly before taking a seat. Get the package. Get out. Go to the extraction point.

The Asset nodded in understanding and exited the parking garage, staying out of security camera sight lines, and walked the three blocks to the designated meeting point. If the Asset had the ability to question his orders he would have thought it strange that he was being sent to meet another operative. From what he’d overheard, and filed away as irrelevant to the mission, the contact worked for an organisation that was uneasy about hiring a ghost, they’d wanted to see him in the flesh (and metal) to see if he was worth the price tag. Not that it mattered to the Asset; he went where he was told to go, killed who he was told to kill.

The Asset approached the coffee house, his training and programming causing him to be on the lookout for any suspicious persons or vehicles. He stepped inside, automatically registering the exits and categorising potential threats in the room. He remained motionless as patrons tried to squeeze passed his broad frame while he quickly surveyed the room and located his contact; corner table, blue shirt, female. That last part had been omitted from his briefing but it was of no consequence to the Asset. He had worked with female operatives before, he had trained some of the best ones, and the brunette at the corner table, hugging a ceramic mug to her chest as she peered down at a book, was definitely one of the better ones, judging by how utterly comfortable she was in her surroundings.

He found the most efficient path through the maze of customers and approached her table, his gloved metal hand resting on the empty chair opposite her.

“How’s the coffee?” he challenged in Russian.

His contact tore her eyes, bright blue and framed by glasses, away from her book to glance up at him, a bashful smile playing on her lips as those same eyes looked him over.

“Uh… I wouldn’t know, I’m drinking tea,” she responded correctly in awkward, heavily accented Russian.

The Asset nodded in acceptance and sat down opposite Darcy Lewis.

** *** **

I hate blind dates, Darcy whined before reluctantly agreeing to one.

I really hate blind dates, she thought as she checked her watch to confirm that her date was most definitely late.

I am never speaking to my brother again, she swore half an hour later as she gave up all hope of her date showing up, digging a paperback out of her bag.

She’d been travelling around with Jane, zigzagging across Europe, from observatory to observatory, ever since SHIELD tricked them into going to Norway.

“It’s a perfect opportunity to blah blah blah…”

It had been exciting in those first few days, just like it had been immediately after Thor left and Jane kicked her research into high gear. Jane’s enthusiasm was contagious even if Darcy still didn’t really understand the science, but after four months of non-stop sciencing Darcy needed a break. So when Jane finally decided to call it quits and head back to the States (“There’s totally some space event that can best be viewed from deserts of Arizona, and an old college professor who can totally hook you up with some telescope time, isn’t there?”) Darcy decided to peel off and just be a twenty-something tourist for a while, with the promise of meeting back up with Jane when she finally ran out of money. It was when she’d just decided it time to move on from Prague and make her way to the pizza capital of the world when her brother finally got in touch with her after seeing facebook posts of her jealousy-inducing holiday snaps.

“How much longer are you in Prague for?” he’d asked.

“Uh, maybe another day or two. Why? Want me to pick up you up a souvenir?”

“I want you to meet my friend for a date.”

“What?!”

“You remember my first college roommate?”

“The guy that dropped out to become a metal guitarist before the end of the first semester?”

“Yeah, him. He’s been travelling across Europe with his band. He’s in Germany right now but he should be in Prague on Tuesday. You should meet him for coffee.”

“Why, Charlie?” she’d whined. “I’ve never even met the guy before, and you know how I hate blind dates… and you’ve totally already told him I’d do it, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” her older brother had laughed. “C’mon, Darce. He’s homesick and tired of being on the road with three Norwegians and a weird as fuck Estonian. He’s needs something familiar.”

“And nothing says ‘home’ like meeting a stranger in a Starbucks,” Darcy grumbled.

“Please, Darce? He sounded so miserable last time I spoke to him I wanted to Fedex him a freaking puppy.”

“Fine,” Darcy sighed loudly. “But I was planning on leaving on Tuesday at the latest so he’s going to have to meet me at the Starbucks across the street from the train station. At ten,” she added after quickly checking the train timetable. “So, tell me more about him. What’s the name of his band?”

“Nuclear Casket.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

Darcy’s thoughts of vengeance against her brother were halted by a shadow falling across her book.

