#in case you all didn’t see the barest gap there

[ardans]

did anyone else think of this

[justagalwhowrites]

Hello, i love your work omg!! I had a request for another Joel angst <3 I had an idea where reader decides to sell Joel's watch in the QZ and gifting him a new one (obv not knowing the meaning behind the watch) Joel gets angry and reader becomes heartbroken and decides to look for the watch and gets rly injured by gangs in the QZ and Joel gets worried/goes after her!

OMG Hi Bestie!

You sent me this forever ago but I'm in love with this ask and then went totally overboard and ANYWAY here's the angstiest ask I've ever had, I hope you love it as much as I love you!!

The Watch

You try to do something kind for Joel but things backfire in a way you never expected.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: SMUT! Canon-typical violence. I did almost no proofing on this so... ya know. Basically no age-gap, reader is 3 years younger than Joel. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 12.2k (LOOK I'M SORRY OK I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME EITHER.)

March, 2010

Sometimes, you weren’t sure you knew Joel Miller at all. 

It was a strange sensation, when you thought about it. You’d known him for almost three years now. You’d first met him and his brother, Tommy, when they moved in a few doors down from you in the Boston QZ. Both handsome, both around your age - Tommy a bit younger, Joel a bit older - both beat down by what the world had become. 

But the last thing seemed to apply to everyone in the QZ. Life now was hard. That’s just the way it worked now, as much as you wished that weren’t the case. 

You’d managed to land a relatively good job in the grand scheme of things. You were a chef before, you ran part of the kitchen at a ritzy banquet hall in the city. You were used to feeding a crowd and FEDRA definitely had a crowd to feed every day, what with guards and all. 

It wasn’t much like it was before. There was very little joy in it, the process reduced to the barest minimum: Feed people so they stay alive. But you liked trying to find ways to make the food good, different from day to day. You still took pride in your work, even as the overly long days threatened to wear you down. You still wanted to try to make people happy with your work. 

Which is how you ended up getting to know Joel and Tommy in the first place. You showed up at their door a few days after they moved in with a few plates of food in hand, still hot below the tin foil they were wrapped in. 

“Yeah?” Joel said, voice gruff. 

“Hi!” You said brightly, not taking his attitude personally. Everyone was gruff here. You were used to it. You introduced yourself before pressing on. “I hadn’t seen you both around the QZ before so I thought you might be new and want a little something while you’re settling in, maybe stretch those ration cards a bit further…” 

“What’s in it for you?” Joel cut you off, looking you up and down.

It was like he was finding every flaw you’d ever been afraid you had, his eyes raking over you fiercely. 

“Nothing,” you smiled, even though it felt forced. “Just wanted to do something nice!” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Joel, you scarin’ the neighbors?” Tommy asked, coming alongside his brother and opening the door wider. 

“Not at all,” you smiled, a little more genuinely this time. 

Tommy introduced himself and Joel, who just grunted at you. 

“I brought dinner,” you said, holding the plates out. “Just thought you might want a break after getting here is all.” 

“That is real sweet of you,” Tommy smiled, taking the plates. He lifted one to his nose and breathed deep. “Smells real good, too. You a cook or something?” 

“Or something,” you smiled. “I used to be a chef but now I just cook for FEDRA. This is better than that, though. Anyway, I hope you like it and welcome to Boston!” 

“Thank you,” Tommy smiled broader. “Hope to see you around!” 

You started coming back to see Tommy. He was kinder, he seemed like he was happy to see you. Which you appreciated. You didn’t have many people in the QZ, it was nice to have someone who felt like a friend who lived so close. 

You’d come by twice more and chatted with Tommy for a bit the next time you saw Joel at all. You knocked on their door with a loaf of bread in hand and Joel opened it, frowning at you. 

“He ain’t here,” he said before you had a chance to say anything. 

“Oh,” you tried not to look disappointed. It seemed like that would be rude. “Well, I made a few loaves of bread today. I thought you might want one!” 

You held it out, an offering. 

He took it. 

“Still not sure why you’re doin’ this,” he said, almost sneering. “You just never work? FEDRA jobs that kush?” 

“No,” you frowned. There was the familiar pinch of tears at the back of your throat. “No, I work 12 hours a day six days a week, I just… I like to share.” 

You turned to go before you started crying in front of him, like an idiot. You’d always been overly sensitive, too open-hearted your mom had always said. It didn’t serve you well in the apocalypse. 

“Wait,” he said. You stopped but didn’t turn around, tears starting to slip down your cheeks. “Shit, I… Look. I’m not trying to be an asshole, OK? Just… Haven’t exactly had many people be nice for the sake of bein’ nice in a while. Feels hard to believe. Would… would you want to come inside? Don’t exactly got much at the moment but there’s coffee. Could make us some.” 

You dried your eyes on the back of your wrists and hoped he didn’t notice. 

“Yeah,” you sniffed a little before turning around. “Yeah, OK. Coffee sounds good.” 

It was awkward at first. Joel was stiff, clearly not used to having someone else around who wasn’t his brother. It reminded you of when you’d adopted a dog from the shelter when you were in your 20s. You brought him home to your apartment and let him off the leash and it was like he didn’t know what to do. He could recognize that this was a home, that it had a kitchen and a living room and a couch. He just couldn’t find his place in it. An interloper. Something that needed a map to help navigate a new yet familiar land. 

“How are you liking Boston?” You asked after a few minutes of awkward silence. 

He shrugged. 

“Fine,” he said. “Still tryin’ to figure out if it’s better than out there or not.” 

You nodded slowly. 

“I’ve wondered that, too,” you said. “But I’ve never been out there. I’m just not sure it’s worth it to try and figure out the difference.” 

He was almost kind while you were there. Well, definitely kind by Joel standards, almost by anyone else’s. But you’d take what you could get. Especially since you imagined that would be the last time something like that would ever happen. 

You were wrong. 

When you made pasta a few days later - the sauce surprisingly good for something thrown together from leftovers from the guards’ mess hall - you brought plates a few doors down and Joel answered. He invited you in again, even as you tried to just leave the food and go. 

The conversation was unlike anything you’d ever really had before. It wasn’t small talk - Joel seemed to find that sort of conversation excruciating - but it wasn’t anything personal, either. It occupied an nebulous third arena, deep and intelligent - discussing things like depictions of the end of the world in fiction and what they’d gotten right and what you thought might becoming because of it - but without offering a glimpse into the core of the other person. 

You weren’t sure what to do with any of it. But you liked it. You liked Joel. 

It happened a few more times over the next several months, you ending up in an obscure conversation with Joel in his apartment every other week or so, until, one day, things went bad on your walk home from work. 

One of your cooks was too sick to work - which said a lot with FEDRA breathing down your necks - and you’d stayed late at the kitchen after, getting things reset for the next day.

It was raining and cold and miserable as you trudged home, looking forward to a hopefully hot shower and your bed, when someone stepped out of the shadows as you turned a corner. . 

“Well well,” the man said, making you jump. There was a knife in his hand. You swallowed. “Look what we have here. A FEDRA bitch.” 

You looked around quickly, about to take off back the way you came when there was something warm and large against your back. 

“Don’t even think about it,” the man’s voice was harsh. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, your hands shaking. “I’ll give you whatever you want, I have ration cards, you can have them…” 

You felt the man behind you laugh. 

“Hear that?” He said. “She thinks we want her ration cards.” 

He sneered the last words, taunting you. 

“I just…” you began but the man in front of you spoke now. 

“We’ll take the ration cards,” he said, stepping closer. “Take a lot else, too. FEDRA killed my sister. Seems only fair we take a few of their bitches in return.” 

“Please,” you said softly. “Please, they won’t care, I’m just a cook, they won’t even notice, I’m so sorry about your sister but I’m not…” 

The one behind you grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, making you squeal. The other punched you across the face, making you cry out in shock as much as it was pain. 

“Then we’ll start with you,” he said. “And take a few others, too. We’ll just take and take and take until they have to pay attention. Won’t we?” 

“Yup,” the man at your back put his mouth next to your ear so you could feel his hot breath on your skin. “We could get creative with ‘er. Know you wanted to gut her but now I’m wondering if I could make her choke to death on my cock…” 

Your heart was racing, beating so hard against your ribs it felt like it should be bruising from the force of it. 

“Please,” you were crying. “Please, I haven’t done anything to hurt anyone, I just…” 

“You’re FEDRA,” the man in front of you said, curling his hand into a fist. “That’s plenty.” 

You flinched from the blow you knew was about to land, tried to remember what you could about throwing a punch, when a sharp voice broke through the night. 

“Hey!” 

You opened your eyes just enough to see Joel stalking up. 

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” He demanded. The man at your back released your hair. Joel didn’t slow down. He just shoved the man in front of you back. “Think you can just fuck with whoever you want around here?” 

“You FEDRA now, too, Miller?” He snapped. “Fuckin’ kill you too, maybe make you suck my dick first, too…” 

Joel punched him, hard, across the face. So hard the man collapsed to the ground in one hit. The man at your back grabbed you and threw you to the ground and you landed in the mud as he lunged for Joel. He dodged the man easily, throwing a punch to the man’s torso before he grabbed a knife from his belt and thrust it into the man’s stomach. He gasped at it, his mouth agape in shock as Joel pulled the blade up through his gut to his ribs before shoving him to the ground. The man he’d punched first had managed to roll over, trying to get up. Joel held up the knife. 

“Try it, Pickett,” he said. “Fuckin’ dare you.” 

The man stayed down. Joel nodded, bending to wipe his knife on Pickett’s pants before putting it in the sheath at his belt. He pulled his leg back and kicked the man, hard, in the stomach, right where he’d stabbed the other one. 

“She’s under my protection,” Joel snapped. “Tell your fuckin’ friends. I catch any of you fuckin’ with her, I’ll kill every last one of you. Understand?” 

Pickett just groaned. Joel dropped to one knee next to the man and took his face in one hand, his fingers sinking harshly into the ruddy flesh of the man’s cheeks. 

“Asked you a goddamn question,” he snapped. “Expect an answer or you’re too useless to leave alive. She’s protected. Fuck with her, you die like your fuckin’ buddy. Understood?” 

“Understood,” the man managed. Joel freed his face and he slumped down into the mud as Joel straightened back up. 

“Good.” 

He left the man in the mud before kneeling next to you. 

“You alright baby doll?” He asked, his voice weirdly gentle. You sniffed and nodded. “Alright, let’s get you up, get you home and cleaned up….” 

He put his hands on you delicately. You realized suddenly that Joel had never touched you before. Even when you handed him food or he gave you a cup of tea or coffee, his fingers never even brushed your own. Now, his hands were fully on you, all overly large and delicate and warm, guiding you into sitting up and then standing. Once you were on your feet, one of those large hands gingerly took your chin and turned your face this way and that, so different parts of your skin caught the light. 

“Fucker got you good,” he said, shooting the man who was still alive in the puddle another glare. “C’mon. We’ll get you home, get you all cleaned up. You’ll be OK.” 

He tucked you below his arm, guiding you away from the carnage behind you. You turned to look at it, anyway, the still living man crawling through the mud and the rain to his dead friend. 

“Don’t,” Joel said, voice oddly gentle. He delicately tucked your head against him, making it so you couldn’t look back. “Don’t need to see that. They don’t fuckin’ deserve it.” 

“You killed him,” you said, hating how small and weak you sounded. “Joel, you killed that man, he’s…” 

“Barely counted as a fuckin’ man,” he muttered. “Got what he deserved. Don’t worry about it. C’mon, almost back…” 

You were strangely numb as you let Joel guide you back to your building. He led you up the stairs and to your apartment door, something that shouldn’t have surprised you - you only lived a few doors down from him and Tommy, after all - you just hadn’t thought he’d ever paid attention. 

“Gimme the key,” he said, his arm still around you. You obeyed, your hands still shaking as you got the key from your pocket and handed it over. He unlocked the door and flipped the lights on. You were glad you’d picked your apartment a bit the day before so it was at least neat and relatively clean - at least by QZ standards it was, anyway. 

Joel lowered you gently into a chair at your kitchen table and pulled up another one next to you. You frowned. 

“What are…” 

“Fuckers got a good hit on you,” he said, looking at your face in the light, frowning. “Should’ve just killed them both but that don’t work as well for sending a specific goddamn message….” 

It seemed like he was talking to himself, at least in part. You just watched him examine you, his face drawn, eyes tracing over your skin. 

“Go get cleaned up,” he said, sitting back from you. You frowned. “You’re covered in mud. Won’t do a damn bit of good to bandage you up now if you’re a mess.” 

“Right,” you said, looking down at your body. You’d almost forgotten that part of it. “Um…” 

“Be here when you’re done,” he said. “Get you patched up. Go shower.” 

You took a last look at him, acutely aware of the mud dripping onto your carpet, before you went to your bathroom, stripped down and climbed in the shower. You tried not to think about the fact that Joel Miller was just… sitting in your apartment. 

It didn’t make any sense. It was Joel. Why had he even bothered to stop? Why had he intervened at all? He seemed to think of you as little more than a nuisance but he saved you. Killed a man for you. Told another that you were under his protection, all but told him to let the whole of the QZ know it. And now he was just sitting at your kitchen table, waiting for you to get out of the shower so he could take care of you. 

You stayed under the mercifully warm water longer than you needed to trying to come up with an answer. The best thing you could come up with was that he felt like he owed you for all the food you’d brought over the last few months - though murder seemed like a high price for some bread and dinners. 

In your almost dazed state, you hadn’t thought to bring more clothes into the bathroom with you, a fact that occurred to you when you were still in the shower. You groaned. At least there was a robe in the bathroom so you wouldn’t need to dart across the hall to your bedroom while wrapped in nothing but a damn towel. 

But when you stepped out of the bathroom in a haze of steam and wrapped in a terrycloth robe that went almost to your ankles, Joel was standing at the mouth of the hall. He looked up at you and blinked twice, frozen where he stood. You froze, too. You weren’t entirely sure why, if maybe you felt like prey under his gaze, a rabbit hoping that stillness would keep the wolf from gutting you, or if the heat inside you made you want to be cracked open wide to the very center of you and consumed. 

“Better,” Joel said after a moment before jerking his head toward the kitchen table. “In here, where it’s light.” 

“But…” you tried to protest, overly aware of your own nakedness below your robe. 

“It’s fine,” he cut you off. “C’mere.” 

You kept your eyes on him as you obeyed, moving slow and cautious for the kitchen table, never turning your back to him. You still weren’t sure why. 

The seat you were in before had been cleaned, as had your floor, no sign of the splatters of mud. Instead, there was a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and cotton balls and gauze on your kitchen table. 

“Sit,” Joel ordered. You obeyed without hesitation. He took the seat close to you again, reaching to the leg of your chair and jerking you forward, the wood groaning as it scratched across the linoleum of your floor. He took your chin in his hands again and examined your skin, his face close to yours. You could smell him, the rain water on his skin, the remnants of laundry soap, the bite of something wild that you couldn’t place but seemed to blend with his rough beard and flannel shirt. “Not exactly a doctor but don’t think you need stitches. Just gotta keep you from getting infected. Unless you’d rather go to the damn clinic…” 

“No!” You said it quickly, probably too forcefully. You cleared your throat. “No, I… No clinic. I don’t want to cause any issues and I don’t want them to ask too many questions…” 

You didn’t want anything that would tie the dead body that was going cold in the rain a few blocks away to you or Joel. 

“Good,” Joel said. He dabbed the rubbing alcohol on your cut cheek, making you hiss in pain but you held still. His fingers were surprisingly gentle, even with the rough callus of them. “You’re doin’ good, baby doll. Almost done.” 

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, his brows drawn together as he concentrated on you before picking up the gauze and taping it over the injured skin. 

He released your face when he finished and sat back in the chair. You crossed your arms over your stomach, watching him for a moment. You’d always known that Joel was handsome. That was a simple fact, anyone with working eyes could see it. But it had always been a somewhat neutral statement. He was handsome but he was also cold and gruff and seemed to barely tolerate you outside of the unusual conversations you had when you brought something by and Tommy was unexpectedly absent. Even then, you’d gotten the impression that he was humoring you for Tommy’s sake, not out of any kindness or affection toward you. He was handsome but you’d never had anything more than a passing attraction to the man because thinking about how he must look at you, see you, hurt. 

But it was like a switch had flipped since Joel had saved you. Like the only thing that had been keeping you from looking at him and wanting him had been the idea that he wouldn’t want you in return. Some kind of protective measure meant to save you from getting attached to something hopeless because, at the end of the world, what was the point of attachment without hope? 

“Thank you,” you said when you realized you’d been quiet for too long. 

Joel shrugged. 

“Anyone fucks with you again, tell me,” Joel said. “Idiots should know better now, but…” 

You nodded slowly. Joel watched you for a moment before getting up and going to your kitchen. He got a towel from a drawer and filled it with ice before coming back and moving his chair closer to yours and pressing it against your bandaged skin. Your fingers covered his, meaning to take the ice pack from him, but he left his hand there, cradling it to your face. Your eyes met his, all dark and deep and wounded and you swallowed, hard. 

“Why did you do that?” You asked, whispering more than fully talking. Like it was a secret you were asking at all. 

“Didn’t deserve what they were about to do to you,” he said. His eyes were still on yours. You were closer to him than you’d ever been before. Your hand slid from his down his arm to his elbow, fingers twisting in the fabric of his sleeve. You watched his jaw tense for a moment. “Didn’t… Couldn’t see you hurt.” 

You leaned into him. You couldn’t help it, drawn into his strength and warmth, the comfort of his safety and sudden kindness so overwhelming it was a force unto itself. It was almost a surprise when you kissed him, that his lips were on your own. 

The kiss was only soft and gentle for a moment. Just long enough for Joel to drop the ice pack to the floor, his hand gently holding your bandaged face, ensuring he kept your mouth at the right angle. His other hand went to your waist, grabbing you almost roughly, pulling you sharply onto his lap with a surprised squeak. You were straddling Joel and damn near naked doing it, the only thing between you his jeans and the robe that was caught between your thighs. 

You froze as his fingers tightened on you, his lips growing more insistent, the heat in you building and burning but you weren’t sure what to do with it all. 

But he wasn’t slowing down or pulling away. His kiss deepened and the hand that was at your waist moved to the small of your back, adjusting you so that your core was pressed tightly to his growing length in his jeans. You moaned into his mouth, involuntarily rocking your hips against his hardening cock. Your arms went around his neck and you pressed yourself closer to him, dipping your tongue into his mouth to taste him. Joel’s hips pressed up against yours and you could feel his bulge against you, the heat of him making your core tighten and ache. 

Joel’s hands left your face and your back, coming around to the knot on the front of your robe. He pulled his lips from yours and looked down at your body as he untied it. He looked you in the eye - a silent request for permission, it seemed - and you didn’t stop him as his hands slid inside the fabric and pushed it away from you. 

Your skin was still warm from the shower and the shock of the cool air against you made you shiver. Joel didn’t seem to notice. His hands moved almost reverently for your waist, then your breasts, his callused fingers running over your soft, smooth skin, cupping the heavy globes of flesh, running his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. 

