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whatcouldgowrong-ohthat · 5 years ago

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Us and Andie Ch. 1

Summary: Bucky works as an Avenger because it’s what’s right. He feels he has sins he’ll never be able to make up for, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying. However, his life takes an unexpected turn when he comes across Andie, the daughter of recently divorced Y/N. The life he had once “maintained” in hopes of surviving changes as his heart warms for a tough-as-nails nurse and her wonderful daughter.

Pairing: Bucky x singleparent!Reader

Word Count: 3167 words (oops??)

Warnings: Um…none?? This is looking to be more of a slow burn fic, but I mean, those are the best, right?

This IS in response to @buckyssoul’s writing challenge! But the dialogue hasn’t been used yet. XD

Masterlist

The constant rumble of the subway running its course was oddly comforting to Bucky Barnes. There was once a time in his life where he loathed it. It simply drove him crazy dealing with the people. He could never shake the tension and fear that came with the crowds. And more often than not, he caught them staring, recognizing him. Did they think he’d just randomly turn into the Winter Soldier and start killing people?

But at this time of night it was different.

Sure, there were people, but they ignored everything around them. They were more concerned with getting to their graveyard shift or maybe sleeping a few minutes between jobs. What their stories were, he didn’t care. So here he was, nearing midnight, and finally heading back to Brooklyn.

The subway screeched to a halt as something incomprehensible came over the speakers. He didn’t bother paying attention. He knew his route. He still had two more stops. However, it didn’t stop him from noticing who was getting off and on. Particularly – one stood out to him. Someone new. Their hoodie was pulled up, hiding most of their face and over that was a cargo jacket. Both looked too big.

It’s not your problem.

He leaned back, listening to the person’s footsteps walk closer to his side of the car. Other than the man sleeping a couple seats away, this half was empty. Whoever it was, they were avoiding people. At least that was what he thought until they sat down. Their scrawny legs were tucked into their chest, too-long jeans revealing worn sneakers underneath. His steely gaze shifted to the face still trying to hide itself. It was a kid. Judging by their size and the clothes, no more than eleven. Probably a girl.

What was a kid doing on a subway alone?

It’s not your problem.

That reminder echoed in his head once again. He crossed his arms and looked away. Avenger or not, that little voice in the back of his head was right. It wasn’t his problem to handle right now. Surely the kid had a parent. Or guardian. Or someone.

And yet, he knew she was alone.

Another stop came by. People came off. No one came on. The girl was still there.

He leaned forward, his heart twisting as he wondered how alone this child was. Bucky shifted his arms, propping them on his knees. The movement caught her attention. She looked up. And Bucky’s heart broke. Tears stained her cheeks and her nose was clearly red. She wiped it on her sleeve, eyes never leaving his. Her knees were pulled tight against her chest as she wrapped her arms around them.

No more than eleven, he was certain. But in that moment, she looked so much younger.

“You okay?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

She nodded.

“You’re lying.” He winced at how his voice probably sounded to her. That wasn’t what he had intended.

Her eyes grew and he sighed, running his gloved hand over his jaw. Glancing around the rest of the car, he was relieved that no one else was paying attention to her. She didn’t need that right now. Especially not now. Looking back at her, he asked, “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to lie?”

She nodded again. At least this time he knew she was telling the truth.

Silence fell between them as they watched one another, practically sizing each other up. Bucky knew it wasn’t his place to do anything. In all actuality, he should find a police officer. Or maybe call Steve. Steve was better at this sort of thing than he was.

Instead of doing just that, he asked, “Where are your parents?”

She tensed.

He cringed. Maybe could have worded that less creepily. “Kid, it’s late. I just want to make sure you get home safe.” Still, she said nothing. “Please, let me help?” The more he talked, the less gruff he sounded. The more human he sounded. Her shoulders were starting to relax and immediately he wondered if anyone had thought to teach this kid about “stranger danger”.

She looked down again, resting her chin on her knees. One step forward, two steps back.

“Kid.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Well, at least you’re talking now.” He watched her, unable to hide a smile. She was slowly trusting him. “So…where are your parents?”

“Dad’s with his family. Mom’s at work.”

He frowned. Divorce was still something he wasn’t all that familiar with. The Avengers weren’t exactly dating or married except for Clint. Tony’s off and on again relationship with Pepper was the most interaction he had with a “healthy” relationship. And some days he wasn’t sure that it qualified as one. “Which parent are you trying to get to?”

She sniffled and he noticed more tears threatening to fall. “Mom…”

“Does she know?”

“I – I left…I left my phone with them.” Tears slipped down her cheeks and Bucky decided it was time to join her side. It was quick. Shifting from one side of the car to the other, he took a seat next to her. She relaxed more. Now that Bucky was between her and the rest of the car, she clearly felt safer.

“So she doesn’t.”

She shook her head and he reached up, tugging her hoodie back. Brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, messy and knotted. She looked up at him, strands falling in her face.

“What’s your name?”

“Andie.”

It was either a fake name, which he would be impressed by, or a nickname, he was sure. But then again, he went by a nickname himself, so who was he to judge?

“You’re Bucky.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised that she would recognize him, but relieved that she at least wasn’t opening up to a complete stranger. She knew he was “safe” and yet she was so young. How could she possibly –

“I’m a mutant. My mom…” She sniffled again, slowly but surely calming down. “My mom wanted to make sure I knew about good role models.”

Good role models? Was her mother an idiot? To think that he could be considered a good role model for a kid? With everything that he had done? No wonder the kid was such a mess. He turned away from her, staring at his interwoven hands. Glove and skin. Always glove and skin.

“Your mom? Is she – “

Andie shook her head. “No. She’s human.”

The subway came to a stop again. It was his. He was supposed to go. Looking from the door to her again, he rang his hands. Nerves. He hated them. Normally everything made him calm, but right now he couldn’t stop the nerves that ate at his gut. “Let me get you to her. Deal?”

She looked surprised but said nothing. Only nodding. There was trust in her eyes. She believed in him and believed that he would look out for her. And that warmed his heart. “She works at the hospital on Kings Highway.”

He knew that area. It wasn’t exactly in the safest part of Brooklyn and was definitely a poorer community. Knowing that both worried and impressed him regarding this kid. She was fearless. It reminded him of a blonde idiot always picking fights, never backing down. Maybe she was a bit stupid too, but she’d grow out of that.

“She’s a nurse?”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell again. It seemed neither of them were sure what they could say. Andie wanted to ask about his arm. Bucky wanted to ask why she ran. She mentioned her father having a family. Was that why? Still, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He felt like it wasn’t his place. So he leaned back and glanced at the stops coming up. They had four more before she would have gotten off. Four stops on a creepy train just to get to her mother.

Must be a hell of a woman to raise a kid so strong.

His head rest against the window and he tensed when he felt something rest on him. He looked down. Andie’s head was propped on his metal arm and she was almost immediately asleep. She hadn’t flinched or anything. Instead, the kid found comfort in something that was supposed to be a weapon. Taking a slow breath, he forced himself to relax. She cuddled into his arm and he could tell she was absolutely exhausted. Of course, she was. No kid her age should be out this late.

Another forty minutes passed before they reached her stop. He nudged her awake and she stifled a yawn. “Come on, Andie, get up.”

Another yawn slipped out of her as she blinked slowly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “I fell asleep?”

“Mhm.” He picked her up, carrying her off the subway as she properly woke up. When he felt she could walk without running into anything, he set her down again. He took off his baseball cap, placing it on her head and earning a sleepy grin from her. He didn’t understand what it was about that smile that made him feel all warm and fuzzy, but in that moment…Bucky just wanted to protect her from everything.

“Alright, Andie, lead the way.”

Andie was good about sticking close to his side and honestly, it was a relief. The last thing he needed or wanted to worry about was losing the kid on accident. Somehow this wasn’t supposed to be his problem and yet, here he was.

Steve would say he was asking for it.

His arm flexed when he felt her take his hand. That stupid gloved hand. How could she not be afraid? She knew who he was.

“Why?”

Andie looked up at him before glancing at her much smaller hand holding onto his. “Maybe she won’t ground me if I’m clearly being safe and out this late with an Avenger.”

Bucky laughed. As much as he hated to admit it, it sounded like solid reasoning from a kid. He looked ahead. The hospital was just across the street. She tugged him in that direction, not having to worry about cars this late at night. What a strange little thing she was.

The bright fluorescents of the hospital were a stark contrast to the night sky and dim streetlights. It made him squint.

“Andie?”

“Hey, Nurse Jones!”

Bucky looked up, eyes finally adjusting and fixating on the woman that had spoken. Nurse Jones – so not her mother. She watched him, the dark circles under her eyes only making her grey eyes more prominent. She was young. He would have guessed she got out of nursing school recently. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail. Closing the file in her hand, she walked up to them, her eyes never straying from Bucky. It was interesting – a relief that she wasn’t ogling him, but in fact concerned for Andie’s wellbeing.

“Uh…Andie,” she started, crouching in front of her. “What are you doing here? And this late?”

“I…Well…”

“It’s my fault.”

Nurse Jones and Andie looked up simultaneously. Clearly neither had expected him to say that. In truth, neither had he. “Yours? You’re not Andie’s babysitter.”

Babysitter? Wasn’t she supposed to be with her dad? “No, but – “

“But he’s an Avenger.” Andie grinned when Nurse Jones’s cheeks turned pink. She recognized him then. “So I’m safe.”

She sighed, rubbing the bridge between her brows. Bucky didn’t bother to hide his smirk. It was obvious that this wasn’t the first time Andie had found a loophole in a conversation. So, Nurse Jones stood up and looked at Bucky. Before she had a chance to say anything or take Andie to her mother, there was a call from the desk. She immediately turned and went to answer the phone, reaching over rather awkwardly. “Okay, I’ll be there in a couple minutes,” she told whoever was on the other line. Hanging up, she looked back at Bucky. She glanced from him to Andie and back again, at a complete loss. “Do you mind going with her?”

He shifted from one foot to the other, brow furrowing. He thought he was just dropping the kid off and problem solved. The idea of traveling further into the hospital made him tense. Bucky didn’t like hospitals. He sure as hell didn’t trust doctors. Not after Zola. Not after…after everything. But clearly this woman looked stressed. She didn’t seem to be the type to ask for a favor from a stranger. Especially not if she could help it.

“Going with her where?”

–

Labor and Delivery.

That was where.

Surrounded by rooms filled with pregnant, hormonal women. Rooms filled with families having happy lives. Lives he couldn’t have.

You should’ve kept your mouth shut on that damn subway.

“Okay, Andie, where’s your – “

“Lauren Andromeda Y/L/N!”

“Uh oh.”

“Mom…” Bucky finished, looking up as a whirlwind of light blue scrubs came up to them. A woman swept her up, pulling Andie’s hand out of Bucky’s. She squeezed her tight and it was then that Bucky put the pieces together.

This must be her mom.

Wait, Lauren Andromeda?

Bucky raised an eyebrow as Andie peeked at him over her shoulder. She was grinning and the sight brought back that weird feeling from earlier. He looked away, clenching his jaw as he tried to stuff it aside. Instead of lingering on it, he watched out of his peripheral as she was carried to the desk the rest of the nurses were at. While they were staring at him, Andie’s mom seemed completely focused on whether her daughter was okay or not.

“Ciara called me and told me you were on your way up. What were you doing – I thought May would’ve put you to bed hours ago.” She noticed the sheepish look in her daughter’s eyes and braced her hands on either side of her, tapping her foot. “You snuck out. You went to see him.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, I just…I wanted to…”

Andie trailed off and immediately what was once aggravation and worry slipped into nothing more than a mother’s concern. She sighed as she gathered her into her arms, squeezing her tight. “I know, baby girl, I know.”

One of the nurses at their station cleared her throat, forcing her to look up. She raised an eyebrow, mouthing ‘what’ to her coworker. An impish grin appeared on her face as she pointed to just behind. “I think you owe someone a thank you.”

Looking back, a dark red blush appeared on cheeks and ears as Andie’s mother finally released her. “I – I know you.”

Bucky dipped his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“He’s Bucky, Mom.”

“I know that,” she hissed, looking back at Andie. She eyed the baseball cap on her head – the one clearly too big for her. She turned back to Bucky. “You brought her here?”

Bucky was still silent, not entirely sure what to say. While he was used to at least saying a couple sentences, he found himself at a complete loss. This was extremely new to him. And this woman was a whirlwind. She was chaotic at best. Unlike Natasha who carried herself with the utmost care and Wanda who was confident, but calm – she was something else. Her hair was pulled up and out of her face. There was no sign of makeup anywhere except mascara that he guessed was a couple days old. The dark circles under her eyes were similar to Nurse Jones’s and there was no sign of jewelry anywhere on her except for a single necklace around her neck.

A locket.

She was simple and yet so bright, so chaotic. He wondered if it was because of her daughter’s safety or if that was just her.

“Say something.”

Bucky shot a pointed look at Andie, making a note in the back of his mind to ask about her name at some point in the future. Instead of saying something, he simply nodded.

“Thank you.” She looked so honest and real. It was unfamiliar to him. “Being an Avenger must be exhausting. Taking the time to do that for my daughter…it means a lot.”

“I just – “ He cleared his throat, his flesh hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to make sure she was safe.”

She smiled before looking at Andie. “I’ll call May and get your coloring books. Find a chair.” Pulling Andie off the counter, she set her down and glanced at the coworker that had teased her earlier. “Cover for me?”

“You know it, girl.”

Laughing, she pulled her phone off the charger and walked away. Bucky’s eyes watched, unable to tear themselves away. He didn’t want to. He wanted to make sure not only Andie was okay, but that her mother was. Taking a couple steps back, he shook his head. Maybe that was just the Avenger part of him talking.

“Hey.”

Bucky looked down, raising an eyebrow when he saw it was Andie less than a foot away from him. She was quick on her feet. He’d give her that. Curling a finger in a come-hither motion, she was unable to stop smiling when Bucky crouched in front of her.

“Yes?”

She took the borrowed hat off, placing it on his head. Leaning forward, Andie told him, “Her name’s Y/N.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the little matchmaker in front of him. That was probably normal for a kid from divorced parents, right? Taking the hat back off his head, he adjusted the strap on the back. He turned it around and placed it back on her head, making sure it fit. Instead of commenting on the little Cupid Game Andie was so obviously playing, he said, “Keep it. Looks better on you.”

Andie tilted her head up, revealing wide, cheery eyes that weren’t shining quite so bright the first time they had met. It seemed she was much better now. She didn’t need him anymore. “Thanks, Mr. Barnes.”

“Call me Bucky.”

She giggled and nodded, the hat slipping ever so slightly. “Bye, Bucky.”

He stood up. “Bye, Andie.”

Turning on his heel, he left the Labor and Delivery department. He knew damn well if anyone from his team found out about this, he’d be teased relentlessly. So, he made sure he would keep it to himself. No one needed to find out about Andie. Or Y/N.

Bucky paused when he thought about her. Y/N. “Y/N Y/L/N.” It sounded…almost familiar.

But that didn’t matter anymore. The night was over and if he had any chance of not being a total ass at the compound tomorrow, he needed to get at least a couple hours of sleep.

So that was the new goal.

Brooklyn. Then work. Then repeat.

No Andie. No Y/N.

Back to the routine of late, lonesome subway rides.

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x Female Reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes

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chaoticspacefam · 4 years ago

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OC Interview Meme - Saarai Ahaszaai

I was tagged for this again by @deepseacritter, thank you! <3

I think all my mutuals have already been tagged multiple times for this so I’m not gonna add any more specific ones, but if you’re reading this and you wanna do it (or do it again), then feel free to say I tagged you! Yes, I promise I mean you!

Saarai, this time, because I highly doubt Ni’kasi would even turn up to an interview unless someone bribed her XD Rai’s quite happy to talk about things though~

-The Pureblood that strolls in looks a lot taller than the HoloNet cameras have made her seem in the past, she has to duck to get herself through the doorway, mumbling something about “architechts needing to pay more attention to tall people when designing doorways”, before offering the interviewer an apology as she accepts the microphone and pins it to the collar of her robe and takes her seat-

? Name ? -Though she is tall and imposing at first glance, she seems to exude a very calm, friendly aura as she answers the first of the questions, lounging in the chair in a very casual manner, as if they were having a conversation in someone’s living room and not in a studio- “Saarai Ahaszaai. You can call me Rai, if it’s easier for you.”

? Are you single ? “Wouldn’t you like to know~?” -Saarai hums teasingly, even winking a little at the woman across from her- “But no, and I’m not really looking to add anyone else to the circle right now.”

? Are you happy ? “Pretty content, yeah!”

? Are you angry ? -the playful smirk fades and she looks slightly worried for a moment- "I don’t look angry, do I? I’m not, I promise.”

? Are your parents still married ? -She smiles again, but this time it is partly sad, and partly wistful- "They’ve both been dead a great many years now. But, I suppose...wherever they went afterwards, they probably still are, yes. From what I do remember of them when we were little, they loved eachother very, very much and I think if there is somewhere we go when we die, that wouldn’t change.”

NINE FACTS

? Birth Place ? “Hah! I don’t think there are many people now that know the name. We call it “Nathema”, now, but...it was very much different when we were little. We spent a lot of time on Dromund Kaas, though, more than at “home” home.”

? Hair Color ? "I believe you’d call this a sort of dark scarlet?” -she flicks an errant strand back into place over her shoulders-

? Eye Color ? “Yellow, as you can see.” -she leans down a little closer to the camera, to give a better view of them for a moment before straightening up-

? Birthday ? -this question makes the Pureblood throw her head back, teeth glinting in the artificial studio lights as she laughs heartily- "Didn’t your mama teach you it was rude to ask a lady her age, dear? Old enough, I assure you~”

? Mood ? "Content, amused. A little hungry, I didn’t eat before I came here, realising now I probably should have, but oh well!” -the interviewer shifts uncomfortably in her seat, although the phrase was not presented as threatening itself, it wasn’t difficult to notice how sharp those teeth are and they’re clearly uneasy at the thought...-

? Gender ? "Female. Simple as that, nothing extra to add to that one.”

? Summer or winter ? "Summer, absolutely.” -Saarai’s answer is almost immediate, and as she speaks about the cold she visibly shudders- “I don’t do well in winter, far too cold for me. Nopeeee.”

? Morning or afternoon ? "Early morning is best, just as the sun is rising. It’s very beautiful, almost peaceful.” -she smiles once again, as relaxed as ever-

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE -She quirks a browstalk in surprise, but sinks back into the seat and nods a little, as if giving the interviewer permission to continue-

? Are you in love ? -She answers without hesitation- "Yes, I am. They’re both amazing.”

? Do you believe in love at first sight ? "Mmmhh, yes.” -Saarai has to consider this question in a little more detail before she can truly give an answer, nodding slowly- “I suppose that I do. But I’ve been told by my sister that I have a habit of “falling for people too easily”, as she calls it, so perhaps that has something to do with it.”

? Who ended your last relationship ? "It was a mutual separation.” -the Pureblood shrugs simply, not seeming awfully upset by it- “She and I wanted different things and we realised it just wasn’t going to work out, so we broke it off.”

? Have you ever broken someone’s heart ? "Not intentionally, but it would be wrong of me to assume that it’s never happened at all.”

? Are you afraid of commitments ? -this time, Saarai snorts, partly in amusement with perhaps a slight undertone of annoyance- "No. I’m not. It’s absolutely possible to be committed to more than one person at a time and I assure you I’m perfectly equipped to do just that.”

? Have you hugged someone within the last week? -Her demeanour softens almost instantly at this question and she smiles warmly- “Yes. My sister, and my son, and my partners. Why, did you need one? I’m told I give good hugs, pointy bits aside.”

? Have you ever had a secret admirer ? "Not that I’m aware of, but I suppose that’s what makes them a secret admirer, eh?”

? Have you ever broken your own heart? -the gentleness vanishes from her eyes and they lock with the interviewer’s intensely. While the gaze itself is not threatening, it’s very clear that she doesn’t wish to talk about this topic further and would like to move on- “Yes. Twice.”

SIX CHOICES

? Love or lust ? -She seems relieved to have left the previous topic unanswered, her smile slowly returning as she continues- “Definitely love over lust. Lust without the love is a very empty, lonely thing.”

? Lemonade or iced tea ? "Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever had either?” -Saarai’s browstalks pull downwards into a thoughtful frown as she concludes- “Iced tea sounds...interesting, though. I’d probably try that.”

? Cats or Dogs ? “Again, I’ve never had either, but if I had to pick one, I guess a cat sounds nice.”

? A few best friends or many regular friends ? "Why not both? I wouldn’t tell regular friends things I told my best friends, but that doesn’t make them not my friends.”

? Wild night out or romantic night in ? "Romantic night in.” -she huffs softly and shakes her head- “I don’t mind a drink or two every now and then, but I’d much rather be at home with my partners.”

? Day or night ? -She smiles wistfully again- “Night time. Before he died, my father used to take my sister and I outside to stargaze when we were little. Doing that now reminds me of him.”

FIVE FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS

? Been caught sneaking out ? "Caught? No, I haven’t.”

? Fallen down/up the stairs ? -the Pureblood’s browstalks shoot upwards and she looks somewhat accusing, this time- “What did Aria tell you? That was one time! One!”

? Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? "More often than I’d like to admit.” -Saarai snorts in amusement, shaking her head to herself- “I believe you’d call me a “hopeless romantic”, if you will.”

? Wanted to disappear ? -She looks down a little, but eventually does meet the interviewer’s gaze again- "Yeah. I suppose I did. It seemed like it would’ve been easier, at the time.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

? Smile or eyes ? "Both?”

? Shorter or Taller ? "Usually shorter, that’s just...easier, at the end of the day.” -with how tall she is, this answer was to be expected-

? Intelligence or Attraction ? “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find intelligence very attractive...”