“How’s the coffee?” a gravelly voice asked in Russian and Darcy groaned internally. Of course her brother had to tell him about her massacring the Russian language during Jane’s stay at the Pulkovo Astronomical Observatory, which led to her asking existential questions like, “Am I a coffee?”

Darcy took that embarrassment and folded it into her annoyance at the tardiness of her date, and had been fully prepared to rant at him, but one look at the man standing before her and she completely forget her frustration. His hair was long and his expression grim, but in his hoodie and dark jeans he looked more like an undercover cop than the politically active metal guitarist her brother had raved about. It was a really good look for him.

“Uh… I wouldn’t know,” she blushed, scrambling to remember the right words. “I’m drinking tea.”

He sat down across from her and as the lull in conversation became an awkward pause Darcy quickly rediscovered her earlier irritation.

“Seriously, you’re not even going to apologise for being, like, an hour late?” she snapped in English, earning her a confused expression.

The Asset wondered why his contact was affecting, rather perfectly, an American accent, but then he took stock of her appearance, and accepted it as a smart tactic; an American tourist didn’t warrant a second look.

“I’m two minutes early,” he replied confidently without needed to glance at a timepiece.

“What? What time did he give you?” she demanded.

“1100 hours.”

“Fucking idiot,” Darcy muttered, shooting off a text to that affect to her brother. “I swear, Charlie would have forgotten his own name if mom hadn’t written on his underwear. And yours is… Jimmy? Johnny? Jeremy? Shit,” she laughed. “I guess I’m just as bad.”

The Asset blanched as his contact stared at him expectantly. He had not been provided with a cover identity, it had not been deemed necessary. The Asset was not a person.

“Jimmy,” he replied, clinging to the first option. The name felt strange on his tongue, and didn’t sit quite right. “James,” he tried again. That was better, but still not right.

“Hi James, I’m Darcy,” she smiled, reaching across the table.

The Asset stared at her hand for a moment before shaking it. He hadn’t be prepared for such interactions. He hadn’t been programmed to make small talk. He was just supposed to take the package – an envelope with information on his next target – and go to the extraction point. Why was she dragging the meeting out? Did his new employers distrust his reputation so much that they would send one of their best operatives to size him up?

“So,” she sighed when he failed to make conversation. “I was expecting you, like, an hour ago, and now I’ve got to leave in ten minutes to make my train. I guess we’ll have to make do with the basics. So… name, rank, and serial number?” she teased.

The Asset flinched. He didn’t have an answer for her question, so why did it feel like he did? Why was he feeling anything?

“I don’t understand,” he muttered in disused English, more to himself than her. “I was just supposed to get the package.”

“Oh, right,” Darcy replied, remembering the request Charlie had made on her dates behalf. But perhaps she had this whole ‘blind date’ thing wrong. Or maybe Charlie oversold it to her just to be annoying. Apparently she was just supposed to act as the musician’s dealer.

She reached into her bag, not noticing how James tensed up and watched her movements, and dropped a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in front of him. She never travelled without an emergency stash of American candy and she decided she was happy to part with the last of it if it made the guy across from her lose the kicked puppy expression.

The Asset stared at the bag of candy in utter confusion. He looked at his contact again, studying her closely, noting her lack of defined musculature and an absence of any hidden weapons, and realised his mistake; she was an American tourist.

He stood up to leave, only for the girl to stand with him.

“Hey,” she called, pressing the bag into his hand. “It’ll be alright,” she promised him with a sweet smile. “Just… have some candy, go out and have a few drinks with some American backpackers, get a good night’s sleep…” she rambled.

Darcy deliberated a full second before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The Asset instinctively went to break her hold but froze when he realised it wasn’t an attack, it was an act of affection. The Asset wasn’t sure how he knew what affection was, his handlers certainly didn’t touch him like she did, but the Asset decided it was… nice.

“I have to go,” he said, reluctantly pulling away.

“Sure, just… call Charlie any time, regardless of the time difference, he won’t mind a bit,” she lied with a smirk.

The Asset tried to replicate the movement of her lips in reply before leaving the civilian in the coffee shop. He was barely halfway to the extraction point when a familiar dark van pulled up alongside him and ushered him in.