“Fucking Christ,” he breathed before kissing you again, your tits still in his hands. You pulled him closer, tighter, not caring if you seemed like some kind of rabid whore as you ground your leaking slit down on his still clothed cock. 

His hands ranged over you as he all but devoured your mouth, grip getting harder, kiss getting more desperate before he separated from you once more, panting for breath, pupils blown. 

“Let me fuck you,” his chest was heaving. He didn’t say it like a question or even a plea. He said it like it was a foregone conclusion, that he was going to have you and this was a formality. 

You could only nod and he shoved your robe to the floor before taking you in his arms and carrying you to your couch. He ripped his shirt over his head and cast it aside before hurriedly stepping out of his boots and shoving his pants and underwear down and off, his cock full and hard, making your eyes go wide. It’s not like you were a virgin or anything, you’d been in your early 30s when the outbreak happened, you’d had your fair share of men. You’d just never seen a cock quite that thick. 

Joel looked down at you on the couch, one of his hands wrapping around his length and stroking it once, twice, before gathering the precome leaking from his head and spreading it over himself. 

“Joel,” you swallowed hard as he adjusted your legs and climbed between them. “I don’t think…” 

“It’ll fit, Baby Doll,” he was still breathless as he jerked himself. “I’ll make it fit. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry…” 

You nodded, not really sure you believed him, but the gnawing need inside you was overwhelming any resistance you felt as he lined his fat, almost purple head with your weeping hole. You sat up on your elbows, watching where he was going to enter you - or try to enter you, at least.  

“Already so wet,” he ran his head up and down your slit, gathering your slick. “Make you feel so good, fill you up so good, promise baby…” 

He pushed himself inside you then, a grimace on his face until his head almost popped into your tight channel, pulling a shocked gasp from you. He was hardly inside you but you could still feel the burning stretch of him. His thumb went to your clit and brushed it at first, making you shudder, before working you in tight, firm circles. He fucked just the tip of him in and out of you, keeping the pressure on your sensitive nub as he did. You rocked your hips against him, you couldn’t help it, your orgasm already closer than you’d expected it to be. 

“See?” He panted. “Told you I’d take care of you.” 

With that, he thrust into you the rest of the way, making your eyes go wide and a high pitched whine leave you. You couldn’t look away from where he was filling you, the stretch unlike anything you’d ever felt before. He was so big you could see the outline of him between your hips, a foreign swell where he’d made space inside you to fill. 

“Joel,” you whimpered below him. You could feel him twitch inside you, like he was inches away from orgasm already. “Fuck, I need a minute, you’re too big, I need…” 

“Fuck,” he groaned, tipping his head back, his hands finding your waist. But he was still inside you even though you could feel that he wanted to fuck you hard and fast. Your body adjusted, the almost painful strain of taking him fading to an overwhelming fullness that had you starting to rock your hips against him, desperate for more stimulation. “Fuckin’ Christ, gonna lose it with you doing that, Baby Doll, I need to fuck you, I gotta, won’t hurt you promise I won’t…” 

You nodded but you weren’t sure it even registered with him. His grip on your waist tightened and he pulled back from you - slow at first - before thrusting all the way back in, the force of it knocking the air out of you. You groaned as Joel started to fuck you, hard and fast and needy, his thick cock stretching you with every motion. 

“Knew you could take it,” he panted. “Told you I’d make it fit.” 

You just whimpered, one of your hands finding your clit, the other your breast, working yourself in both places as he pounded into you. Your channel grew tighter around him, your orgasm close. 

“There you go,” he kept up his almost brutal pace. “Fuck yeah, make yourself come on this cock, come all over my fuckin’ cock while I wreck this little pussy, do it, fucking come for me.” 

You couldn’t help it, you came so hard you cried out with it, your hands stilling as you pulsed over Joel and he fucked you through your orgasm. He never stopped, never even slowed. If anything, he slammed into you harder and faster and your overwrought pussy almost hurt with it. 

“Fuck, can I come in you?” He asked. “Please… fuck… please, gotta come in you, need to come in you, fuck Baby I’m coming, gonna fill you up, fuck!” 

He pressed himself deep and exploded inside you there before you had a chance to tell him either way, the hot ropes of his come coating your inner walls. He collapsed forward onto you, his head over your shoulder and pressed into the cushion of your couch as he caught his breath. You could feel him leaking out of your spent hole as he went soft inside you. You slowly, hesitantly put your arms around him, stroking his back for a moment. Part of you was unsure what, exactly, had just happened. If it meant anything at all. 

“Fuck,” he sat up from you and pulled his cock from your body. He was glistening with the blend of you and him together. He looked down at you, still a little breathless, as you were splayed out before him. You remembered, suddenly, what it was like to look down at a chicken you’d split while butchering, all hollowed out, its only remaining purpose - to be consumed - laid bare. “Fuck, I… I don’t…” 

You sat up on your elbows again and looked down between your legs. His come was leaking from you. You looked back up at him, acutely aware of your vulnerability but hiding anything from him felt wrong. 

“It’s OK,” you said quietly. 

“No,” he shook his head. “I… I’m sorry, I…” 

He stopped and got off the couch, getting his clothes from the floor. He pulled his underwear and jeans on quickly before retrieving your robe from beside your kitchen table. He lowered it gently onto your stomach. You stared at it for a moment before sitting up and sliding it on. You cinched the tie around your waist. 

“Are you…” he trailed off as he shrugged back into his shirt, his brown eyes ranging over you again and again. 

“I’m fine.” 

He nodded. 

“Right,” he said. “Right, OK…” 

He stepped into his boots, not bothering to adjust the laces. But then, he only lived a few doors down. 

Oh God, he only lived a few doors down. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly after he was fully clothed again. “I… I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” you said, getting up and crossing your arms over yourself, thankful that your robe was long and covered most of you. “I… I wanted it.”

“Right,” Joel nodded. “That… we can’t do that again, OK? It’s not smart. Probably best if we…” 

“Sure,” you just nodded again. “Yeah, OK.” 

“Good,” he said, going for your door. He stopped to look at you. “Take care of yourself. Let me know if you run into any more trouble.” 

“I will,” you nodded. “Thanks, Joel.” 

He gave you a nod and just left you there, his come dripping out of you and his bandage on your cheek. 

That was the first time you fucked Joel Miller. 

It wasn’t the last. 

You came by a few weeks later, almost positive that it would just be Tommy home but it was Joel who answered the door. 

Once you got through the awkwardness of the hellos and the handing off of biscuits, you tried to leave, even though your core was tight and achy being so close to Joel again. Like he’d imprinted himself inside you, the shadow of him still there as a reminder. But Joel wasn’t having it. He grabbed your shoulder and pulled you around to face him before pressing you back into the wall and all but shoving his tongue into your mouth. He fucked you right there, against the wall of his living room, and when your thoughts weren’t blinded by orgasms you were just praying that his brother didn’t come home and find the two of you like this. 

When it was over, he stepped back from you, his eyes wide as he panted for breath and said over and over that it couldn’t happen again. That it wasn’t smart, not when you were neighbors and you were all stuck here like this. That he didn’t want any kind of anything with anyone. That it was a waste of time. 

It took until about the fifth time for Joel to stop saying it couldn’t happen again. For him to just accept it. He showed up at your door most nights now. He had for more than a year now. You weren’t entirely sure what your relationship actually was. You slept better when Joel was wrapped around you, even when he jerked in his sleep as nightmares plagued him. If you had an utterly miserable day, he sometimes listened to you vent about it before he fucked you silly. He brought you things he thought you’d like when he made smuggling runs outside the QZ, like a magpie who sought out books and baking equipment. You made him dinner and cut his hair when it got too long and didn’t ask questions when you bandaged up his knuckles at the end of a long day. 

But Joel had never so much as told you that he liked you, let alone anything close to love. Even though you loved him. It had taken you some time to realize that you had. You’d become numb to a lot since the outbreak. Love was a risk, one that your subconscious mind seemed itching to keep you away from. Especially from someone as distant as Joel. You’d been fucking no one but him for more than a year now and you’d only learned within the last month that he was a contractor before the end of the world. 

You wanted to do something nice for him. Something that might let him start to love you. At least like you as something more than someone to fuck, anyway. And you had the perfect thing in mind. 

That day, Joel rolled you over in the early morning hours, kissing you deeply in the dark, enough to start to wake you up. 

“Have a good day,” your words were slurred and mushy in your sleep but he seemed to get the picture. 

“Think you’ll have an easier time of it, I’m on sewer duty,” he kissed you one more time, just a peck on the lips. “See you tonight.” 

“Mmmm.” 

You waited until you were sure Joel was gone for the day before you turned on the lamp beside your bed and found Joel’s watch on the nightstand. 

He never took the darn thing off except to sleep. He always wore it, every day. Except the days he was on sewer duty. He left it at home or at your place then, the face of it cracked and the mechanism so broken it didn’t work anymore. But he still wore it every damn day. He’d never told you why. 

You ran your thumb over the broken glass of the face for a moment before setting it back down and getting dressed in your kitchen uniform and pocketing the watch.

Your shift started in an hour and a half, giving you what you hoped was enough time to get the errand you’d been planning done. You had to venture most of the way across the QZ to do it, traveling to the black market shops where you knew a lot of what Joel smuggled in wound up. It was still early there, people setting out what was on offer, and you found the one person you knew of in the QZ who dealt in things like jewelry and watches. Even though he’d always struck you as slimy every time he’d talked to you when you’d walked by his stall when on the hunt for something else. 

“Hey there pretty lady,” he smirked. “Finally coming to see me?” 

“I was wondering if you could fix something for me,” you said, getting the watch out and handing it over. “It’s my… it belongs to my friend. The face has been broken forever and I don’t think it tells time anymore. Think it’s fixable?” 

He took it and frowned down at it, turning it over in his fingers. 

“Kind of a piece of shit to waste the energy on fixing it,” he said before looking back up at you. “Could find you something better, get you a deal…” 

“I’d rather get that one fixed if you can,” you smiled. “I don’t mind the price.” 

He nodded, looking back down at it.

“Well, it’s beat to shit,” he said. “But I’ll give it my best shot or find something good to replace it with, how about that? Even buy this piece of crap off you, I’m sure I can use it for parts. Give you a discount on the watch itself.” 

There was a twinge in your gut at that, the idea of maybe trading Joel’s watch away. It must have sentimental value if he wore the broken thing that much. Or maybe it was just force of habit? He didn’t have one that worked but felt naked without it? 

“Sure,” you smiled. “When do you think you’ll know?” 

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Come back, see me. I’ll let you know what I can figure out.” 

You walked to work excited to see Joel that night. You were sure he was going to like the watch thing. Maybe it could be the start to something new, something good. After so long of living in limbo with him, you sure hoped it was. 

***

Joel fucking hated sewer days. 

They paid the best but it was disgusting work. The only worse job, in his opinion, was burning infected bodies. At least the sewer didn’t have dead kids. 

Otherwise, it was worse.

He went by his apartment first to shower and get cleaned up before heading toward yours. 

Joel was reluctant to admit it even to himself - especially to himself - but he’d grown attached to you over the last few years. 

He’d never meant to fuck you. 

It had been an accident, the first time. Or, at least, as much of an accident as fucking someone could be. He’d always thought you were pretty. You were beautiful, truly. Beautiful enough that he couldn’t pretend that you weren’t. So he moved on from that fact. But you were also sweet and kind, nicer to him than he deserved. He tried to keep you at arm’s length but you’d somehow managed to insert yourself into his life in ways he hadn’t expected. He liked being around you, he liked to look at you, he liked to imagine what it would feel like to be inside you. Falling into fucking you had been easy, so damn easy.

It helped that you didn’t ask anything of him. That you put up with shit from him that he doubted you’d have tolerated in the before times. But you were lonely here, that much was clear, and Joel was someone. He took advantage of that fact, he knew. He knew he should be better for you. Try to be more. Try to be something at all. But he wasn’t sure he had it in him anymore, if it had ever existed for anyone but Sarah at all. It seemed like it would be cruel to both of you to try. 

So he didn’t. 

He was lucky that you seemed fine with that. Even if he really wasn’t. 

He beat you to your apartment. Not surprising, sewer shifts started early and ended early, and he let himself in to wait for you, going to get his watch off the nightstand first. 

Joel felt naked without it. Almost like he was betraying his daughter when he didn’t wear it, that he’d somehow decided the last thing she’d done for him wasn’t good enough anymore. But wearing it on sewer jobs was too big a risk. If it fell off there, he’d never find it again and he wasn’t sure he could live with himself if that happened. So he left it wherever he slept the night before - as likely to be your place as his anymore - and always put it back on the second he got cleaned up. 

But it wasn’t on your nightstand. He frowned, looking on the bed - you made it every day, like that shit still mattered - but it wasn’t there. He got down on his hands and knees and looked around the nightstand, below it, under the bed. He ripped the sheets off and shook them out, took the pillows out of their cases. His heart was pounding. It had to be here it had to. 

He went to the bathroom next, maybe he’d taken it off in there the night before even though he never had before but he searched there, too. He was taking all the cushions off your couch when he heard your key in the door. He kept searching as you came in, not even looking up at you. 

“Joel!” He heard you drop your keys and your bag and then your hands were on him, pulling him back from the couch and making him stand up straight. He was breathless. He had to find it, it had to be here. Fuck, what if he put it on this morning and it fell off on the job and he hasn’t noticed? What if it was gone? “What are you…” 

“My watch,” he said, looking around the room for where to search next. “I… my fucking watch, left it here this morning, almost positive I left it here but I can’t find it and I need that watch, Baby Doll, I gotta…” 

“Joel,” you smiled a little, putting your hands on his forearm. “It’s OK. You did leave it here but… well, it was supposed to be a surprise…” 

His stomach dropped.

“What did you do.” 

You took your hands back, smile fading at his tone. Your eyes went a little wide. 

“I noticed that it’s broken,” your voice was quiet. “And I thought it was something that might be fixable…”

“What the fuck did you do?!”

You shocked back from him. Joel had never so much as raised his voice to you before and he was screaming now. 

“I took it to a man across town,” you said quickly.  “He said he might be able to fix it or find a good replacement and…” 

“I don’t want it fucking fixed!” He screamed, pressing closer to you and you flinched back. “I want it the way it was! I want it the way it was when my daughter fucking died!” 

You stared at him for a second. He’d never told you about Sarah. He didn’t talk about her. It hurt too much to even consider it, he kept her to himself, her memory saved for quiet spaces where he could let it overwhelm him. 

“Your daughter?” You whispered, reaching for him. He stepped back from you, couldn’t handle your fucking hands on him, not now. “Joel, you never… I didn’t…” 

“She gave me that watch!” He wasn’t yelling now but there was a tremble in his voice, the barely contained rage slipping through. “She gave me that fucking watch and the day she died she got it fixed for me. It got fucked up by the bullets that killed her because I didn’t do my fucking job as her father, I didn’t protect her! That watch is all I have left of her and you…” He shook his head, his resolve cracking and yelling again. “You fucking gave it away! How could you be that fucking stupid? That fucking careless? What the fuck were you thinking!”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. You were crying, voice shaky. “I… I didn’t know, I just wanted…” 

“You think I give a shit what you want?” He yelled, towering over you. “Think I give a shit about you? You’re just some stupid fucking girl I use when I need to get off and you…” 

You were cowering back from him and he knew he was scaring you but he couldn’t feel anything past the sharp pain of loss enough to care. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice was so quiet he could barely hear you. “Joel, please…” 

He glared at you with so much force it made you flinch and stalked out your front door, not bothering to close it behind him. 

Joel took the stairs down to the street two at a time and set off, walking quickly as night fell and rain started in a steady drizzle over him. He could think of a few places you’d probably try to take the watch. If he could find it in time… with all the fucking smuggling connections he has in this godforsaken town. He had to be able to find it. He had to. 

But he searched all night, went to every goddamn black market dealer he could think of. He was only able to find about half of them, some out who the fuck knows where, and none of them had the watch. 

It was daylight again when he returned home, soaking wet and exhausted. He glared at your door as he passed, going to his place to shower and try to warm up. 

But without the distraction of searching, the desperate drive to do something because he could, he was forced to feel while standing in the steam and the water. 

The pain of the loss of his daughter was there, sharp and acute when he realized he may never again touch something she had also held. The permanence of that somehow making her loss more real than it had been in years. It was gutting. He’d rather be shot or stabbed or have the shit beaten out of him than feel this. At least that was tangible, something he could heal from and not this constant, consuming pain. 

But there was also you. You, who had become the only bright spot in this goddamn place. You, who held him when he woke up in a panic and told him that he was safe and that it would be OK. You, just about the only thing that had made him smile in years and who looked at him like he was something worth wanting. Looked at him like there was still a point to him at all. 

You’d tried to do something nice for him. You hadn’t known any better, he knew that. He’d just never let you in. Never even told you Sarah existed let alone about the way that she died. How he’d held her, how Tommy had to drag him away from her body, how all he’d wanted to do was join her and he couldn’t even do that right. He’d never told you any of it. He couldn’t blame you for that, not when he was already afraid of how much he cared about you. He was even more terrified of what he knew he could feel for you if he just let himself. It wouldn’t even be hard. Not feeling it was like fighting against gravity. It would only take one slip and he’d fall into it, he knew that. 

He got out of the shower and sighed, trying not to think about the watch. About the things he’d said to you. He’d been so panicked, so angry. He had tried to hurt you. Said things he knew were cruel because if he was hurting he wanted you to hurt, too. 

But he wasn’t proud of that. He didn’t want you to hurt. He wanted to take care of you and protect you. You were kind and thoughtful and this fucking place hadn’t chewed you up and spit you out yet. He wanted to help you stay that way. Instead, he’d tried to hurt you. 

He sighed and got dressed before going to knock on your door. It was your day off, he expected you to be home. Probably reading or baking something. Because apparently cooking all day during the week wasn’t enough, you had to do it on your day off, too. 

“Hey!” Your next door neighbor came outside but her face fell when she saw Joel. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were…” 

“I’ll tell ‘er you’re looking for her,” Joel said, looking back at the door, waiting for you to answer. But he didn’t even hear you inside. He frowned. He had a key, it just felt wrong to use it after the way he’d spoken to you but maybe he’d need to…

“Thanks,” your neighbor smiled, a plate in her hand. “She’s always making things for my daughter, I finally had enough extra to return the favor but I haven’t seen her since she left last night and…” 

“Last night?” Joel’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, when last night?” 

“Kind of late,” she frowned back. “After dark, I was just coming back home when I ran into her. Seemed like she was in a big hurry, looked like she might have been upset. I told her I had something for her and she said she’d be back later. I don’t think I missed her but…” 

Joel’s heart sped up and he shoved his hand in his pocket, finding his keys. He tuned out the neighbor and had to fight to keep his hands from shaking as he opened your door. 

Your apartment was still torn apart from when Joel had been searching it, couch cushions still all over the floor, coffee table askew. He ignored it, half walking, half running to your bedroom. 