? Hook-up or Relationship ? "Long-term? A relationship. I get attached easily, but I’m not above a few one-nighters here and there, if the opportunity presents itself~”

FAMILY

? Do you and your family get along ? "My twin sister and I are, yeah. I haven’t seen my uncles for a very long time, but I’d like to think we’re still close and we’ll see each other again sometime soon.” -she smiles gently- “And my son, of course. He knows he can come to me for anything. But, that’s it...that’s the family, or what’s left of us anyway.”

? Would you say you have a “messed up life” ? -the Pureblood tilts her head, going quiet for a long-ish while- “By Sith standards, I suppose no. Not with the way the Empire’s been these days. In terms of how it affected me? A little, but I picked myself back up and we’re doing okay.”

? Have you ever ran away from home ? “I don’t consider it running from home. I ran from the place that used to be home, because it stopped being that way. I’m home now.“

? Have you ever gotten kicked out ? "Nnnn, nah. I’m gonna say no, on this one.”

FRIENDS

? Do you secretly hate one of your friends ? -Saarai hesitates before answering this time, worrying at her lip with one of her fangs- "I don’t know whether I would say “hate”, that’s a very strong word. But “dislike”, yeah, one of them a little.”

? Do you consider all of your friends good friends ? "Most of them, though I trust a few more than others.”

? Who is your best friend ? "Probably Ni’kasi. Or Koth. Can I say both of them? I don’t know if I can pick.”

? Who knows everything about you ? "Ni’kasi again. She’s been in my life the longest, I mean, we’re twins so...that’s kind of a given isn’t it?”

#swtor #star wars: the old republic #tagged meme #oc interview meme #swtor oc: saarai ahaszaai #the outlander #sith pureblood #this took me a little longer to finish than I thought it would i'm sorry #shsyjdgfyudfdt #i do like this meme tho it's fun!

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isnt-that-something · 5 years ago

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NOT MY CHILD

So I was deeply inspired by an ask answered by @bigoltrashpile about what their Mafia boys would do if their child had been abused at the daycare they had been using (Ask here)and I was particularly taking with Noir and Scar’s reactions. I asked and @bigoltrashpile said it was alright if I wanted to flesh out the scene a little more. Here is what I imagined for Noir. I’ll try and do Scar tomorrow some time. It’s my first fic (does this count? I don’t know) so I hope I did ok. Let me know if I messed up something, it’s late and I’m tired but I HAD to type it out before it left me. XD Story below the cut so I’m not eating up anyone’s feed space. I hope you enjoy!

Noir strode through the daycare doors, his face a teeming thunder cloud of anger. The call he had received simply stated that he needed to come to the daycare immediately, so help him if he was getting pulled out of an important "meeting" for another silly conference over juice boxes (GET OVER IT LINDA, NOT EVERY CHILD WANTS APPLE JUICE, GRAPE IS AN OPTION) he was going to box someone. Shock roots him to floor of the entry way as he lays eyes on his child, who was red eyed from crying and one swelling shut from a nasty bruise already forming. Shock passed quickly back to anger stronger and fiercer than before. His long legs made short work of crossing the room to kneel by his child. He gently sweeps his leather gloves under their chin to inspect the injury, already bright purple and deepening by the second with a deep groove craved into their tender skin cutting into their flesh in harsh swipe. As he opens his mouth to ask what happened someone else entered the room and his child violently flinched out of his grasp breaking eye contact to stare tearfully at the floor. He whipped his head to face the new comer. Eyes narrowed as he recognized newest staff member that the center had hired in desperation when they were left abruptly shorthanded when two of their senior team members had gotten married the previous year and were now on maternity leave welcoming their own little one into the world. His first encounter with her was shortly after her hire at yet another parent staff meeting, her smile had grown taunt and her tone terse upon introductions and she seemed confused as to why a skeleton monster was there in attendance with a human child. After she'd seemed to find issue with everything he had suggested be done at the center. In this moment she looked down at the two and explained in a fake sickly sweet voice that she had no idea what had happened to Noir's child but suspected that perhaps the other children didn't like that they had a monster for a parent and that they child was a victim of bullying. "You know how children can be, especially to someone that just doesn't fit in." she said practically biting the last words out.

Noir rose to his full height and stared down at her, his frown deepening as she took an instinctive step back with distaste flashing across her face. Under his stony gaze she tittered nervously a hand raising to flick her hair behind her shoulder, a ring with a large gaudy stone catching the light, his child flinched violently behind him. His eyes flicked down once again taking in the injury. All this washed over him, coupled with the feeling of his child's trembling fingers clenching the back of his slacks, left absolutely no doubt in his mind exactly who had been bullying his child and why: monster hater. Fury quickly overtook Noir and he broke free of his child's grasp and he advanced quickly to the new aid. His wrathful expression caused her eyes to widen as she was struck dumb with the realization that she had well and truly F'ed up.

He harshly grabbed her arm and before she could think to utter even a single word of protest he had harshly wheeled them out the door and into an adjacent alley. Indignant stutters flew from her lips has she tried to shake free from his iron grasp.

"Let me go this instant! Just what do you think you're doing?!" she shrieked in a high pitched voice that ended in a violent huff as he whirled her none to gently against the brick wall that was nearly as cold and unforgiving as he felt.

"I THINK THE BETTER QUESTION IS WHAT YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING. HOW DARE YOU LAY YOUR HANDS ON A CHILD. AND MY CHILD AT THAT!" He spat in her face which quickly lost whatever color she had left in her placid face.

"I-I don't know-"

" LIKE HELL YOU DON'T!" his hand flashes our like a cobra striking taking her wrist and yanking it eye level, nearly yanking her off the ground in the process, the gaudy ring flashing in the waning sun light tarnished by a flecks of blood that she had clearly not managed to properly wash away before his arrival. His grip tightens on her wrist and she gasps in pain and fear as her eyes rest on the damning ring that his eyelights were fiercely burning with their focus. Her mouth opened again to try and plead with him only to be cut off has he once again flung her against the wall, with more force than before violently knocking the wind out of her as she fell to her knees.

"SAVE IT. I WILL NOT WASTE MY TIME LISTENING TO THE MEWLING WHIMPERING OF A WORTHLESS CUR THAT WOULD HURT A CHILD THAT WAS LEFT IN THEIR CARE FOR SOMETHING AS PATHETIC AS SPECIESISM." Noir snarled as he glared down at the pitiful creature kneeling before him torn between wanting to settle this "properly" against his need to go in and tend to his child. As his instincts waged war in his mind her quivering form and tear filled eyes made him think of how his child must have looked before her when she dared raise he hand to them. With that in mind he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He removed his gloves and tucked them in his pockets before suddenly backhanding her across the face, the brutal crack echoed down the alley way as she collapsed to the ground. As she shakenly pushed herself off the ground blood dripped from the five slashes cut into her skin by his claw like phalanges, four long and deep with the fifth short and shallow. She flinched violently as he loomed closer grabbing her face to force her to meet his eyelights heated gaze.

"I Want You To Leave This City And Never Come Back. Consider This A Parting Lesson And Reminder, Never Lay Hands On A Child And Never Let Me See You Face Again. If I Do These Marks," he quietly sneered as he flicked his thumb over the open wounds roughly "Will Be Here." he moved hand to span her throat and grasped it harshly. "Now... Run" Noir growled deeply as he flung the woman towards the entrance of the alley and as soon as she regained her feet under her she took off running.

He pulled a napkin from his jacket and swiftly wiped his claws before putting his gloves back on and made his way back into the Daycare to care for his child. After caring to their wounds with the sites med kit and making several calls. One of which to the horrified owner of the establishment who rushed in to check on all of the children while trying to make arrangements to have a replacement aid hired as soon as possible. She apologized over and over about what had happened and was absolutely mortified that something like this had even happened. Noir helped calm her as she was genuinely upset. He gave her some contact information of some people that would know some more suitable replacements and even offered to stay to help watch the children so that she could interview that day. Butch nearly died of a SoulStroke when he came looking for Noir and to "see wat's takin so damn long" and he came walking in to the daycare to see Noir divested of his suit jacket and tie with tots of various ages clambered over his body as he attempted to read "The Tales of Fluffy Bunny" to the giggling hoard of kids.

As for the aid... she took Noir's words to heart. She ran down the road, across the street, clearing blocks as quick as her feet could take her. When they failed her she quickly hailed a cab and told them "Take me as far from this damn city as you can!!!". She finally settled in a city hundreds of miles away, she paid out the nose for people to collect all her belongings from her former home and bring them to her new one. She was never able to get a job in child care again as her previous employer made sure to tell everyone that she was an abuser and a monsterphobe to boot.

#bigoltrashpile #mafiabros #mafiatale #mafiafell #Mafiaswapfell #baby's first fic #please forgive any grammar or spelling issues #formatting?#Whats that?

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orontes · 5 years ago

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Life Itself (Merlin)

Merlin - short fic, no-plot fic, gen if you want, but you can also ship.

Big Disclaimer: I thought of this while in a hospital bed and then wrote it on painkillers, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Other Disclaimers: it’s my first Merlin fic and only my second proper fic after One Road Trip To Palo Alto (SPN). So there XD.

LIFE ITSELF

Another day in the Kingdom, another instance of Merlin stupidly, bravely jumping in front of Arthur, putting himself between the King and an enemy. Luckily not a magical enemy, but a terrifying one nonetheless. An ex-knight of the now-defunct kingdom of Cenred recognised them in the forest and ambushed Arthur specifically. Before being struck by Arthur's sword, the fallen knight threw Merlin off his horse, hit him with a mace that, Arthur thought, the servant very skillfully managed to partially avoid, only to be intentionally, cruelly run over by the disgraced warrior on his horse.

Arthur had no problem in winning the duel, but he saw everything, and everything remained permanently impressed behind his eyelids: he saw Merlin already gripping his arm after being struck by the mace, and then his skull being hit, no stomped on by a horse's hoof, and it had been a terrible sight. He thought Merlin was dead even before he could reach to him.

...

It might be unusual for a King to visit his manservant recovered in the rooms of the court's physician, but Arthur thought it wouldn't be that strange to pay a courtesy visit to any man who tried to put themselves between an armed attacker and his king.

Merlin looked worse than he thought he'd find him. Shirtless, one arm bandaged, probably covered by some tincture under the cloth, so luckily not broken, but his head was kept firm by two pieces of wood at the sides that clearly had been created for the purpose of not letting it roll left or right. Because Merlin was unconscious and constantly bleeding from his nose. Half of his face was covered by an alarming blue shade, including an eye, even though the eye wasn't swollen or cut. Arthur did not recognise the wound. Actually he couldn't even clearly see a wound. He didn't like this in the least. Next to his face Gaius caught the blood trickling down, using a cloth but very lightly, almost without touching the boy's face. When the physician turned to look at Arthur it was with a heavy expression on his face.

...

"I believe his skull has a hairline fracture: you can't see it dented, but it's there. And I'm not sure if he's just bleeding on the outside, or if there's also an internal bleeding." Arthur actually tried to pay attention instead of immediately looking for a joke on how Merlin always reveals himself to be indestructible. Gaius was talking of internal bleeding...so in his brain?

"I think, sire, that our Merlin... - Gaius didn't even look at him:. he couldn't stop looking at Hunith's boy, the nephew under his guardianship - ... is... dancing on the fine line between life and death."

Arthur translated again in his head. The man didn't give any solution, any 'unless', any 'let's hope...'. Nothing. Gaius was telling Arthur to prepare himself to lose Merlin.

Arthur would've wanted to say something more solemn at that moment, but couldn't.

"Gaius, if there's someone who can dance that dance that's Merlin. I bet he's dancing towards life right now. Come on, he's a small-village boy. I bet he knows every kind of dance. 'Cause you can't do much else in Ealdor, that's for sure. He'll make it."

...

Arthur called it. Even though Merlin had been unconscious for days, and when he woke up for a moment he seemed to speak another language, mostly to himself, and despite Gaius kicking everybody out of his rooms to leave Merlin alone, as if he was a desperate case, after a few weeks he was on his feet again. Arthur never asked how that was possible.

...

On a dark, moonless night, four men were entering the citadel of the castle of Camelot. Arthur and three trusted knights had been on a recognition mission in foreign territory. That meant no insignia whatsoever with the dragon of the Pendragons. No red mantels, no dragon-emblazoned insignia on the horses, anonymous swords. Arthur was wearing a dark blue cloak. Almost the whole city was coated in silence, except for a house. This house was modest, long and narrow, in simple, sturdy stones, almost a glorified stable. But it didn't take much to see how it was built with care, precision, love. Warm, yellow light, stuttering music and laughter escaped from the windows, contrasting the cold night with something inviting, familiar, happy. Arthur stopped in front of one of the windows. "See? While we're keeping the kingdom safe the people dance!" but the king was being benevolent. "Is somebody getting married?" Sir Leon politely coughed: "Sire, they threw a party for Merlin, now that he's well. They thought he was really going to die this time." "Merlin?" Arthur paused a moment. "I didn't know he was so well loved in the outer citadel. Actually I didn't even know people knew him outside of the castle ." Sir Gwain murmured: "Well people came to know, in time, that he has a good heart. He is willing to help anyone, however he can."

"Huh." Arthur took a step nearer the low window. He thought such a house could host about fifteen people, but he was wrong: there were more like thirty-five or forty. A small group of people to the far end, the narrower side, was intent on ruining musical instruments with a silly popular tune, while assorted people, who looked like farmers, children, working women, servants of the castle, were eating or drinking standing on their feet, along the walls, having preferred to make tables disappear somewhere so that at the center other guests could dance. There were two kinds of dancers: young boys and girls, and more hirsute, round-belly proud owners and definitely drunk men. And there he was: Merlin was looking at the guests, with a cup of untouched ale in his hand, a smile on his face, when somebody started pushing him at the centre of the only room of the house. They took his cup, he tried to disappear inside his shoulders, with that smirk, that you never knew if it was a polite smile or an all-knowing wise grin, but in the end he had to surrender and quickly joined one of those villagers' dances that look that simple but aren't. Merlin's feet, his long legs, immediately found the rhythm, and effortlessly inserted themselves in the group-dance. Arthur recognised it, but he never had the opportunity to learn it: it was one of those dances in which first every boy dances holding the hand of a girl, and then all of a sudden every dancer is creating a corridor, the arms up in the air creating arches, like the corridor in marble on the lower level of the castle of Camelot, through which other dancers have to run through. It seemed pretty easy, but it wasn't for the older drunk men, who just ran down the middle of the two lines, one of boys the other of girls, and laughing out loud just threw themselves on the wooden floor at the end of their run, thing that apparently was really fun to the other guests, certainly helped in finding amusement in the falls by alcohol. Then the most complicated thing: without missing a beat, every boy found again the hand of a girl, who was right there for them, flying on fast movements of their feet. Nobody bumped into each other, or had one girl too many.

Merlin's feet were so quick that he looked like he weighed less. Never the expression 'light on his feet' fit better. The girls, too, were so fast dancing on their place that it looked like their long skirts were floating on air. The shoulders of the young men, often seen bent on the work, were now straight and graceful, just as graceful were their smiles at each other. Those boots Merlin always wore, his only pair, weren't just made to walk in large rooms in the castle, or rude boots to walk on the forest's paths, but to jump precisely in between rocks in the Valley of the Fallen Kings with dexterity, without breaking an ankle, and, evidently, to dance like a spirit at a party thrown by people who had to wake up and work the next morning. At the crack of dawn.

Leon intervened again "It's a servants party. It would be odd for a king to participate. On the other hand... you are the king so you can do whatever you decide" Arthur didn't need to look at Leon to know that he had a little smile on his face, at this point he could tell from the tone of his voice.

Arthur looked at Merlin again. Dancing effortlessly and bright, surprisingly without tripping on his own stork- legs, as light as some of those unnatural creatures that populated the stories that Arthur was narrated only a few times before it was time to get a sword in his hands, and whose names and adventures indeed now he couldn't remember. He was dancing to life itself as if it were music.

"No, I would shift all the attention to myself. And we need to sleep anyway. Let's hope these people will be able to work tomorrow." The last words elicited some scoffing from the knights. "Let's go."

Arthur moved away from the yellow welcoming light of the house's windows, and in the blue and dark night cut across the central square of the citadel, his light steps and those of the knights the only noise on the cold stones, passed through the equestrian statue, climbed up the stairs and disappeared into the dark, silent entrance of his castle.

#merlin #merlin fic #fic #short fic #mine

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shewhowantsmouseears · 6 years ago

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fake wedding dimeshipping nonsense!

So I don't remember if I've ever shared this here (possibly not, it was years ago) but since I've gotten more Dimeshipping fans on here, why not upload it? Years ago I had this idea of Scrooge and Magica (1987 DT + comics, which explains why I mashed Ratface and Poe into one being) pretending to get married to get Magica's family off her back, with all the shenanigans that would naturally ensue. I've tweaked it a bit since then, but here are some scenes I wrote all those years ago! And for the unfamiliar, yes, these are all canon characters -

Granny de Spell - Magica's well-meaning but overbearing blonde Granny. Rosolio - Dim-witted warlock who's in love with Magica. (I did make him an oocly jerk, and sometimes to insane degrees, but, well, again, this was written years ago XD) Witch Child - Magica's niece, because everybody's got nieces in disney. Samson Hex - Magica's so-called apprentice, who's not that talented. (admittedly i've never read any of his stories, just gleamed it off INDUCKS)

Anyway, here we go! warning, LONG AS HELL.

The only sounds filling the gigantic dining room were that of clinking silverware, and mouths chewing food. To the left side of the table was Magica's family - Granny sipping her wine contemplatively while eyeing Scrooge, with Poe on her shoulder offering sympathetic looks to his sister. Witch Child occasionally hummed, enjoying mushing the fancy food together to create new concoctions. Samson Hex's fork rhythmically tapped against the plate, too nervous from the tension to even think of eating. Rosolio was also looking at Scrooge, but his look contained more anger than curiosity, glaring daggers at the man who "stole" his woman.

To the right side of the table was Scrooge's family. The triplets were hiding their vegetables under their napkins, exchanging glances with themselves, and Webbigail, who easily enough entered into a staring contest with Witch Child (and lost.) Daisy was the only one smiling, doing her best to try and lift everyone's spirits, often complimenting on how delicious the food was. Donald was clearly struggling to keep his beak closed, chest shaking with suppressed laughter.

At the front end of the table stood Duckworth and Ms. Beakly, ready to serve more food at a moment's notice, but also looking for ways to escape this clearly awkward situation. At the other end of the table sat the "happy' couple", matched in their miserable expressions. Scrooge was doing his best to ignore the looks on him, cutting so hard into his beef that his plate began to suffer damage. Magica was swirling yet another sugar cube into her tea, no doubt by now more sugar than actual tea.

Suddenly Granny lifted her head, arms crossed. "I've just noticed something, dearie."

Magica raised the cup to her beak. "Enlighten me."

"We've been here for an entire week... and I have yet to see you kiss your future husband."

Magica spat out what little tea was in her mouth, Scrooge's knife split his plate, Rosolio dropped his utensils, Donald burst out into hysterical laughter, Daisy elbowed Donald in the ribs, and now all eyes were locked on the "couple". When the noise had settled, Magica and Scrooge looked at each other for the briefest of moments before returning Granny's attention.

"That's... that's..." Magica hesitated for the right words. "That's personal!"

Granny merely smirked. "Is it? I've seen Donald and Daisy do it six times these past few days, and they're only dating."

Donald promptly shut up, and Daisy rubbed her temples. Scrooge attempted to retaliate. "We're not very 'in' to public displays of affection."

"Is that so." Rosolio cut in, hands gripping the table. "If I were in your shoes, I'd never stop kissing her! If I wasn't some fiance-stealing crook, I'd kiss her right now!" He hissed. "But I'm a gentleman."

Scrooge grumbled deep in his throat, and looked to Daisy, clearly demanding some aide. She seemed to shrink in her seat a little from his intensity. "W-Well, uh... you just haven't been here long enough! Give them the right time and place, and they smooch up a storm, let me tell you." This was met with gags from the triplets, and Donald shoving bread into his mouth to keep from laughing all over again.

"I don't see anything wrong with this time and place." Granny replied, eyes never leaving her granddaughter. "Is asking for a kiss really such a difficult demand?"

"You're ruining a perfectly nice dinner." Magica glowered, standing up, chair pushed back. "All you ever do is demand things! You can't ever believe, you always need proof!" Scrooge had fallen silent at this point, lost in thought.

"You don't find it strange that a couple never kisses? I've barely seen you hold hands." Granny reached behind her to pat Poe's head. "Isn't that right, Poe?"

Poe was ready to molt from the glare Magica was giving him. "Uh... w-well... that is... oh, wow, that ham looks delicious, is anyone else going to have a slice?"

"What do I have to do to convince you, and get you out of my life, you horrid woman!" Magica screeched, slamming her palms down on the table. "Do I have to throw a parade about how much I love him? Write a novel about all of our affairs? I told you I'd get married, so I'm getting married, you're never satis-"

The next instant was a blur in Magica's mind when she would recall it later on. The "blur" was Scrooge ever so calmly getting out of his seat, and then, with all the speed of a cheetah, placing one hand on her cheek, his other fingers in her hair, and pressing his beak to hers as deeply as possible.

Simultaneously, everyone's jaws dropped - save for Donald, who had fallen backwards onto the floor, nearly in pain due to how much he was laughing. Magica's entire face had gone redder than the wine in Granny's cup, her body unable to move, frozen in place. She didn't even appear to be breathing. Was she even aware that they had become the center of attention? Her wide eyes didn't seem to be looking at Scrooge, but off, in the distance, trying to pinpoint some place of coherent thought, like she couldn't decide what to do or think. Time had gone still for her.