“We just got word that the contact was taken out in transit. You should not have waited so long to… what is that?” his handler asked him, all eyes in the van dropping to the orange bag held tightly in the Asset’s metal hand.

“Candy,” the Asset replied distantly as he recalled every detail of his interaction with the woman in the coffee shop. “32557038…” he muttered to himself, earning more worried glances from the heavily armed men in the van.

“What does that mean?” one of them demanded.

“I… I’m not sure,” he admitted.

His handler pulled out a red book and read from it, putting the Asset to sleep. He awoke screaming, strapped into the Chair, as electricity purged Darcy’s smile from his memory.

** *** **

Darcy was claiming a bunk in a rather picturesque backpacker hostel in Vienna when her brother called her back.

“Darce, I’m so sorry.”

“Say it with money transfers,” she shot back with a smirk.

“Jake was really looking forward to meeting you, but their van broke down as they crossed the border. They’re still stuck there waiting for it to get fixed.”

“Wait… what?”

** *** **

A few years later, after moving back Stateside following the Dark Elves debacle, Darcy stumbled out of her bedroom in search of coffee (an addiction she tried to kick between university courses) to find Jane sorting through a pile of notes that had been dumped on the coffee table whilst some breakfast news program played in the background. Darcy paid Jane no further mind until she took her first sip of coffee, sighing gratefully, and stood behind the couch to see what was happening in the world. Darcy blinked.

“Uh, Jane… why is my blind date making headlines?”

** *** **

Bucky had known Darcy Lewis was living at the Avengers compound for three months before he decided to approach her. She was seated in the lounge of the common room, holding a mug of something warm in one hand and balancing a tablet on her knee with the other.

“How’s the coffee?” he challenged, smiling as her shocked expression quickly softened.

“I wouldn’t know, I’m drinking tea,” she smiled back.

They regarded each other for several moments before nerves got the better of Bucky.

“Can I… Do you mind if I sit?”

“How about you get me a refill first,” she smirked, handing him her mug. “I feel like you’ve got one hell of a story to tell me.”

Boy, did he ever. And so he told her, all that he could remember, over several cups of tea. Darcy, he’d learnt, was extremely tactile, constantly reaching for him, and he couldn’t help but reciprocate in kind, and by the time he reached the part of the story that Darcy remembered they were practically sitting on top of each other. He’d thrown his metal arm behind her, resisting the instinct to yawn like he’d done so many times a lifetime ago, whilst the other strayed to her knees (she’d stretched her legs over his lap about five minutes into his story) as he recalled seeing her for the first time across a crowded café. He remembered the moment, and Darcy’s kindness, with great fondness, but the moment was ruined by an unladylike snort.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky grumbled as he attempted to glare at the girl in his lap.

“You thought I was a spy!” Darcy giggled hysterically.

Bucky groaned, burying his head in the crook of her neck, trying (and failing) not to notice the way Darcy’s ample chest moved against his as she laughed.

“What?” Darcy prodded as Bucky mumbled something into her skin.

“Corner table, blue shirt,” Bucky repeated when he lifted his head. “You fit the description, and you responded to the ID challenge correctly. How was I to know you weren’t my contact?”

“I think your first clue should have been that my blue shirt had cartoon breakfast foods on it,” she snorted. “What kind of spy wears shirts like that?”

“One pretending to be a college-aged American tourist,” Bucky retorted weakly.

“I was a college-aged American tourist.”

“Yeah, I figured that out. Eventually.”

They laughed about it for several minutes before Darcy got up to get refills on their tea. Bucky suggested they switch to beer, later that night, when he took her out to dinner. Darcy happily agreed.

[anxietycalling]

... is this thing on?

HA. After like two months of trying to break into my own goddamn tumblr account, I finally figured out what password I used. So hi. Hello. Welcome back to the internet, self.

I mostly wanted to log in to give some updates about my life and start, you know, documenting it as there is some monumental stuff in the works for me this year. I’ll put the rest of it under a cut because I’m not a barbarian.