“What happened?” Your neighbor hovered in the doorway. Joel ignored her, too. He looked in your room, still in total disarray but empty, your uniform on the floor where it hadn’t been before. Your bathroom was empty. 

“Fuck!” Joel smacked the wall. You’d left, gone somewhere and not come back. But you’d planned to come back, you’d told your neighbor that you were going to be back later and you hadn’t come home. He went to the woman in the doorway, her eyes still a bit wide as she took in the mess he’d made of your apartment. He took her by the shoulders and she blinked up at him in surprise. “Where was she going? Did she say? Tell you anything at all?” 

“N-no,” she stammered, frozen in Joel’s grip. “She didn’t, I’m sorry, I don’t…” 

Joel released her, running his fingers through his hair for a moment. Had you gone to try to get the watch back? He’d been so upset, so cruel… You must have. It seemed like something you would do, immediately go to try to fix it. He turned back to the woman, cursing the fact that he didn’t know this about you, that he had kept his distance from you so he wouldn’t know things about you and fall into you in the way that was so tempting to do. 

“Know what markets she goes to?” He asked. “Especially for any contraband shit?” She just blinked at him for a moment and he resisted the urge to yell at her. That’s what got him into this situation, losing his fucking temper at someone who didn’t deserve it. He took a deep breath, keeping his voice calm. “I think she went to look for something but I need to know where that would be so I can go find her. Do you know?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded after a moment. “Yeah, there’s one across town, in the south end. I’ve run into her there before…” 

Joel was out the door before she finished talking. It was one of the places he’d gone the night before but hadn’t found anyone to talk to. He certainly hadn’t seen you there. But it was at least a starting point. He’d find you. He had to. 

***

You stared at your open door for a few minutes after Joel left, in too much shock to move. 

Joel had a daughter. A daughter who died. The watch had been from her, of course he wouldn’t want it fixed, of course he would wear it every day. And you’d given it to some slimy guy in the contraband market. 

After a while, you could make yourself move. You closed your door and went to your room. Joel had turned that upside down, too. Of course he had. Because he was desperate and you’d made him that way. 

You got changed quickly, leaving your uniform in a pile on the floor, grabbed a handful of ration cards in case you needed to buy the watch back, and headed out. 

“Oh, hey!” Clara, your next door neighbor, almost ran into you on the stairs, her two-year-old on her hip. “I was just going to pop over, I made…” 

“That’s so sweet,” you cut her off. “But I’ve gotta run, I’m so sorry. I’ll be back later and should be around tomorrow…” 

“OK!” She called after you as you took off. “Be careful out there!” 

You moved as quickly as you could manage toward the market, hoping that you could find the man, that he hadn’t started doing anything to the watch, that everything would be OK. Even if Joel hated you now, he shouldn’t lose the one thing he still had from his daughter because you hadn’t thought to ask him about the damn watch. 

You breathed a sigh of relief when the man was still there, closing up shop, when you ran up. 

“Why hello again,” he smiled, a smile that was smug and lecherous. “Haven’t been home to check my stash for parts yet, pretty girl, but if you wanted to come back with me I bet I could find a way to give you an even bigger discount…” 

“That’s OK,” you said, a little breathless. “I actually just want the watch back, just the way it is…” 

He frowned. 

“It’s still pretty useless…” 

“That’s OK!” You said quickly. “Just… please. Please say you still have it.” 

He sighed and opened a box, rifling around in it for a moment before pulling it out. But he held onto it, running his thumb over the face of it. 

“I was expecting something for fixing this,” he said, glancing up at you before looking down at the watch. “Had plans for those cards…” 

You pulled a few ration cards from your pocket and held them out. 

“Please,” you said. Even though he hadn’t done any work. You didn’t care. “The cards are yours, just give me the watch.” 

He looked almost surprised that getting cards out of you had worked but he took them and gave you the watch. You looked at it for a moment, the broken glass in the face, the time frozen  at 2:15. You tucked it in your pocket, the fist that had been clenched around your heart loosening. 

“Thank you,” you smiled. “Just… Thank you.” 

You started at a more reasonable pace back for your apartment. You’d go to Joel’s, return the watch, apologize again and hope that he wouldn’t still hate you once you fixed it. At least you hoped he wouldn’t be hurting as much, he didn’t deserve that, not after everything he’d been through. You could fix that for him, at least. You had to. 

You were so relieved at getting the watch back that you weren’t paying close attention to your walk home. Yes, it was dark and raining and late but you knew the way and, since that day more than two years ago when Joel had saved you, everyone seemed to know you were protected. That you weren’t someone they messed with and expected to live. In hindsight, it made you feel like the QZ was safer than it was. So safe that you were fine walking home alone from a shady corner of town, far from FEDRA guard posts and people you knew. 

It was a stupid mistake. You realized that when you heard a voice in the dark. 

“Well well.” 

The sound sent a chill down your spine. You recognized that voice, the voice of the man who had tried to kill you once. 

You froze, eyes wide, an animal caught in a trap. 

“If it isn’t Joel Miller’s little FEDRA bitch,” Pickett emerged from the shadows, his hands in his pockets, a few men at his side. Your eyes darted between them. There were six of them that you could see. There was no way you could fight off that many. Hell, you probably couldn’t even fight off one. You’d never been a fighter. “Awful far from home aren’t ya?” 

“Heading there now,” you said, voice shaky. “Joel’s expecting me…” 

“Well that’s too bad, isn’t it?” He prowled closer. “Guess you’ll have to keep him waiting just a bit longer.” 

“You don’t want to do that,” you finally were able to make your legs move, backing away from him. “You know what he said…” 

“But he isn’t here, is he?” He smirked. “And he’s the one who left his little toy out for just anyone to take. If you mattered all that much to him, don’t think you’d be out here all alone at this time of night.” 

Your eyes darted, looking for the best way to run, but your mind was distracted. The man was right. You didn’t matter to Joel, he’d told you as much, that you were just some stupid girl he used when he needed it. You were just some stupid girl and you were going to wind up dead in the shitty part of the QZ and he’d never get the watch back, the one thing he had left of his daughter, because you’d been too stupid to ask about it. For some reason, that part hurt more than the thought of dying. There wasn’t much to life in the QZ, certainly not much that made life worth living. Joel had become the one thing you looked forward to. It was hard to mourn your own destruction when there wasn’t anything left that was really worth living for. 

You tried to run, slipping in the mud as you went. But you were turned around, too panicked to look at street signs or pay close enough attention and, when you wound up at a dead end, you were cornered, the men closing in on you as you backed into a wall. 

“Please,” you whispered. “It won’t make a difference to him or to FEDRA, if you want to hurt them, I’m not the way to do it and…” 

“Maybe not,” Pickett smiled in a way that was more like the bearing of teeth than an actual smile. “But you sure will be fun.” 

Your eyes were so glued to his that you didn’t even see it coming when the first blow sent you to the ground. 

***

Joel made it to the market in record time, out of breath and bones reminding him that he was in his 40s now and he’d spent his life breaking his body to survive. He scanned the stalls quickly, finding the man who was the most likely one you’d have gone to, watches and jewelry out on a table in front of him. As if anyone could afford that shit now anyway. 

“How can I help you?” The man asked, smiling up at Joel from his seat behind the table. “Looking for something special for a lady friend, perhaps?” 

“Looking for my…” he paused. Technically, you weren’t anything to him. “My friend. She would have come here yesterday with a watch…” 

“Oh,” he laughed. “Yeah, I know her. Such a pretty thing, a little disappointed she only decided to give me the time of day when she needed something…” 

“She was here?” Joel asked, brows raised. 

The man smirked. 

“Answers are gonna cost you.” 

Joel ground his teeth for a second before shooting his arm forward and roughly grabbing the back of the man’s neck, shoving his head down and slamming it into the table, the man giving a yelp of pain when his nose crushed against the wood. 

“Fuck!” He swore as Joel pressed his face against the table. He squirmed but Joel held him down. “Jesus Christ, man!” 

“Was. She. Here.” Joel’s teeth were clenched, his chest heaving. 

“She was here!” The man cried out and Joel released his neck. He panted for breath for a moment and sat up cautiously, cradling the back of his neck. “She was here, last night, she came by, wanted the watch back, she seemed desperate.” 

“Where’d she go from here?” Joel demanded. 

“What?” 

“Where!” Joel screamed, hand curling into a fist, ready to beat the answer out of him. 

“Back the way she came!” He covered his head with his arms. “Same place you came from what I could see, please!” 

Joel stepped back. 

“When was it?” 

“Late!” The man said quickly. “Late, she came by late. Right at the end of the day, I was closing up shop, it was dark and raining…” 

So you’d made it this far. You just hadn’t made it back home. 

“Anyone who runs around here who would give her trouble?” Joel asked. “Keep her from comin’ home?” 

“Plenty of people,” the man looked at him like he was insane. Joel glowered at him again and he flinched. “But most likely, Pickett’s gang, saw a few of them last night prowling around, they’ve been causing trouble around here lately. If she ran into trouble, it’s probably with them!” 

Joel nodded slowly. Pickett. He knew him. That was the man he’d saved you from before, the jackass had been building up a following of FEDRA hating idiots who seemed bent on causing trouble and hurting people as a way to feel strong by being cruel. 

He knew where to find them. 

Joel ran there, a crumbling building FEDRA hadn’t done anything with yet that he and Tommy had run drugs to a few times. He pulled the knife he kept at his belt free before he pushed the door open. Whether you were here or not, these were men he wouldn’t care about killing. 

The first one was just inside the door. Probably meant to be standing guard but not paying attention, flipping through an old Playboy instead. Joel caught him off guard. He wrapped his hand around the handle of the knife and used it to bolster his punch, the blow landing so hard the man fell backwards off his stool. Joel kicked his gun away and kneeled on the man’s chest, putting the blade to his throat. 

“Your boss bring a woman here last night?” Joel asked. 

“Not your business, is it?” The man sneered. Joel ground his teeth, covering the man’s mouth to muffle his screams before taking the knife in his hand and thrusting it into the man’s shoulder. Joel waited until he quieted some, gasping below his palm, before he spoke again. 

“Scream and I’ll gut you like a fuckin’ fish,” Joel snarled. “Now I’m just about done askin’ nicely. Did your boss bring a woman here last night?” 

“Yes!” He said, pleading. “He did, she’s still here, I think she’s still alive, they’re on the second floor, please…” 

Joel freed the knife and thrust it into the man’s throat. He didn’t need him anymore. He picked up the gun. 

It was easy, finding you then. He shot men as they approached, only half a dozen or so between him and you. But none of them were Pickett. 

He found the room he was sure you were in, two men stationed at the door who fired at him when he came around the corner. He ducked out of sight, readied his stolen weapon and exposed himself just enough to shoot. He dropped them both before they could land a shot on him. He took their ammo and changed his clip before listening at the door for a moment. It was quiet. 

Joel opened the door slowly, cautiously, but he didn’t need to. You were the only one inside, on the ground in an unnatural looking position. He holstered the gun and ran to you, kneeling beside your prone form. There was a rattle in your breath and you’d been beaten to hell. Even in the dim light, he could see the cuts on your skin, the parts of you he could see swollen and discolored. They’d savaged you, your body broken and bleeding, and you’d only been out here because of him. Because he’d been so angry at you for something that wasn’t your fault. Fuck, you were the only thing left he cared about besides Tommy and you were bleeding because of him. If you died because of him, if he’d failed you the way he’d failed Sarah…

“Please,” you rasped, trying to lift your head but giving up, your eyes closed. Your voice surprised Joel, he hadn’t expected you to be conscious. “Please… I don’t…” 

“It’s OK Baby Doll,” Joel said, his voice thick. “It’s me, you’re OK now. Gonna take real good care of you, you’re alright…” 

“Joel?” You lifted your head and managed to open one eye. The other was swollen shut. “Joel, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” 

Before he had a chance to stop you from moving, you reached a shaky hand into the pocket of your jeans and pulled out the watch. You held it out to him, your fingers bloody. 

“I don’t think it’s any more broken,” you winced. “I tried to protect it, I’m sorry…” 

He took it from you, your blood on the face and the band, a tightness in his throat he was struggling to breathe around. 

“S’OK Baby Doll,” he said, putting it on his wrist quickly and reached for your head, to try to brush some bloody hair back from your skin, but you flinched away from him. “Nothin’ to be sorry for, it’s not your fault, none of this is your fault.” 

You took a deep, shaky breath like you were going to argue with him, but you didn’t get the chance. 

“Look who it is.” 

Joel stiffened, getting to his feet slowly, turning to face him. 

“Almost expected you to not show up,” Pickett smiled. “She seemed damn sure she didn’t mean anything to ya, swore up and down that you wouldn’t even notice she was gone.” Joel’s stomach twisted. “Took you so long I was starting to believe her.” 

Pickett prowled closer. 

“Course I’d hoped she’d be enough to draw you out,” he said. “Getting tired of tip-toeing around you and your fuckin’ brother. But if she wasn’t, at least she was fun. Didn’t even get a chance to let my guys have the real fun with her yet, though. Figured I’d see if we could knock her teeth out first, bet she’d suck real good then. But looks like you took care of them, so I guess she’s off the hook.” 

Joel roared and lunged for Pickett, swinging for him as he did. The other man had either underestimated Joel or overestimated himself, because he tried to dodge him and failed, Joel’s shoulder catching him in the chest and sending him sprawling to the ground. Before he had a chance to even get his bearings, Joel was on top of him, screaming as he pummeled him, raining the blows down on his face again and again and again. 

For the first time since you’d disappeared, Joel felt like he was really doing something. This man had taken you, hurt you, was going to do more to you. Joel was doing what he was supposed to do. He was protecting you. He felt it in every blow he landed on the man’s face, in every collapsing structure below his skin, in every splash of blood. It wasn’t until he had stopped breathing and the blood had stopped pouring from his open wounds that he stilled, panting for breath as he looked at the mangled face of the man below him. 

He stood, flexing his hand and looking at it, the split open knuckles, the mix of your blood and his own and Pickett’s on the watch. He wiped his hand on his shirt and went back to you, kneeling again. 

“Joel,” you whimpered. 

“He’s dead,” Joel said, his voice thick. “They’re all dead. Warned ‘em. Told ‘em what would happen if they fucked with you.” 

He watched you work to swallow around your damaged throat as you nodded. 

“You’re safe now,” he said softly, fingertips gently tracing your face where you didn’t look battered. You flinched at first but relaxed. “Need to wait a bit to take you home. Too bright outside right now, FEDRA fucks would stop us…” 

“Don’t need to worry about me,” you struggled to sit up for a moment before giving up and going limp on the floor. “It’s OK. Already did more than you should have. Go home in case FEDRA comes poking around and…” 

“Not leaving you here,” he said gruffly. 

You winced as you swallowed and fought to open the one eye you could. 

“Don’t put yourself at risk for me,” you managed. “I’m not worth it, you know that and…” 

“You’re worth it, Baby Doll,” he said softly, his hand on your face. “About the only thing in this fuckin’ place that is.”

You flinched as you frowned. 

“No,” you shook your head a little. “No, you said…” 

“Don’t matter what I said,” he cut you off, trying to ignore the stabbing guilt in his chest. Fuck, the things he’d said to you. “I didn’t mean it, didn’t mean a fuckin’ word of it. I was pissed at myself, I was hurting, I took it out on you and I never should have said or done any of it, Baby Doll, never. I didn’t mean it, not a word of it and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it back, I wish I could take all of it back…” 

He lay beside you, delicately holding your face, his eyes tracing over you. He memorized the damage done, the signs of all the pain he knew you were in. All because he hadn’t told you about Sarah, because he’d hurt you, because he’d failed you. He wouldn’t do that again. He was not going to let you suffer because of him again. You tried to move closer to him but he put his hand on your hip and held you still, instead moving toward you. You winced as you pressed against him but it didn’t stop you. He held you gently, feeling you breathe against him. 

“I’m sorry, Joel,” your voice was muffled. “I didn’t mean to, I promise…” 

“Shh,” he hushed you, tears stinging his eyes. He’d done this to you. Made you feel like, even this broken, it was your fault. “It’s not your fault. None of it. I’ve got you, Baby Doll. Gonna take care of you. Gonna take such good care of you if you let me. Please let me.” 

You were quiet, passing out against him. He held you like that, letting himself feel for you, letting himself fall into that dangerous place with you. He stopped fighting the gravity of loving you until it was dark enough to safely carry you home.

He got you cleaned up, patching you up as best he could before giving you some pain meds from a stash he hadn’t traded away yet and carrying you to bed. He held you there, too, his body curved around yours, shielding you from anything that could hurt you and promised himself, silently, that he’d never see you like this again. Because he was going to take care of you. He was going to protect you, he was going to love you, until there was nothing else left of him and he was dead and gone. 

He ran a gentle hand over your head and pressed a kiss to your hair, the glass of the watch reflecting the light of the moon, sending fractured splotches of light on your wall. He wasn’t going to fail again. That much, Joel knew. 

[bridgetserdocksketches]

We're suffering tonight, boys

Lena isn’t avoiding Kara, okay? She’s just very busy. That’s all. What with being the CEO of her own company, running her own experiments, and this new little passion project she has a lot going on. Her absence in Kara’s life these past few days has absolutely nothing to do with the black eye she’s currently sporting. Don’t be ridiculous.

Though, in hindsight, she really should’ve known she’d only be able to bail on lunch with Kara so many times before she came knocking.

Lena’s knee deep in some complex coding, trying to figure out what went wrong with this last test and fix it, when she gets the call. She barely even looks at her phone screen before answering. Not that she needs to.

“Kara, hi,” she says warmly.

“Are you avoiding me?”

Well, shit. “What? No. Of course not.”

“Are you sick? You know if you’re sick you can just tell me, right?”

“Yes, I-- no, Kara. I’m not sick.”

Lena can practically see the pinch in her brow. The confusion painted all over her face as she tries to puzzle out what’s going on with Lena.

“Okay, well you skipped lunch three times this week. Is everything alright?” Kara asks.

“Yes, everything’s perfectly fine. I’ve just been busy,” Lena assures her.

“So you’re not avoiding me?”

Lena breathes out a sigh that borders on a laugh. “No.”

“Alright, then can you come let me in?”

Before Lena can even ask where she is or what she means (as if she doesn’t already know), there’s a knocking at the door. Not the front door, of course. No, that would be far too mundane. It’s at the back door. The balcony door. The one that Lena always leaves unlocked, but Kara refuses to open without being welcomed in.

Her immediate reaction is to get up and open the door for Kara. But then Kara would see the black eye that much sooner. And if she can stall for even a few seconds longer, she will. So instead, she simply turns over her shoulder (careful to keep her left eye obscured) and calls out to Kara.

“It’s open.”

Still wearing the Supergirl suit and wielding a takeout bag, Kara strides into Lena’s apartment with a little spring in her step. Because as far as she’s concerned, Lena hasn’t been avoiding her. Lena isn’t hiding a few secrets from her and has nothing out of the ordinary going on. She’s just a little extra busy with that passion project she has outright refused to share any information about with anyone. There is absolutely nothing for her - or Lena, for that matter - to worry about.