Then, slowly, to the note of everyone, her eyes lost that distance, and her muscles relaxed. Her eyelashes fluttered, before settling on closing completely, accepting, or pleased, or both. The color faded from her cheeks, though it was eternal in doing so. Just as quickly as it had started, it was ending, as Scrooge's hands left her face, and he pulled away from her. Their eyes opened, and it was impossible to tell what they were "telling" each other in those looks. Scrooge then promptly sat back down, adjusted his spectacles, and dabbed his beak with a napkin, as if nothing had happened at all. "Duckworth, I think we're all ready for some dessert."

"... Yes, sir." He was just grateful to leave the room for a few precious seconds.

Scrooge looked to Granny. "Satisfied?"

Granny didn't reply, but managed to close her mouth. She did, however, clear her throat, trying to get Magica's attention. As for Magica, she was still standing, eyes still transfixed, giving the impression she was half asleep. When she sat down, it was with certainly less finesse than Scrooge, loudly plopping down, nearly falling over, as if she'd been struck by lightning. Scrooge caught the entire spectacle, and couldn't help but wear a prideful little smile. He still had it.

"And that's when they're in public!" Daisy chirped.

~*~

"What in all hells was that?!" Magica screeched at Scrooge, once they were alone in his bedroom and trying to settle for the night.

Scrooge was buttoning his nightshirt, rolling his eyes at the tantrum. "If I didn't do that, they'd never shut up."

"You couldn't have warned me?" She sat on the bed, kicking her feet to show off her displeasure.

"What couple do you know that warns the other before they kiss?" He placed his nightcap on his head, and turned to her. "If you want this charade to work, we're going to have to be a lot more..." He shuddered to say it. "...affectionate, when your family is around."

Magica groaned, clutching herself, feeling her skin crawl, and leaned on a bed post. "Disgusting... why can't they just get back on their brooms and go home!"

She began to ramble once more about how much she hated her family, and so Scrooge tuned out, used to the rant. Would it kill her to be quiet for more than two minutes? He shook his head, reminding himself that all these headaches would be worth it. Soon enough, he'd be rid of her, and would actually be able to relax for a while. He rubbed his spectacles with his fingers, in a cheap attempt to clean them. Yes, soon, he'd be able to relax, and he'd have this entire room sanitized to get rid of any sign that she was ever there, that she was ever on his bed, in his bed...

... Get rid of any sign that he ever kissed her, that he ever held her, that he ever ran his fingers through that black hair that seemed to pool over with such soft and silky tenderness that he could feel it it for ages, that he ever pressed her delicate frame to his own body to feel her heart beat rapidly against his chest, that he ever looked into those deep eyes that never really reflected him but instead had their own cosmos of stars glittering inside to pull him in and never let go...

She flopped on the bed, sighing heavily, perhaps unaware that her thin nightgown was riding up past her long shapely legs. "Well?" She turned her head to him, some of her hair falling down her face. "What are you waiting for?"

His heart leaped into his throat - she surely didn't mean that. "What?!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Turn off the lights, I want to sleep already."

Oh. Right. Yes. Lights. Surely. That and nothing else. Dammit, she was getting to him. "Don't go around demanding things, free-loader." But the spectacles came off, the lights came off, and the ducks were soon enough both in bed, as far apart from each other as possible, as per the norm.

Once again, they had something in common - both remained wide awake, thinking over the day.

~*~

Ever since Magica De Spell had been forced to live within his mansion, Scrooge McDuck made sure she was never alone, so she couldn’t pull any schemes involving his dime. So that evening, when he walked into his library and realized the woman was completely alone, there was a mild panic within him. Nearly slamming the door behind him, he nearly forgot why he had entered the room in the first place as he stormed up to her, temper flared. “And just what do you think you’re doing!”

The sorceress had been lounging on a long sofa, surrounded by photo albums, and casually glanced up at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?” His glare didn’t falter, so, with a roll of her eyes, she flipped a page as she answered. “Research.”

That drove him into an even further panic, fingers tightening on his cane. “I knew it! You can’t be trusted! I can’t believe I was foolish enough to ever let you in my house! If you’re not gone by the time I count to three, I’ll - ” But the threat was suddenly dismissed when Magica pulled out one photo and showed it right into his face, almost onto his beak. It was of a particularly plump bird, with blonde hair and a flower hat, standing proudly beside a decaying old riverboat. There was a squiggle of handwriting right on top of the woman’s dress, a signature, reading ‘Belle Quack.’ Scrooge was quiet.

“Ever since that Brigetta woman barged in here…” Magica slowly put the photo back in its place. “I got curious about what other women you’ve had.” There was an odd tone in her voice that the elder duck couldn’t quite place. It seemed like an imbalance between jealousy and disbelief.

He cleared his throat, trying to regain his dignity. “For the last time, Brigetta and I were never involved. It’s all imagined on her part. And…” With this explanation, he waved airily with his hand, trying to make the entire matter less important than it was. “And… well, Belle is just a business associate.”

Magica quickly whipped out another photo. “Was Tilly Billbrook another business associate?” Judging by the flirtatious look this next woman was giving the photographer, the answer was obvious.

Scrooge quickly got defensive, crossing his arms. “Oh, what’s it to you? This whole marriage is a sham, what do you care if I’ve been with a few women?” Though he knew that "few" was an understatement, and wished she would just close the darn book already.

“I don’t.” She put the photo back, and sat up straight, her tone never changing. “I just find it interesting, that’s all. And I don’t want any other crazy women coming after me and accusing me of stealing you.”

He held up a hand, trying to placate her and end the conversation. “I can swear to you, that won’t happen again. I’ve made it perfectly clear my life is dedicated to my money, and not to having someone on my arm.”

The sorceress clicked her tongue to her cheek as her finger traced down a page. “Klondike Kate here doesn’t seem to think so.”

His cheeks were beginning to redden but he refused to believe it. “All right, those women don’t count, I was young, and it was a very long time ago.” Immediately he regretted saying so, as Magica whipped out yet another photo, this one only dated a few years ago. Signed ‘Fiona Rapson’, this one didn’t even look to be half his age. “That… no, you don’t understand, she was just doing a news segment…” Whip, another photo, ‘Mrs. Williams’, only slightly older than Fiona. “I was just lending that woman some help, and - ” Whip, again, now ‘Rosy Curenbois’. “Now that one is completely out of context!”

Finally, she closed the book, loudly and forcefully. The two glared at each other, though oddly unsure just why they were so mad. The staring context continued until Scrooge growled, deep in his throat, and turned away, ready to leave. “Put it back where you found it. Any mess you make, you have to clean up.”

A derisive snort came from her. “What I don’t get is how you kept getting tricked by so many gold diggers.” She stood, ready to put the photos and book right from where she got it.

However, Scrooge stopped where he was, having been ready to grab the door handle out. Slowly, he turned his head back, making sure he heard right. “Gold diggers?” There were a few in the batch, but to say "so many"? That wasn’t right at all.

“Of course.” Though she had returned the book to its original place, she was now scanning the others among them, wondering what else was good reading material. “Digger after digger, until they nearly dug your grave for you. I would've thought you'd have learned your lesson after a while.”

After a moment, Scrooge caught the underlying message of her spite. “You’re implying all of those women were only attracted to my money and not me?” His pride had taken a direct hit. Granted, many of those women and those incidents were ones he longed to forget, but he had earned those stalkers fair and square.

“I’m not implying it. I’m saying it. What woman in her right mind would only go after you?” Such a notion made her laugh, her devilish cackle that usually came with a magic spell. “Take it from me… wrinkled, whiskered stubborn men aren’t high on a woman’s list for men we want. Those women probably flocked to you the second you opened your wallet.”

His fingers began to tape on his cane, irritation building. Bad enough that this implication was being made, but being made by her of all people? This had to be fixed as soon as possible. “Did it ever occur to you that I could go after them?”

Now Magica laughed even harder, leaning on a book shelf for support. “Oh, please! Like you could get any woman on your own! Scrooge McDuck, the casanova!” She began banging her fist against the bookshelf, shaking with laughter. The very idea! Of course all of those women had been only after his money; it was the only thing that made sense. He was old and ugly and miserable, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of him after this fake marriage ordeal was over. So she laughed and laughed, trying to calm herself and catch her breath, and even when her body had settled, snickers still escaped. Maybe she could think of another good insult to lobby at him, one he wholly deserved.

Magica would have come up with one; had not a single finger pressed behind and onto her, between her shoulder blades, and rode itself past her neck and into her hair. The startled screech that came out of her could have shattered glass, and in an instant her head was turned to look at her attacker. Naturally, there stood Scrooge, though now he stood so close to her that personal space no longer existed. She could also glance at his eyes, and knew the look he was wearing at once. It was that expression when he was angry, but didn’t look angry, and instead was bottling up the anger so he could do something calm and precise. A tranquil fury, one could argue, that allowed him to get revenge in a given situation.

She had seen that look many times during their heated battles when she had been trying to get his dime, and knew she was in big trouble. Though her eyes widened in fright, she would not admit her fear, and returned her face to the books, beak high in superiority. “Very funny.” Her eyes tried to look at the titles of the books again, but again she was startled by his touch, as now his hands were on his shoulders, giving her a comfortable squeeze. For a man his age, the touch was very firm. Now her laughed was forced, and obviously so. “Ha… ha ha. Did I hurt your ego, Scroogie Darling? Ha ha… haaa…” How was he working the knots out of her muscles? She didn’t want to know.

Instead, she rolled her shoulders hard, trying to shove him off with a grunt. His hands retreated, but then located elsewhere, one arm wrapping around her waist, pressing her back into his chest. His other hand listlessly weaved through her hair, making sure not to tangle as he played with it. His touch was very gentle, yet containing a trace of power in it, saying that she couldn’t stop him if she tried. Magica stared straight ahead at the books, her entire body freezing up defensively. “W-what… do you think… you’re doing?” Even though she was perfectly aware what he was doing, she just didn’t want to admit it was her fault things were leading this way.

“We’re engaged.” Scrooge replied, but even his voice had changed to fit his vengeance. “I believe this is what fiancés do with one another.” Now he stressed heavily on his accent, yet his voice was quiet, almost a whisper. He was breathing directly in the direction of her ear, and she could almost hear his smirk. “Is there a problem, Magica?”

To hell with him, she would not admit what he was making her feel! She’d rather die! With that resolve, she shut her eyes tightly, ignoring her beating heart and flared cheeks, trying to think of distractions. She tried to conjure up images that would anger her, upset her, make her laugh, do anything that would make her stop feeling the soft caresses he was administrating to her neck. Think of something, anything, she told herself! Being in jail, trying to stitch together old dresses, memorizing old spells from hundreds of years ago… Yes, she could focus on that… Focus on the crinkled old paper with that distinct smell…

… Or focus on his hot breath on her neck - damn him to the furthest pits of hell!

All of a sudden, his support was gone, and she found herself falling backwards with an outward cry. She was caught with one arm, as it turned out Scrooge was just dipping her low, and it was a wonder none of his bones were breaking at his age. Holding her close yet still dipping her low, he leaned in so that their beaks were just barely grazing one another. She could nearly see herself reflected in his eyes, and inwardly swore at how stupidly flustered she was looking. But the assault wasn’t over, if Scrooge’s continued speech was any indication. “Magica, darling.” A few of his fingers came under her bill, and tilted her head up even more. “What in the world makes you think I couldn’t have you if I wanted you?”

In all of her years, Magica had never been looked at or addressed to in such a way. She did have men sometimes after her, but they were nothing like this. None of them carried such intimate passion in their voices, nor carried a supreme sense of dominance in their eyes. They had wanted to woo her, whereas this man looked like he wanted to capture her. It was becoming very difficult to come up with any kind of rebuttal. Scrooge McDuck was not supposed to be like this, and she had never even dreamed he could be like this. It just wasn’t making sense, and her mind was fizzling out. It took all of her remaining strength just to speak, and even then, it was stammered and weak. “Y-Y-You… wouldn’t d-d-dare, McDuck.”

He dared. Magica, by this point in the sham, had thought she was used to kissing Scrooge, and being kissed by him, in order to fool her relatives and the press. Proving her wrong yet again, when his beak came on top of hers, she was lost. She wasn’t foolish enough to think it contained love, but she did know it contained hunger, possession, and that there was no use fighting it. If that wasn’t bad enough, a hand was cradling the back of her neck, delicately pressing all of the right spots in her spine. There was definitely experience in these movements, lessons had been learned, and he was implementing all he knew.

Perhaps she would have had a fighting chance if it was just a single, solitary kiss. However, the old man wanted her to remember this, and to make sure she never doubted his abilities again. So there wasn’t one kiss, but another, and another, and another, each one greater than the last, quick breathes of her name, not letting up even when Magica was nothing more than a sagging lump of a stunned sorceress. All other men were just cold fish compared to what he was doing to her. All of this power, combined with the fact it was Scrooge McDuck of all people doing this to her, it was more than her mind could handle. Frankly, she considered it a miracle she could hold onto her consciousness.

Finally, he granted her a small mercy, pulling his mouth back only to whisper to her ear again. “Do you still think all of those women were gold diggers? Or…” A small kiss to her cheek. “Do I have to keep convincing you?” He growled again – but unlike before, which had been a growl of petty annoyance, this one was pure predator, as if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She felt she didn’t have it. She felt… she felt… oh, every god and goddess that blessed magic, she felt…

Then his supportive weight was gone again, and she landed splat on the floor in a heap. Scrooge stood up straight and tall, smoothing down his clothes, and adjusting his spectacles. Whistling a merry tune, he picked up his cane that he had set aside before he attacked her, and casually strolled out of the room. When he opened the door, his nephew Donald nearly ran smack right into him. Fortunately the younger duck managed to stop in time, skidding to a halt, and bent over to catch his breath. “I-I’m sorry, Uncle Scrooge!” he spoke quickly, wanting to get Scrooge’s rant at him over as soon as possible. “I know we’re not supposed to let her out of our sight, but I was just getting a sandwich, a really small one, and the next thing I knew…”

Much to Donald’s surprise, Scrooge didn’t rant, and even shrugged. “Not to worry, Donald. She’s in there.” He jabbed a thumb back into the room behind him. “And she won’t be doing any damage for a while.” Off he walked, whistling the same jaunty tune, and to Donald, he seemed relatively proud of something. Just what, the boy couldn’t guess, and assumed it was monetary matters as always. Curious, Donald entered the library, and found the witch still lying on the floor, twitching here and there, unable to move naturally of her own accord.

Donald took one look at her demented smile, and quickly turned back around to leave. “Nope, I don’t wanna know.”

~*~

Granny De Spell flipped a page, and, ignoring her granddaughter's protests, continued to show off the old photos of their past and homeland, with the triplets pestering her with questions. Scrooge continued to check his watch, waiting for the moment he could be free and attend to his work, instead of listening to nonsense he couldn't care less about. It wasn't until Louie said the following that curiosity finally reached him.

"Say, is that Magica?" The duckling prodded one photo. "She looks so different!"

All eyes went to that photo, and it was a general agreement that there were differences between the Magica of the present, and her in the photo. Aside from years younger, the photo showed her in a brilliant red dress that appeared to be swaying off her, a fresh rose placed within her hair, her hands waving about in jubilation, and, perhaps strangest of all, looking happy not for reasons of malice or misfortune upon others. Just an actual, pure happiness for whatever she was doing. She didn't appear to be aware her photo was being taken, dancing in the crowded street, attracting the eyes of many young fellows in the background.

"Ah, yes, that's her during one of our Romanian festivals." Granny chuckled lightly, pulling the photo out of the book. "It happened to fall on her birthday that year, so we splurged and celebrated as best we could. She had quite a fetch of suitors back then!"

Present Magica had burning cheeks, arms crossed, refusing to look at the group. "Are we quite done here?"

"What are you being so bitter over?" Granny clicked her tongue. "It's a nice photo. And you should dress like this more often. All of that black is so depressing."

"No one would want to see me in that." A roll of her eyes from the sorceress.

As the argument rolled on, Scrooge kept his eyes on the photo, and found himself, as always, disagreeing with Magica.

~*~

The overture hadn't even begun yet, so the ducks knew a long night was ahead of them. Scrooge irritably tapped an arm rest, glancing over at his "future wife". "When, exactly, is your grandmother going to stop insisting on these bonding moments?"

Magica didn't even look at him, eyes ahead, upper and lower beak rubbing together in a frustrated grind. "I don't like this anymore than you do."

The third in the row, however, was not as agitated, as the goose rubbed his hands together in excitement. "Isn't this exciting, Magica? When was the last time we got to see a play together?"

"If I recall correctly, never." Magica leaned back into her seat, sighing. She would preferred sitting next to anyone - blabbermouth Daisy, annoying Donald, busybody Granny, ANYBODY, but, no, there was Rosolio, gazing at her in a sickening wave of love while making several attempts to touch her hand.

These attempts did not go unnoticed by Scrooge, raising an eyebrow at the other male. "Rather unlike a gentleman to try and hold a married woman's hand."

Rosalio now looked at the elder, love turning into hate. "Rather unlike a gentleman to try and steal a fiance. I still haven't forgiven you, and I never will."

"My heart breaks." Scrooge rolled his eyes. They both went on to ignore the woman's groans.

"I'd be surprised if you had a heart, underneath all that ice and money!" The goose hissed, crossing his arms in indignation. "What do you have that I can't give her?"

"Money."

"Besides that."

"Power."

"Besides that."

"Respect for her personal space."

"Besi - hey!"

Magica straightened up for a moment to see if the other families were nearby. Why was she suffering alone? Rosolio was relentless, continuing on despite the fact the orchestra had begun playing the overture. "I've known her forever! I understand her better than anyone! You just want her for her beauty!"

Scrooge, at least, had managed to lower his voice, so he wouldn't shout over the music. "And yet, despite all that, I'm the one she's marrying."

"Just admit." Rosalio narrowed his eyes, and pointed an accusatory finger at his enemy. "You've got a hold on her, don't you? Blackmail, threats, you're forcing her to do this! A man like you treats women like another dollar!"

Scrooge didn't reply so easily this time. Not out of lack of answers, but the sheer idea that he did not treat women well - he, who loved his mother, who adored his sisters, who had all but adopted Webbigail, who always lifted a finger to aide Daisy - was something he would not take lying down. The duck and goose almost appeared to enter a staring contest of anger, and then, the richer one cleared his throat. "Magica?"

"What now?" A bitter snap.

His arm extended out and around her shoulders, and suddenly, she was pushed in close, her head on his shoulder. Keeping her pinned there with his elbow, he began running his fingers through her hair, being careful not to create any knots. "Is that more comfortable for you, darling?"

Two birds went a bright red. Magica, her cheeks with embarrassment, mouth agape in sheer shock. Rosolio, his entire face, a fury that was struggling to be capped. Scrooge happily smirked at his opponent, before returning his false attentions to his bride, using his free hand to take one of hers, and running a thumb over the top of it. As for Magica herself, her voice was a desperate whisper. "Scrooge, what do you think you're doing!"

"Just enjoying myself." He held up her hand to kiss the knuckles, and then was back to addressing Rosolio. "She does like it when you touch her hair, right? You are the expert and all, having spent, what did you say, 'forever' with her?"

"Scrooge!" Magica squirmed, but he wasn't letting her go anytime soon.

"What? It's an innocent question." McDuck desired a camera, just to catch Rosolio's expression, perhaps make a game out of all the veins that were popping. "And maybe I could ask him for advice about you, since you two used to be fond of one another. Or was that just him?"

"Leave me out of your idiotic jealous fists, you miserable old miser!" Was she shaking? She was definitely shaking, fully aware that several of the playgoers were ignoring the stage, preferring the performance going on within those three seats instead.

"For example!" Scrooge let go of her hand, stopping the hair action to support her back, and tilted her beak up with his fingers. "Perhaps you can tell me, Rosolio, my good man, exactly what way our darling Magica prefers being kissed?"

The straw broke on the camel's back, and Rosolio stood up in his seat, roaring, throwing off his hat, and reaching for his magic wand - and, with a single THWACK from Granny's purse - what do you know, the rest of the families just so happened to be right behind the trio - he was down, a knocked out mess on the floor. Seconds of awkward silence followed, as others turned back or forward in their seats to watch the play that had begun minutes earlier. Scrooge released his hold on Magica, allowing his hands to relax in his lap, wearing a grin of victory. Magica sunk into her seat, upset that there was no rock to hider under. "You enjoyed that far too much." She murmured after a moment.

He put a finger to his beak. "Shhh. I can't hear."

~*~

Though night had fallen, neither of them were ready to sleep just yet. Scrooge was at his desk, going over a few more tax forms, while Magica was standing before the large vanity mirror, looking herself over in silence. Eventually she huffed, Daisy's words still ringing in her head. "Scrooge. I want your honest opinion on something."

"What is it?" He continued his work, hardly caring for the question.

Hesitation, and then a sigh, adjusting herself, hands on her hips, smoothing her nightgown down. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

Whatever question Scrooge had been expecting, it wasn't that. He looked up, then at her, to make sure his hearing was in tact. "...What?"

"It's a simple question!" She pointed at herself, growling. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

Warning sirens blared off in the miser's mind. He had to get out of this line of questioning as soon as possible. "... Is this because of what Daisy said, because Donald told me-"

"Just answer!" She stormed up to him, grabbing his chair and turning it around so he would fully face her. "It's not that difficult! You either think I'm beautiful, or you think I'm not!"

Not that difficult, his foot! His eyes darted around for any sign of an exit. "... That's... It, I, Uh... Oh, what do you care what I think!"