So one of the biggest changes for me since the last time I blogged reliably is that I got diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. That was, uh, two years ago? Somewhere in that general timeframe. It’s not really that surprising, given my mother’s extreme fastidiousness that she later admitted to me is untreated OCD. I’m the only person I know who can walk soundlessly in pitch dark and make entire meals without touching food with my hands because of that. But anyways, I guess the reason it didn’t get diagnosed sooner is because, as my wonderful psychologist puts it, “You’re too smart to fall for obvious compulsions because you’re aware of how they affect your public perception, so you get trapped in the ones that are more realistic.” In other words, I intellectualize my OCD too much.  That’s not to say it doesn’t affect my life though! For... probably about a year, maybe more, I had a crippling fear of handling or preparing food for others because I had a persistent obsession that I would accidentally poison someone. At its worst it got so bad that I couldn’t touch plastic wrap or open packaging, either. Through cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and exposure response prevention (ERP), my symptoms have decreased to the point where I’m able to cook for myself and others again. I still seek reassurance more than I should - which is another symptom of OCD - but I’m working on it. Baby steps!  Most of my symptoms are manageable now, but I do still get ‘stuck’ sometimes. Like I said, I have a wonderful psychologist. She makes me do things I don’t want to do. She’s nice about it, but she’s a bit of a stickler for progress. Which is good! She’s very practical in a way that previous therapists of mine haven’t been. I don’t like the ooey-gooey “How does that make you feeeeeel? How does it relate to your tortured chiiiiildhood?” nonsense, so I’m glad we can skip that. For years I thought I was just bad at therapy, so I didn’t pursue it. Turns out that the right person with the right counselling philosophy can be a great asset in managing mental illness. Which leads me to the reason I sought out a therapist to begin with...

When I moved to Ottawa, I got a regular endocrinologist for the first time in my life. She’s wonderful and willing to work with her patients at their own level. My husband goes to the same endo (but more on him in a second...) and seeing the differences in the way she interacts with each of us is awesome. She takes time to answer my many questions and often has great practical advice about managing hormone replacement therapy. My testosterone levels have been stable for... three years now? Maybe a little more? Aside from one set of bloodwork where my hemoglobin was high, there haven’t been any major hiccups. And my endo said that it wasn’t necessarily concerning, just a precaution because we don’t know what the effects of heightened hemoglobin levels in transgender men are yet. Another thing my endocrinologist does is refer her patients to other relevant services. After my second or third appointment with her, she wrote my letter of recommendation to the government so I could change my gender designation on my birth certificate. She also did the paperwork for OHIP to cover my top surgery. I got the letter from the Ministry of Health a couple of weeks later, and started down the path to actually, you know, getting surgery. It’s more complicated than you think! She recommended me to the Montreal GRS clinic (Drs. Brassard, Belanger and Bensimon). There is a fair amount of paperwork that they request before your file even gets passed to the surgery team. One of those things was a letter of recommendation from a health professional that meets the WPATH standards of care. That’s when my endo recommended my therapist to me. The WPATH standards of care require at least 6 months of follow-up from the practitioner, so I sat down in that office once a month until I got my dang letter. And what a letter it was! Cori, my therapist, basically wrote a strongly worded letter that implies her disapproval over needing a letter at all. Why, you may ask? Because I already had years of documentation detailing my gender dysphoria and persistent desire for surgery. Literal years of it, dating back to... 2007 or so. But she wrote the letter, we continued on, and my brain is much healthier than it’s been for years. 

Getting my IDs changed was a lot more work than I expected. Like, I knew that it would take a fair amount of paperwork, and I was prepared for that. I did my gender marker change first, which involved first getting the letter of recommendation notarized and sending it off to the government to get a shiny new birth certificate with an ‘M’ on it. It took about 4 months to get my first birth certificate. After that, back to city hall I went to change the gender on my driver’s license and health card. Getting the gender marker changed was inexpensive - I paid $35 for the new birth certificate plus postage. Ottawa city hall has services that will commission (notarize) your documents for free, so I didn’t pay for that, but normally in our city it costs between $15-20.  Next I did my name change. The form itself is about 30 pages or so, and most of it is just checking boxes like “Hey, I’m not a criminal, I’m not hiding from any debts,” and then getting it notarized and mailing it off. The name change took the longest - I waited about 6 months for my new birth certificate. Changing the name on my IDs was easy. All I had to do was go back to city hall (again) and wait in line (again) and update my drivers’ license, health card and social insurance file.  For about the first month after my name change, I had a folder I carried everywhere with me. You never really realize how many places you give your name to until you have to change it. The gym, doctor’s offices - despite having socialized healthcare and a (mostly) computerized system, you have to remember to change your name at every doctor’s office you visit separately. Now I have my updated IDs, so I can just show my driver’s license. 