“I figured you didn’t eat anything since you skipped lunch, again,” Kara drawls, the barest hint of disappointment in her words. “So I brought you dinner.” She walks around to get in front of Lena, finally, and plops the greasy bag of Big Belly Burger down on the counter. “Voila!”

There’s a five second gap after the delectable diabetic nightmare is presented before Lena. Five charged seconds where Lena simply waits for Kara to finally notice. At first, she’s a little too proud of herself. A grin so broad and brilliant and downright beautiful it could be considered blinding spread across her face. But then those blue eyes of hers track a little to the left and they go wide. Her mouth falls open. Her brow pinches. And several emotions flicker over her visage all at once.

Her lips work around a few words, spluttering on air briefly, before she finally settles on “Lena!”

And Lena can’t help herself. “Kara?”

Kara blinks. “What-- When-- Who did this to you?”

Lena exhales deeply and leans back in her chair. “No one did this to me.”

Kara’s around on Lena’s side of the counter in the space of a heartbeat. Her hands cradling Lena’s face like it’ll break under the slightest amount of pressure as she examines her.

“What happened?” She demands.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Lena insists.

It’s almost believable, too. But then Kara’s thumb chances a little too close to her left eye. With a hiss of pain, Lena flinches from her hand. Kara’s brow furrows further and her frown deepens.

“Lena--”

“I’m fine, Kara. Really,” Lena says. She takes both of Kara’s hands in her own and pulls them down from her face. “It was just an experiment gone wrong.”

“What sort of experiment gives people black eyes?”

Lena breathes out an indignant little huff of air. “It’ll be easier to just show you.”

Kara’s gaze narrows. “Alright.”

Kara is right on Lena’s heels as they walk to the spare room. The room Lena has taken to calling the nursery, where Baymax is lying in wait. At this stage in his development, he’s pretty infantile at best. He knows a few key phrases and can identify a person as long as they’re standing in front of him. But he can’t hold a conversation and his object permanence is severely lacking. So, yeah. Lena’s gonna call his room a nursery.

Baymax is in his charging pod where she’d left him a few days ago (when their most recent test run failed spectacularly, leaving Lena with a shiner). There isn’t anything else in the room, though. Lena had removed a lot of it to make space for his assembly. Once that was done, she decided to keep the room empty after he broke her last laptop after a particularly nasty glitch. So the only thing in here, as far as Kara’s concerned, is some weird red luggage tucked against the back wall.

“What am I looking at?” Kara asks, the worry from before replaced with confusion and curiosity.

“Hopefully something that’ll help a lot of people,” Lena says.

It’s cryptic, she’ll admit. But it’s hard to explain exactly what Baymax is at this point. Because he’s not simply a robot anymore. He’s taken on so much more personality and life in just the few weeks since his first test run. He’s learning. Growing. Like a person.

So instead of explaining, Lena crosses the length of the room, kneels down in front of the charging pod, and activates the robot.

Later, Kara would say that Lena leapt away from the charging station as it booted up. Like she’d gotten zapped or something. Lena, however, would vehemently insist that she simply hurried away in case something went wrong. Either way, she now stands alongside Kara, watching with bated breath as Baymax comes back to life.

She counts the seconds it takes him to inflate. 23. They need to get that down. He needs to be faster. If someone is really hurt, he has to be able to help. It takes another 4 seconds for Baymax to fully boot up. His eyes blink to signify that he’s fully functional and ready to assist. A total of 27 seconds. They can do better.

Not that Kara notices. She’s staring open mouthed and wide eyed as Baymax awkwardly stumbles out of his charging pod. His steps are heavy, almost as if he thinks the floor is further down (just another thing to iron out). He stops moving about two feet away from them both. Lifts his hand limply into the air (the fingers not fully inflated or opposable yet).

“Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.”

And then he freezes. Standing right there. Unmoving and, to be frank, a little terrifying.

“Wow,” Kara breathes.

“Yeah,” Lena agrees. “He’s still got a lot of bugs to work out. Hence the black eye.” She gestures at her left eye vaguely. “But when he’s finished, he’s going to help a lot of people.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Kara asks.

Lena turns to her now. Her brow arched and a playful little smirk on her lips. “What? Is being Supergirl not enough for you?”

“Don't get me wrong. I love being Supergirl, but this.” She points at Baymax’s frozen form. “This will be able to do something I never could.”

Lena’s smirk falls into something softer. Something kinder. Kara finally looks at her now.

“Now, I’m not great with coding and all that… stuff. But I can help you test him out. No matter how hard he tries, he’s not going to be able to give me a black eye.”

Well, when she puts it like that…

“Do I… do I start now?” Kara asks hesitantly. She fidgets uncomfortably with the sign Lena handed her, then adjusts her glasses.

Lena smiles at her from behind her computer. “You can start whenever you like. But I do want to be done by dinner, darling.”

“Right.” Kara nods.

She looks away from Lena, her eyes landing on Baymax. And then she grins. That unfairly perfect grin. The one that is so infectious it’s a wonder the CDC aren’t investigating it yet.

“This is Kara Danvers,” She says, carefully enunciating each word. “And this is the first test of mine and Lena Luthor’s Baymax Project.”

She reaches forward, just like Lena showed her, and turns Baymax on. She grins again, up at the robot, and waits. Watches as he blinks, tilts his head down, and lifts his hand.

“Hello. I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.”

“Hello, Baymax!” She answers cheerily. “Would you please scan me?”

“Beginning scan now,” Baymax announces.

But that’s not what happens. No, it would be too simple if that’s what happens next. Instead, the entire system glitches. And both his arms start vibrating rapidly.

Kara’s face pales. “Uh, Lena,” she calls, not daring to look away from another rogue robot. “Is he supposed to be doing that?”

“No,” Lena says quickly. She looks between the two screens in front of her, trying to search for the error in his code to stop this from happening next time. “You gotta shut him down, Kara.”

“Uh-oh!” Kara exclaims.

Lena’s head snaps up. “Uh-oh?”

“Sorry about your laptop,” Kara says, as if it’s her fault Baymax broke yet another computer. Lena really needs to stick to her no-computers-in-the-nursery rule.

“It’s alright.” Lena waves her off, dutifully working away at the code from her tablet. “I’ll just get another one.”

“Next time I’ll stand between the two of you. That way I can better stop his renegade flying arms.”

Lena's gaze snaps to where Kara sits, finishing off the last of their fries (Lena’s fries, really. But they always share). “Next time? You still want to help after that disaster?”

“Of course,” Kara says earnestly. Then her face screws up. “But do you think we could make him look a little friendlier? A bit rounder? You know. Friend-shaped?”

Lena snickers. “Friend-shaped?”

“Yeah. Friend-shaped.”

Lena laughs lightly, and start typing again. “I think I can make that work.”

Wow. That got away from me

So this is how Kara ends up being the one to test Baymax. It's also part of what Baymax shows to Lena after telling her "Kara is here."

This scene (as in the video, not the ficlet) would serve as an emotional low point, if you couldn't tell. And it would be the moment where Lena decides she's going to let the Superfriends use Baymax to save Kara (instead of his actual purpose which is, you know, healthcare)

[delimeful]

Builder

new minecraft AU update! this one jumps between the past & the present! 

warnings: zombies, injury mention

-

Patton found the old house on a cloudy day.

He was still hit with the urge to roam, every once in a while, and while Logan’s home rested on the edge of a swamp, there were green, rolling hills to the southwest that were lovely to wander in.

Logan normally escorted him, as an extra pair of eyes with a helpful cat familiar to prevent any creepers from creeping up on him, but today he had been immersed in his potions. He’d found a new enchanted spellbook while out on a voyage, and was practically bursting with ideas upon his return.

Patton had smiled and left him to it, waving off any concerns with a promise to be extra careful and come back home if he started feeling sunsick.

He hadn’t meant to amble so far off course, but he’d seen a beehive, and where there were bees, there were flowers!

Spurred on by the idea of a flower crown for his friend, he’d found himself farther westward than he’d ever gone before. The hills turned to a taiga landscape, and between those towering birches was the house.

It looked uninhabitable, the wood rotted and the roof collapsed, but something about it called Patton closer, and so he pushed aside the remains of the front door and walked inside.

The stairs were ruined, barring any entry to the upper level of the house. Any furniture that had once stood tall was now utterly destroyed by years of exposure to the elements. He stepped carefully, ducking past cobwebs and listening to each creaky step.

Finally, he reached the back corner, and stopped, turning his head this way and that until the dull glint of metal caught his eye, half-hidden behind a dusty bedframe.

He crouched next to the iron hatch, and with only the barest moment of hesitation, pulled it open.

Daylight spilled into the basement below, and he caught a glimpse of clouded eyes set in a rotting face before the zombie backed up out of the light with a groan. Patton stumbled back with a yelp, falling on his back, and then crawled forwards and slammed the latch shut.

There was no protest from the creature below, and he left the house at a sprint.

-

Logan had followed him back out to the house based on nothing but Patton’s panicked ramblings alone, and his brow had grown more and more furrowed as they reached the house, ventured inside, and re-opened that hatch.

“I passed this house many times,” he spoke slowly, voice pained, “and all this time, someone had been down here?”

Patton leaned in, hands shaking as his eyes adjusted to the dark. “There’s two of them,” he corrected softly, and then stood back up in time to watch Logan hurry out of the dilapidated building.

It was guilt that his anger stemmed from, and Patton gave him some time before following, ignoring the bubbling remains of a shattered potion on the ground to pull his friend into a long hug.

“Could you help them?” he asked, once Logan’s witch mark had ceased its glowing, and his fists were no longer white-knuckled. “The way you helped me?”

Logan had been looking at him with that helplessly surprised stare, the one that always appeared when Patton witnessed his supernatural ‘fits’ firsthand and stayed anyway.

At the question, his expression went firm. “We’re going to try.”

-

The next few weeks were a rush of planning, harvesting, and brewing.

Patton hadn’t been sure he would be much of a help at all, but Logan had an unending list of tasks that he was working through, and a surprising amount were simple enough that Patton could manage them himself, like scavenging for certain ingredients or preparing others in a certain manner.

Eventually, he even began his own little garden, where he planted the ingredients more commonly needed for most of Logan’s potions.

Other tasks weren’t so easy.

Gold couldn’t be grown, for example, and their luck in mines varied from day to day. Some of the ingredients were only found in the Nether, and while Logan had traversed it enough to be familiar, it was still a dangerous place.

Logan had once returned home with a crossbow bolt lodged in his shoulder, having survived the trek back by leaving the bolt in and drinking a potion of healing anyways. They'd had to reopen the wound to get it out, and Patton had insisted on waiting by the portal for every venture after, just in case something like that happened again.

Still, bit by bit they worked, until Logan had a refined version of the cure he’d created for Patton.

Applying the cure didn’t actually take that long, though Logan expressed his frustration with how difficult it was to maneuver young zombies. Apparently older zombies-- the ones that were more bone than flesh, the ones that didn’t flinch away from pain, the ones that no potion could cure-- were much easier to lead. More predictable after the last traces of humanity faded from their minds.

Regardless, Patton’s very talented friend managed to separate and enclose the two of them in cells on his own, refusing Patton's assistance to avoid adding an extra person to the mix and complicating everything. He did allow Patton to help him with the actual curing, and how strange it was, to be on the other end of the process this time.

The potion & golden apple combination went over without a hitch, and Patton didn't think he'd ever slept as deeply as he did the night after those hard weeks of work. With the former zombies now laying tucked into their own beds, healing more by the day, Logan and Patton were left to wait in anxious anticipation.

Luckily, they had plenty to do to occupy their time! The new residents would need a place to stay, after all, and though Logan’s home was cozy, it wasn’t large enough to fit additions. Patton had originally wanted to build a neighboring house right next door, but Logan had suggested they build it closer to the decrepit house, just in case these strangers wanted some space to themselves after their ordeal.

Patton had a sneaking suspicion that the suggestion was also in case the others reacted badly to Logan's witch status, but he didn’t call his housemate out on it. He was nervous about meeting these new people too, after all. He hadn’t really had the opportunity to spend much time with anyone but Logan since regaining consciousness, and sometimes it all seemed like too much.

Now though, building this place with the breeze at his back and Logan at his side, he felt as though he could take on all the muchness in the world.

He set another wooden beam in place, stepping back to smile at how close they were to finishing the house. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had taken a lot of hard work, and Patton had a good feeling about it.

New beginnings didn’t come around every day, after all.

-

Patton smiled nostalgically at the house in the distance, the one at the heart of the village that he had built together with Logan all that time ago.

It was amazing how much the village had grown, one new home at a time, occupied mostly by former zombies at first, and then the occasional traveler settling down, and eventually a few kids running about. It had become a thriving community, and Patton never stopped feeling proud of all the work that everyone had put in to keep it safe and welcoming.

There was a curious little ‘vrrp’ from behind him, and Patton turned away from the half-finished wall to see Anxiety shuffling in place, avoiding the gaps in the floor that hadn’t yet been patched.

“Just lost in thought!” he reassured the enderman, reaching out slowly and patting his friend’s arm, giving him plenty of time to scoot away if he wasn’t feeling up to touch today. Anxiety held still, fingers curling around Patton’s hand in turn.

After a moment of this, he teleported away sheepishly, and Patton muffled a chuckle as he turned back to finish installing a window. Logan would be here soon, but until then, it was nice to have company as he once again worked on adding a home to their little patchwork village.

Patton would be the one moving in, of course, and though there was a new addition to their population, Anxiety was more of a secret housemate than a homeowner. (They wouldn’t want anyone gawking at him, after all!) Even with those differences, the process was still familiar enough to make him grin.

Anxiety made a small, otherworldly 'notice me' chirp, and Patton turned to find there was a solid block of dirt in his wall, the grass on top of it still green. It only took him a moment to connect the dirt’s presence to the empty-handed enderman shifting antsily next to it.

“Oh! What a nice touch!” he encouraged, and laughed as Anxiety teleported back and forth in apparent pride. “It’s fun to work together with friends on stuff like this, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t really understand the noises that the enderman made in response, but he got the sense it was a resounding agreement.

[redqueen-hypothesis]

one dance ➳ victor (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x victor li (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 1912

➳ GENRE: fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: you and victor finally get a break.

➳ REMARKS: inspired by this, @sunshinejihyun​ i hope this was okay!

“But, Mommy, I want to go with you too!”

“No, you can’t, darling.” You turn around in the middle of blowing your hair dry to smile at your daughter, who’s pouting at the doorway of your dressing room. Running up to you, she throws herself into your lap, her little hands wrapped tightly around your waist. “But why! Why, why, why! Why are you and Daddy going out without me?”

You laugh at your daughter’s teary eyes and pinch her nose lightly. Victor’s always spoiled her rotten, really. “Because Daddy and I want some alone time together.” You tell her patiently, and her face scrunches up in a pout. “Besides, we’ll be dropping you off with Uncle Kiro,” her expression immediately brightens and you have to hold back your amusement, “so can you give us some time off?”

She puffs up her cheeks, but you can already see the way her eyes are shining at the mention of her celebrity uncle. “Uncle Kiro?” She repeats, and you nod. “Yes, Uncle Kiro. He wants to bring you to his studio so you can see how he made his newest album, you wanted to see that, didn’t you?”

Her bottom lip quivers. “Well... I suppose I could go with Uncle Kiro for one evening...” She turns back to stare at you with those big grey eyes, the exact same shade as Victor’s. “But next time, you have to bring me out with you! Deal?”

You hum in agreement, holding out your pinky. “Promise.”

Satisfied after having made her ‘contract’, your daughter rushes out of the room to look for her father instead. Shaking your head in amusement, you turn to your wardrobe, looking through the outfits inside for a suitable fit. Over the years you’ve been together, Victor has gifted you with many beautiful things, and you’ve never really been left in want. Your smile is affectionate as you look at the dresses you have in the closet. 

That one was a gift from your last anniversary, that velvet dress just because he said he thought of you when he saw it, the one beaded with pearls because it matched your eyes...

Your hands rest on the last hanger in the closet, and you lift it out in surprise. Red silk unfurls, sliding out smoothly and the little crystals lining the hem catch the light of your dressing room. You haven’t seen this for a long while.

This was the dress that Victor had bought you when you had attended that dance gala all those years ago, even before the two of you had started dating. You’d kept the dress away after wearing it only once, terrified to ruin it in case Victor would ask for recompense somehow. Your thumb runs over the gemstone sitting on your left ring finger, a slight smile touching your lips in amusement at the thought. It’s really been that long, hasn’t it?

Standing up, you hold the dress to your body as you look at yourself in the mirror thoughtfully. 

Can you still fit into it?

The answer is yes, although the dress is a little more snug on you than you remember, it’s only to be expected. You slip on the shoulder straps and curl your hair lightly, humming pleasantly to yourself. When you look at yourself in the mirror to apply your lipstick, a wave of nostalgia washes over you gently - suddenly, it feels like you’re in your twenties again, nervously hoping that you remember all the dance steps that Victor had been drilling into you for the past week, that you won’t trip on your heels and your partner won’t show you up.

He had, eventually, but Victor had been there to save the day with grace, taking the place of your dance partner with ease. By the end of the night, you weren’t even upset that your original partner hadn’t come; you clearly got something far better in return.

You pause in applying your lipstick for a moment to giggle at the thought. You never would have thought back then that Victor could so romantic.

You’re just finishing up your outfit when there’s a low knock on the door. “Dear?” You turn around to see Victor standing at the door in a tasteful black suit, a bouquet of red roses in hand. His hair is slicked back, grey eyes relaxed as they run over your form. You catch a small quirk at the corner of his mouth when his gaze settles on the dress you’re wearing.

“I haven’t seen that dress for a while.”

You laugh as Victor crosses the room to place the bouquet in your arms, their pleasant scent enveloping you. “A while would be an understatement. I think it’s been years since I’ve taken it out, but it’s surprisingly still in good condition.” You tell him, and Victor places a chaste kiss on the back of your hand. It’s been years since you’ve been married, but the silent, steadfast love with which Victor has treated you with has never waned. “How’s our daughter?”

“Kiro came to pick her up a few minutes ago, she was so excited that she didn’t even bother saying goodbye.” Victor shakes his head and you have to stifle your laughter behind your palm. “Well, I suppose that just makes things easier for us.” He holds out a hand, and there’s the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Shall we?”

You smile brightly and take it, his fingers warm in yours. “Let’s go.”

The restaurant he brings you to is empty of patrons except for the two of you, a single table set up in the middle of the hall decorated with flickering candles and scattered roses. As usual, Victor has spared no expense, you muse to yourself.

Dinner is a pleasant affair, as it always is, while you and Victor chat over the food. He’s been busy recently, handling matters about the LFG’s expansion in several more sectors and maintaining their position as the top financial group in the city. Similarly, you’ve been caught up with work and keeping your youngest daughter occupied, leaving the two of you little or no time at all to enjoy each other’s company.

Tonight is a nice change of pace, although your conversation somehow keeps coming back to the family.

“Our daughter mentioned wanting to marry her Uncle Kiro when she grows up.” You mention suddenly when you reach for your glass of wine, your lips creased into a smile as you take a sip. Victor’s eyes instantly narrow. “What should I tell her?”