Although he prepared himself for further argument, it was not given. Instead her face fell, and she released his chair, retreating to the mirror. "I see." Her fingers pressed her face, now easily seeing all the wrinkles and lines of time. It seemed she believed his answer meant "no"'.

"Jiminy Cricket." Scrooge groaned, and stood up from his seat. "I didn't say you weren't!"

"You didn't have to." And now she could see all the split ends in her hair.

"It's not like that... it's..." He faltered, trying to think of an adequate explanation. "I don't... I never... You'd never see me as handsome, would you?"

A quick glance his way. "Of course I would."

Goodness, she was just throwing him all kinds of loops tonight. His spectacles almost fell off due to the surprise on his face. "...What?" he repeated.

"I hate you, but I'm not blind." Her eyes went back to the mirror. "Not to mention all those girlfriends I keep hearing about."

"I've... they weren't... I explained those!" Now it was his turn to storm up to her. "I've lived a long life, and... and... Brigetta has never been my girlfriend, I don't know where you're getting that idea, and... further... more... will you knock that off and look at me!"

So she did, upset, holding herself. Women, honestly! Scrooge ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes. "Fine, fine... I've never actually looked you as, as a woman... so... I'll do it now. Then I'll tell you what I think."

"Fine." Hmph.

A deep breath was taken, trying to expel the past from his mind. Ignore his own hate, everything she had done to him, who she was... and just look at the body. Judge that, and only that. He opened his eyes, and looked from bottom to top. Her legs were strong and shapely, with one foot nervously tapping the floor in impatience. Though her frame could be seen as delicate, there were hints of muscle here and there, showing the years she had worked alone to get what she wanted, the trials she had gone through to get certain spells. Her hands were small, but firm, gripping her arms intensely. Her hair was growing longer, he noticed, slowly starting to go beyond shoulders, giving off an appearance of black silk. She wasn't wearing any make-up, and that was for the better, as her cheeks would be rosy all on their own. Though her eyes were worried and saddened, they still shone clearly, attentive, colorful and alive as jewels she longed to have.

He exhaled. "Yes, you are beautiful. Now will you be quiet?"

A pause, and then she nodded, turning away to head to bed. "There now, was that so hard?"

Scrooge scratched the back of his head.... Was that so hard? She had no idea.

~*~

Magica hadn't been invited to many engagement parties in her left, but she had a distinct feeling they were supposed to be a lot louder and less awkward than this one. The rented ballroom was full of friends, family, and even some news groups, that were timidly picking at the buffet, making idle chatter, but mostly staring and gossiping at her and Scrooge. She couldn't really blame them – Scrooge McDuck, richest man in the world, settling down to marriage? And to his enemy, Magica DeSpell, no less! What had been a simple plan to get rid of her annoying family had managed to snowball into a national phenomenon. Magica hated Scrooge for not giving her the dime, hated her family for that stupid wedding contract, hated Daisy for thinking of this plan...

And, right now, most of all, hated the outfit she was being forced to wear. It was an exact replica of the red dress from the photo album, except it had been tailored in size to fit her age. It wasn't uncomfortable, in fact it was a perfect fit, and she didn't dare ask how the numbers of her body had gotten out. It looked good on her as well, giving her a slim appeal, and there was no question she looked beautiful in it. The hate was not entirely with the dress itself, but of its origins. How shocked she had looked the other day, receiving the boxed cloth, arriving straight from Romania, and signed as ordered by her "future husband".

There was an addition to the dress that was not in the photo, however. The red collar around her neck, holding a single silver bell, carried plenty of hate as well. She was sitting next to Scrooge at a long table covered in a white cloth, and cast a glare at him. She flicked the bell with her fingers, the noise getting his attention, stopping him in his drink of tea to look over calmly. "What is this?" she lightly hissed. "I feel like a pet cat."

"It warns to me when you're getting close." His tone was of a cruel joke, smirking, but then he shook his head, resuming his drink. "I thought it'd look nice. And you'll pay me back for all of it when this farce is over."

"I can't afford it, and you know it." Her hands settled in her lap. "Why would you even get me this ridiculous outfit in the first place? Do you need to humiliate me that badly?"

He placed his cup down. "Your grandmother was right."

Now that was rare to hear. "About what?"

"You shouldn't wear black all the time." He left it at that, his cup empty.

She went silent, and fingered the bell again. How she hated that bell, that collar, that dress. She hated that he bought it all for her. She hated that he had thought of her and that he remembered the photo. She especially, deep down, hated how happy it had made her. The bell jingled with the lump in her throat.

~*~

Rosolio clutched his hand, having gotten used to the pain in his left arm – this new one to his right hand was out of nowhere, almost making him drop his wand. Ignoring his opponent for the moment, he looked to where the shot of magic had come from, up in the sky.

Hovering high above, Magica was firmly holding onto her broom, her own wand clutched firmly in her hand, aiming right at him. She appeared out of breath, using all of her energy to arrive there as fast as she could force herself. Upon her shoulder was Poe, and he was suddenly jerked off by his sister. "Go, get them out of here!" She snapped, never taking her eyes off of the enraged sorcerer.

"O-O-On it!" The raven stammered, stretching out his wings and flying down to the confused ducks below. The rental tuxedo store was halfway decimated, but Scrooge and Donald were still intact, though slightly bruised due to Rosolio's efforts. Poe grabbed Scrooge's cane, trying to urge him to move along. "Come on, we've gotta get outta here!"

"Wait a minute!" Scrooge yanked his cane back, using it to point at the goose. "What in blazes is going on with him?!"

Rosolio was distracted by Magica, sputtering and growling as he tried to get his wand to work again. "You should have stayed at the church! I'm going to end this!"

She began to hover in closer, taking her time, wanting to stall as long as she could make it. "If you continue using the Forbidden, you'll wind up killing yourself. Stop this madness, and put down your wand!"

"Never!" In defiance he raised his weapon again – a bright light emitted from the top, sucking in the air around it and making the sound of a hideous tornado.

"HIT THE DECK!" screamed the raven, and, joined with the male ducks, took cover behind one of the crippling concrete walls. Though they couldn't see the attack, they heard a tremendous blast hitting the wall, almost enough to deafen, and the wall suffered great damage, creating hot red cracks and dismantling the edges. It was obvious that it would not survive a second round of the same attack.

With her stalling tactic failed, Magica commanded her broom to head straight down, and once she was close enough, she jumped off, hitting the ground on her heels, and striking Rosolio in the side with her wand. Although he cried out, he parried with her, wands sparkling off fizzling lights as the two fought one another, using all of their strength to try and drive the other away.

Scrooge grabbed Poe roughly by the left wing, demanding answers. "Explain! Everything! Now!"

After some terrified crowing, the smaller bird managed to choke it out. "H-He's using the Forbidden! They're spells that cost you a year of your life every time you use them, because of their power! They do things that only the gods are supposed to have control over! He managed to learn two of them – the first one causes permanent love!"

Donald found his traditional hat among the debris, and plopped it back on. "Somehow I doubt that's the spell he's using on us now, so what's number two?"

The hideous whirling noise began to make itself known once more, as Poe's wing was released. "Death!"

Fortunately by the time the spell hit the wall again, this time shattering it apart, the boys had scrambled away, although they were scraped by falling pieces. However, with the store crumbling apart, and now other buildings beginning to take damage from the war of the wands, the hiding places were becoming few and far between. There was no way to get out, aside from the sky above, and Poe was very sure if he tried to get away that way, he'd earn yanked off feathers. As they tried to make due with what used to be front desk, they also got a good view of the fight, able to see that Magica was trying her best to disarm Rosolio, but he wasn't showing his love any mercy. Their wands were pressed heavily against each other, with colors and fires exploding off of the contact, flying off into the distances.

"The others will be here any minute." She hissed, both hands firmly on her long, thin wand, unable to tell in some places if she was sweating or bleeding. "Even you aren't strong enough to stand up against them!"

"Then I'll use the Forbidden on all of them!" He roared at her, madness gleaming in his eyes. "Even if I only wind up with one year to live, it will be more than McDuck will see again!"

"And you think that will make me love you?!" Her shoes were beginning to crack, she knew he was pushing her luck. Her fear was being realized – she wasn't strong enough to defeat him. Hoping that such terror was suppressed from being expressed, she continued pushing and fighting, hoping that if she could not defeat him, she could at least wear him out. "Be a man, Rosolio! Accept your losses!"

"I've – lost – nothing!" He wasn't even looking at her in the face anymore – no, he was staring hard at her neck, where that belled collar – that damned collar! - was STILL being worn, and it only added on to his rage, his wand changing colors – and then it was suddenly thrust to her stomach – it was not the Forbidden, for the wind was still in tact – but before anyone could blink, there was violet colored electricity at her gut, and she was sent flying, back – back- back - she was now laying several feet away, sprawled onto her stomach.

The scream of her name left Scrooge's mouth without him knowing it, and he abandoned the desk, much to the dismayed shouts of his nephew. He threw his cane aside, running without thinking to get to her side, becoming breathless in seconds. He knelt down on the streets now made of rubble, and took her into his arms – to his great relief, she was breathing, though a scarlet line was now trickling down her face. Her eyes opened halfway, and her voice was cracked. "What do you think you're doing...fool."

"Saving your hide." But as he pressed her close to his chest, he realized there was still no way to escape. Running down the now abandoned roads would just earn a chase from Rosolio, and with Magica's weight in his arms, his age, and the exhaustion he was feeling already, it wouldn't be much of a track record.

Speaking of the disgruntled goose, the sight of the lovers together caused him to hold onto his wand so tightly, his fingers dug into his hands, creating deep cuts into his palms. "Get away from her!" His voice no longer sounded of this world, so tangled up in jealousy and insanity. "She's mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!" With every chant of the word, the whirling noise and the light became whole once more, becoming terrible warning signal atop his weapon.

Magica gave Scrooge a light shove, trying to sit up, and aim her wand right back at Rosolio. "Get out of here. I can handle him."

"Are you daft?" Scrooge's arm came around her shoulders. "You can't even stand up." His free hand joined hers, holding the wand with her, and his voice became soft. "I'm not leaving you alone."

She said nothing, but the wand now pulsed under their hands, gaining power. No spell can defeat the Forbidden, she knew this, it was one of the earliest things all those of the magic world learned. Yet there were other lessons that rang in her head, as Rosolio's light grew brighter, as her own wand changed colors.

Magic is connected to your emotions, to your belief, to your body, to you. It cannot give without receiving something in return. The harder you try, the harder you believe and wish for it, the stronger your spells become. That is why it is discourage using it for money and for power. Those things can only last you so long, and your magic will suffer for it. Only when you have something true to fight for, will your magic be supreme.

Her wand lifted, Rosolio's wand lifted, they aimed, and, feeling the rush of confidence and sheer strength rushing from her arms and throughout her entire body right back to the wand in a circle of infinity, she shut her eyes tightly with a single tear escaping, and exhaled, felt she needed to tell him, must tell him, if anything else he had to be told, "Scrooge, I - "

THWACK!

Rosolio fell onto the ground, face flat down, his wand rolling out and away from him. A lump was on top of his head, and, standing behind him, holding Scrooge's cane, was Donald, now twirling the lump-maker in his hand. "So, I guess that means I finally give that ten cent raise?"

~*~

It was around noon, and thus Ducksworth was in the dining room, ready to help serve the residents of the mansion. As he entered, he noticed Scrooge had already sat down, and was jotting down notes on a small piece of paper. The butler cleared his throat to make his presence known. "Tax season again, sir?"

The duck shook his head, looking up for only the briefest of moments. "Just experimenting with something." Tapping the pencil to his beak, he decided it was safe enough to share his findings. "You know the belled collar I got Magica for the engagement party?"

"Of course." the butler walked over to be next to McDuck. "She wears it constantly now."

Scrooge's beak twitched, suppressing a smile that fact brought. "I know... but I've noticed something. This is just a guess, but I think any time she's pleased by something, she fiddles with that bell."

The dog raised his eyebrows, a bit intrigued. "What makes you say that?"

"Little things." The pencil now tapped the paper. "For example, let's see... ah, yes. When Rosolio got her that bracelet, the one with the emeralds, she played with the bell, and we all know how much that witch loves jewelry. Then she did it again when she got that letter fro Madam Mim, her best friend. Then, today, when Daisy was asking what color the wedding invitations should be, she touched the bell when Daisy suggested red. And I told the chefs to remake the lobster salad from the party, because I saw she had three servings of it, and will definitely ring when she has it for lunch today." Scrooge looked up, a little proud of his accomplishment. "So what does that tell you?"

Ducksworth bit his tongue, wondering if he dared really comment. "...To be frank, sir? That tells me you pay rather... close attention to the likes and dislikes of Miss De Spell."

The smile vanished from the duck's bill, eyes wide and a hint of red on his cheeks. He slammed the pencil onto the table, his cheery voice now a grating growl. "Don't you have lunch to serve!"

"Of course, sir." Off he went to the kitchen, hoping his pay wasn't cut for pointing out the obvious.

Scrooge began to cross out what he written, hoping to hide his embarrassment, and mentally remarked on the foolishness of his servant. It had been harmless observation, that was all! Moving to erase his frustration, he stopped when the woman herself strutted in, wearing the collar, and sat down a few seats away from him. True to form, she crossed her arms, already impatient. "Well, where is it?"

"Professional meals take longer than boiling noodles over a cauldron." He quipped, relaxing, and watching the doors to the kitchen carefully. Mere minutes later, Ducksworth had returned, and placed a bowl of lobster salad in front of each duck, and then went about fetching glasses of water for them.

Magica idly poked the leaves, huffing. "Can't your chefs make anything original? Didn't we already have this?"

"Either eat it, or your next meal will be ice cubes." But his tone wasn't bitter, stirring his fork in his bowl as he kept his eyes on the collar. If she rung it, his theory would be correct.

The sorceress made a "hmph" noise, before eating. A few bites into it, she paused to take a drink, and one hand pushed some hair back, stroked her neck... and then touched the bell, echoing a small "ding ding" noise.

Triumphant, Scrooge pointed a fork at her in his victory. "I knew it!"

Glass half empty, Magica placed it down, staring at the accuser. "What?"

"You ring that bell every time you're happy about something!" He gestured to her neck with her utensil, grinning and absolutely ignoring Ducksworth's knowing look from the corner.

The woman took a quick look at her hand, and then was quicker to remove it. "Don't be stupid, it was a nervous habit." She didn't even appear to notice she had been doing it in the first place.

"You're like a little girl." There was sneer with that, leaning back in his seat. "Just admit you do it."

"I will do no such thing." Her arms were crossed once more, the meal ignored. "Because I don't do any such thing!"

"He has a list." Ducksworth was at the table again, grabbing the slip of paper before Scrooge could make a jump for it, ignoring the yell of his name from the writer. He handed it over to the surprised sorceress, and much to Scrooge's chagrin, she could read it despite the crossed out lines. When she was finished, she crumpled it in her hands, throwing it behind her, which the butler went to go clean up, and use an excuse to exit the room.

She was instantly on her feet, agitated, tapping her foot on the floor. "Do you have nothing better to do than study my neck?"

"How am I supposed to ignore that constant ringing?" He jabbed a fork into his food, preparing himself for the fight that was about to ensue. "Why don't you ever take it off!"

"If you hate it so much, you shouldn't have bought it in the first place!"

"Maybe I shouldn't have!"

"Then don't buy me anything ever again!"

"As if I would ever waste my money on someone like you!"

They spat insults back and forth at each other, loathing increasing with each lobby, until Magica stabbed her salad with a fork, and menacingly jabbed the utensil at him, threatening to shove the implement and the leaf attached to it in a place where the sun didn't shine -

Until the door to the living room was knocked, followed by the cheery voice of Magica's grandmother - "Hello, sweetie!" - and without waiting for the all clear, opened the door anyway, gazing upon the frozen scene of her granddaughter holding a fork of food to the supposed fiance. Silence followed as Granny adjusted her glasses, making sure she was seeing correctly."'Husband" and "wife" took their time looking at each other, wondering how to fix the mistake, and keep playing the game. Granny spoke slowly, skepticism clear. "I'm sorry, was I interrupting something?"

Gears whirled in Magica's mind, and, shaking a bit, she placed her empty hand on Scrooge's shoulder. "Not at all, Granny! We were just enjoying lunch." Continuing to use a voice laced with a mix of sappy sweetness and acidic adjectives, she waved the fork to the man's mouth. "Say 'ah', Scroogie darling."

Wishing he could say a few words that weren't for ladies ears, he complied, allowing the fork to enter past his lips, and quietly chewed the greenery as Magica sat back down, wiping the utensil with a napkin. She spoke again once she deemed it clean enough. "What brings you by this hour, Granny, without a call or a single word of warning?"

Not believing the act for a second, the old woman strode up to her granddaughter, hands behind her back. "I just wanted to ask about the music that would be played at the wedding."

"A church organ is all we need." Scrooge replied, once he had swallowed the forced food.

The relative scooted next to Magica, blond hair falling past her glasses. "Haven't you thought about it? Music can set an entirely new theme for a wedding! How about a choir of-"

"No." Said the couple in unison, trying to get back to eating.

"Then how about the jazz styling of - "

"No."

"We could always spring for country-"

"No."

"Not even a classical waltz theme?"

"No." But this time, after the duo had said it, there was a faint "ding ding" that followed. Magica went perfectly still upon realizing what she had done, and her face flushed deeper than the lobster's shell in the salad as she felt Scrooge's smirk boring into her from the back of her head. She was on her feet fast enough to knock her chair backwards, grabbing her bowl and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Granny stared where the chair once was, puzzled at what had just taken place. "What on earth was that about?"

Scrooge held up his glass of water, taking a steady sip. "Why, I haven't the faintest idea." He waited until Granny had left to chase after her granddaughter to admire his smug appearance in the reflective glass. Of course he had been right, his theories always were. Why, he had even more examples of her doing that action that he hadn't written down.

When Daisy showed the witch family the McDuck photo album, and displayed the one of him in his younger Klondike days, ding ding.

When he had asked her to dance during the engagement party, ding ding.

When he and Rosolio were arguing who really did know Magica better, ding ding.

When they had to fake kiss again in front of the family along with some new reporters, ding ding.

His confident expression faded, as each new recollection began to create a startling theory in his mind that was wholly unwelcome.

~*~

"What is magic?"

Tea on the patio, with the fading sunset, that is where and when the strange question had been asked. Magica held the cup in her hand, having paused in her drink once the words had left the miser's mouth. She looked at him, making sure she had heard correctly. Since one of his eyebrows was raised and his gaze was curious, the question had been real. Quietly, she resumed her sip. "Why do you ask?"

"It bothers me..." He replied, voice already annoyed. "... when things happen with no explanation. I've seen you buy potions and wands, and buying a weapon is something anyone can do... but you also can conjure up spells all on your own. It should be one or the other. What's the difference?"

She traced the outline of the cup. "... Yes, almost anyone can buy weapons. But that doesn't mean everyone can use them. If a man who has never used a gun before picks one up, he will not fire straight, and he might even wind up injuring his hand in the process. One needs experience before mastering bought weapons."

"But even then... a gun is a machine. You speak of experience with the supernatural."

A shrug with one shoulder. "I could teach your nephews how to use bought spells and potions for the rest of my life, but even when they turn gray, they would never be as powerful as myself, or other sorcerers and sorceresses."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the insistence of that term. She always got angry if she was called anything but a sorceress. For the sake of learning, he'd put that aside for now. "And why is that? What makes you and your ilk different from me and my nephews?"

"Blood. Genetics." Catching the skepticism in his expression, she smirked. "Is it that much of a surprise? Like any genetic anomaly, magic is inherited. If a man with blue eyes and a woman with blue eyes have a child, there is a stronger likelihood that their child will also have blue eyes. My father had magic, my mother had magic, so Poe and I had magic."

"Poe doesn't use magic." He refilled his cup. Some stars were beginning to shine out. The moon was hidden behind faint clouds. "I've never even seen him try."

"It's a part of his transformation." Her eyes looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, yet still willing to relent. "When I turned him, I didn't just change his outer appearance... I changed his blood, his DNA. The only thing left that is truly him and our family is his memory. We are no longer blood related."

There was a tense silence. At first, the elder was ready to ask if Poe knew... but... it became clear in his own mind. If Poe hadn't been told of it, the raven would have figured it out on his own, when he couldn't perform even the most simple feat of magic. Perhaps that was why Granny treated him as more of a pet than a grandson, since he "wasn't" a grandson to her anymore. Yet as the older one kept thinking, he could recall moments where Magica treated Poe not quite as an equal but still as family. Even now Magica looked decidedly unpleasant, with an emotion he thought she wasn't capable of - guilt.

Scrooge cleared his throat. "That still doesn't explain some things... all right, so you got it from your parents, who got it from your grandmother, and back and back... where did it all start?"

She took another drink before getting back into the conversation. "With the gods, of course."

"Of course." A derisive snort.

"It's natural of you not to believe... but there were ancient times where it was commonplace for everyone to believe in gods. But as science and technology advanced, people disregarded their beliefs... but not everyone did. Those others, in fact, praised the gods for these advancements. But the people also became worried that, at this rate, belief would be stomped out everywhere, and future generations wouldn't believe in the gods. So they prayed and sacrificed, begging the gods for a way to keep belief alive. The gods decided to bless these people with magic."

"I've seen more believable nonsense in Donald's comic books." A wag of the finger. "Where is your proof?"

"Our own history books... which are up to interpretation. No one is alive from those days, so for all I know, it could be false. But it's just easier to believe that story." Her cup became empty.

"I still don't understand it all. How can your body, just because of a few select strands of DNA, be able to do things mortals can't?"

She looked down at her hands, placing the tea cup away. "... Desire."

"Desire?"