Now I’m going to talk about the path to getting a surgery date at GRS Montreal. Yes, I got the letter for my OHIP funding relatively quickly, but actually getting my file to the surgical team was a logistical disaster. I’m not saying this is a bad thing, by the way - I’m glad that they’re doing their due diligence and making sure everything is well documented. It’s just kind of hard when you’ve already waited for so long to stay patient.  So, yes, I got my letter from Cori after 6 months. The reason I’m so irritated about it to this day is that a couple of months after they insisted they needed this letter, I got another email from the clinic saying they didn’t need it. And then they went back and forth on it another couple of times, so Cori and I just said fuck it and did it anyways, because I do not have the patience for that kind of back-and-forth. During the interim while I was getting regularly therapized, I also did all of the medical components they required. It was basically just a visit with my family doctor so he could sign a form and say “Hey, this guy is healthy enough for surgery and I am competent to handle any complications.”  I know that doesn’t sound like a lot, but having to fill out a million checkboxes and saying ‘No’ to a million health conditions I don’t have, multiple times, gets a bit tedious after a while. So I did all of that, and then I sat on my hands and waited. And waited. And waited some more. I prodded them occasionally via email, because I’m impatient at the best of times and am often bossy and direct with health professionals. Finally, after another 6 months, they passed my file on to the surgical team, who actually called me on the phone promptly to tell me the next steps. The surgical nurse literally emailed me an info packet on Jackson-Pratt drains while on the phone with me.  They gave me my surgery date in September. And now we wait again. I’m leaving for Montreal on February 25th. At this point I’m just impatient and trying to keep busy. 51 more days. The closer it gets, the more time stands still. 

My bio-dad died in... 2017? Something like that. I know, it sounds awful that I don’t remember when he died but also, he was just a shit person. He abused me, he let his girlfriend abuse me, and he continued being a terrible person even in death. There was money for me in some account he had (and had forgotten), apparently, and I spent almost a year trying to figure out how to get it with no luck. Seriously. Even my mom, who had long since divorced my bio-dad and remarried, tried - because the account manager said she had to be the one that accessed the account, even though it was in my name and I’m an adult... and my mother’s lawyer looked at the whole thing, figured out that it was super illegal, and the investment firm stopped returning my calls. What a fucking scam. And yes, I could pursue it legally if I wanted to, but I really don’t want to. I don’t have the patience or the money for lawyers.  Everyone in my family is unequivocally mad at me for not going to the funeral. I mean, why would I? Why would I go to the funeral of a man who sexually abused me and chose alcohol over both of his kids? But my family tends to be very “But faaaaaaamily!”, therefore, most of them have stopped speaking to me.  I’m not really upset by his dying, by the way. I kind of made peace with it in like 2013 or so the first time my mother called me sobbing to tell me he was on his deathbed. I wasn’t surprised then, either, that he had congestive heart failure due to alcoholism. He was so jaundiced the last time I saw him in person that he looked like a Simpsons character. He didn’t recognize me, either. My brother had to tell him that I was his own child. So that pretty much killed any kind of forgiveness I could have had for the man. To his credit, he maybe kind-of tried. If trying is calling me, on purpose, on my birthday every year to tell me what a woman I am and am becoming. Ugh. Gross. Grossgrossgross.  Also, and this is a big Also, I could not have stomached that funeral when everyone was acting like his death was so Tragic and Could Not Have Been Foreseen. Like! I remember from childhood that that man could put away a 24-pack of beer in a day. One of my fondest childhood memories of him - if you can call them that - is bottle return day, where we would wait for my mom to leave for work and then sneak his empties out of the house to return for the deposit, which he would then use to buy more beer and buy KFC for lunch. And this is a secret that we kept from my mother for, like, years. I don’t think she really ever knew the extent of his drinking. Or mine, when I was still drinking.  I wasn’t ever really bothered by his death. I had a breakdown about it, sure, but it was more about the finality of his having died without standing up for myself or demanding an explanation/apology for his behavior towards us, or for raping my brother’s girlfriend, or... anything.