“First of all, the age gap is too big.” Victor answers crisply, setting his fork and knife down on the plate. You glance at him in amusement, you had only meant it as a joke, but Victor seems to be taking this very seriously. He’s always been overprotective of his little girl, after all. “He won’t be able to relate well to her.”

“We’re six years apart.” You point out, entertained, but Victor shakes his head. “We’re different.” He stresses, and a small snort escapes you. “And besides, I don’t want her to have a live a life constantly hounded by the paparazzi because her husband is famous. It’s difficult being in the spotlight all the time. As a pop singer, there must be many other women fighting for his attention too. Our daughter deserves someone who loves her wholeheartedly-” You lean forward to put your finger on his lips.

"I was just joking.” You say, and Victor lets out a sigh of relief. “Really, Victor, you’re saying all of this as if you aren’t famous either.” Amusement tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Why, have you been recently tempted by other women fighting for your attention?”

“Don’t be a dummy.” Victor shakes his head, although his eyes soften when he looks at you. One of his hands reaches across the table to take yours, lifting it so that the diamond on your left hand glimmers in the candlelight. “I made a vow to one woman, and I won’t break it for the rest of my life. Why would I be tempted when I have you?”

You smile at him. “I know.”

Behind you, the live quartet starts up another song, familiar notes of the violin drifting through the air and you perk up in delight. “Oh, Victor, remember this song?”

Victor pauses for a moment, before the line of his mouth softens. “Of course. how could I? The number of times you stepped on my feet dancing to this song...”

“Shush! You’re ruining the mood.” You scold, but slip out of your chair and hold out your hand to your husband, a smile dancing on your face. He looks up at you, head tilted to the side. “Shall we dance?”

Victor lets out a small laugh, rising to his feet and taking your hand. “Let’s see if you haven’t forgotten how to dance to this song.” He teases lightly, placing one hand on your waist and weaving the fingers of the other with yours. “For the sake of my toes, I hope you do.”

“I definitely won’t let CEO Victor down.” You tell him, and Victor’s eyes crinkle in amusement at the old nickname. At the next stanza, the two of you start moving to the song, your feet finding the rhythm and moving along with him in the dance. All of a sudden, you’re at the gala once again, watching a younger Victor approach you with an unreadable expression on his face as he offers to dance with you, the low voice in your ear telling you just how many times you’ve stepped on his feet which you now know was an attempt to take the edge off your nerves. “See, I’ve improved, haven’t I?”

Victor twirls you around and you move smoothly in response, raising your arm and allowing your skirt to flare out in a perfect circle. He catches you and steps into the beat once more.

“I don’t think you could have gotten much worse than how you were back then, dear. It was quite the haphazard effort trying to get you ready.” He says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, the slight lift of the corner of his mouth. “But, well, I suppose that you did alright that night, considering you only had a few days to get ready.” His voice is soft. “It was quite the impressive effort to behold.”

You smile as you look up at Victor, the way the candlelight casts the features of his face into shadow and light. Although Victor has matured both inside out over the last few years you’ve been together, his heart has never changed one bit; strong, unyielding and protective. You rest your cheek on his chest with a hum when the song dies down, and his hands come up to embrace you. “What’s the matter? Feeling unwell?”

You shake your head, then with a smile, hold your pinky up to him.

“Stay with me for the rest of our lives?”

Victor arches a brow, but he chuckles slightly. “I can do better than that.” Taking your hand in his, he presses it against his chest and kisses you on the mouth, his other hand cupping your jaw gently. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your cheeks.

“Forever sounds like a far better deal, don’t you think?”

[gdcee]

Road to Nowhere

Pairing: Loki/Sigyn - mild, might have to squint to see it.

Summary: Loki and Sigyn talk while she escorts him to Kid Loki's Kingdom.

Warnings: Panic attack.

=================

"You know I'm only going to keep pestering you until I have the answer."

"I wish you luck in your endeavour," Sigyn returned coolly, stepping lightly as she began to climb the massive pile of garbage blocking their path. "Nevertheless, my lips remain sealed."

Loki huffed, a slight quirk at the corner of his lips which was not quite a smirk. He set off after her, determined to be the first to the summit of Rubbish Peak.

He had to admit he was quite intrigued by that tantalising crumb of information this Sigyn (so very like and yet not quite like his own) had dangled before him. Of course he was curious about the identity of the lucky bastard who had won her fidelity.

All he had was a preferred pronoun. That at least eliminated half of his (admittedly rather short to begin with) list of possible lucky bastards.

After he had gone through the list (which did not take long because as stated earlier, it was really quite short), he started throwing out random names to see if any of them got a reaction.

No such luck.

His attempts to tease and fluster the information out of her had been just as ineffective.

Her reaction to his puppy dog eyes routine had been...perplexing. He'd gotten one soft, achingly tender smile before a heavy melancholy had descended upon her. Like the dark shadow of a mourning veil stealing the brightness from her eyes and the colour from her cheeks.

She had not reprimanded him, but he made a note not to pull that trick again anyway. Besides the practical reasons for keeping her goodwill (survival, information, mental stimulation), the simple fact was that she was Sigyn.

He didn't want to be the cause of her unhappiness. Not anymore.

Being a harmless annoyance and pest was still perfectly acceptable though.

He stood atop the great mound of refuse, his hands and face smeared with oil and other liquids of questionable origin, grinning triumphantly down at Sigyn. He vanished the grime he'd accumulated before gallantly holding out his hand to her.

Sigyn huffed a soft little laugh, the barest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Without any hesitation, she reached out and allowed him to pull her up.

Loki glanced down to where they had started and noted that it was a long drop. Not nearly enough to kill an Asgardian or a Frost Giant, but enough to hurt.

Trust.

It made him feel as giddy as the first time he'd tasted the enchanted, heady liquid gold that was the mead brewed from honey harvested from the hives of the talking bees that resided near Iðunn's famous apple orchards.

"Ahem."

Loki realised with no small degree of embarrassment that he was still holding Sigyn's hand. He hurriedly worked a spell to remove the dirt under her fingernails and let go. Then to cover up his embarrassment, he resumed pestering.

"I don't understand why the identity of your beau necessitates such secrecy," he sighed with the lightest touch of a pleading whine, "Do you think I would object to your taste? He can't possibly be worse than Theoric."

"I think my life choices are none of your business."

"Exactly! You should forget about my opinion. Shout his name to the world and damn the naysayers and killjoys."

"I would but sadly, Alioth has a sense of hearing."

With that, she picked up a flat sheet of metal lying loose and proceeded to slide down Rubbish Peak on the improvised board. Despite being only at most a quarter Ljósálfar on her mother's side, she moved with their characteristic effortless grace.

Loki peered down, did a couple of quick mental calculations and snapped his fingers. He disappeared from the summit with a flare of green light and reappeared at the bottom no more than a second later in similar fashion.

"Good to see your teleport still works," Sigyn tossed her wind-mussed hair out of her face, "Why didn't you use it earlier to get to the top?"

"Too much debris and no decent eyeline. I didn't want to risk getting stuck under a foot of garbage." He frowned, pondering. "Still works?"

"Not a reference to you personally," she moved forward without looking behind to see if he followed, "Just something I noticed about some of the other Lokis around here."

"Power loss? Nothing to do with you and that coven of other Sigyns whose domain I and the other Lokis are forbidden from entering, I presume?"

"No, I've seen it even in Lokis on their first trepass - if something is limiting their power it's not us. In any case, we would never do anything to permanently disable a Loki's magic. There's just some things you don't do to a fellow mage, you know?"

"You just rough them up a little and kick them off the property?"

"More or less. Except for the kid and alligator."

"Do I want to know how one instance of me ended up as a semi-aquatic Midgardian reptile?"

"You can ask him yourself when we get to the Kid's Kingdom," she paused for a moment, as if she'd just remembered something, "Or maybe not, I think only the old man you knows how to talk to him."

Loki blinked.

"There's an old me?" He asked, disbelieving, "As in a wizened, wrinkled, looks like your grandmother me?"

"Eh, not quite as old as Grandma Hretha. Maybe about 4,000? 5,000?" She shrugged, "Either way, your vanity may rest easy; you look perfectly fine as an old man."

"Thank you for that milquetoast endorsement of my future self's good looks," Loki said dryly, "I was more perturbed about...something else."

Curiouser and curiouser.

How had the aged variant escaped their destined end? How had he managed to grow old before the TVA arrived to arrest him for cheating his final death?

He thought about the tape featuring all the TVA approved highlights of his life.

He thought about that other Loki, the Loki who had played out the role assigned to him and how very young (the same face as his own) and terrified (the same fear as his own) he had looked with the Mad Titan's monstrous hand around his throat.

Loki swallowed thickly and pulled at the collar of his TVA issued office shirt which suddenly seemed far too tight. The tie impeded his work and as he struggled to loosen it he could feel his terror rising up to choke him.

there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you

inevitable

you think you know pain?

Inevitable

HE WILL MAKE YOU LONG FOR SOMETHING AS SWEET AS PAIN

He felt his legs buckle and his knees hit the ground as if it were happening to someone else.

"Loki!" Sigyn's voice was close but he heard it as if a great distance separated them, "Loki, breathe."

"What do you think I'm doing?" He wheezed.

"I am going to remove the tie and unfasten your collar," Sigyn continued as if she had not even noticed his rudeness, "I will need to touch you to do this. Alright?"

Needing help for such a pitifully simple task was galling. But he didn't want Sigyn to leave him. Loki managed a shaky nod. He let her ease his trembling, sweaty hands from his shirt collar. With quick, brisk movements she pulled the tie loose and tossed it somewhere to join the rest of the garbage.

"Follow my breathing now." Her voice was clearer to him now, more present. She was kneeling next to him, so close and warm and oh, her hair did still smell like apple blossoms. He watched the regular rise and fall of her chest and tried to match it. "That's it. Very good. Nice and slow."

Her fingers were at his throat for a mercifully short time. Just long enough to pop the top button loose and push the starched fabric away from his neck.

"Stay with me. You're doing very well. Breathe with me. In. And out. In. And out."

Without really thinking he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against the centre of his chest. Perhaps he was possessed by some irrational notion that the pressure against his breastbone could keep his thundering heart from beating right out of his chest.

She didn't try to pull away. Her hand was warm, even through the shirt fabric. She moved a little, and one of her dainty fingers slipped into the open gap of his unbuttoned collar and brushed against the dip between his clavicles. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before Sigyn's gentle prompting had him matching her rhythm once more.

"Feel better?" She asked after what seemed an eternity.

"Yes," he breathed, "Yes, much." His chest still felt a little tight but the worst of that dreadful episode was over.

"Good." She lifted her hand from his chest and patted his shoulder firmly - a gesture that he had seen Týr bestow upon struggling Einherjar recruits after they'd passed the final leg of their training. "You did very well."

He didn't feel like he'd done anything worth praising. He'd collapsed like a pack of cards. This wasn't the first time he'd experienced terror but every time before now he had been able to push past it - stamp it down through sheer force of will and that primitive, animal part of his brain that knew that danger was never far away.

Why had he folded now? Now - when he was probably the most at ease he'd been in ages (months? Years? How long had it been since New York?) and the threat of Thanos was no longer an issue-

...a terrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Just out of curiosity," Loki tried to sound nonchalant, "Have you ever come across a fellow by the name of Thanos here?"

"Thanos?" Sigyn's brows drew together in a frankly rather adorable expression of pure befuddlement.

Ah. Well, at least he could place whatever nexus event had led to her pruning as occurring before Ragnarok and Thanos's massacre of half the Asgardian survivors.

"Big purple fellow," he explained, "Quite ugly, enormous chin, has rather disturbing ideas about resource management."

"Uh, no, I can't say that I've ever met anyone like that here."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "I can swear on my magic if that would reassure you."

Sigyn had always been very leery about oaths, especially ones bound with magic. Most mages worth their salt were.

And yet...he couldn't really explain why, but he'd always felt like her issues with them were less about best practices and more about some personal grievance.

That she would offer him such a thing...

Loki felt completely undeserving.

"No," he said hurriedly, "No, no, it's fine. I...I trust you."

Sigyn smiled. It was the first real smile he'd seen so far and it was like watching the sun come out from behind a cloud. He didn't know if it would last - if that melancholy from before would snatch away the sweetness of this moment.

So Loki ruined the moment before it could be stolen from him.

"...even though you refuse to tell me about your paramour."

Sigyn scoffed, all exasperation but it was better than seeing her sad.

"You are insufferable."

"Thank you, I do try."

She snorted and shook her head. "Alright, come on, you goose," she helped him up, and even though his legs were slightly shaky, he stood and did not fall. "Our first rest stop is about 20 feet...thereaboutish-" she waved vaguely in the direction of a mostly empty grassy knoll upon which a gaggle of the oddest creatures scurried. They resembled iridescent headless chickens with little purple spheres hovering over their severed necks.

"I still think we should have taken the car."

"Ugh," Sigyn wrinkled her nose, "Cahrs. Nasty, noisy, smelly things. I swear, Midgard really went downhill after those monstrosities were invented. "

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons: Chapter 9

A fic in which Caleb buys a house with Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns to be a person, and fights to protect others from what happened to him.

Content warnings: Caleb's backstory, implied abuse, medical trauma

Chapter summary: The morning comes, and there are two boys who need Caleb's help.

Chaper notes: My writing is slowing a bit, and work is starting to pick up. Updates will probably be slower from now on. Chapter title is from Woodwork by Sleeping At Last

****

Chapter 9: The world reappears and it breaks us new

The morning was slow. Essek read as Caleb lay in bed for a while, taking stock of the aches in his body and the cracks in his psyche. Caduceus had healed most of his injuries, leaving him mostly with minor aches and pains that were no different than he had experienced on the road. And the help from Caduceus and Essek last night had meant he had been able to sleep. Not as much as he needed, really, but enough that he wasn’t going to burst into tears if someone looked at him funny.

He was as okay as he was going to be. He soaked in the last few moments of warmth in bed, and Essek’s hand scratching his scalp like he would a cat, before heaving himself up and getting ready for the day ahead. This one would be difficult, too.

They ate breakfast together on the floor of Nico’s room, conversing quietly. Caduceus had served grilled tomatoes with poached eggs, toast and fried mushrooms in a generous sauce of butter, mixed herbs Caleb couldn’t place, and a ton of garlic. Food was more appealing this morning, and Caleb was famished. He also had a headache, probably from dehydration, so Caduceus had brought him a huge glass of water.

“Caddy, you could be a professional cook,” Beauregard said through a mouthful of food.

“Swallow your food before talking,” Caduceus said, ignoring her comment aside from a small smirk.

She swallowed. “Whatever, man.”

Essek was eating carefully, like he was afraid to spill anything on the floor. “Do we know when your old friends are arriving, Caleb?”

“They didn’t give us an exact time,” said Beauregard. “So who the fuck knows?”

“No later than eleven,” said Caleb. “Possibly by ten. They said they would be here in the morning.”

“I mean, 11:59 is still technically morning.”

“Not for Volstrucker.”

Caleb watched the others as their shoulders tightened, jaws clenched, eyes burned with fury at the implications they read in Caleb’s soft tone. Before they collectively breathed out and went back to eating. It was an odd mix of comfort and sadness to see how strongly they were affected by what he, and by extension the Volstrucker, had been through. He felt okay enough in this moment that it didn’t break him.

Essek laid a hand on his knee. Silent comfort. And he was okay enough that that didn’t break him, either. Even as tired as he was.

He helped Caduceus wash the dishes afterwards, needing to do something with his hands while they waited. As they stacked the dried dishes and put them away, Caduceus spoke for the first time since they had begun.

“You look better.” Caduceus kept his voice neutral, as if making a casual observation. Caleb was grateful for that.

“I feel better. Thank you for last night.”

“Oh, psh.”

That was the extent of their discussion on the matter. Wulf and Astrid arrived shortly thereafter, moving stiffly with poorly-concealed pain. Caleb met them at the door. Astrid headed straight upstairs with barely a word, but Wulf lingered in the centre of the living room.

He watched Astrid’s departure with a tense quirk to the corner of his mouth. “So, we all agree yesterday was fucked up, right?”

“I am the last person to disagree, Wulf.”

His eyes slid to Caleb’s; his face was stern as it often was, but there was pain in his eyes that he probably wasn’t displaying by choice. “You all right?”

“As all right as I can be, I suppose.” It was true now; it hadn’t been last night. “You?”

“Hm.” His mouth twitched. Looked away. “Not my favourite memory to revisit.”

In the moment, there had been no time for hesitation. Caleb had needed to give directions and get shit done. And he had known Wulf was the best option to handle Nico in whatever state they found him in.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said. “You had the best chance with him.”

“I know.” Wulf exhaled through his nose, rubbing his wrists and hands as all of them often did to work out the kinks of repeated spellwork. The three of them used to do it for each other. Now Caleb and Essek sometimes did. He wondered if Wulf and Astrid still did it. “For better or worse, I have experience.” He swallowed. “There were no good options. Didn’t like to watch you run into a burning building, either, but…” He looked away.

Caleb wasn’t sure what to say. They were still awkward with each other. It wasn’t that long ago that Wulf had quite literally stabbed him. And now Wulf had just spoken more to Caleb than he had in a very long time. He was still rubbing his hands, looking everywhere but Caleb, and the whole thing was extremely uncomfortable.

Caleb had been uncomfortable a lot in social situations, especially in the last year. He could take it. And he could easily either wait Wulf out or bait him into speaking whatever else was on his mind.

“Wulf.” Caleb found the right tone, the one he had once used to break Wulf down when he was having a bad day and wasn’t talking about it.

Wulf closed his eyes, his grimace becoming an irritated half-smile. “What?”

Caleb waited. Wulf looked at him, annoyed. Caleb smiled at him. Wulf looked away, swearing under his breath.

“Wulf,” Caleb said slowly, “what’s the matter?”

He crossed his arms (great forearms as always), shoulders hunched a little. And when he spoke, it was almost too quiet for Caleb to hear. “Can I have a hug?”

“Ja, of course.” Caleb would be lying if he said he’d expected that, but he certainly wasn’t going to turn Wulf down. They were both going through a lot right now, and despite the light stabbing, Caleb did still care a great deal for him.

Wulf didn’t move. Caleb waited a moment longer, until it was clear Wulf was not going to initiate. So he stepped forward and put his hands on Wulf’s shoulders until he looked at him.

“All right,” Caleb said. “Come here.” He slid his arms around him, and Wulf stepped forward, tentatively holding onto his waist. Wulf relaxed into the hug, folding downwards until his forehead met Caleb’s shoulder.

He breathed, and shuddered a little. Caleb held him tighter, and could feel the barest tremors surging through Wulf’s body. His hands spasmed on Caleb’s back.

When they finally separated, Wulf cleared his throat, straightened his coat and said, “Not one word. To anyone.”

“Don’t worry,” Caleb said wryly, “your reputation is safe.”

Wulf raised his eyebrow; it was attractive. “Cute.”

“Some things haven’t changed.”