The only light between them was a single flame, flickering brightly over a red candle. Magica took the candle holder, a faded golden color, grasping it lightly in her fingers. With her other hand, she held up her wand in preparation. Then with a soft and quick breath, the fire was gone. "You can light this again easily enough with a match, you can do it all by yourself, with your own hands. With magic... it deeply depends on what you want. You must want it with all of your heart." She pointed the wand at the burnt tip, and they both glowed deeply - in the blink of an eye, the candle was lit again. "I desired warmth and light. Desire... and desperation. Us of the magic cannot blend so simply into mortal society. Sometimes our lives are not easy. We become desperate to continue living, as our kind die out."

The candle was the same as it had been minutes ago, as if it had never been blown out. Night was settling in. The fire was reflected in her eyes, and her face was illuminated. How much time had passed since he invited her to tea out on the patio? She placed the candle back down on the table. He watched it a little more before speaking. "If you don't have any children, the De Spell line dies with you."

"And another magical family is eliminated from the gene pool." A snap of her fingers, putting her wand down. "But I don't care. I've never cared too greatly for children... I can barely stand your brats. When I have the amulet granting me the power of the Midas Touch, I will be rich enough so that my line is eternally remembered. Our wondrous last stand. It's the same with you."

He did not respond, and felt no need to. Just a nod. He could see where she was going with that reasoning.

"Even when the worms are eating your bones, everyone will still remember the name Scrooge McDuck. No nephew of yours carries that same last name. You are the last of the clan McDuck, and with your wealth, you will be remembered forever. That is a magic no sorcerer could create... the power of immortality."

This time, he crossed one arm over, and pointed a finger at her. "About that, immortality... and I don't mean that whole 'remembrance' thing. Why can no sorcerer do that? I imagine wanting to live forever would generate tons of powerful desire."

One of her legs crossed over the other. "... That is even stronger proof that the gods gave us this power."

"Explain."

"There is a branch of spell work that is called The Forbidden, because it is exactly that - forbidden. Using those spells threatens to expose magic to the entire world, and would create havoc, making us the new gods of the world. As punishment, whenever someone uses such a spell, they lose a year of their life."

"That's hardly proof."

"Well, it's not like when they use it, a god suddenly appears and smacks them upside the head. They just die much sooner than expected. After it happened enough times, the mathematics were figured out."

"Have you ever used one?"

A soft chuckle. The sun was gone. "I'm not stupid, as much as you're inclined to think so. I want the rest of my life to enjoy my riches."

"So what are The Forbidden?" A few fireflies were making themselves known in the close gardens. Scrooge would silently shoo one away if one get too close, but Magica would allow one to crawl along her arm if it wanted to.

"Extending someone's life span. Shortening someone's life span. Death. Love-"

"Now hold on." he cut her off, leaning in. "I've seen you use plenty of love potions and spells."

"Mediocre things." A dismissive wave of her hand. "Those types had time limits, and only seized part of the heart. The Forbidden Spell Of Love captures the entire heart and mind, for all time. It's a love akin to madness. The victim cares for nothing but the caster... not even their own health. That spell has been the cause of much bloodshed. Helen of Troy was a victim, as was Romeo and Isolde..."

His brows furrowed. "... Wait... do you mean Romeo and Juliet? Tristan and Isolde? Those are made up stories."

"So is magic, to some." A smile, and then she stood. "It's getting cold. I'm going inside."

"One more question." He stood as well. "Do you actually know how to use The Forbidden?"

Her eyes met his. "Yes. For the sake of our dying history, sorcerers and sorceress are even taught those spells. Granny, Samson Hex, Rosolio, even Witch Child could use one, if their desire was strong enough."

He picked up his cane, that was previously laid against his chair. He appeared amused. "Should I take it as a compliment that you've never desired me dead that strongly?"

She approached the doors. "Fool. If you died, that dime of yours becomes worthless. Then I'd have to find the next richest man alive." Though her hand was on the door handle, she did not press on it. She could feel his eyes on her, still inquisitive. A sigh. "All right, what else?"

"Those gods... if they gave your people magic, that makes these supposed divine beings useless. They wouldn't need to help your people anymore, since they could help themselves. What became of them?"

She stayed where she was, even as he walked up to her. Slowly, she turned to look at him. "We believe they help the non-blessed. The mortals. They give you strength... you just aren't aware of it. When you desire something that desperately... they are there to lend that power. Fate changes. Miracles occur. They can't do this to everyone... without belief, their abilities grow weaker all the time. But they will live on so long as humanity does. Because desire... always exists."

They stared at each other. The candle was still lit. There was no wind.

"You're saying, if I desire something strongly enough, the gods will help me?" He had desired many things in his life, he knew that well.

Desire and need are two different things, they both thought. People need food and water, need comes with survival. Need is primal, and can over ride the mind in order to get it. Deaths can be as a result of an unfulfilled need. Desire is different. Desire is a pain that cannot be described, yet, with time, it can be pushed away. People can live without desires being fulfilled. Yet there is not a single person who has ever lived who has never felt desire at least once.

There are also people who let desire consume their lives. They feel without this wish being granted, they are better off dead. If they allow it, a desire can control a person. That's when the desire becomes a need. That's when the gods can no longer help.

The door handle was gripped. "It's possible. But they have better wishes to grant than the ones of a rich old miser. So, probably not." The door was opened, and she was soon gone.

When he could no longer hear her footsteps, he returned to the table, and picked up the candle holder. He blew it out. "Yes," he murmured, touching the remains of wax. "Probably not."

~*~

When, exactly, did he realize she was a woman? It felt like such a ridiculous thing to think about, but during the course of their lives, he supposed he never really acknowledged that about her. Of course he knew she was female, but due to all of her aggravating attacks on his dime, he had just molded her into 'that person'. He had always been satisfied with that state. She was his enemy, there was no need to change that. Things could have stayed like that, if it wasn't for this entire ruse.

Now here he was, hugging her, having her lean onto his body, fully aware of what she was and who she was. She felt so small against him, as powerless as a doll, her head resting on his chest. No objection had been made to the embrace, as it had started out as an accident. They were descending the stairs, ready to get some lunch before having another dreadful afternoon with her family, when suddenly, nearing the last steps, she had tripped and fallen forward. He not only caught her, but instinctively his arms had gone around her. Though now she was capable of standing up and walking on her own, neither made any attempt to leave.

The gigantic mansion of a home was silent. The only thing that could be heard were their light breaths, and his heartbeat so close to her ear. She wasn't even returning the gesture, her arms curled up on his chest. Of course he was in no rush to see Magica's family again, and there were other reasons not to leave this moment. He just couldn't think of them right now. Frankly a lot of his mind was refusing to work right now.

Wasn't she supposed to be pushing away to make some scathing comment? He was almost afraid to see what kind of expression she was wearing. The more time that passed, the more sense reached into his head. With great reluctance, he moved his hands, grabbing her by the elbows, and ever so lightly pushed her away by mere inches. Her wide eyes showed that she was initially surprised, but her look settled in understanding. Except he still hadn't really let go, and judging by his grip, still wasn't planning to.

He apparently wasn't planning on doing anything at all, yet she appeared to be expecting something. Maybe she understood this situation better than he did. His grip eased, not entirely holding her in place, but still enough to be felt. It became a staring contest, his confused and slightly bewilderment to her anticipation and patience.

Just then, the door to the dining room creaked open, and Ducksworth stepped in, mouth open to announce, again, that lunch was served. But when he caught sight of the ducks in such a position, who were now staring right back at him, he hesitated, then stepped back, closing the doors and leaving them. The spell broken, Magica abruptly shook her arms loose, and stuck her bill up high, indignant. Once again, they had become enemies. It was if nothing had happened in those past few minutes. That was completely fine with Scrooge.

Yet as she walked by him, her arm brushed against his, and for the faintest of moments, her cold fingers ran up his arm. Feeling his heart jump into his throat, he turned to look at her, but she was already at the door, opening it to leave. She glanced back at him, still wearing her usual expression of distaste, leaving him to wonder if he had just imagined that fleeting sensitive touch. She left the room, and he would only join her once he was positive his face was no longer red.

#scrooge mcduck #magica de spell #dimeshipping

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queen-scribbles · 7 years ago

Text

Change of Plans

Quick word of warning, this is almost 9k words, so.. know what you’re getting yourself into xD Silver more than made up for not talking to me for a while.

Silver had grown accustomed to many thing in her lifetime. Making her own ship repairs, always being on the move, dealing with scummy contacts, making plans on the fly and altering them even more on the fly. She could spin crap deals into something at least decent, choke down--or enjoy--any number of local delicacies, and suppress her gag reflex with the best of them. Usually.

Today, wading thigh deep through Hutta swamps, was not part of usually.

“I hate this planet,” she groused, forcefully quelling the urge to throw up. “It smells like the south end of a sweaty rancor.”

“It ain’t my favorite either, Sil,” Corso said sympathetically. “And do I wanna know how you know what the south end of a rancor smells like?”

“No, no you don’t.” She waved away a cloud of insects. “How much further?”

He stopped, pulled out a small datapad, and checked. “Just about a dozen yards in that direction.” He pointed the same way they’d been traveling and flashed her an encouraging smile. “We’re almost there.”

“Yeah, but then after the meet up we hafta go back.” As if to further emphasize her point, Silver smacked at something that was biting her neck. “And apparently, the local wildlife isn’t aware that you’re the only one allowed to nibble on me.”

Corso made a sound halfway between a laugh and choking. “How rude of them.”

“I know, right?” She slapped another one on her cheek as they resumed course. “Dammit, what’s got Baz so paranoid? We’ve never had to meet this far off the beaten path-kriffin’ hell!”

The toe of her boot caught on something under water and Silver pitched forward, drenching herself in sour smelling swamp ooze.

“Sil!” Corso hurried toward the spot, but she’d resurfaced by the time he reached her. He grabbed her arm and helped her regain her balance instead. “You alright, gorgeous?”

“Alright, yes. Gorgeous, I don’t think so,” Silver said darkly. “I’m gonna kill Baz.” She ran her hands over her hair to squeeze out as much as she could and than shook it off into the swamp. She coughed, gasped for breath, and dug her fingers into Corso’s arm as she fought her gag reflex. “Hard to believe it was only a month ago we were at a swanky party gettin’ repeatedly thanked for savin’ Corellia and the Republic with it.”

“Does feel like it’s been longer’n that,” Corso agreed. “Prob’ly cause we jumped right back inta work. C’mon, let’s get this meeting over with so we can get back to Angel and I’ll help ya get cleaned up.”

Silver quirked a brow at him, wiping mud off her face. “Ya offerin’ to scrub my hard to reach spots, Riggs?”

He barely blushed. “Maybe a few that aren’t so hard to reach, too.”

“Deal. But first we see what Baz wants.”

>>.<<

The fidgety Mirialan waiting inside the long abandoned hut wrinkled her nose when Silver and Corso walked in. “Ewww, what happened to you?”

“You, Bazeryn Wilas, you happened to me,” Silver snapped back, half tempted to peel off her gloves and drop them on the rickety table for dramatic effect. But they were one of her favorite pairs, so if there was any hope they could be saved she wasn’t giving them up. “What is so kriffin’ important--not to mention secret--that the middle of a frangin’ swamp on Hutta of all places is the only acceptable location for a meet?”

Baz worried a loose stitch on her jacket cuff. “Can’t be too careful. Don’t want anyone t’ think I’m choosin’ sides.”

“Choosing sides?” Silver repeated, skeptical.

“Yer workin’ for the Pubs, ain’tcha?” Baz pointed out. “Gone legit. I don’t want anybody gettin’ the wrong idea about us meetin’.”

“While I see your point,” Silver said slowly. “I take offense at gone legit. My gripe with the Imps was personal. I just took Republic credits to finance it. Why pay for things myself if I can get one of the biggest governments in the galaxy to foot the bill instead?”

Behind her, Corso shifted position and she prayed none of his tells showed enough to give away how close she was walking the line between lie and truth.

“Okay, whatever,” Baz shrugged. “People talk’s all ‘m sayin’. I wanted t’ give ya a tip.”

“About?” Silver prompted. A trickle of swamp water ran down her spine and she fought the urge to wriggle.

“There’s a fella on Denon, needs help movin’ somethin’... sensitive,” Baz said, clearly choosing her words with care.

“Define sensitive,” Silver said, trying to be patient, but it was hard in her current state.

“Who says I know?” Baz retorted defensively.

“Oh, c’mon, Baz,” Silver groaned. It was like pulling teeth. “We worked together enough I know you don’t pass along a job without checkin’ it out first. You’re too careful, too worried a bad job’ll give you a bad rep. What’s so damn sensitive about this cargo?”

“It’s people,” Baz muttered reluctantly, sighing and crossing her arms.

Silver stiffened, eyes narrowing at the other woman. “Oh, hell no! You know I don’t do slaves, Wilas.”

“They’re not slaves!” Baz protested, head snapping up indignantly. “You know me better than that, Airen!”

It’s Riggs now... Even as the words floated through her head, Silver decided this was not the time to offer such a correction. “Well, if not slaves then who are they? I don’t wanna take part in spiritin’ away some serial killer who’s close to gettin’ caught either.”

“Would you listen-” Baz took a deep breath to calm herself. “It’s not slaves, an’ I’m pretty sure it’s not criminals, either. Like you said, I vet things. Couldn’t find much, but there haven’t been many major crimes on Denon recently, violent or otherwise. I think it’s just people tryin’ to get out of a bad situation under the radar. Kids runnin’ from bad parents or somethin’. But I don’t have any solid specifics. You want those you’ll have to contact the guy yourself and ask.”

“Fine,” Silver sighed. It couldn’t hurt to contact the guy. If it was too sketchy she didn’t have to say yes. Besides, she stank of swamp water and it was beginning to make her nauseous. “You know my holofrequency; send me the guy’s info and I’ll get in touch with him.”

Baz nodded. “Will do.”

“C’mon.” Silver tugged Corso’s arm so he’d follow her out of the hut. She waited until they were a good way clear before asking, “So, whaddya think?”

“Oh, there’s somethin’ sketchy about this, Captain,” Corso said, tossing a glance back at the hut. “I don’t think it’s a trap or anything like that, but my gut says there’s more to this than we’re hearin’.”

She nodded. “Knew there was a reason I married you.”

“I always thought it was my stunnin’ good looks an’ sense of humor,” he retorted, grinning.

“Well, them too. But I do love a man who’s perceptive. We can comm Baz’s contact and try to ferret out some more details after we get back to the ship and you make good on your offer.”

Corso chuckled and tweaked the end of her ponytail. “I like this plan, Captain Riggs.”

Silver grinned. “Thought you might.”

>>.<<

All told it took an hour and four uncompromising scrub downs to get the swamp stench off her skin, and another two washes beyond that to get it mostly out of her hair.

“Guess that’ll hafta do,” Silver sighed, sniffing at one of the long, skinny tendrils of wet hair as she untwisted the towel wrapped around her head. “I still smell Hutta.”

Corso laughed softly as he stepped up behind her. “Pretty sure you’re just bein’ paranoid.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, taking a deep breath as her head came to rest against his chest. “All I smell is your shampoo. Considerin’ we used half the bottle just now, that’s no surprise.”

She tipped her head back against his shoulder to fix him with a skeptical look. “You’re just sayin’ that.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” he countered, kissing the top of her head.

Silver grinned, bringing her hands up to rest lightly against his arm. “No.”

“Why would I start now?”

“Good point.” She turned, still standing in his grasp, and Corso’s fingers slid into her hair as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Yet another reason why I married you.”

“You have quite a list,” Corso teased.

“I have quite a man,” Silver countered. She rocked up on tiptoe to steal a kiss, one hand instinctively grabbing at the towel wrapped around her as the movement loosened it and it started to slip. “We need to get dressed.” She stole another kiss. “Much as I like you in just a towel, I think we should look a tad more... professional when we reach out to Baz’s contact.”

“Whatever you say, Captain,” Corso said with an impish smile. “Your wish is my command.”

Silver flashed an impish grin of her own. “Don’t tempt me.”

>>.<<

The contact info Baz sent was for an audio-only channel. That raised a few flags in Silver’s mind, but actually talking to the man assuaged her worries. Cagey as he was about the origins of the people who needed a “clandestine ride”, much as the charm in her voice reminded her of Darmas, her gut said go with it. Corso agreed. So they arranged to meet the man--Jay, he said they could call him--on Denon and hammer out exact details.

“Why all the secrecy?” Silver asked.

“For their safety, it’s vital they stay as far off the radar as possible,” Jay said. “We want the broken link to stay broken.” And with those cryptic words, he signed off.

“Well, that was an interesting conversation,” Silver said dryly, once the connection was dead.

“Sure was,” Corso agreed. “Not really much we can do ‘til we get there, though. I’m gonna fix up some dinner, you hungry?”

“Nah.” Silver shook her head. “Still nauseous from the swamp stench. Maybe some of that tea we picked up on Voss? I wanna look at the hyperdrive. It was makin’ weird noises our last few jumps, and I’d swear Risha said she’d look at it ‘fore she left, but it happened again comin’ to Hutta.”

“Maybe Angel hates this planet much as you do,” Corso teased, rubbing her back.

“They do say parents’ prejudieces can rub off on their kids,” Silver joked. “She’s the closest thing I got for now, so...”

Corso laughed, giving her a gentle push toward the hallway. “Go check on the baby, then.”

“Yes, dear,” she replied, snickering as she headed for the engine room.

>>.<<

Fortunately, the hyperdrive held up fine for the trip to Denon. The holo blinked as they landed, displaying the image of a man wearing a hooded jacket to obscure his face. It stayed just long enough for an obviously distorted voice to say “Come to these coordinates,” before flickering off.

“I’ll bet you twenty credits this is an SIS gig they’re outsourcing,” Silver commented as she guided the Corellian Angel to a near-perfect landing.

“Don’t say that too loud,” Corso said glibly. “‘Member this is an Imperial-aligned world.”

“Which supports my theory,” she shot back. “Aside from all the cloak-and-shiv nonsense, th’ SIS wouldn’t wanna draw attention to themselves. If we get caught with these people, whoever they are. there’s no tie back to the SIS. We’re just freelancers our ‘cargo’ contracted to get them from point A to point B.”

“I’m not plannin’ to get caught,” Corso said as he wriggled a holdout blaster down into his boot. They’d both agreed--just to be safe--that Torchy and Sparkles should stay on the ship.

“Oh, me neither, obviously,” Silver said as she powered down the Angel and grabbed Flashy to holster. “But I mean just in case. Would be just like a spy to make sure all their bases are covered like that.”

“Only one way to find out,” Corso shrugged. “Where are these coordinates he sent us?”

“Not far from the spaceport, actually, from the look of things,” she replied. “Guess gettin’ to their ride quick is more important than anything else.”

“Either that or whoever they’re runnin’ from doesn’t know they’re gone yet and they’re just coverin’ their tracks for when that happens.”

“Which means they’re someone who’ll be missed,” Silver mused as they headed down the boarding ramp. “Deserters, maybe?”

“I’m all for helpin’ Imps switch sides,” Corso muttered,”but we should prob’ly stow the theorizin’ for now, considerin’ where we are...”

“Good point. So. This world’s a socio-economic trade hub. Tourist talk it is.”

“You gonna let me buy you somethin�� nice this time?” Corso teased, resting an arm loosely around her shoulders.

“You try that on every planet, dear,” Silver shot back playfully. “It hasn’t worked since Calius for a reason. I’m all set on things that sparkle.”

His lips twitched toward a smile at the not-subtle play on words. “Well, then, I’ll just have to adjust my strategy, won’t I, Captain?”

Lightly bantering back and forth, they made it through customs easily, then headed for the coordinates. It turned out to be a mid-scale apartment building only a few blocks from the spaceport.

“I stand by my belief that they’re valuing speed above secrecy,” Silver said in a glib undertone as she and Corso stepped into the turbolift. She pressed the button for the second floor. “Gutsy move if ya ask me...”

The lift reached their desired floor and they found the apartment they were looking for. Silver pressed the comm button next to the keypad and waited, fingers hooked through her belt loops.

“Who is it?” crackled out of the speaker.

“I’m lookin’ for Jay,” Silver replied evasively.

There was a few seconds’ silence, and then a soft beep and whir as the door unlocked and slip open.

“Here goes nothin’,” she muttered.

“Really wish I had Torchy right ‘bout now,” Corso whispered, his fingers twitching restlessly.

“Ditto.” Silver strolled into the apartment with a healthy dose of false bravado.

The only ocupant in the front room was a man who looked roughly her age, with piercing blue eyes and tousled black hair. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his face schooled into a carefully neutral expression.

“You must be Jay,” Silver greeted him breezily. She darted a quick look around the room, noting possible cover--none--and exits--the door behind her and one behind Jay.

“And you must be the esteemed Captain Riggs.” Despite his guarded nature, the smile he flashed was warm enough.

“Or so I claim,” she baited. “I could be anyone, lookin’ for a sweet payoff.”

Jay shook his head, amusement creeping into his eyes. “You’re Riggs. Or is it still Airen? I’ve heard conflicting stories.”

Behind her, Corso shifted, sidling close enough he could swap their positions if things got dicey. “How’re you so sure that’s who she is?”

“Wanted posters, for one.” Jay held up a hand when both Silver and Corso stiffened. “Imperial wanted posters, Captain. Corellia made you a few enemies. But mostly it’s because we have a mutual friend. So I knew what you looked like. Didn’t mention how pretty you are, though.”

Silver snorted. “Save it, Slick. I’m not available.”

“I’m not allowed to compliment without an ulterior motive?” Jay needled good-naturedly. He turned to Corso. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Don’t I know it,” Corso returned coolly. “Whaddidja wanna see us for?”