I had a job with great pay, and I fucking quit it.  No, seriously. I was making $18 an hour and I walked away from it because it was driving me to a nervous breakdown. I wasn’t sleeping, I was barely eating, and I couldn’t have a day off without obsessively thinking about work. I got promoted way too quickly and sort of lied-to way too often about how things would change, they never did, and finally in October I couldn’t handle it anymore. I saw Cori and she basically told me that I needed to quit or she’d make me. And I still feel kind of bad about that, because Ash and I fought about that for months beforehand. Literal months. It’s the only thing we’ve ever fought about. But I sat in that office in tears about the thought of ever going back to McDonald’s, and it was the right choice.  The first month was really hard. Not financially - I had decent enough savings to float us for a couple months. But emotionally, I was devastated. I’ve always kind of vacillated my self-worth between pushing myself way too hard to try and force everyone to like me and crumbling under the pressure from that and turning inwards. I had no idea what to do with myself. I was sleeping at weird hours or not sleeping at all. The cats were glad I was home, and so was Ash, but I felt really sick not doing anything - or at least as much. Even with school, I felt kind of aimless. Online classes don’t really demand specific time frames. Yeah, there are due dates, but aside from that you’re really on your own.  Now I’m glad that I quit when I did. From what my friends who still work there tell me, things have only gone downhill. It’s not surprising. They take anyone who’s halfway competent and seduce them with promises they have no intention of keeping to accept promotions and then never follow through. They push people way too hard and they’re not growing and changing with the economy and the demographic of people they’re able to hire for minimum wage. Like, I’m sorry, but once I’ve recovered from surgery there are way better jobs I can get that will keep my brain way healthier. 

The husband. Well, to-be. We’re going to do it on paper at Halloween. Nothing flashy, just going to city hall and signing some papers and then it’s done. I’m not sure exactly where to start on this one because most of it happened so fast. I kind of dicked around with online dating for a bit and nothing really came of it; I had lost expectations around the time he messaged me. There was nothing that immediately said “Hey, you’re going to fall in love with this person!” but I took the leap anyways. I was having a hard time coming to terms with being gay and trans, so a low-stakes thing with less expectation seemed nice to me. ... And then we talked, and we both fell hard. I moved to Ottawa 2 months later, after a fairly tumultuous time going back and forth on the train pretty much every 4 or 5 days. I spent most of my money on traveling those months. It was extremely worth it.  I knew I was in it for the long-haul when he called me while I was on the train home one day. I’d just left, much against my better judgment, and he had a doctor’s appointment that I’d wanted to go to. Ash is not great at asserting himself with doctors. Like I said, I’m bossy and controlling, so this one would’ve been good for me to be at. He called me basically in tears. Something was weird with his bloodwork, and not only could he not start testosterone as originally planned, but his doctors thought he had leukemia.  In typical me fashion, I basically got home, worked a day or two and immediately turned around and came back. There were tests. There was bloodwork. Much of it is a blur, but the thrilling conclusion is that doctors often don’t know how to interpret Ash’s blood results because he doesn’t have a spleen, so his blood is shaped wrong. No cancer! Just weird blood and a crappy immune system. But that crystallized it for me. We moved into a friend’s place for a couple of months, and then, when we could, moved into our current apartment. And for a couple of months it was nice! Great, even! But our roommate’s girlfriend, who also lived with us, had a poorly managed personality disorder and was emotionally and sexually abusive to our wonderful roommate. It took months, but eventually we evicted her after having secret meetings away from the house to come up with a battle plan. In the end, she had to be removed by police and her parents had to come get her things. It’s something I hope I never have to do again, because it felt awful and the girl’s poor parents were clearly devastated.  We parted ways with the roommate in June. Amicably, but a bit sad. Part of it was that we had outgrown having roommates, and part of it is that our roommate, while a wonderful person, has a serious hoarding disorder related to anxiety that clashed awfully with my OCD symptoms. They’re in a house with some wonderful people now, so hopefully it’s better with people who are able to be supportive in a more helpful way.  All of this to say that I have a wonderful husband, who I love very much. 