The moment was taut, like stretched twine. Wulf chuckled. “Some things have.”

“Oh?”

There was a soft laugh from the stairs; Astrid had evidently doubled back. “Careful, Wulf. His drow boyfriend is upstairs.”

The tension snapped; Wulf stepped back, the ghost of laughter still on his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know how you seduced the Shadowhand of all people, but you were always really fucking charismatic.”

Caleb looked towards the stairs, past Astrid. “It was more complicated than that, but… here we are.” They had wasted enough time. “Let’s do this.”

The others were already assembled in Nico’s room, Caduceus carefully portioning out the correct amount of diamond dust. Essek was posted up in the corner by the door, while Beau and Yasha filled the space closer to the bed. Caleb positioned himself on the other side of the door from Essek. Wulf moved in to fill a gap near Beauregard, and Astrid moved closer to Caduceus. Nico knew her best, as far as Caleb could tell. It was a good spot to be.

Caduceus looked to Caleb. “Anything we should be prepared for?”

“Hard to say,” Caleb replied, reluctantly digging into his fragmented memories of his time like this. “He will be disoriented. Likely afraid. Have we taken all his spell components?”

“Everything we could find,” Beauregard replied. He did not like the uncertainty in her tone.

“Those of us who can counterspell should prepare,” said Caleb. “Just in case. Muscle, be ready to grab him. He might not…” He sighed. “My situation was different. I knew where I was. I knew I was in danger. He may be more confused than I was.” Caleb had been confused and disoriented, but the fear of recognising that he was in a room at the sanatorium had overridden all of that. Adrenaline had pushed him towards survival. He had no idea how Nico would react. But in an unfamiliar place, with mostly unfamiliar people, realising the memories that drove him to murder his parents were false?

It was going to be ugly.

“One moment,” said Essek. He pulled out a pearl and pressed it to Caleb’s forehead, casting Fortune’s Favour. He did the same for everyone except Caduceus and himself. He could, in theory, have cast it using a higher level slot to catch more people at once and save his pearls, but it would come at the cost of losing more powerful spells he may need later. Caleb had a stash of pearls in his study, and was already plotting to make Essek accept them. Then Essek situated himself at the door once again.

“Do you have Counterspell?” Caleb asked him, having never seen Essek cast it.

“I picked it up recently.”

“Good.” Caleb took a deep breath. “Ready, Caduceus?”

“Ready.” Caduceus began to cast, reaching out to touch Nico’s forehead. He closed his eyes, brow furrowed, and Caleb was concerned what effect this may have on him. Then there was a bright light and the diamond dust vanished from his hand. Caduceus pulled back.

All eyes on Nico. The boy squeezed his eyes shut, groaning. Then he sat up, eyes darting around the room, pausing on Astrid for a second, and Wulf. And then a gasp. His hands were moving.

Caleb counterspelled. It didn’t take. He burned his mote. It didn’t take. There was a split second where his mind slowed time and he watched every other caster try to unravel Nico’s spell. And fail.

A huge roar. A burst of light and heat. Caleb’s head cracked against something solid and his vision went dark.

Then hands were on him, and he was awake. Caduceus pulled him to his feet, and rushed over to Essek, who was curled up in pain but conscious, casting Ray of Frost at flames licking the walls.

The others had already made it to their feet. Nico was nowhere to be found.

Astrid shook her head like a dog shaking off water. “We need to move.”

“We’ll stay here and handle the fire,” Caduceus said, helping Essek to his feet.

The rest of them were out the door in seconds, Beau and Yasha in the lead because they were fast as fuck. They spilled out into the street.

“Bren,” said Astrid, “thoughts?”

“Check all routes out of the city. I’ll message the Cobalt Soul. You message any Volstrucker who may help.”

“We’ll link up with the monks,” said Beauregard, grabbing Yasha’s hand and rushing south towards the Court of Colours.

Caleb had an idea. “Wulf, would you like to be a giant eagle?”

“Do it.”

Caleb grabbed his cocoon and cast. Wulf’s form shifted into a huge eagle, and he took to the air, almost buffeting Caleb off his feet.

Astrid tugged Caleb northward. “I suspect he knows the northern areas better.”

“Right.” Caleb pulled out his copper wire. “High Curator, Nicolaus has been restored, but he fled. Beauregard is on her way to ask your aid.”

“We will mobilise the monks. Thank you for the warning.”

Astrid had shot a quick message to one of the Volstrucker. Caleb spotted a Crownsguard on the nearest street corner.

“Excuse me!”

The guard took them in, taking special note of Astrid. “Uh, yes? How can I help?”

“Have you seen a young man with dark hair, no coat or shoes, come through this area?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“If you do,” said Astrid, “do not engage.”

“Is he a threat, Archmage?”

“He is a frightened young man,” said Caleb. “He is not a threat if he is not threatened.”

“Get the word out,” said Astrid. “If I hear he has been harmed, there will be consequences.”

Caleb pointed to the giant eagle overhead. “Oh, and he’s with us.”

Then Caleb and Astrid ran further north, towards the market. Caleb was already doubting himself; maybe looping in the Crownsguard had been a mistake. And Caleb had used his one concentration spell to turn Wulf into an eagle, so there was precious little he could do magically from here.

“Caleb,” came Essek’s voice. “Caduceus communed with his god. The boy has a spellcasting focus. He is moving north. That is all we know. Good luck.”

“Thank you. Stay safe.” Caleb looked to Astrid. “Nico has a spellcasting focus and is moving north.” He then passed the information to Beauregard with another Sending. And one to Wulf; he recalled somewhat understanding Common while in giant eagle form himself. Astrid Sent to her Volstrucker contact.

“The Volstrucker are mobilising to reach the gates,” she told him.

“What are Nico’s favourite spells?” Without his spellbook, the boy would be limited in his casting. “Aside from Fireball.”

“Mostly Evocation spells,” said Astrid. They were reaching a crowd at the market, which was going to be a problem. She grabbed Caleb’s hand, pulling him along, both their heads on a swivel. “He’s a firebug like you.”

“Any illusions we should worry about?”

“Disguise Self, most likely. I don’t know if he had it prepared.”

“I guess we will have to watch for body language as well.” This was a fucking mess. All this preparation, and they’d managed to lose the boy anyway. If he had managed to disguise himself, it would have been a simple task to move through the market unnoticed.

“Caduceus is attempting to scry,” said Essek. “I will update you.”

“Danke schön. We are in the market. Volstrucker are moving ahead. He may have disguised himself.”

The market was just walls of sound and people and distraction everywhere. If Nico were were, they weren’t going to find him. So they pushed ahead onto the other side, catching their breath.

“I’m starting to think this is a fool’s errand,” Astrid muttered, pressing a palm to her ribs.

“Are you hurt?”

“No more than you.”

There wasn’t time to argue the matter. “Do you have Invisibility prepared today? Or Fly? I have to keep Wulf in the air.”

“I have Trent’s boots today. I can turn you invisible, or help you Fly.”

“Flight may be best. We do not want to lose track of each other.”

Astrid cast the spell and activated her boots, sending them both into the air. They soared to the nearest rooftop and landed, watching the market with a better vantage point.

“We should move ahead,” said Caleb. “If he’s still here, we won’t see him in the market.” They flew further north, dimly aware that children were pointing at them. So much for keeping this quiet; Ludinus would no doubt hear about this. And be a pain in the ass.

They paused on another rooftop; the northeastern gates were visible from here. Caleb’s heart sank further with each passing second.

“The scry went through but he cannot see much. The boy is disguised; a half-elf girl with red hair and freckles. Dressed as a barmaid.” Essek cast the spell again. “Not much detail around him. There are stones, but also dirt. He’s running now.”

“He may be outside the city. Thank you.” Caleb pushed off the roof, trusting Astrid to follow. He Sent to Beauregard. “Caduceus scried. Nico’s disguised as a red-haired half-elf barmaid. I think he’s outside the city. He’s running.”

Beauregard’s response began with a drawn-grown. “Motherfucker. We’ll head out the southeast gate and curve north.”

Astrid had also Sent to her Volstrucker contact. They flew for as long as the spell lasted, touching down close to the city gates. The Righteous Brand soldiers guarding the gate watched them curiously as they ran past, but made no move to stop them. Astrid’s authority was saving them a lot of grief today.

They searched the road, the fields. But it became more and more evident that Nico had evaded them. Eadwulf touched down beside them as the spell ended and he was human again. Caleb leaned against a fencepost, willing himself not to crack.

“We should regroup,” said Astrid. “Your place, Bren?”

He nodded. Took a deep breath. Started walking. He Sent one last message to Beauregard. She and Yasha linked up with them near the gate. They walked back to the house together.

****

Caleb was used to feeling like a failure. But this one hurt more than most. The group sat in Beau and Yasha’s living room, drinking tea Caduceus had made.

“Caleb, you’ve got the most experience here,” said Beauregard. “What’s the kid thinking?”

The answer was simple. “Get out.”

“Where would you have gone?”

“The nearest woods,” said Caleb. “For me, that was the Pearlbow Wilderness. He may try to head there. Lots of cover, places to hide, few people.”

“I can scry on him again,” said Caduceus.

“Go ahead.”

Caduceus set his teacup aside and closed his eyes, concentrating. It would take a few minutes.

“I will have the Volstrucker search the area,” said Astrid. “If the scry works, we will have an easier time.”

“I’ll see if we can spare a few monks to back you up,” replied Beauregard.

“He won’t go near Vergesson,” said Wulf.

“No,” Caleb agreed. The thought of the boy coming anywhere near that place made him physically ill. “He will lay low for a bit, and then probably go looking for a small town on the edge of civilization. Somewhere no one would expect to find a wizard. He has fire for warmth, evidently, but food and water will be an issue.”

“Think he could survive in the woods?” asked Beauregard.

“Probably.” Caleb had.

“We’ll find him,” Essek said quietly. He was not a man given to empty platitudes.

“I hope so.”

The energy in the room was almost depleted. The group sat there, deflated, while Caduceus worked through his ritual. At the point, by Caleb’s count, that the spell should have connected, Caduceus jolted and opened his eyes. He shook his head.

“He resisted. I can try again tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Caleb hadn’t meant to speak. It was… this hurt. A lot.

Caduceus scanned the group. “Who needs healing?”

Everyone, really. Astrid and Wulf grudgingly accepted the assistance, and were unable to hide how much they visibly relaxed in relief.

“Bren, meet me in my office,” said Astrid. “I will mobilise the Volstrucker in the meantime.”

“I’ll talk to the monks,” said Beauregard.

****

Caleb took a few minutes to himself before walking to the Academy. Just a moment to sit in his study, count and sort the various inkwells he now owned, and breathe. The others let him have that time.

Then, he headed out with a purpose. Astrid was already settled behind her desk when he arrived.

“The Volstrucker are organising for a search pattern,” she said, waving at him to sit at a seat in front of the desk. She had switched to Zemnian the instant they were alone. “It’s out of our hands at this point. We have another matter to discuss.”

“Felix.” Caleb sighed, and almost felt like was going to collapse the floor with the force of it. At least the chair caught him. “He needs to go home. And we need to tell him the whole story of what happened with Nico. I can teach him Sending. If Felix is up to it, a familiar voice might help.”

“I agree,” said Astrid. “We also have to explain the situation to Felix’s parents. That will be challenging.”

Caleb tried to imagine how his own parents would have reacted if they had learned their own son was ordered to kill them, and intended to do it. He was not strong enough to follow through on that thought experiment. Not today. Maybe not ever.

“We need to put him back in school when he’s ready,” Caleb said. “He will stew in this if we let him.”

“If you would like to convince his parents, be my guest.”

“That may be a conversation for another day. How much does Felix know about what happened with Nico?”

“That Nico followed through on the order, but we are taking care of him.”

“And now we have to tell him we fucked up. Again.”

Astrid laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “No. We prepared best we could. He was searched as much as your friends could without invading his privacy. We were ready with counterspells. But fear is a powerful motivator. You know that.”

Caleb had rolled out of bed and overpowered one of Ikithon’s guards. An important one, given he had an amulet. And, of course, Essek had once dragged him from under a tower with his bare hands. People could stretch themselves past their usual limits if under enough duress. Trent had operated under that philosophy.

“Bren,” Astrid said, quiet but firm. “I know this is a lot, but I need you to hold it together.”

Caleb breathed, and steadied himself. “I can do that.”

“I know.” She reclined in her seat, casting around her copper wire. “Felix, do you mind if Bren and I pay you a visit? We have news.” She listened. “All right. Let’s go.”

They walked the familiar path to the dormitories. Caleb had been so proud to walk these halls once. Maybe he could be again, but it would never be the same.

They found Felix in his temporary room, seated at a wooden desk with his spellbook, glaring at the pages. He tore his eyes away as they entered, slamming it shut.

“How’s Nico?”

Astrid looked at Caleb for three seconds. “Felix, do you remember what Trent told you about Bren?”

“He said a lot of things,” Felix said warily.

“Nicolaus and I had similar responses to following Trent’s orders,” said Caleb. “We took him to my house to keep him away from the Assembly and let him rest overnight. This morning, my friend Caduceus restored him.”

“He fled, despite our best efforts,” said Astrid. “We have people out searching for him.”

Felix still had his hand on his textbook, slowly sliding downward as his grip slackened. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

“When Nicolaus killed his parents, he had a… break.” Caleb was not good at explaining this. “He was awake, but unresponsive. Caduceus had a spell to pull him out of it, but coming back from that is disorienting. Despite the steps we took to prepare, he hit us with a fireball and escaped while we recovered.” Gods, Nico was probably injured, and without a healer.

Felix burst from seat. “And? Did you go after him?”

“Yes, of course,” said Astrid. “We searched from the ground and the air. And we have leads, and people are still following them. I have mobilised the Volstrucker and Bren’s expositor friend has mobilised the Cobalt Soul. We are not easy people to find when we do not want to be found, but we will keep searching. Bren had an idea, if you would like to help.”

Felix looked at her like she had slapped him. “Of course I want to help!”

Caleb paid his agitation no mind. “We floated the idea of teaching you the Sending spell yesterday. We did not have time then, but we have it now. Then, you can talk to him.”

“Okay. Teach me.”

“Here? Or would you rather we bring you home first?”

Felix laughed, and it was more unhinged than Caleb would have liked. “Yeah, okay, take me back to the people I almost fucking murdered.”

Astrid crossed her arms, gazing sternly up at him. “Felix.”

“It’s all right, Astrid,” said Caleb. “This will take a few hours. Let’s make use of those Academy resources, ja?” Most dormitory rooms had a supply of paper and ink, enough to transcribe a few spells at a time. He found a stash in the desk and sat on the floor, laying it all out in front of him. He beckoned to Felix. “Shall we?”

Felix scrubbed at his eyes and sat down with Caleb, slamming his spellbook onto the wooden boards. Astrid retreated, with some excuse about keeping an eye out for the Martinet, and a promise she would get the kitchen staff to send them a snack.

Caleb had lost a lot of his confidence around people a long time ago, but he knew pain when he saw it. He knew a little something about pain.

And a little something about hurt wizards looking desperately for a distraction by throwing themselves into study.

[mcfanely]

A Mirror Image

Cole has always been aware of the Oni blood that ran through his veins. He didn't remember the exact moment when he'd been told that he wasn't entirely human, it just felt like he always knew. But he did remember the sheer about of training and time he put into perfecting the use of his inherited abilities. Shape-shifting? It was second nature, so easy to use that it was almost laughable. Yet, in battle or on missions, it became an invaluable tool. It was something he wouldn't shy away from using, no matter if the only other people who knew about his lineage was Sensei Wu and Zane.

5485 words

Sneaking through a near pitch black warehouse was never something that Cole would personally plan to do on a Saturday night, but it wasn't like he wanted to be stooping between wooden crates of presumably recently stored goods, or brushing specks of dust off his gi as he moved through areas that looked like they hadn't been swept in far too long. Which wasn't good, or very hygienic since according to the stock report he'd read a few days earlier, the crates that were towering high around him contained perishables. Foods; imported from some of the further reaches of Ninjago. 

Presumably. 

That doubt was the entire reason why Cole, along with the rest of the team, were moving through the shadows. Trying in vain to stay hidden when it felt like every footfall created a far too loud echo, which then flowed around the wide expanse of the building. If there were people inside - other people - then it was a minor shock that none of them had been alerted sooner. It felt like every drawn breath was pushing the silence of the environment, that the next exhale could bring down a wave of criminals right on top of them. 

Or maybe that was just past experiences talking, and all the training they'd all been through. In high stress situations such as a stake-out, their senses were bound to be heightened. Their hearing would be sensitive, especially to every minor noise that wound up being made. No one could be entirely quiet at every second, it just wasn't possible. The brush of clothes on clothes, light footsteps, even the beat of a heart just felt that little bit too oppressive; all unavoidable. Adrenaline ramped high caused hands to shake, even minutely. Made breathing heavier, caused eyes to track onto even the barest of movement such as a tiny dust mote that moved into his line of sight. 

Cole brought his hand up to wave the minuscule obstruction away before he thought better of himself and dropped it back down to his side. He needed to focus, keep his breathing measured and keep his eyes on where he was going, which thankfully wasn't all that hard for him. 

His team, wherever they were in the warehouse, they would be having a much harder time finding their way around. In what should be a closed off building, as the clock was more than close to chiming for midnight, it was dark outside with a waxing moon high in the sky. But inside? When they'd been peering through a shattered window not ten minutes earlier, Jay had remarked that he could just barely see the outlines of the wooden storage shelves that all but lined the entire building. 

Cole had just given a small hum of acknowledgement, peering through the window himself, before they'd moved on to their actual entry point into the building. 

There was no way that he was going to outwardly admit that he could see the darkened insides as easily as he could see his hand if he held it directly in front of his face in the middle of a sunny day. Or maybe not to that extent, but darkness had never really been an issue for him. Actually, he'd never acknowledged darkness as something that could pose a disadvantage until Sensei Wu had mentioned in passing that not everyone had the ability to see in the pitch black like he did. 

That; whilst some animals could also see well during the night, was an ability that was unique to Cole in regards to it occurring in tandem with his supposed humanity. 

Even though he wasn't entirely human to begin with, and he could thank his grandmother for that. For the fact that whenever he moved past the towering walls of stored products, he could see them easily. Everything may have been sharply tinted with a monochrome grey and just that slight bit blurred along the edges, but he could thank her that he wasn't totally blind like everyone else who was also currently, hopefully, successfully finding their own ways through the packed building. 

Jay and Nya had entered through the far side of the warehouse to where everyone else had come in, and were ideally edging their way towards the centre. Kai and Lloyd had taken the ceiling rafters, hopping from beam to beam and providing the birds eye view of the situation below. Zane was doing the same as Cole, working solo, moving in to where he was sure he could hear whispered voices floating up from a few aisles to his left. 

Cole paused for a second, his eyes slipping closed in silent frustration and realisation that maybe… Maybe it would have been a good idea for me to have taken the ceiling, since I can actually see, and Lloyd and Kai can't… 

That wasn’t a smart move. 