As if on cue, the door behind Jay slid open and two figures stepped out. Both humans, a man and a woman, with brown hair and dark green eyes. Jay held up a hand, forestalling any comments they were about to make.

“I need you to get them out of here,” he said simply. “So far we’ve avoided Imperial notice, but I don’t see that lasting much longer. If we can do this right, the Empire won’t even know they were here and we can get them safely to the arms of the Republic.”

“And they are...?” Silver prompted, not reading anything beyond nerves from the green-eyed pair.

“Kel and Ezi Stantyn,” Jay replied, gesturing in succession to the man and woman as he introduced them. “Beyond that, all that’s important is the Empire not knowing they’re here. We’ll have to find a way to smuggle them onto your ship so there’s no record of you taking on passengers.”

Silver narrowed her eyes and took a shot. “Bet the SIS is good at that sorta thing, huh?”

Jay blinked, caught off guard for the barest fraction of a second, then smiled. “Heard you were good. Nice to know those reports weren’t biased or exaggerated. Whatever experience the SIS does or doesn’t have in this area, I’m guessing you have more.”

“Damn straight,” she grinned. She’d been right. “Fill me in on what we’re dealin’ with?”

>>.<<

Over the next hour or so, Jay ran them through all the measures and potential loopholes present in the spaceport security system. There were a lot of measures and not a lot of loopholes.

“Do they check delivery personnel?” Silver asked, studying the projected blueprint on the holotable.

“How d’ya mean?” Jay frowned, pursing his lips in thought and cocking his head.

“If, say, my husband an’ I found somethin’ we wanted t’ buy while bein’ all touristy, but it was too big to lug around with us while we browse, so we had it boxed and delivered to our ship. How close would they look at the delivery people? Would they let delivery people in, or is that a droid’s job here?”

“Droids handle deliveries here,” Jay confirmed. “But it was a good idea...” His eyes narrowed. “Although...” he pulled up a closer view of the departing checkpoint and skimmed the specs for the cargo scanner. “How do you feel about exotic pets, captain?”

“Depends on the pet,” Silver replied. “Why?”

>>.<<

A few hours and one winding jaunt through the most blatantly tourist trap parts of the city--which was enough fun to be worth the trip all on its own--Silver’s comlink chirped. She traded a knowing look with Corso and clicked it on. “Yes?”

“Just confirming delivery of your purchases to your ship, Captain Riggs,” a clipped voice reported. “I’d make sure they were secured nice and tight before you take off; one of them looked rather banged-up. Wouldn’t want anything getting loose while you’re traveling.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Silver said. “Long as I don’t return to a ship full of free-range gizka, I’m happy.”

“Very good, ma’am. I hope the rest of your visit is pleasant.” The comlink beeped as the other party signed off.

“That Jay’s idea of an Imperial accent?” Corso muttered, amusement in his eyes.

Silver lightly smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “It was pretty good, when ya take into account regional dialect an’ all. Maybe it ain’t pure Dromund Kaas, but it was good enough. We’ll mosey our way back to the apartment, see if he has any final words of wisdom, and then hotfoot it outta here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Corso drawled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “An’ a better one than Jay had for gettin’ our, uh, cargo past the scanners.”

“Hey, I think usin’ the fact they don’t differentiate between life forms was kinda genius,” Silver said impishly. “All they scan for is drugs an’ toxins. Long as neither a’ them show up, security don’t care. An’ it’s not like we came up with anything better.”

“Still just a little too simple,” Corso muttered.

“Nah, long as they don’t have any reason to be suspicious about, they don’t do a full work-up. An’ we aren’t suspicious. We ain’t even the Corellian Angel, if they have that flagged. I used one of those alternate transponder codes Risha left me as a goodbye present. We’re the Silverhawk. Nothin’ flagged on that since we didn’t get caught on the silkworm job. Hopefully we pull this off without gettin’ tagged. I like the Silverhawk.”

“Wonder why...” he teased.

Silver rolled her eyes and was about to retort when she noticed a pair of men staring at her intently. “Uh, sweetheart, is it just my imagination, or are those two abnormally interested in me?”

Corso swiveled casually, hiding his glance behind them by pretending to laugh at something she’d said and pressing a kiss to her hair. “Y’ mean the two sittin’ at that last tapcafe we passed? It’s not your imagination.”

“Guess Jay’s not the only one who saw my wanted posters,” she muttered.

Corso swore under his breath, and settled his arm more protectivel around her. “Change of plans, Sil. We’re goin’ straight back to the ship.”

“No arguments here. I’ll comm Jay, let him know what’s goin’ on.”

“You trust him?” Corso asked, tone neutral--which meant he didn’t, at least not fully.

“He seems like a good guy, an’ Tel’s only had good things to say about the SIS agents he’s worked with.” She snorted softly. “All two of them.”

“Your brother works for Republic SpecForce, Sil. ‘Course he got along with ‘em.”

“It’s sweet that you’re worried, but I don’t think he ratted me out. ‘Sides, doesn’t make much sense to hire me for a job and then sicc bounty hunters on me.”

“True,” Corso admitted sheepishly. “I’m just extra paranoid about the charming ones thanks t’ Darmas.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” Silver said with a nod as they hurried toward the spaceport.

>>.<<

No one stopped them on their return to the ship, but Silver still didn’t waste any time firing up the Angel. It was a good thing, too. Even as the systems spun up to full readiness, she glimpsed one of the men from the tapcafe in urgent conversation with the guards at the hanger entrance.

“Sil.” Corso’s tone made it clear he’d noticed as well.

“I know.” She punched the intercom. “You have ten seconds to get strapped in, or you’re in for a ride!”

She vaguely heard Bowdaar roar something and Guss begin to protest, but blocked it out as she counted as measured a ten count as she could under the circumstances. The moment lights went green, they were moving, fast as Angel could handle.

It was a clean getaway; no officials or ruffled feathers to worry about, but Silver didn’t relax until they hit hyperspace.

“Okay,” she sighed, playing with her ponytail. “We’re good. Next stop, Kerkoidia.”

“Thought we were takin’ em to Naboo,” Corso frowned as he unfastened his harness and moved to lean against the back of her seat.

“We are, but I still need to refuel Angel. Didn’t have time on Denon.”

“We were there for hours, Sil,” Corso pointed out. “How wasn’t there time?”

“Several other ships wanted a refuel, hon. We were fifth on the list. That particular spaceport was small, and can only do one ship at a time, they don’t have a fuel line in every hanger like some of the places we’ve docked,” she explained. “So they hadn’t gotten to us yet. We’re still decent, just can’t get all the way to Naboo. So we hafta refuel somewhere, Kerkoidia’s on the way and Republic-aligned, so it seemed the best choice.”

“Sounds good to me,” Corso nodded. “Now that we’re safe, you wanna let our passengers move to more comfortable quarters?”

“Sure.” Silver punched on the autopilot and stood. “They can have Risha’s room.”

“‘Zat big enough for two people?” Corso said, frowning as he followed her out of the cockpit.

“They only gotta share for a week,” Silver shrugged. “Even if it’s cramped, I’m sure they can manage.”

“What was the deal with that take-off boss?” Guss asked as they passed each other in the corridor.

“Runnin’ from bounty hunters,” Silver said. “Apparently I’m a wanted woman in Imperial space.”

“Fun,” Guss muttered. “Might wanna check our new cargo, make sure nothin’ got busted.”

“That’s what we’re doin’ right now,” Silver nodded. “Why don’t you an’ Bowdaar start workin’ on dinner? We didn’t get much for lunch-” she heard Corso’s stomach grumble as if in agreement-- “an’ we’ll probably eat early.”

“Sure, boss.” Guss headed for the galley as Silver and Corso ducked into the cargo hold. Exactly as she’d been worried, one of the crates had shifted and cracked open during takeoff, and now something like a dozen gizka--slightly daazed--were wandering around the cargo hold.

“Ah, dammit,” Silver muttered, trying to herd the small creatures to a back corner. “Corso, close the door, quick, before any of ‘em get out.”

He obliged, scooping up a gizka as it tried to make a break for it. “Wow, these guys are kinda cute.”

“They’re also a huge pain in the neck,” Silver retorted. “But yeah, they’re pretty cute. Help me get the crates open. We can use the lids to make a barrier, and I’m sure our passengers would like to move to more comfortable quarters.”

Working together, it was easy enough to pry the lids off the two large crates. They tipped them slightly, both to make it easier for the human occupants to climb out and to shunt the gizka occupants behind the makeshift barrier.

“Sorry about... all this,” Silver said to Kel and Ezi once the two were out and standing with her and Corso. “The rough launch, an’ the gizka an’ everything.”

“No trouble,” Kel mumbled, and Ezi nodded her agreement, coddling a runty gizka in her arms as she scratched its ear nubs. The gizka cooed appreciately and looked happy, so Silver didn’t object.

“We can show you your room, and some of my crew are workin’ on dinner.”

Kel and Ezi nodded, gesturing that they would follow her.

Silver laid a hand on Corso’s arm. “Darling, why don’t you go make sure Guss hasn’t lit the galley on fire.”

“Right,” Corso said with a nod. “I’ll take care of that while you get them settled.”

They went their separate ways, Silver making very sure the door closed and locked behind them to contain the gizka before she led Kel and Ezi to their room.

>>.<<

The journey to Kerkoidia was uneventful--unless nausea from Guss’ cooking counted. (Silver had hoped having Bowdaar help him would improve things. It hadn’t. At least she was the only one to get it bad.) Kel and Ezi kept to themselves, spending most of their time in their room, along with the gizka, which Silver was pretty sure Ezi had adopted. Fine by her. One less to worry about. Nothing on the Angel broke or gave them any trouble, and--aside from one near-gizka breakout--Guss didn’t even screw anything up. Kerkoidia Control welcomed them without and holdup and acquiesced easily to Silver’s request for fuel.

“It’ll only take an hour or so to fuel up,” she explained to crew and passengers alike. “So not a lot of time for explorin’. But if you wanna go wander the hanger or spaceport for a change of scenery, go right ahead.”

Unsurprisingly, Guss took her up on it. Equally unsurprising, Kel and Ezi didn’t.

“Suit yourself,” Silver shrugged. “I’m gonna go see if they have any kinda gift shop with knick knacks I could send my brother. If you change your mind, just stay close enough we can find ya when its time to take off.’ She looked at Corso. “You wanna come, hon? Or d’ya feel more like stayin’ to help Bowdaar keep an eye on the ship?”

“Think I’ll stay this time, Sil. Still owe Torchy and Sergeant Boom Boom a good cleanin’.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “But you have fun.”

She winked. “I am good at that. See ya later, then.” She wasn’t expecting much; Kerkoidia was hardly a major tourist destination. But something little she could send Tel as a joke wasn’t too much to ask for. She hoped.

It wasn’t. While the spaceport’s equivalent of a gift shop was just a nook with one of the locals hawking holoframes with images of the Maldinian City skyline and durasteel or plastiform models of some of the buildings, the prices were cheap. It was good enough for her. After spending a few minutes perusing the wares, Silver selected an extremely gaudy plastiform miniature of the Retail Caucaus building(because what’s the point of a joke gift if you don’t go all out?), paid for it, and headed back to the ship.

As she made her way through the huge, sprawling complex toward her hanger, the first tendrils of unease tugged at the back of Silver’s mind. Something was off. She detoured through the spaceport’s business wing at the last second, and figured out why: she was being followed. The hard-eyed man she’d noted in passing as she left the gift kiosk was lounging against the wall, pretending to be on comms with someone, but clearly darting glances at her. It’s just one guy, I can lose a tail, Silver began to reassure herself as her fingers twitched toward her comlink and she kept walking. But then she noticed the zabrak pretending to scan for an arriving party, but whose eyes continually drifted back to Silver. And then the woman with burn scars on her face, who Silver realized had been loitering outside the hanger bank when she left. Oh, damn.

With three of them following her, this was not just a tail. This was an ambush waiting to happen. And since one of them, at least, knew where her hanger was, they knew this was a detour and had probably caught on that she was wary. Which meant one of two things was likely going to happen very shortly: if they were after her, they would corner her and finish the job, and if they were after something or someone else from her ship, they would fade back and hit the hanger before her crew could prepare.

She increased her pace and reached for her comlink. “Corso, we’ve got a problem...” When she glanced over her shoulder again, all three watchers were gone.

>>.<<

She could hear gunfire before she reached the hanger. Oh kriffin’ hell. Silver’s fingers curled around the hilt of her blaster and she wished in vain for her stealth field generator as she plastered herself against the wall and edged closer to the hanger entrance. Her scattergun would also have come in handy, but she’d left Sparky on the ship in case Corso had time to clean it after he finished with his guns. So it was just her and Sparkles as the ambush for the ambush.

She slid along the wall, fast but quiet, peeked around the corner-

-and nearly butted heads with the zabrak she’d seen earlier. There was a stunned millisecond before both scrambled to get in the first shoot. Silver whipped Sparkles in a hard arc against the zabrak’s temple and the mercenary crumbled. Not before getting off a shot that grazed Silver’s shoulder and blew any hope of sneaking up on the others.

Dammit. Silver hissed in pain and irritation as she brushed her fingers over the fresh welt. It hadn’t done much damage beyond singe the sleeve of her favorite shirt, but she’d been counting on the element of surprise.

A blaster bolt winged off the wall by her head and Silver swore as she dove behind a large duracrete planter. It was lousy cover but she could worry about that in a minute. For now she peeked cautiously between the spiny leaves of whatever was growing on the planter to get the lay of the land.

She could only see the man and woman she’d noticed earlier, no extra back-up, which was good. The level of tactical thinking and the two were showing was not. There were only three of them because they thought three was all they needed.

“Sil?” Corso hollered, voice breaking her reverie.

“Still alive!” she hollered back. She couldn’t get a good angle on either Hard Eyes or Burn Scars from here, and they knew it. Silver looked around for somewhere with decent cover and a better shot, but the nearest thing was a bench almost fifteen feet away. And with the way Hard Eyes kept glancing toward her current spot, even trying for that would be really stupid.

Fortunately, Silver had never been opposed to stupid plans. Hell, half the time she survived because of them, along with a healthy dose of dumb luck. Corso’s gonna yell at me for this, she acknowledged silently, shifting her grip on Sparkles and briefly resting the barrel against her forehead in salute to yet another genuine Silver Airen Stars, I Hope This Works idea. With a deep breath for nerve, she stuck Sparkles around the planter and started firing blindly toward the mercenaries. A couple shot in, she moved from behind the planter and ran like hell for the bench. She heard the snap-sizzle of blaster bolts narrowly missing her as she dropped and slid behind her new cover--which did have a good line of sight on the two mercenaries. They were forced to split their attention between the hanger and her. Hard Eyes swiveled to keep Silver pinned down, while Burn Scars kept firing on whoever was in the hanger; probably Corso and Akaavi.

This could last awhile... Silver thought grimly, popping up to fire off a couple shots at Hard Eyes. Especially since I don’t have most of my gear. She smelled burning hair after Hard Eyes’ return fire and winced. That had been too close for comfort. Clearly, time for another stupid idea. She checked her comlink to see if she could coordinate with her crew this time, but there was just static.

Huffing loose wisps of hair out of her face, Silver pulled the tiny, ancient holdout blaster out of her boot and stared at it. I really wish I didn’t have to do this... She pinned the barrel under her boot and bent it--which was difficult, but not nearly as difficult as she’d expected--before rapping it hard against the edge of the bench. Hope this works. Sorry, Dad. She peeked one last time to verify where the mercs were standing, pulled the holdout’s trigger, and threw it as hard as she could.

For a pair of heartbeats there was nothing. Then an explosion shredded the air and Silver instinctively covered her head. After a moment, she looked around the bench again. Hard Eyes was on the ground, bleeding profusely from all the shrapnel lodged in his head, neck, and shoulder. She couldn’t even tell if he was still alive. Burn Scars was slumped against the wall looking dazed, and Silver was pretty sure she could still see the zabrak’s boots lying prone in the same place as before.

Now or never. Gripping Sparkles tightly, she abandoned her spot behind the bench and charged full-tilt for the hanger entrance. Her path took her directly toward a durasteel crate Corso had probably been using for cover. Rather than skirt it, Silver planted one hand atop the crate and smoothly vaulted over it--

--which turned into a less than smooth landing as pain seared through both her chest and leg and the sharp crack of twn blaster bolts echoed from roughly where she’d left the zabrak.

So. Not unconscious, was all she could think as she hit the ground with a yelp and rolled, her head smacking the floor. She heard Corso swear even as his hand settled on her arm and dragged her into the safety of his cover. “Kriff,” she panted, wincing in pan as her hand curled against her side. “Frangin’ hell. Be a dear and finish them off for me, will ya?”

Corso peeked around the wall and snapped off a few shots, ducking back at the return fire. “They’re dug back in, Sil. An’ you don’t look good. We need to get you outta here.”

“Corso, they’re gonna tag my frangin’ ship!” Silver hissed. “They do that, the transponder codes won’t matter. I don’t want them comin’ after us again in a couple months cuz they think we still have whatever the kriffin’ hell they’re after!”

“What if we do?” he shot back, firing blindly around the corner. “What if they’re after you?”

She snorted and regretted it. Stars, it felt like her ribs were on fire. “Sure, Imp bounty hunters workin’ in Pub space. That’s a worthwhile risk.”

“I’ve seen the bounty on your head, sweetheart,” Corso drawled. “It absolutely is.”

“Oh.” Silver leaned her head back against the wall. “All the more reason to kill ‘em...” Talking hurt, and she let the words trail off.

“Sil?” Corso nudged her with his boot. “Sil.”

She barely found the energy to groan.

“Damn it!” There was the sound of rapid blaster fire, and then a yelp-thud from roughly where Silver remembered Burn Scars being. “Akaavi!” Corso hollered, his arms sliding around her shoulders and under her knees. “See if you can take care of the last one!”

Silver missed Akaavi’s reply, her head lolling against Corso’s shoulder as he picked her up and lit out for the Angel’s boarding ramp. Her head hurt. Hell, all of her hurt. She closed her eyes and held on to Corso’s shirt.

“Sil? Stay with me, darlin’.” Corso pressed a kiss to her forehead as the clank of his boots against the floor underscored his worried tone. “Almost there.”

“Mmm,” she managed as he paused to hit the controls that opened the medbay door. She could feel the vibrations of Angel warmed up and ready. “Make sure... Guss... did it right....”

“I will,” Corso promised as he settled her on the narrow medbay cot. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Be right back.”

“Mmhm.” Silver forced her eyes open as he left the room, and groped for the emergency restraints on the bed. A whimper escaped when one of the straps rubbed the wound in her side, but that was better than landing on the floor when Corso took off. Hope we got enough fuel...

The vague sound of Akaavi yelling, “Go!” reached her, followed by the shift of Angel’s engines ratcheting up, and Silver finally let the darkness win.

>>.<<

The engines had settled into the steady background drone of hyperspace when she came to. The air smelled of kolto and singed flesh, causing her nose to instinctively wrinkle. “...Tell me that moof-milker’s worse off’n me.”

“That moof-milker’s worse off’n you,” Corso said obligingly. His voice was oozing with relief. “Welcome back, sweetheart. You’re not s’pposed to scare me like that, remember?”

“I seem to recall the opposite,” Silver countered, opening her eyes. “I promised to insure you never had a borin’ day again. Ikeep my promises.”

“Maybe in the future, find ways to keep ‘em that don’t involve nearly gettin’ yourself killed.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “No promises. What the frangin’ hell were they after, anyway?”

“Us, I suspect.” The quiet comment was underlaid by the hum of a diagnostic scanner.

Silver turned and saw Kel, brow drawn in a slight frown of concentration as he studied the scanner’s readout. He glanced up at her as he continued, his clipped, precise accent adding extra weight to his words. “The Empire doesn’t look kindly on deserters.”

Silver blinked at him, leveraging off Corso’s arm to try and sit up. “Either I hit my head a lot harder’n I thought, or you just said you’re Imp.”

“Former,” Kel corrected calmly, his accent noticeably less pronounced. “S- Ezi and I are defecting.”

“Doesn’t the military usually handle that? And why’re you takin’ care of me instead of Guss?”

“Only if you have some kind of valuable intel they want, and I volunteered to patch you up. I was my squad’s medic, so my knowledge in the field is slightly more extensive than your Mon Cal’s.”

“He didn’t mind, Sil,” Corso piped up. “Guss said he ain’t used to stuff bad as you got, anyway.”

“But I’m all patched up?” she probed, glancing between Corso and Kel. Her head still hurt, but everything else had faded to a dull ache.

“Sufficiently to make it to Naboo, yes,” Kel said with a nod. “But you should be more careful, Captain. And when we land you should see a doctor.You have good equipment here, but it does have its limits.”

“I’m sure I’m fine...” Silver grumbled under her breath.

“Sil. Just for a check, make sure there’s no surprises waitin’ for us down the road?” Corso said, tone cajoling.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what you said after Darmas gave ya a concussion,” he countered.” An’ ya weren’t. Please? For me?”

“Oh, you fight dirty, Riggs,” she huffed.

He grinned and kissed her forehead. “Learned from the best.”

>>.<<

Since there wasn’t much else to do for the rest of the trip, Silver agreed to stay in bed and let Corso handle piloting--on the condition she got to hear Kel and Ezi’s story.

They obliged on the counter-condition she got the short version. Born to a moff, raised in the heart of the Empire, patriotic and loyal as could be wished. The first cracks hadn’t appeared until a couple years into Kel’s military service, when a woman who had gone through medical certification with him defected. “They simultaneously tried to cover it up and... investigate the loyalty of any who had worked with her. That’s when I began to question.”