Which brings me to my next point. Jeez, this is turning into a novel. I’m so sorry. But anyways, I started university in September! It’s been tough what with the work stuff, but I’m doing pretty well. I’m majoring in psychology and desperately white-knuckling my way through introductory biology so I can take cognitive neuropsychology classes next year. Eventually I’d like to become a clinician, but I’m pretty sure I need to go to graduate school for that. I’m taking less classes than I’d like because of surgery, but I’m going to take summer classes to make up for it. 

Also because Ash had to have emergency surgery before Christmas! We’d known something was wrong with his elbow for a while - it was an injury that he’d had since before we met. But over the course of 3 years, an injured elbow turned to a lump, and that lump lead to a loss of mobility. His family doctor didn’t seem overly concerned about it, and didn’t run the proper tests until this year. Thanks to a concerned sports medicine doctor who was way out of his depth, more tests were run. There’s nothing quite like the concerned, hushed tone of a doctor to strike fear into one’s heart. The diagnostic imaging showed a tumor had grown in Ash’s elbow. I named him Leopold.  A non-cancerous, aggressive giant cell tumor. In his elbow. Literally eating away at the bone. Likely had been for a while. They called us on a Wednesday. Ash went to meet the surgeon on Thursday. The hospital called the same day to book him for surgery. Monday he went to meet with the anaesthesiologist. Tuesday we went to the hospital and they removed Leopold. And let me tell you, it was an absolute shit show.  First of all, they expect a man who’s still drugged up from the anaesthesia to be able to decide if he can go home that night or not. They wouldn’t even let him call me before making him decide. Listen, this man is not great at taking decisive action in the best of circumstances sometimes. I actually ended up going home to feed the cats and going back before anyone even told me whether he was coming home or not! Then the post-operative nurses didn’t give clear directions on the aftercare, so I ended up calling the hospital multiple days in a row to figure out what was going on. They didn’t even tell me what type of stitches he had. I think the worst part was that the doctors didn’t actually check with us what kind of painkillers would be most appropriate. They just sent us home with a list, half of which wasn’t covered by insurance, and we had to white-knuckle it the first night with basically good intentions and fancy Tylenol before we could borrow the money for the rest of his painkillers the next morning. I honestly wasn’t sure we would survive that first night. Because the damage to the elbow was so severe, they put a nerve block into the arm that slowly started wearing off through the night. I never want to see anyone in that much pain. It was the kind of pain where you’re not even human anymore; you’re reduced down to an animal who’s scared and in pain, and all you want is for it to stop. I know it was necessary, what they did, to preserve motor function in the arm, but fuck, it was awful. I’m doing a bad job of explaining the technical side of this. It was an elbow resection with tumor removal and a bone graft.  The bone graft actually might be the worst part. Because the tumor ate so much of the bone, we had to do the surgery pretty much immediately because any kind of impact could have shattered Ash’s remaining bone permanently. And they had to be so, so careful during the procedure because the tumor was resting on a nerve. To the surgeons’ credit, they did not sever the nerve. It’s less irritated now, and the arm actually looks quite good, but I wish they’d given us more information ahead of time. I was woefully unprepared for how much work I would be doing. You never realize how much work your hands do until they’re taken away from you. Also, something else people never talk about with surgery is how much painkillers mess with your mood. Opioids are by nature depressants, but all the textbooks downplay exactly how severe the mood symptoms can be. Of course being bedridden plays into it as well, but painkillers severely inhibit cognitive function. That first week or so was awful. There were so many goddamn medications and most of them were useless. We were like robots, with the fucking medication dispensing. I had alarms set every 4 hours so the pain couldn’t come back. We tried. We tried so fucking hard, only to get to the follow-up appointment and have a very nice medical student give us the good stuff: Tylenol # 3 and morphine. Did I mention she was a very nice med student? 

So yes, that’s basically the state of my life at the moment. I haven’t really written anything since I left California, but I’m going to try this year to actually finish something. I’m going to post regularly, both because I kind of missed this place and because it’s nice to see concrete progress. Also, when I was looking for pictures of surgery results there wasn’t a lot to be found, so I’m trying to save someone else the same trouble.

Anyone who actually read to the end of this, you’re great and I’m very sorry I basically wrote a novel about my life. I know my descriptions are lacking in some places, so feel free to... ask follow-up questions, I guess? I dunno. It’s nice to be back.