It was a brief mental chiding, but he hadn't intentionally given them the risky part of the job. He would never put someone in danger. Ever. It was just something that had slipped his mind, and either way, if the plan went off like it was supposed to then in the next few minutes the warehouse lighting would be back in action and they all would have clear vision as they moved in and carried out their respective roles. 

It had started with a call from Ninjago's Police Commissioner regarding some unusual activity that some of the officers had been noticing, within the warehouse district of the city. Groups of people coming and going in the cover of night, slipping into the giant buildings through small gaps that had corroded into the metal clad walls or by forcing their way inside with bolt cutters to traverse the industrial locks and chains that were used to secure the imports overnight. Cole had spent a good portion of his morning earlier that week on the phone, sat at the dining table in the Monastery with a notepad in front of him, a pen being worried between his teeth and a group of nosy and curious brothers poking their heads not so subtly around the door. All to see what the situation was. Talking with the Commissioner, writing down information as it was provided, along with determining the issue at hand and what was going to be done to address it; it had been a long and busy few hours. 

Overall, the problem had been easy to summarise for the group of ninja as they had all but piled into the room when they'd finally heard Cole's professional, "Yes, of course. Thank you for calling, I'll start planning right away and give you a call over the next day or so, so we can coordinate a joint plan of action. Right. Yes. Got it. Goodbye."

The phone hadn't even been moved from his ear before he'd basically gained a lapful of Jay as he'd come barrelling inside with an excited and sing-songed question of, "Is it a ninja problem?" 

Cole gave a short nod, before he began to spread his few pages of notes out over the table for them to be read. "The Commissioner has reason to believe there's a gang, or a group of people, breaking into the storage buildings west of the city and stealing some of the products… Or--" 

"Or?" The question was asked far too quickly, even though Cole had been about to finish his train of thought. He shot Kai a pointed look, and a raised eyebrow. Though everyone's excitement was understandable. The past few weeks had been fairly quiet, so anything vaguely interesting was more enough to break up the monotony. 

A joint operation with Ninjago PD? That was exciting. 

"Some Officers seem to think that these people aren't taking stuff, but leaving things hidden. Inside the crates." Cole carded a hand through his hair slowly, "I need to make a plan, but the basis is we all move in and apprehend the criminals, and then the police move in and make the arrests, scout the area, crack the case. And all that." He waved a hand loosely. "We just go in and make sure no one gets hurt. Easy."

It had taken a few days, and many calls and scribbled notes on post-its, torn pages of notebooks and maybe one or two sleepless nights, but Cole had a plan in place, and the Police on standby outside acting as a surrounding force. No matter what, the people inside the warehouse? They would be leaving in cuffs. All it would take was for Cole's plan to go down without a hitch. 

Easy. 

Everyone knew their job, what they had to do, it was just a matter of time. 

Cole paused mid-step just as he was turning a corner around a small pile of boxes, a sharp drag of air through his teeth ended in a clamped mouth, held breath as his eyes focused on a small group of people in front of him. Three people, two males and one female, all fairly well built and each armed with their own blaring flashlight in one hand, and an assortment of weapons in the other. Namely from what he could see, a couple baseball bats and one length of what seemed to be rusted rebar that must have been laying around. Cole's fingers itched to reach back and pull his scythe from its sheath, to have a proper fight, but that wasn't the plan. 

The plan was no injury. Jay would find the fuse box, he and Nya would get it running again and actually light up the area. Then by that time, everyone else would be in positions where they could hem in the criminals that were dotted around the building and incapacitate them until the police moved in. Simple enough. 

Cole had found his targets, his pupils shrinking to adjust for the sudden change in light levels as he kept to the shadows and observed from a careful distance. The warehouse lights turning on was the cue to move in, and that hadn't happened yet. So he waited. Listened. 

A minor huff of air came from one of the men, dressed in a loose fitting hoodie which did a good job of hiding any possible muscle underneath, though the way he wielded the rebar displayed experience and curated strength. Light swings, accompanied by a woosh sound as it sliced through the atmosphere. 

"I can't believe we're here for no reason." He groaned in a whisper, his head tilted back and eyes closed. "One person. Maybe two, that's it. Send them in, get them to retrieve the goods. Done. Sorted." There was a pause, then in an almost whine, "But no, we all have to be here."

"Because apparently there is a lot more to get than what we'd initially thought. Either way, we're not doing anything." The woman gestured around the group, "We're just here for numbers."

"Numbers?" The word was forced out around laugh, though it definitely had an air of frustration. It was as if the man wanted to be anywhere else but in that warehouse at that very time. Cole could understand that, but for a different reason. He could have been in bed, sleeping, but instead he'd spent the past week stressing out over multiple possible scenarios that could occur should the plan have to change. Or trying to make sure what he had in place would work and be effective, that each member of the team would be doing the right job, in the right place, had the right skills. 

Taking the lead was never easy, but it was rewarding. 

Yet, this man rotating the metal bar slowly in his grip with a smile on his face, where else would he be if not there? Committing another crime elsewhere? Sleeping? Either way, the only place he would be going after this night would be the police station. 

Cole found himself cracking a brief grin from where he was crouched behind a crate, his head poked just over the top to continue observing the group. The knowledge that these people were going to get what was coming for them, and they didn't even know, there was something vaguely satisfying about the situation.

All that there was between their freedom and their arrest was a well planned--

The lights flickered on. The warehouse awash so sharply with artificial white light that his widened pupils snapped so sharply down to a near pinpoint size that it made his vision bright with glare. His surroundings, moving from a pallet of greys and blacks to coloured, browns of the wooden storage boxes, reds and blues of the painted metal shelving units where everything was situated and sorted out. Now, he could see the sheer amount of dust that flowed over the floor, marked areas where people had been moving around presumably during the day, tyre tracks from heavy machinery that did the jobs that people couldn't do. 

Then, just as quickly, the lights were off again. Cole's attention immediately snapped up towards the ceiling as the orange glow of the faded bulbs finally transcended into darkness. 

What the hell? Jay, you were supposed to leave the lights on, what did you--

"Wait." 

One of the men's voices came out as a whisper, his footfalls falling into silence as Cole blinked his eyes rapidly, forcing them to get used to the light levels again. There was always that brief period where his vision was impeded, as apparently everyone experienced; but when his eyes took in light in a different way, when they took in so much more? Sudden shifts from dark to light was never a good thing. 

Though something in the tone of voice. Maybe it was the surprise? Or the shock? Or the fact that the word was said so carefully and warily that as soon as Cole had some semblance of vision he was peering over his small hiding spot and, like anyone would do, froze. 

The man, the one armed with the rebar, was staring directly at him. Sure his gaze was wandering, a little unfocused but it was definitely in his general direction. Far too close to where Cole was crouched to be anything of a coincidence, enough to make his muscles tense and adrenaline spike as he, under the cover of darkness, met eyes with the man. He stopped breathing. 

"What?" The other man asked, his tone questioning. "This place is old, lights are probably--" 

"Shut up." He spat out quickly, "I saw someone."

Now, the woman spoke up, and Cole was just observing with climbing adrenaline flowing through his muscles. This wasn't good. "What? Who? Where?" 

The next thing Cole knew, there was the bright beam of a light directly in his field of view, his eyes wincing and vision whiting over at the visual feedback the torch gave. There was a dragged breath, and a yelp from someone else, then the warehouse lights turned on. 

Cole stood quickly from his hiding position, coming face to face with the group of three who were now fully aware of his presence, though none of them seemed to be reacting immediately other than staring in his direction with wide eyes, weapons held in a lax grip and torches still on, drooping towards the floor. 

That was all in the space of a couple seconds, before darkness descended again. Now, the group decided to react to the change in circumstances. Torches whipping around widely, the sound of a baseball bat tapping hard against the floor as if one of the people were deciding to prime a swing into the oblivion of nothing that was now before them. 

Even if they had planned to attack in the general area that he'd been standing in, Cole wasn't there anymore. As soon as he had the cover of yet another impromptu power cut, he'd quickly moved from where he'd been standing without much second thought. Staying where he'd been hiding, that would be a stupid move. His presence there had already been compromised, but he had other pressing issues to contend with. 

Namely, the sheer chaos that was quick to follow. 

A shrieked, "Holy shit, what the-!" Only for the shout to be cut off by a sheer flash of blue light, and the smell of ozone quickly taking over the entire warehouse floor in under a second. Cole looked up, the far side of the building illuminated by cracks and arcs of electricity weaving out into the open air, whips and sharp retorts of discharge echoed around the warehouse and in that moment, Cole realised that his plan was going out the window rapidly.

Jay, and presumably Nya, had partially succeeded in getting the lighting on only for it to die away into an intermittent and unpredictable flickering mess. All it took was a glance up, the lighting shuddering and fluttering between being on and off, rapidly so. They were most likely reacting to Jay's element, the power of it, the present voltage. 

Then there was the situation of Cole's position in the building being compromised. He had to think, he needed to think. Only, that was easier said than done. The sounds of people delving into a fight bouncing off the walls from different sides of the warehouse. Clangs and scrapes of presumably makeshift weapons, shouting and grunts of pain and effort met Cole's ears in a layered cacophony of information. 

No, no, he had to figure something out. He couldn't stay where he was, since that group of three people knew that there was at least someone close by; lurking in the shadows. Being on the receiving end of the rebar or even a bat was not high upon his list, but neither could he leave them unattended. There were sounds of battle, sure, but Jay and Nya could more than handle themselves. Cole could too. 

Which possibly meant forgoing a plan, and just working on instinct. Assessing the situation, reacting to what was happening in the now and not what would need to be done later. He let out a short breath, and unclenched his hands from fists and let them hang loosely as he traversed around a small area of boxed products. Cole kept the three people in his line of vision at all times, the torch light shifting rapidly from surface to surface as they presumably searched for him. 

"Did you see that?" a man screeched, his torch fixed on the crate that Cole had been behind. 

"The guy?"

"No, the eyes! Did you see the eyes?" He exclaimed, yelped even. 

He was shocked, confused. Scared even. Apparently, a length of rebar didn't provide a sense of security. 

After a brief pause, the woman's voice added, "They glowed." 

"They glowed!" 

Tapetum Lucidum. The term Zane has used. Eyeshine, a result of Cole's night-vision. Not natural in humans, by any means. The group of three seemed to be plainly aware of the impossibility of the scenario they were faced with. 

Words laced with shock, pacing and hard footfalls, they all echoed and distracted, but Cole even could come up with the most basic plan if the situation needed it. What the Earth Master knew was that he needed a little more time than he currently had. He needed to focus, needed silence, and three criminals having a minor freak out in front of him didn't help one bit. 

He needed them all to just pause, which was easier said than done. With the overhead lights flickering intermittently and out of sync, the movement of torches, the three people realising they were in a situation where they couldn't even make sense of who they were facing? It wasn't a recipe for calm. 

It caused heavy breathing, spikes in heart rate that Cole could barely hear around the sharp echoes of their footsteps as they turned around. The flickering bulbs provided some form of vision, cascading over the room in spasming and extremely brief washes of white and along with it, mere milliseconds where the ninja could properly take in the environment in a way that wasn't awash with black and grey tones. 

He needed clear vision, he needed to be able to take a proper look at someone. On a normal day, outside in the sunlight, it was second nature for Cole's attention to go straight up to someone's face. It was a regular social cue, to make eye contact when talking or interacting but there was always that little bit more to it than being polite. For Cole, at least. It was how his powers functioned the best. Normal days provided time, he could watch the person walk, the way they held themselves; listen to how they spoke and the mannerisms they favoured, the light lilt to their voices. Did they favour their left or right hand? What were they wearing? 

There always tended to be time, but in that moment? In the warehouse where he was keeping his steps as quiet as possible, a fight raging somewhere off to his left and absolutely no plan to fall back on other than dealing with the small group in front of him, to then go find and help his team? With limited significant visual input? 

There wasn't time. There wasn't even time to think. 

The lights kept flickering. 

On and off. 

On. The man with the rebar was wearing a grey-- no, a blue hoodie. 

Off. He'd had brown hair? He'd seen it before, when the lights had been fully on. 

A flash of lightning. Ripped jeans, black sneakers. 

His face? Cole had seen it. It had been a couple of shocked seconds being caught in his hiding spot by the man's wandering gaze. It was there somewhere, in his memory. He always remembered faces. Blue eyes, pale skinned, shaven beard--

Screw it, there isn't time to be overthinking! 

On. 

The group of three fell quiet in an instant. Or at least, two of them did. The woman, and the man wielding a baseball bat. Their eyes were wide, comically so, but Cole wasn't laughing. He was just staring back at them. 

They weren't moving. Only standing there with their weapons held by their sides, mouths hanging open just slightly. No one was saying a word. No one seemed to want to even risk drawing a breath.

They were both staring back at their rebar wielding friend, who had a much tighter grip on his strip of metal. Their gaze flicking from the left to the right in silent confusion and sudden shock. 

Since it wasn't just their friend staring back with an alarmed expression. There were two of them, where the well built man in the blue hoodie stood, just a few mere paces back from the original, there was an exact carbon copy. Dishevelled light hair, blue eyes reflecting the light, expression carefully neutral. 

Or was the one standing closest to the pair of criminals the fake? 

The silence echoed nearly, and it was exactly what Cole had needed. A pause, a minute distraction. He was well aware that he could analyse more in a few brief seconds than anyone, and that single second of staring around the group and their joint expression of something that was bordering on fear, taking in their stances and their tensed muscles that indicated they were ready for either a fight or to run, Cole was ready. 

Then, again, when the lights predictably flickered out for the umpteenth time, he moved. 

First to the man he had shifted into; and to be honest it had been clear who the original was. The immediate reaction for gazing at a mirror image of one's self was surprise, and the man's face had been a picture of it. It wasn't as if he'd been trying to act like the man. There hadn't been time, or the need, the purpose was just to form a plan. 

Now he had one, more or less. The details were vague, but coming together slowly and surely. He needed to reduce the group size, starting with the one who was the biggest threat. 

The man with the rebar was taken down, with the cover of darkness providing a much needed advantage. Between a scythe still strapped to his back, and a meter and a bit of metal already primed for a swing? Cole hadn't liked his odds with a one on one fight. 

Now, all he had to do was deal with the other two. 

There were shouts of alarm from the two remaining thugs, trying to correlate an attack when they probably couldn't see their hand in front of their face without their torches to aid them. They must have been discarded somewhere.

Cole stepped over to the woman next, his gaze set. This time, he'd do a better job. The sensation of the familiar cold purple fog shuttered rapidly over his chest, down his limbs and clouding over his sight for a single brief instance. It tousled his hair, and brought a minor sense of disorientation that righted itself in an instant. The sensation of shifting always brought a wide smile to his face, even in the current tense circumstances. The cascade of change, the way it was so easy. There wasn't a way to explain it, it just happened. Like taking a breath, like lifting an arm. 

The warehouse lit up. The hanging lights the brightest they'd been, the crackle of lightning ceasing and the sounds of the fights drawing to a close. 

Then, one raised baseball bat later, and a calculated strike to the side of the woman's head with the butt of the carved wood and she crumpled down to the floor in an instant, eyes rolled back into her head. 

There was a laugh, just to the left hand side. The last man was still standing with his own bat held tightly in his grip. It was easy to tell the source of his glee, even though seemingly two of his companions were laid out unmoving on the concrete floor. 

It was the fact that the woman, chest heaving deeply, long blonde hair dishevelled, drooping forwards over her face and partially shielding her eyesight was still standing. 

And in front of her, on the floor, with a pale pallor and a reddened welt already forming rapidly on the side of her head was the doppelganger. Taken down by a single lucky swing, and a successful one at that, since it had been executed when they'd been surrounded by darkness. 

"Take that you-- uh, thing!" she jeered after a second, taking a small hopped step forwards, lifting one foot to tap at her own mirror image's shoulder. When there was no immediate response other than the prone body to rock slightly to the side, she stepped back with a wider grin.

Though, her tone was questioning when she squinted and cast her gaze over the body, "What even are you? You're… you looked human." She mused, turning back to face the only standing man with a small smile and a look of accomplishment. 

Yet all that she was met with was a gaze now filled with distrust and wariness. 

"I mean, you saw him right? That guy? Do you think it's him or something else?" 

The only thing her question was met with, was pure silence and a furrowed brow. Even, a searching expression that switched rapidly between the prone form on the floor, and the visage of the same person still standing. 

She took a step closer to her friend, bat draped lazily over one shoulder. 

"Wait." the man said. 

She stopped. 

Then after a second, a frown marred her own features. "What?" she moved the bat again, energy dissipating out through fiddled movements and an inability to stand still. She rested it against the floor, propping her weight up onto it. "Are you really going to stand there," She gestured with one hand, "and ask me if I'm me?" It was a question one that held a tone of slight sarcastic shock, at the sheer absurdity of the situation that they'd both found themselves in. All it was, was moving some goods. They weren't even important to the overall task and it seemed as though everything had gone wrong anyway. 

"No, well," The man forced out a breath, his gaze flicking between his friend who was standing just a little in front of him, his male compatriot behind him, and the fourth person on the floor. He cleared his throat heavily, "You saw that thing." 

"Yeah, the guy following us. And you saw the lightning." She added after a moment, nodding loosely to the far side of the warehouse where the impromptu lightshow had come from. "That guy probably didn't come alone." 

"You think?" 

She rolled her eyes at that, "We should get going. If there's more than just that one guy here, we should leave. What if there's other people who can do that?" The question was poised with a second prompt glance to the man, as if scrutinising him. The expression was returned, but not maintained, since all too quickly their eyes fell to the unconscious male. 

"What the hell even happened?" was mumbled, the man's tone disbelieving. "He turned into Mikey. Like, exactly into him. Or," He paused, "Was it even that guy? What the hell can do that?" 

"Well, whatever. The guy-- thing. Whatever it is, he's going to be out for a while. Let's go head back to the others." She shrugged, one finger tapping absentmindedly on the side of her leg as she started to walk away from the scene. 

Only, the other man didn't move from where he was standing, shuffled steps leaving grooves in the dust covered floor, his fingers wrapping just a little too tight around his bat. "What's my name?"

"What?"

"My name. You tell me it, and I'll know it's you."

There was a brief pause, and a huffed laugh. "Really? You're doing this right now? We've just been attacked by who knows what; from the sounds of it the fighting that was happening is over and I highly doubt we've won, otherwise we would have already left, right?" she raised an eyebrow, and when she didn't get a reply she scoffed. "Come on, man, we need to go. The cops are probably crawling around this place."

"I'll move when you tell me my name."

"How do I know that you're you? You could be asking for your name so you can sell the lie more." She said, her voice climbing an octave at the statement, but the man didn't seem to budge. He was just watching, staring. 

He wasn't budging. 

Eventually, the woman's expression fell just that little bit. It was barely anything, just a slight drop to the shoulders, a tilt of the head. She lifted her free hand and ran it through her hair, her expression changing minutely as she ran her fingers through the strands, as if the length of them was slightly surprising. Though the action looked so casual, so carefully normal.

The biggest change though, was her voice. It took on a slightly vexed tone, almost as if she was let down by the turn of events. 