Unbeknownst to Kel, his sister had started doubting at nearly the same time. “I wasn’t anything special; just general infantry, but even with that limited experience, things weren’t sitting right with me; orders we were given, orders we were told to ignore... it made me wonder.” Ezi shifted in her chair. “That first time we had coinciding leave.... it took us almost three days to admit something was bothering us. I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and dragged Av- Kel somewhere private to confess. Once we both came clean, it was a matter of figuring out how to leave without implicating or tipping off our parents.”

“It took almost a year,” Kel picked up, absently cracking his knuckles. “We were kind of stuck, and stumbled across Jon-” he winced. “Jay completely by accident.”

“You two ain’t good at the name thing, are ya?” Silver said with a smile.

“Why do you think we don’t talk much?” he replied wryly. “We’ve been Avrin and Saskia our whole lives. Do you think you could just start calling someone in your family by a different name after more than two decades? Kel and Ezi haven’t been to slip into, but we’re working on it.”

“You make a very good point,” Silver conceded, rubbing the general area of the synthskin patch on her thigh. The blaster burn underneath itched something awful. “I don’t think I could swap just like that. But movin’ on with your story?”

“There isn’t much more to it,” Ezi shrugged, tuckign her hair behind her ear. “Jay works for the Republic and has some underworld connections, at least on Denon. So he got us forged identification papers and covert transportation from Ziost to Denon, where we holed up until he found someone who could get us away from there.” She gestured toward Silver. “You came along and here we are.”

“And the bounty hunters came from where?” Silver hinted. “An’ how d’ya know they’re after you?”

“I peeked out,” Ezi said sheepishly, waving off her brother’s brewing protest even as he opened his mouth. “Once your crew was returning fire. I recognized the woman. They are--or were, rather--part of Krath’s Fangs, an elite mercenary company our father used as personal security. I don’t know how they found us, because we were positive no one knew we were on Denon.”

“However they found us, they’re dead now,” Kel said. “And we should let Captain Riggs rest, Ez.”

She nodded. “Sure. Thank you for getting us out, Captain. I’m sorry you’re paying such a price for it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Silver assured her. “I’ve had worse days.” Not by much, but I have.

Ezi didn’t really look like she believed her, but didn’t argue the point, either, instead following Kel out of the medbay.

>>.<<

They arrived on Naboo on schedule and without any evidence they were being tracked or followed. Kel and Ezi thanked Silver “and really, your whole crew” profusely one last time before leaving to met the contact who was going to help them settle in, Ezi still carrying the gizka.

After the brother and sister were out of sight, Corso turned to Silver. “Alright, Captain, I believe you promised to go see a doctor when we landed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Silver huffed, leaning against him to keep weight off her bad leg. “There’s gotta be a lot of doctors on Naboo, though; gonna take a while to find-”

“Here.” Corso grinned as he held out a datapad. “Took care of it while we were en route. You’re seein’ Dr. Stella Viks in an hour.”

Silver blinked as she took the datapad. “You-”

“-were expectin’ you to worm out of it, yes.” He was still grinning, damn him. He knew her entirely too well. “I worry about you, Sil, an’ wanna be sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I guess I can appreciate that,” she conceded with false reluctance. “Come with me?”

“Course.” He tugged gently on her ponytail. “Love ya.”

“Love you, to.”

>>.<<

Dr. Viks’ office was professional and neat--enough so to make Silver fidgety. She felt as if disturbing anything could quite possibly get her arrested or something. Irrational, yeah, but she couldn’t help it. It was a relief when her name was finally called and she headed back to one of the exam rooms, Corso firmly in tow. She wanted to say she wanted him there so when the doctor confirmed she was fine, it would be that much easier to rub in his face, but there was a nervous twist in her gut that belied the thought.

Dr. Viks was waiting when they reached the room. “Ms. Riggs?”

“Captain,” Silver corrected automatically, then winced apologetically. “Sorry, habit.”

“That’s alright,” Dr. Viks assured her, gesturing for them to take a seat. “There isn’t much here.” She set down the datapad she’d been reading. “If you prefer Captain, then Captain it is. What’s the reason for your visit today?”

“We got in a bit of a shootout with some no-goods who were after our cargo at our last stop, an’ my husband wanted me to get checked over by a doctor. Make sure the patchin’ up I got was good enough,” Silver explained, squeezing Corso’s hand.

“Smart man,” Dr. Viks said with a smile. “What injuries do you sustain in this shootout?” She turned on and started calibrating a fancy-looking scanner as she listened to Silver’s reply.

The redhead paused for a beat before reeling off, “They winged m’ shoulder, got me good in the side an’ leg, and I banged my head pretty hard when I hit the ground.”

“Noted,” Dr. Viks nodded, and began her examination, a combination of using the scanner and physically checking the injuries Silver had mentioned. “Whoever patched you up did a good job,” she commented. “They must’ve had some training.”

“Former army medic,” Silver said, biting her lip as the doctor’s fingers ran over the goose egg above her ear.

“That would explain it.” The scanner beeped and Dr. Viks examined the screen. “Alright. Everything looks fine... there are the injuries you mentioned, but they’re all healing nicely. The bump on your head is the extent of it; there’s no deeper issues there.”

“Then what’s with the feelin’ sick and losin’ her balance?” Corso asked. “I mean, there was a little after Hutta, but y’know, Hutta’ll do that to ya. It’s been worse the past couple days, so I thought for sure it had to do with the bump on her head.”

Silver huffed. You’re being overprotective again. “I told you that’s nothin’ hon. Hutta swamp water an’ Guss’ cookin’- what?”

Dr. Viks was looking at her in amused surpprise, gaze flicking to the scanner screen as she formed her next sentence. “You didn’t know you’re pregnant, Captain?”

Silver and Corso’s hands tightened on each other til their knuckles were white, Silver’s free hand instinctively pressed against her stomach. She blinked at the doctor, trying to process, to breathe.” I... did not. How... How far along...?”

“About ten weeks, from the look of things,” Dr. Viks replied. “This isn’t really my area of expertise. I can take care of some basics, since you’re here, but you really should find a doctor who specializes in obstetrics. I can give you some names on Naboo, if you like, or you can use the holonet to find one on your home planet, if you prefer.”

“We’ll do the latter, I guess,” Silver mumbled, still shellshocked in the best possible way. “But if you could tell us if it’s healthy....” I was pregnant on Corellia. The utter chaos of her war-zone exploits flashed through her mind and she very nearly panicked. “Make sure I haven’t screwed it up?”

Dr. Viks chuckled and nodded. “Of course.”

As the doctor adjusted settings on the scanner, Silver finally turned to look at Corso. His expression was mix of looking like someone had smacked him in the gut with a power prybar and pure, unbridled joy.

She cleared her throat. “So, I’m guessin’ this is okay with you?”

Corso opened his mouth and tried to start a sentence twice with no sound coming out before giving up. He cupped her face in both hands and kissed her soundly instead. When he finally pulled back to put the barest distance between them, he whispered hoarsely, “What do you think?”

Silver smiled and brushed his cheek with her thumb. “I think you’re gonna be a great dad. And if you smile any wider, you’re gonna rip your face in half.”

He chuckled as they both sat back. “Can’t have that.” He reached over and rested a hand on Silver’s belly. “Gotta be there for my kid.”

Once Dr. Viks had the scanner properly adjusted, it didn’t take long to confirm that the baby was perfectly fine--a minor miracle, far as Silver was concerned. “Do you want to know girl or boy?” Dr. Viks asked.

Silver looked at Corso, saw matching uncertainty in his eyes, and shook her head. “Not right now. We can’t unlearn it once we know, so we should prob’ly be sure first?”

“I understand completely,” Dr. Viks assured her, powering down the scanner. “Unless you have any more questions for me, I think we’re all done.”

“Nope, I’m good.” Silver slid her hand into Corso’s and gave it a squeeze. “’Sides, we have a lot to talk about. Thank you for all your help, Doctor.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Viks said with a smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Silver said, slightly dazed as reality started sinking in, but still unable to stop grinning.

>>.<<

They spent the entire trip back to the Angel in silence, and didn’t say a word until they were back in their cabin.

“So...” Silver began. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Hell, yes,” Corso said fervently, pulling her into a hug. “Sil, you know how bad I want kids.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know if you wanted ‘em now or down the road a little,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He kissed the top of her head and moved them to sit on the edge of their bed. “I wanted ‘em when we got ‘em. Trust me, darlin’, I’m ecstatic. Is this... are you okay with this? You’re gonna be doin’ all the work.”

Silver laughed giddily. “Kriff, yeah. I love you, and any kids we have are gonna be so frangin’ awesome.” She paused for a second, rubbed one hand over her abdomen. “Guess I have to avoid runnin’ gun battles now, huh?”

“Yeah, I think it’s best to avoid shoot-outs of all kinds while pregnant,” Corso chuckled, kissing her forehead.

She grinned giddily again. “I’m pregnant. We’re gonna have a baby.” She gasped and shot to her feet. “I gotta call Tel! And my parents-” Her expression sobered. “D’you... wanna tell Rona? I know you two’re mendin’ fences...”

“Not sure if we’re there yet,” Corso admitted, squeezing her hand. “Go call your family, though. They’re gonna be so happy.”

She bent down for another kiss, her grin back when she straightened. “Tel getsta be an uncle. He’s gonna kriffin’ flip.” She paused on the way out of the room. “You can tell the rest of the crew while I tell him. If you want?”

Corso grinned as he stood. “Deal.”

That settled, Silver limped toward the cockpit to call her brother. Sure, this was going to change everything, but in the best way possible.

She couldn’t wait.

#queens fic #otp: space dorks #corso riggs #silver riggs #swtor #swtor fic

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pandora-twists · 7 years ago

Text

As long as...

M21 cursed himself. He should have noticed. The signs were all there. M24 being quiet and fidgety since morning, and the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead that he had attributed to the weather. He knew M24′s insecurity and his desperation to rid him of the leash tying them to the Union. He was aware M24 could do something foolish like neglect his medication in a vane attempt to eliminate his over dependence on them. Yet he had been so oblivious.

Or it would be correct to say that he was just too concerned about this current mission to give anything else much thought. Union had thrown them in this area riddled with enemies much more powerful with next to no resources. M21′s anger had been at bubbling point, he was sure if they didn’t make their stop short here this would be their last mission. Neither death nor a journey back to labs were acceptable solutions for him right now.

So M21 had just wanted to finish the mission, take M24 and get away from this godforsaken place. He was focused so much on this goal that he completely ignored M24s symptoms until it was too late. Guilt and concern twisted his insides.

And to their good luck, the strongest attack hit M24 just when they were in middle of a fight. M21 had heard a hacking cough and whipped his head around, ready to jump in and cover M24 thinking that he lost his fight. Only to see both his comrade and the opposition down on the ground. Enemy dead, clearly by M24′s hand and M24 twisting on the ground all on his own.

M21 didn’t need even a second to recognize the withdrawal symptoms of the medication they had been forcing down their throats daily and was momentarily distracted enough for the enemy’s attack to land on him.

Shit! He scrambled back and put up a defensive arm just in time to avoid injury to his vital organs. His heart was saved but the blade cute deep into arm instead.

M21 hissed in pain, and realized it wasn’t his reflexes, but the timely intervention of M24s mind control making his opponent a split second too slow that had allowed him to get away.

Not to be undone by the injury and not wasting a second, M21 took full advantage of the momentarily respite provided by his ailing friend and rushed forward. Sharp nails sprouted up and a single well aimed swipe to the neck was all that was needed to dispose of the enemy.

Phew. M21 slid down the ground at the same time the enemy did, exhausted by the battle. He could already feel the injury stinging by what he presumed was enemy’s poison.

Still his foremost worry was M24, who despite being in worst situation had stepped in to help him. He forced himself on his feat and ran to his friend and started rummaging around his jacket for medication.

In M24s condition, his bulky body wasn’t exactly easy to navigate however, and M21 had to bodily haul himself on his friends back to reach his chest pocket. This position unfortunately also meant that M21 couldn’t quite dodge M24s flailing arms, and while it took some heavy hits to his face, he eventually managed to find the medicine in a hidden pocket. He kept running circles on M24′s back and neck to ease the swallowing and avoid the pills getting lodged in his windpipe and create another problem.

There! He did it.

The effect was instantaneous and M24 stopped withering. He was still twitching some and it would take a few minutes to stop, but the worst had passed. M21 almost sagged in relief.

The danger was far from over however. The stinging wound on his own arm was throbbing wildly and needing attention. He quickly went about tying knots at each end to avoid the poison from spreading. It took him no more than a few seconds to slash himself wider and suck all the poison out, but he had all his nerves standing at their wits end in frustration and alert during this short duration.

In just a few minutes the local security would be there. Exposing signs that could lead to the Union were strictly prohibited, so he very much wished to get rid of opponents bodies. But he didn’t have much time left before the guards would catch up to them. M21 furiously ran his brain, still dizzy and weak from the poison in his system, but there simply was no option. M24 came first. If push comes to shove he’d just try to take all the blame on himself, so M24 atleast remained safe.

He could already hear the police sirens at some distance and without further ado he jumped up to his comrades side to collect him.

Damnit. It would have been so much easier had M24 been less wide. He could have just slung him on the uninjured shoulder and put on his long coat to avoid anyone noticing. Much like M24 had done with his body the few times they’d lost with him out cold and made a dash for it, but that was not a possibility here.

He sighed and grabbed M24 under both shoulders and began dragging the bulky body backwards fast, as much as he could in his condition and disappeared around the dirty alley before anyone could arrive at the scene.

He dragged him all the way down the alley, into the nearby bushes to the abandoned houses a mile from their attacker’s spot, right up to the empty steel warehouse they had been using as their temporary residence. He was wheezing in exertion by the time he had arrived at this destination. The after effects of the injuries and poison in his system were doing their job well.

Dumping M24 on his back in the middle of warehouse, he hastily went back to the door and closed it tight. Only the narrow splits in the walls their source of sunlight. He peeked out the slits at ready. He had been careful not to let his blood fall to the ground. But each step of the guards in his direction made him less sure. A few tense minutes and the guard dogs moved in the opposite direction.

Immediate danger out of the way, M21 whirled back to M24 to check his condition.

M24 was still, but his chest rose up and down steadily which gave M21 the indication that he was on time. The medicine had worked and M24 was safe. Only then M21 released the breath he had been holding in for a little too long.

He would give M24 a piece of his mind later on his foolishness, but right then all he could do was smile and sigh in relief noticing M24s light snoring confirming he was alive. As adrenaline left M21, the pain in his arm started becoming more apparent. Not that he could have done anything but to wait it out. They had to spend the next few days hidden in this warehouse till the situation outside had calmed down.

Already drowsy, he knew that they’ll be in trouble with the Union later anyway, but now was not the time to think about it.

M21 took his long coat off and gave it a tug to rid off any dust and then carefully covered it over his sleeping comrade. Then he laid down and rolled himself into the smallest possible ball beside M24 burrowing under the same makeshift blanket.

He squeezed M24′s sleeve in his hand to wake up in case he stirred, or attempted to leave alone in another of his misguided attempts to relief M21.

Because he should know that as long as they had each other by their side, they would be alright, and M21 dozed off himself.

Prompt: Concerned.

I just love M21 and M24 relationship, their explored and unexplored past. This whole fic was meant to be payed off by M21 hauling and sleeping besides M24. Its taken from a response I saw on a site asking whats the most romantic thing your partner ever did for you? To which a reply was that his half sized girlfriend hauled his drunken ass all the way to the living room, then put blanket on him and even curled up sleeping on the floor with him all night. The guy married this girl he was so touched. lol+sweet! I see M21 M24 as bromantic (I was so tempted to name fic bromance) but scenario still fits. It just didn’t came out as impactful lol.

And it did felt odd to keep focus on M21, 24s plight when two others had just lost their lives at their hands. But to avoid this ive canonized (fanonized?) those 2 were evil like Shark and Jake so rest assured xD

Also on their sleeping pose, this is a good sample. Just a much bigger smaller person to wider ratio, and M21 keeping his legs and head to himself and hand on M24s sleeve. I imagine balled up M21 easily fitting at half his side..

#noblesse #m21 #m24 #fic #myfic #another fic which i managed to put in shape from rough draft written weeks ago #same for all the incoming fics too #first event entry ftw #next entry should be comedy lol #noblessesummerevent

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backtothestart02 · 7 years ago

Text

Flashpoint: Chapter 4 - Worth It

My completed preview chap for day 3 (fav WIP) of @wipweek. (Look at me popping out another one “so fast” lol)

Synopsis: My take on what Flashpoint could’ve been. Essentially. XD

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for being an epic beta.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4 - Worth It

“Take as long as you need,” his mother had said.

“Grab what’s most important to you. We can get the rest later.”

But Barry stood in the center of the living room in his apartment and wondered what exactly could be considered important.

He assumed clothes weren’t included in the necessities, since they didn’t hold sentimental value. They were likely in large supply at home too. He couldn’t have brought them all to school. And he had to have come home during summer and winter vacation, even if he had been in school for six years straight.

I mean – right?

He couldn’t be so paranoid about running into Iris that he just never went home.

Barry grabbed his toiletries because he figured those were less likely to be fresh and ready for him at home – probably. It all depended on how prepared his parents were for the rare occurrence of their son returning home for a visit after he’d left for college.

If it was rare, of course. Which is seemed to be, he thought. Maybe. He didn’t know.

Miraculously, he found a clean zip lock bag, tossed the toiletries inside, and set it by the door. He continued to peruse the room for anything of value, but at least on a surface level, he came up empty. He opened and closed cupboard and drawers, but everything was plain, ordinary. Nothing stood out. Another trip to the bathroom and then the bedroom didn’t change that. There were a few cool science-y things on a table near the window in his bedroom, but he felt no overwhelming desire to take them with him, so he left them behind as well.

He checked the fridge and freezer on his way, only mildly surprised to find them both completely empty.

Phone in his pocket, key with his mother, and bag of toiletries in his hand, Barry gave the tiny pigsty of a place one more look-over, turned off the lights, locked the door, and headed back down the many stories at normal speed, resigned to his fate.

It had been his idea, after all, to return home for the weekend. According to his mother, he had completed all his required classes the week before. Which was honestly a relief, since he didn’t know if he could draw on knowledge he’d never used before – or hadn’t in a while – unless it consisted of common sense facts, forensic science, or Flash business.

That was another subject he wanted to know more about. Was he still The Flash? Was he such a slob in Brooklyn, New York, because he was running back and forth between Central City and the Big Apple every time there was a crime? Or was he the Flash for this city? That would be a change.

Something inside him suspected not, though. How could the Flash be such a slob when he could literally clean any room in less than two seconds – one, if he was enthusiastic enough.

A thought gnawed at him that he couldn’t get rid of.

Was it possible that in this life he had never gotten hit by lightning, never gotten super speed, never become the Flash? And if that possibility was true, was it inevitable he’d lose his powers entirely?

It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. It wasn’t something he had been thinking about. He’d used his powers exactly one time, so he knew he still had them. He could feel the lightning running through his veins. It was rush unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It made him feel alive. It reminded him he had a purpose. Saving people. Being a hero. It gave him hope in all things.

When he’d first realized the significance of having super speed – and what it looked like… the streak of color tailing the brush of wind that followed him when he ran – It had sparked real hope in him for the first time in years that he could exonerate his father from prison. Because maybe someone who was just like him, who had the powers that he had, was the person really to blame for his mother’s death. After he realized that, anything was possible.

It had been two hours max since he’d woken up to a changed world, a timeline rewritten when he couldn’t take the grief of losing both parents despite winning everything else. Zoom was defeated. Iris was ready to be with him. She had actually told him she loved him. But it hadn’t been enough. Undoing his mother’s murder felt like the only way to fix everything and set him back on track. He could be a hero or he could just be a normal guy. It wouldn’t matter. His family would be a whole again. And some way, somehow, he and Iris would find their way back to each other again.

A year ago, he’d spent time thinking through the consequences of changing the timeline; of undoing an event that caused such a huge ripple effect. He thought about what he’d lose and what he might gain. Inevitably the cons outweighed the pros and he’d decided against wiping away half his life for a different reality. He loved his life, even with all the tragedy in it. For every bad memory, there was a good one to replace it. Even if Iris married Eddie, even if he had no mentor guiding him in his secret life as Central City’s hero, even with any difficulty that would arise in any aspect of his life, he still had a good life. It was worth living.

But this time he hadn’t thought. He had just acted. All he could feel was the weight of his grief and despair. How could he still be a hero? How could he still be the Flash? He was in no condition to and he couldn’t take a break from protecting his city. Nothing was enough to heal him. Nothing but this one thing. And so, he hadn’t thought. He’d only acted. He was so sure that even if the pros did outweigh the cons, the cons were so much more enormous. They could not be blotted out by a multitude of happy memories and experiences.

At least that’s what he had thought.

You’re not giving this a chance, the voice that had convinced him so assuredly that saving his mother was the right course of action urged. You may be a slob and you may still be in school, but your mother is alive! And so is your father! You don’t know the whole story. Go find out!

And if I lose my speed? If I lose my memories? If I lose all of it? The guilt and fear weighed down on him.

Go find out! was all that urgent voice said in response. And so, what could he do but succumb to it?

Barry switched gears and sped down the several remaining stories, just to remind himself that he could. The electricity humming inside him created a dizzying effect. It was one he would cling to as long as he could.

You don’t even know if you’ll lose your powers, the voice in his head scolded.

Barry ignored it and approached the front desk.

“Hi…”

“Becky,” she chirped, bright smile on his face. He wished he knew if they had some history in this timeline.

“Right. Is Mr. …uh, is the manager around? I think I need to pay my—”

“Your rent? Your mother already paid it, Mr. Allen.”

Barry’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t that he had that much cash on him, but his boss (or…ex-boss) at his latest place of employment had given him his paycheck he’d been planning on sending out that day. By some miracle, Barry had found an ID in the deep pockets of his jeans – he detested the lazy-eyed picture – and cashed the check at the bank (which took some asking around to find, but he did inevitably find it).

He wanted to do something responsible before he left, but it seemed he wasn’t allowed to even do that. How low were everyone’s expectations of him if he couldn’t even pay his own rent without his mother intervening.

“Oh,” he heard himself say, then forced a smile. “Thanks, Becky.”

She blinked, clearly surprised by his gratitude, which made him feel even worse.

“O-Of course, Mr. Allen.” She paused, looking at him differently, with curiosity it seemed. Barry was unsure how to take that. “Will you be returning for your graduation next week?”

“I…” His mind blanked for a moment, curious as to how she knew. It didn’t seem like he told anyone anything or had any friends. He certainly had no self-respect. That much was clear. “Yes,” he made himself say. “I assume so,” he added, which he thought was odd. He shook his head and turned towards the exit. “Have a good weekend, Becky.”

“You too, Mr. Allen.”

He hurried out the door, pushing the continued disgust at himself as far away as he could. Becky was surprised by his kindness, his sincerity, and his gratitude – things that he thought had always come naturally to him he.

The voice that always assured him turning back time was the right idea was annoyingly silent. Barry suspected it was because there was no reassurance to be offered and there would be even less in the future.

His mother was alive. His dad was alive. But everything else was so murky he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

…

“Barry, honey?”

Barry blinked at the warm, soothing sound of his mother’s voice gently urging him awake. He turned to face her, a feat since his face had become plastered to the train window, and narrowed his eyes in an attempt to focus on her face. She was smiling and it made everything inside him burst with happiness.

He never thought he’d see her again. Now here she was alive and in front of him. Soon he would see his dad again too. Everything that was wrong could be fixed. He had a whole lifetime to fix it. And in the meantime, the hole filled with anger and hurt and loneliness inside him that had dug deeper and deeper every night since the moment his mother was murdered had started to fill up again.

Undoing the past had been the right thing to do. It had to be.

That’s the spirit! The voice inside of him cheered, but it didn’t feel very reassuring.

“W-what?” he slurred, groggy from the on-and-off nap he’d been attempting during the long train ride from New York to Central City, Missouri.

“We’re—”

The intercom turned on. “Next stop: Central City, Missouri! If this is your destination, please gather your things and prepare to depart in the next ten minutes.”

“We’re almost there,” his mother said softly.

Barry nodded, sat up slowly and stretched. It wasn’t easy. The seats were cheap and there was more of him than there was space between the two of them and probably the next row over. Good thing I didn’t bring too much, he thought as his eyes wandered to the people gathering in the aisle to retrieve their belongings.

“Your father will be so excited to see you,” Nora said, but her voice sounded strained.

“Will he?” Barry asked quietly, not intending to ask her directly but she heard him anyway, as she tended to. He remembered that from his childhood.

“Of course,” she assured him, her hand on his. The gesture made his heart swell again. “It’s been so long since the two of you…” She stopped, apparently rethinking her words. “You just haven’t been home in a while.”

“I haven’t?” slipped out and he cursed himself for not keeping the thought in his head.

Nora looked concerned now – and with good reason, he thought. Her son couldn’t remember anything that was probably common knowledge.

“I haven’t,” he corrected, making it a statement, shaking his head as if his restless nap was the reason for any confusion on his part. He turned to face her more directly and looked very intently into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He saw tears well in her eyes and wondered what the hell kind of son he was if this was making her emotional.

“You’ve been busy with school…and your job…”

He thought back on the speculative, disappointed looks on both his apartment manager’s face and his boss at the pizza place. He didn’t know if he knew the woman at the school personally or not, but she wasn’t much impressed with his demeanor either. He doubted he took any of these things seriously in this life.

“At the pizza place?” he asked dubiously.

“A job is a job, Bar—”

He shook his head and held her hands tightly. “No.” He took a breath and then looked into her eyes again. “I’m going to do better, Mom. I swear it.”

He thought he heard a quiet gasp escape her, but he couldn’t be certain. All he knew was he was more determined than ever to keep this promise to her.

“I’m glad you decided to come home this weekend, Barry.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “My beautiful boy,” she whispered and then sank back into her seat.

…

“Where’s Dad?” he asked, feeling the question was safe. He didn’t hear a sound when he walked into the house after his mother.

“At work,” she said, wandering into the kitchen.

“As in…an office building?” He paused, reconsidering his question. “Or, at the clinic?”

His father was a family doctor first and foremost. He didn’t know if that was different in this life, but it had to have been at some point. It was that way when he was a child.

Nora peeked around the corner and smiled. He couldn’t tell if it was forced or not from this distance. How genuine her reactions appeared to him usually keyed him in to what he was expected to know and what he could reasonably not know.

He wished he’d followed her into the kitchen now.

“I just…forget,” he said helplessly, trying a sappy smile to explain himself away.

She came out to the living room and he saw the smile for it was – another fake one. Something he should have remembered, or known. He didn’t remember anything.

“It’s okay, Barry. It’s been a while since…” She stopped, shook her head and appeared to be rethinking what she was going to say again. When she looked up at him, she was calm and collected, but that forced smile was still there. “I don’t think we even told you.”

He swallowed and nodded as she turned away and made her way back into the kitchen.

“Is there something I can make you?” she asked absentmindedly. “I made some lasagna last night and my mother’s sweet apple raspberry tea.” She smiled genuinely now, but Barry was distracted.

His eyes scanned the room and then he looked towards the stairs, a memory of his eleven-year old self racing down the stairs woken from the sound of his mother screaming in the living room.

“Mom!”

“Run, Barry, run!”

“Barry?”

He swallowed and faced her. By the look on her face he knew he’d been silent for too long.

“When can I see Dad?”

She stiffened. “He should be home in an hour or so.” She sighed and turned to retrieve the items she’d listed previously from the fridge. “Though maybe later.” She paused. “He likes to stay later on Fridays.”

Why is that? He wondered, but he suspected his questions were doing more harm than good, so he made a point not to ask it aloud.

“Grandma Rose’s tea, huh?” he said, indulging her as he stepped inside the kitchen.

Nora was all smiles when she turned around, the tray of lasagna in one hand and the pitcher of tea in the other.

“Mhmm. Want some?”

He grinned. “Absolutely. You know it’s my favorite.” He took both items from her and tried not to think about how touched she was that he heated up a plate for both of them and poured a drink for her, too.

“You haven’t forgot your way around the kitchen at all,” she said, clearly impressed when he finally sat down across from her.

The comment caught him by surprise, because truly he hadn’t been in this kitchen in years, not since he was a boy. He refused to believe it had been that long in this life, but the fact remained. And the reason behind her indirect query was as plain as day, as he knew it would always be.

He looked her in the eye and pulled the dazzling truth from deep within him.

“This is home.”

…

It was late, almost midnight when Barry heard the door unlocking and he knew his father was home. He and his mom had fallen asleep on the couch watching old home movies – his idea. She was still sleeping with her head rested on his shoulder, the blanket he’d laid across her worn body starting to slip. He didn’t want to wake her, so he rose off the couch as slowly as possible and lay her head gently on one pillow. He adjusted the blanket so it covered her completely again and then quietly made his way to the foyer just inside the door. He hesitated a moment before stepping out of the shadows.

“Dad,” he said, his voice half-strangled.

“Your mother and I love-”

“Noooo!”

“Barry,” Henry Allen’s voice brought him out of the nightmare he’d fallen into. “Your mother told me you were coming home, but I… I didn’t believe it.”

Barry swallowed hard, wondering if the whirlwind of emotions arcing through him showed on his face. He tried to focus instead on his father’s voice and face and demeanor. He hadn’t known how to take his mother’s insistence on the excitement his dad would apparently have at him coming home. He’d half-wondered if he and his dad were estranged too.

There didn’t seem to be tension in him, and it did look like there was a smile starting to break onto his face. The opening was enough for him.

Barry crossed the short distance between them and wrapped his arms fiercely around his father. He tried to hold back, but tears trickled out and stained the skin on his cheek. He didn’t know if they traveled farther.

“I love you so much,” he said, his voice muffled and wrought with emotion.

He’d explain this away later somehow, but right now he needed this and he didn’t care how it looked. Not forty-eight hours prior, Zoom had stuck a vibrating hand through his father’s heart in the same place his mother had been murdered, forcing Barry to witness it and sending rage rushing through him in his overwhelming grief.

Henry patted his back gently, clearly taken aback but not making any move to pull away. Then his arms wrapped snug around his son’s nearly shaking body and he held him close. Barry sank into him.

“I love you, too, son,” he said, then smiled against his skin. “Slugger.”

Barry sighed aloud in relief. Did he ever think he’d hear that word tumble past his dad’s lips again?

No. Never. He didn’t expect any of this ever again. Because his dad had been killed. There was no way he could hear any of it, let alone feel the strength of his arms wrapped around him while he sobbed.

“I’m going to do better, Dad,” he said fiercely, remembering the promise he’d made to his mom. He pulled back, tears streaming down his face. “I promise I’m going to do better.”

He didn’t know if it was an empty promise, one he’d made a hundred times before and never followed through on, but he knew he’d be keeping it this time.

Henry placed a firm grip on his son’s face, still not questioning the emotion flooding out of him.

“You being here, son? That’s doing better.”

Barry nodded, about to succumb to the tears again, so Henry pulled him close and let him sob. He didn’t know why he let him, but he was glad he didn’t ask. Right now, he couldn’t explain. He could just feel.

And what he felt wiped away all the doubt he’d had since he woke up in that pig sty of an apartment earlier that morning.

This was worth it. What he had done was worth it. This feeling of home and safety and strength and warmth would heal him. It was everything he’d known he needed to get past what had happened and truly live again.

“You and your mother didn’t finish all of that lasagna, did you?”

Barry laughed, in disbelief this was real. His dad was holding him, reassuring him, and now joking with him. It was so surreal, but he no longer questioned his good fortune.

Instead, he pulled back and grinned.

“We saved one tiny slice for you.”

“Oh,” he said, amused, and wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder as he guided them another route to the kitchen. “Just a tiny slice?”

“We were hungry,” Barry defended to which Henry shook his head. “Lots of Grandma Rose’s tea left though.”

“Well then, I guess it’s all worth it,” Henry said, sending a warm feeling to the pit of Barry’s belly.

Yeah, he thought to himself, it is.

*Also available on AO3 and FFnet.

#WIP week #backtothestart02 fanfiction #the flash #westallen #flashpoint #chapter 4 #fanfiction

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robbinsarizonas · 8 years ago

Text

I've Got You (Part 4)

Here’s the next part of I’ve Got You. Things are getting more dramatic and angsty this part. Also, it’s pretty long xD Here it is :)

“Amelia, alcoholic.” She said with a nod, stepping up to the podium and fiddling with her fingers where she hoped no one could see. “I, uh, I almost slipped… I almost took a drink.” She said, her voice was cold and emotionless. “I had,” She paused, because there was no way she could stand up in front of everyone and tell them what happened, so she had to be tactful with what she said. “I found myself outside of a liquor store, a bottle of Vodka in my hand…” She paused again, swallowing. “I took the cap off, I almost drank it.” She could feel fear running through her veins, begging her to stop speaking. “I didn’t. I put the cap back on again.” She sighed, like she had just finished a marathon and even though it had been something she had needed to do, she was glad it was over.

The crowd started clapping, the signature end for when anyone spoke, and the signal for the speaker to return to their seat.

Amelia looked over at Owen, sat in a chair on the back row, the isle seat. He looked proud, and understanding. Warm. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t need to be.

She stepped down from the podium and walked back over to her seat. She felt like she wanted to shrink, escape from her own skin. She hadn’t told nearly the whole story, but she knew she /had/ to say something. That was why she hadn’t actually bitten Owen’s head off when he suggested going to a meeting. That was the beginning of a downfall, the moment you stop going to meetings, especially when you’re struggling. She looked down at the floor in front of her and then averted her glance over to Owen’s shoes. It wasn’t like they were exciting or anything, but she was pretty sure he had thought she would have said more, she would have let more out of whatever. Yes, he had been giving her such a supporting look while she had been talking, but that didn’t mean it was going to last.

She had been the one to tell him that they needed to talk, but she had also been the one that couldn’t even get the words out when she tried. She had looked over at Owen for five solid minutes and she couldn’t even say a word. It was like she had suddenly forgotten how to speak English, or how to speak at all. The words, any words, had just vanished from her brain.

“You did great out there.” Owen encouraged, putting a hand on Amelia’s knee and looking surprised when she winced and moved away. “Amelia?” He said, looking over at her and trying to get her to turn around and give him some sort of eye contact.

“I’m-I’m… Can we go home?” Amelia asked, looking over at Owen for the first time since she had spoken in front of the group, unable to stop herself from redirecting her glance down to her knee where Owen’s hand had just been.

She didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t like him touching her knee was completely out of the ordinary. They were married, physical contact was a thing married people did. It was a thing they had been doing, yet when Owen’s hand touched her knee, she felt all cold inside like someone has replaced the blood in her veins with ice cold water. She had to fight off the urge to shiver, instead letting out a little wince and doing whatever she could to get his hand off of there.

“Coat.” Owen said, grabbing Amelia’s coat from the back of her chair where it had almost been forgotten.

“Right.” Amelia nodded, taking the coat from Owen and draping it over her arm as they walked out of the building. “Owen?” Amelia stopped in the middle of going from one step to the next, halfway up and halfway down. “Yesterday when I said we needed to talk, and then-”

“You told me ‘Never mind’.” Owen said, trying to exaggerate the ‘not believing her for a second’ part of how things had gone down. “I just want to know how I can help you. I’m your husband Amelia.” Owen looked at her with worried eyes and a concerned expression. He reached out for her hand, but without him even touching it for a second, she had already shaken it away.

“Maybe, don’t touch me?” She said, her voice now scared and broken. She didn’t understand why her husband exchanging ordinary gestures for two people who were married, and for themselves, was suddenly pressing the panic button inside of Amelia’s brain. That night he had held her, and that night she hadn’t been scared of his touch. He had held her so tightly she couldn’t help but feel safe. Now she felt like she had to push him away, her thoughts and her feelings where sending off those panic signals to the epicenter.

“I can do that.” Owen said with a sad expression. He wasn’t sad because if what he was agreeing to, he was sad because of the unknown why. The big why that had scared Amelia so much that she had a panic attack during the middle of her work day and had almost been driven to drink. The why that had been keeping her up at night, even if she pretended to be asleep. The why that was the one thing Owen wanted to be able to just see right through her for, but suddenly her body was lead, and nothing could get in.

“Amelia?” The blonde closed the door behind herself and stepped into the room. She had no idea what she had just walked into and if she was 100% honest she was pretty scared. “There’s blood on your face. Why is there blood on your face?” She asked, trying to keep calm and collected despite her brain racing at a mile a minute.

“Arizona.” Amelia said, rather calmly considering the situation and her current mental state.

“And your leg. There’s blood on your leg.” Arizona pointed out. She could imagine many different scenarios for why they could have happened, ranging from ordinary and no big deal, to unthinkable and unbelievable. Her brain was not helping at all in keeping rational and figuring out which one it actually was. Someone had pressed all the panic buttons, and now they couldn’t be dialed back.

“ARIZONA!” Amelia shouted, immediately afterwards regretting it just in case someone, anyone outside of the room heard.

“You’re going to tell me what happened.” Arizona said, trying to assert some authority while at the same time still being friendly and showing that she cared.

“I’m not ‘going to’ do anything.” Amelia said sarcastically, putting her focus back onto her leg.

“I have my pager, I have it right here. I can page Meredith, or Maggie, or Owen.” Arizona suggested, not actually meaning it to be at all hostile or threatening, she was just thinking out loud. Amelia was on the bed in front of her and she was bleeding, and not just paper cut bleeding.

“Okay now you can leave.” Amelia snapped, looking up from her stitches and glaring at Arizona. “As you can see I am trying to stitch up this laceration on my thigh. It’s difficult, and it /hurts/. I need to do this, you need to go do whatever it is you do.” Amelia added coldly, because there was no way she was letting someone speak to her like she was a child or something, especially when she was trying to focus and the shaking in her hands was already making it hard enough.

Arizona stood there in complete shock. She understood sometimes pain made people say stuff they later regretted, she had been guilty of this herself one time or another. She just didn’t understand why, since she had thought she was being perfectly reasonable and caring.

“I get it, you work with kids. But Arizona I am not one of the kids on that Peds ward.” Amelia continued, flinching a little as she moved slightly in the wrong direction.

“Have you forgotten you’re bleeding? You could have internal injuries, have you even had anyone check you over?” Arizona asked, sticking an arm out to point to where Amelia was bleeding from. “If you don’t leave right now I swear to god-” Amelia started harshly, not able to finish her sentence when she found she was suddenly the only one in the room once again.

“Amelia…” Owen knocked on the door, banging his knuckles gently on the wood. “Amelia, you’ve been in there for half an hour.” There wasn’t much point of him asking her if she was okay, because he knew she wasn’t. He felt like he was stuck, it wasn’t like he could read minds or anything. He knew she was feeling scared, her behaviour recently had demonstrated that pretty clearly, but if he was to go deeper than that, he wasn’t sure he could.

She hadn’t been able to talk when they had sat down in her car in front of that liquor store, and since, it had seemed like things were going even more downhill than they already had been, if that was even possible. She had become more withdrawn, and she had slipped back into her old habits of not eating if she could avoid it. When he had heard the click of the bathroom lock, he couldn’t help but feel hurt. Not because she had done anything directly to him, but because of how much he loved her.

“Amelia…” He said again, sighing and leaning against the door, listening in case he could hear the slightest little thing.

The door unlocked, but it didn’t open. Owen turned around, slightly startled by the sudden change. He hadn’t actually been expecting her to unlock the door at all, even though he had been wishing she would.

“You unlocked the door.” He said, his voice sounding happier than before. Amelia didn’t say anything back.

If she hadn’t just unlocked the door, she could have climbed out of the window and Owen would have been none the wiser. Not that she wanted to climb out of the window, if the window was big enough to escape through, but that also didn’t mean she wanted to talk. She leant up against a free wall and slid down it slowly until she was sitting on the tiled bathroom floor. She put her head and her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. She took a few deep breaths before looking up, her voice slightly shaky as she spoke.

“Owen…” She said rather quietly, hoping that he would actually hear.

“I’m here.” Owen said, his voice soft and comforting.

Amelia lifted her knees up so they were close to her chest, and pulled them in as tight as she could. She looked down at the tiles on the floor below her and wondered how many there were over the whole room, just for a second.

“Don’t go.” She said quietly, more as if she was talking to the floor rather than someone on the other side of the door.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Owen comforted, and he meant it, he wasn’t going to go anywhere even for a second. While his wife was on the other side of the door, he was as good as glued to the spot he was standing in.

“These men, um,” She started, feeling her hands clench tightly into fists as she spoke. “One…” She took a breath, scrunching her hands up even tighter than they already had been. “Grabbed my wrist, tight…” Her voice was strained as she spoke, as if recalling the events was actually causing her physical pain. “They, um,” She continued, taking another breath.

“Amelia, you don’t-” Owen started, getting cut off before he could even say what he had intended to.

“Pinned me down…” Amelia continued, as if Owen hadn’t actually said anything and she was just coming back from her pause. “Pinned me….” She swallowed so loudly that Owen could hear it on the other side of the door.

She looked down at the floor and ran her hands across the smooth tiles. She closed her eyes for a second, and then scrunched her hands up to how they had previously been to continue speaking.

“Uh, they…” She started again, the pictures running so clearly through her head as she thought about it. “Hit me…. Kicked me…”

Now it was Owen’s turn to swallow. He couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his wife’s mouth. On the one hand, he was sad, his heart was absolutely broken into tiny little pieces, on the other hand, he was angry. He was so angry that anyone would do that to his wife. That anyone would think that was okay. That anyone would induce the pain and suffering that Amelia had been forced to go through, not to mention the physical injuries. That was not okay, that was never okay.

“Threw me down…” She added, trying /so/ hard to keep herself together. “I think… I think they thought it was funny.”

He knew that she didn't want him to know, and that was why she was being incredibly quiet, but he was only on the other side of the door. He could still hear the sniffling and the muffled crying, laced with pain and fear. When Amelia cried, it was because she couldn't go any further. She couldn't keep being strong for another second. She had reached the bottom, fallen, hit it pretty hard, and couldn't get back up again. He wasn't surprised that she was crying, given what she had been through, but that didn't mean it didn't tear him apart, more and more with every muffled sob drifting through the cracks between the bathroom door, the floor and the walls.

He pushed down on the door handle and gave the door the tiniest little push. There she was, on the floor, makeup running all over her face, drops still visible on her shirt and on her jeans. She looked up at him, and he immediately saw the 5 year old who's father was murdered right in front of her, even though he hadn't known Amelia back then. That face. Not a lot of people know pain like that. He stood in the doorway and offered her a comforting smile, even though his mouth didn't entirely want to do the thing.

"You did so great." He said, because what she had just done must have been beyond terrifying.

Amelia sniffled and wiped her face with her sleeve, only making the whole situation worse and smearing back marks over her face. She had actually forgotten she was still wearing last night's makeup. She was surprised that it wasn't from longer ago, with the pit she had been down in and her lack of doing anything.

"Owen..." She said, actually looking properly at him this time. "I am so scared." She admitted, going a step further on the 'terrifying' scale.

"We're going to make sure those men are behind bars. I am going to make sure of it. I am going to do everything within my power to make you feel better, to make you safe."

#omelia #amen #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #fanfic #*

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