"Why does everyone always ask that question?" She questioned, "Is it James?" 

"Elijah." came the clipped and quiet reply.

"Man, so close."

Between one second and the next, the resounding sound of air parting as the momentum of the moving bat picked up rapidly, and a satisfying thwack sound as the wood came into contact with the man's cheek, sending him crumpling to the ground. The only woman in that group was the one laid out on the floor amongst, now, her two equally unconscious friends.

Cole just looked over the group for a second, a tiny lick of blackened smoke finally tumbling off his hands and dissipating into nothingness, the rush of his power fading to a low adrenaline fuelled hum in the back of his head as if it was itching to be used again so soon. He took a minute, moving from person to person. First, checking that they could and were breathing, then using a pocket full of zip-ties to fasten their hands behind their backs when he was content in the knowledge that other than superficial injuries, the knocks to the head weren't anything significant. He stepped back. 

His foot knocked against the baseball bat he'd discarded beforehand, rolling lazily over the floor. 

"So much for no fighting." Cole mumbled as he cast his attention elsewhere in the warehouse. Overall, it was silent. No shouting, no nothing. 

Which could either mean good things, or bad. 

He carded a hand through his hair and pulled his scythe from his back, rolling the wooden handle in his hands before he set off walking through the brightly lit building. 

"Always that question."

-

AO3

[poorlytunedukulele]

Day 13 - Night of the Hunter

September 13, 2872

It had all started with a cryptic message.

Andal Brask: Party.  Tuesday.  29°30'57.2"N 147°42'28.2"W.  ;)

Azra didn’t have much going on that day, so she figured why not?  If it didn’t end up being her scene she could always just leave.

Still, some paranoia (it wasn’t not paranoia if it was useful, she had to remind herself) made her want to check out the place beforehand.  Or maybe she was just bored.  In any case, she found herself staring at an empty patch of Pacific Ocean at around 1pm local time.  Andal’s coordinates had her smack dab in the middle of nowhere.  There weren’t even any islands nearby.  She flew her jumpship in lazy circles, wondering exactly what kind of prank he was playing.

It took her a good fifteen minutes to realize that Andal had never specified the coordinates were on Earth.  A quick check with her maps revealed that 29°30'57.2"N 147°42'28.2"W was at the peak of a very prominent mountain on Venus.

But there wasn’t a party site at the mountain, either.  There was a cache.  A cache with a cheeky note (written in unfamiliar hand) and another set of coordinates.  Those lead her to a cave on Mars, then an archive in Freehold, then a weird spire on Venus. 

Azra was having so much fun she almost forgot about the party.  There was a clue in a dead zone so full of interference even the GPS failed and she had to navigate by her map alone.  She had to go diving in a cenote for another.

Then one clue dropped her off in the middle of nowhere.  While she’d been galivanting about the system, night had fallen on the Appalachian Dead Zone.  She was in some unremarkable stretch of forest in the mountainscape.  There was nothing.  No tracks, no trail signs, no notes with hints, just the cooling night air.

Azra closed her eyes and listened.  And though there wasn’t any sounds to be heard over the wind, she did smell something.  Just the barest hint of smoke.  It grew stronger as the breeze picked up, so she followed her nose upwind.  She paused to listen frequently.  After a few minutes, she heard… something.  Were those voices in the distance?

Azra had finally found the party.  She hadn’t seen the fire because it was in a deep gully, hidden by foliage.  She crested the ridge and watched for a few minutes below as figures talked, danced, gestured, lit by the roaring flames.  It was hard to recognize anyone from the distance, but this had to be the right place.

Azra picked her way down the slope, social anxieties forgotten.  Why she’d needed to go through a scavenger hunt to get here she had no idea, but she wasn’t about to complain.  It had been fun.

The ground was slippery at the bottom of the valley (there was mud beneath the dead leaf cover).  Azra would have normally paused to gather herself before approaching, but she was robbed of the opportunity when she tripped and slid the last few meters.

She stumbled into the light of the fire.  A ragged cheer went up from those gathered- all Hunters, she noted.  Azra was mortified for a second, all eyes on her-

Then everyone went back to their conversations.

Almost everyone.  There were a few familiar faces in the crowd.  Andal ambled over, drink in hand, hood thrown back.  “Hey, you made it!  Wasn’t sure you would.”

“Liar,” Cayde called from across the clearing.  “You bet she’d get here before the night was up.”

“Didn’t mean I knew,” Andal countered, then turned his attention back to the young Hunter.  “How long ago did you start looking?”

“Uh… four hours ago?”

Andal raised an eyebrow.  “Scoping out the site early, I see.  It’s not even dark in the Pacific yet.”

“I was bored.”

“You bored now?” Cayde asked as he also came over.  He slung an arm over her shoulders and gestured.  “Welcome to the cool kid’s club.”

“Is that what it’s called?”  Azra asked.  “With capital letters and everything?  The Cool Kids Club?”

“No,” Andal sighed, “but it should be.”

“Only the cool kids get invites,” Cayde explained.  “Only the good kids actually find the place in time.  So here we’ve got ourselves a bunch of good, cool kids.  That includes you, now.”

“Who arranged all of this?” Azra asked. 

Andal shrugged.  “Someone from Dead End Cure, this time.  Sometime tonight there’ll be a contest to see who has the honor next year.  Speaking of honor, did you remember your party etiquette?”

Spark answered by transmatting two bottles of rum into his Guardian’s hands.  She waggled them in a proud boast.

“Brought the good stuff, I see!” an unfamiliar voice said.  “Though I don’t recognize you.”

Azra turned as a stranger approached.  They were half a head shorter than she was, leanly muscled, with dark skin and a camouflage-patterned cape.  Azra glanced for half a second at Andal, who shook his head.

“You’re going to have to do a lot of introducing tonight,” the Gunslinger said.  He clapped her on her shoulder and wandered off to talk with Shiro and another unfamiliar Exo.

Message received: you stand for yourself here, no help from me.

“I’m Azra Jax,” she said, transferring the bottles to her left arm so she could stick out her right hand.  “My Ghost is Spark.”

“Name’s Puck,” the Hunter said, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

“It suits you,” Azra said without thinking.  They had a certain mischievous air about them.  That didn’t stop Azra from immediately regretting opening her mouth.  These were new people, she couldn’t go around saying whatever asinine thing came into her head first.

But instead of taking offense, the other Hunter just smiled.  “Thanks!  I picked it myself.  I think I have heard of you before, but I can’t recall when.  You frequent the ADZ?”

“No more than anywhere else,” Azra replied.  “Um.  I did some stuff at Twilight Gap.”  She really hoped it was that and not the other thing people always recognized, but the other Hunter’s face remained contemplative.

Puck shook their head.  “Fun story, actually.  I was stuck on Venus that whole time.  My ship got shot down and nobody could come pick me up.  I don’t think that’s it.”

Azra realized she’d be having this conversation a lot tonight.  She considered just leaving.  Booze and a bonfire didn’t really outweigh hours of curiosity she’d have to entertain.  “I’m the Arcstrider,” she said, aware of the weariness in her voice.

“Oh, yeah!” Puck’s eyes lit with recognition.  “Say no more.”  A pause.  “Damn, aren’t you like, four?”

“Yeeeessss?” Azra said.

“Andal!” Puck barked.  The Gunslinger ambled back over with Cayde and Shiro in tow.  He was trying to suppress a grin and failing. 

“You didn’t break the rules, did you?”  Puck demanded.  “No hints.”

Andal bowed.  “No, ma’amsiree.  Just the starting coordinates.  And a winky face.”

“I told you ‘sir’ is fine,” Puck sighed.

“I think mine is the more elegant solution,” Andal said with an air of superiority.  “Rolls off the tongue.  ‘Sir’ sounds like ‘zir’ and then we all get confused about how formal we’re being.”

Azra had already lost where the conversation was going.  “I ended up staring at the Pacific Ocean for a while before I realized what was up,” she offered.  “Also I have no idea what you’re arguing about.”

“Listen,” Puck said.  “Zavala uses ‘sir’.  Sloane uses ‘sir’.  Nobody is going around saying ‘him yes him’!  It’s never going to get confused.  Yours just sounds dumb.”

Azra turned to her Ghost for help, but he just did a shrug-twirl and floated closer to her shoulder.  “I didn’t spend a lot of time with people before meeting you,” he whispered.  “I have no idea either.”  Puck and Andal continued their debate, to Azra's befuddlement.

“Somebody please explain it to the newbie before she gets an aneurysm?” Shiro interrupted.  "She's turning red."

Puck turned to face her, dark eyes flashing in the firelight.  “Okay, fine.”  Azra knew that tone of voice.  It was identical to the one she’d used earlier, a weary ‘let’s get this over with’.  Puck spoke slowly.  “So I’m not a ‘ma’am’.”

“You’ve made that very clear, sir,” Azra said.  

“I’m not technically much of a ‘sir’ either,” Puck explained.

Azra’s brain plugged the new information into her equation and threw up an error message in response.

Andal cackled.  “I’m not sure we’re out of aneurysm territory, my fey friend.”

Azra held up her hands.  “You just spent like two minutes arguing-“

“I’m sure we could drag this on for another few,” Shiro said, “but let’s not.  Puck uses ‘ze’ and ‘zir’.  Andal always complains about honorifics because he likes smashing words together in terrifying new ways.”

“That’s it?” Azra said.

“There is no widely accepted gender-neutral honorific,” Andal said.  “But one day…”

“Really trying to change the world, this one,” Puck muttered.  Ze looked at Azra with a question in zir eyes.  Does this have to be a conversation?

“Uh.. it suits you?” was all Azra could think of.

Andal grinned and nudged Puck with an elbow.  Puck rolled zir eyes. 

Azra turned on her Gunslinger friend.  “Your solution to the ma’am/sir issue was ma’amsiree?”

“It’s in beta,” Andal said.  “Still working out the kinks.”

“It’s a wonder you haven’t come across this problem before if you’ve been running with him,” Puck said.  “Referring to people in… interesting ways is kind of his thing.”

Azra shrugged.  “That’s the trick.  I just don’t refer to people in general.”

“If it really bothers you, Puck, I’ll stop,” Andal offered.  “I was getting the vibe that you liked that bit, but I’m always willing to be proven wrong.”

Puck just laughed.  “As long as you don’t teach the newbies any bad habits.”

“I am sorry to inform you it is far too late for that,” Shiro intoned.  “The puns, Puck.  They get so much worse when she’s around.”

“Well see if I share my liquor with you,” Azra groused.  “I had to go into the City proper to get this stuff.”

Puck eyed the bottles she still cradled in her arms.  “Well, since you brought two, you deserve a present.  Come on.”  Ze swatted her shoulder until she moved to stand by a mostly-empty folding table.  Puck vaulted easily on to the table and stood.

“Hey!” ze shouted, clapping zir hands once.  All conversation died immediately.  “Public service announcement!  This,” ze gestured down to where Azra stood, frozen in shock, “Is Azra Jax.  She’s an Arcstrider.  Oooooo.  Big mystery.”  The Hunter waved zir hands in a spooky gesture, voice dripping with sarcasm.  “Here’s the deal: if any of you bug her about it, she gets permission to stab you.” 

“She won’t stab anyone even if they bug her,” Cayde called.  “She’s shy.”

“Then I give Cayde permission to stab you,” Puck said blithely.  Cayde made a silent gesture of celebration, which Puck ignored.  “I just eliminated a lot of boring conversation.  You’re welcome.”

“Is giving Cayde permission to stab people a good idea?” someone asked.

“Better not toe the line then, shouldya?”  Puck waggled a finger, then jumped nimbly down from zir table.  The hum of conversation resumed after a few seconds.

“Thanks,” Azra said.

Puck waved her off.  “I’m the host, it’s my job.  Drinks go over there.  Ashton left to get pizza like two godsdamned hours ago, you’re welcome to some whenever that gets here.  No explosions or ordinance unless some Fallen show up.  Be nice.  No bothering Azra about being an Arcstider.  That’s all the party rules as of now.”  Ze fixed her with a stern glare.  “Don’t make me add any more.”

There was a loud crack- a branch snapping under someone’s foot.  A cheer went up as an unfamiliar Hunter walked into the clearing. 

“That’s my cue,” Puck said, giving a sly wink.  “Have fun.”  The Hunter strode off to welcome the next person to the party.

"Come on," Cayde urged.  "I don't think you've been introduced to Mot Balek.  I have to be there to see that."

AO3 Linky

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- THE SECRET RIDDLE

Sirius detested the now familiar feeling of dread as he accepted the book from Prongs, how uneasy everyone sat on the edge of their seat, how common place it was to be starting yet another chapter with tension. It was for a random student, and that somehow made it even worse for their own past school years still somehow overlapping into Harry's life now, when all they'd ever wanted for him was a careless seven years of school free of of everything but fun. Still, he began with a forced cheerful tone of voice, no matter how dower the situation started.

Katie was removed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, by which time the news that she had been cursed had spread all over the school, though the details were confused and nobody other than Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target.

Oh, and Malfoy knew, said Harry to Ron and Hermione, who continued their new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death-Eater theory.

"Depends on how often you bring this up on how offended you should be," Sirius said cheekily. "Once a day is a bit much pup, you only need to repeat yourself when it's relevant."

"Hark, look who's talking!" Remus looked at him, dumbfounded he could say anything so opposite to the words he constantly spewed, or more accurately, the joke he so often threw around.

"Moony, whatever do you mean?" Sirius batted his eyes innocently, still fooling no one.

Harry had wondered whether Dumbledore would return from wherever he had been in time for Monday night's lesson,

Remus scoffed at once, the desire still very present to laugh at anyone who thought Dumbledore would be late.

but having had no word to the contrary, he presented himself outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, knocked, and was told to enter. There sat Dumbledore looking unusually tired;

Lily sighed softly for him. He really was getting on in age, and was now living through the same war a second time. It would be taxing on any man.

his hand was as black and burned as ever,

"I'm beginning to worry that's going to be a permanent injury," James muttered in genuine concern.

  but he smiled when he gestured to Harry to sit down. The Pensieve was sitting on the desk again, casting silvery specks of light over the ceiling.

"Are we still going through memories?" Sirius asked without much interest. "What else from his past do we really need to know?" He still wasn't entirely sure what had been relevant about the first one.

"Maybe he met someone in that orphanage he grew up in, who could be important," Lily offered.

"I can't see it," James disagreed. "If he hates Muggles, I'm betting that's where it all would have started."

"Not to mention, it's impossible to imagine Voldemort with anything resembling a friend, he just has lackeys," Remus sniffed.

Dumbledore began by asking him about his very busy week, confirming that he'd been the one to witness Katie's accident. When Harry agreed and asked how she was, he went on to explain the girl was very lucky, it had only touched the barest amount of her skin through a hole in her glove. Luckily, Professor Snape had been able to prevent the rapid spread of the curse.

"And he couldn't have taken it upon himself? For research purposes of course," James muttered bitterly. He really couldn't even think why Snape had bothered, the slime-ball had never done anything that didn't benefit him in some way.

Lily gave him a scathing look for that one though, she wished they'd show a bit more gratitude like they would any other human being doing this. She understood what had happened to Sirius and Harry last year had only worsened matters, but couldn't they at least keep it civil?

Harry asked why him? Why not Madam Pomfrey?

Phineas Nigellus' portrait called him impertinent, he'd never have allowed a student to ask such a question in his day!

"Oh how I've missed that," Sirius rolled his eyes heavily at that fart being brought up again.

Harry ignored him as Dumbledore explained Snape had far more experience with the Dark Arts.

"That is, true," Remus grudgingly agreed, though why Dumbledore had to make that sound like a good thing he couldn't fathom. After all, it was his specialty with the Dark Arts that had put him in with the Death Eaters in the first place, so clearly his superior knowledge hadn't been gained in any good light like the Order had.

St. Mungo's was sending him hourly reports, and she was expected to make a full recovery.

Harry asked where he was this weekend, but Dumbledore sidestepped, saying that would come in time.

"I should hope so, as much as he's been alluding to it from the start," James huffed, very sick of having so many answers dangled over his head.

Dumbledore pulled another vile of memories from his pocket, but Harry quickly said before he could dump them into the Pensive, telling him about Mundungus.

Dumbledore agreed he'd been made aware, and he'd gone underground after that confrontation. However, Harry need now be rest assured no more of Sirius' things would fall out of his possession.

"As if there's anything left." Sirius rolled his eyes, knowing full well any good thief would have already made off with anything of remote value.

Harry still kept going, asking if McGonagall had told Dumbledore his suspicions about Malfoy.

Harry felt an icy chill, as if a dementor had just breathed down his neck. He was just so sure, for a solid moment he was confident, but the vicious stab from within stopped him a hair's breadth before he could lock in on the idea anymore than an errant thought. He went cross-eyed, let out a vicious breath of pain, but as always was forced to wait, no matter how impatiently, for it all to make sense.

Dumbledore agreed he'd been informed, and he would be investigating anyone and everyone in Katie's accident. For now, they needed to focus on this.

Harry felt slightly resentful at this: If their lessons were so very important, why had there been such a long gap between the first and second?

"Yeah, I can agree with that," Sirius said with all the cheer he could. No one had missed Harry's little problem over there, but they were leaving him to it as clearly he was controlling whatever was troubling his mind.

However, he said no more about Draco Malfoy, but watched as Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve and began swirling the stone basin once more between his long-fingered hands.

Dumbledore began by reminding where the story had left off, that young Merope had been in London, expecting.

Harry asked how he knew she'd been in London.

In answer, he swilled the contents of the Pensieve as Harry had seen him swill them before, much as a gold prospector sifts for gold. Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.

Dumbledore explained this as Caractacus Burke, founder of the shop whence the very necklace they'd just been discussing had come from.

The man spoke, revolving slowly on the spot as all like him did in the Pensive, of her coming along trying to sell Slytherin's locket. He'd been skeptical of course, but upon finding the real thing, gave her ten Galleons for it. Best deal he'd ever made.

"That's, practically thievery!" Lily yelped in a mixture of shock and disgust.

"That's the Burke store we know and loath," James agreed, his face drawn for this poor woman who had probably never even been outside her house before all this. That ten Galleons was likely the most gold she ever saw in her life, and she likely put it all to her infant. This all managed to grow more depressing the more he thought about it, that Merope may have actually made a good mother if she'd survived.

Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.

Harry was outraged for that price, but Dumbledore explained the circumstances of her being alone and pregnant, desperate for anything to get her through.

Harry insisted she could do magic, she could have gotten food or anything else she wanted.

"Not necessarily," Remus frowned in confusion of Harry. "The Weasley's situation should be enough for you to realize magic doesn't make us all at ease with life."

Harry wanted to persist his point, that the Weasleys struggled for money because of spellbooks and other things they had no choice but to buy, but food and other things should come along with much more ease? Then he really realized whom he was speaking with, and shut his trap. He'd never asked Remus for specifics of his life outside of here, and he didn't feel it his place to. You didn't need to, to grasp how hard life had been on him. Merope, an unpracticed witch with no one else to help, would have it even worse.

Dumbledore agreed perhaps, but it was of his guessing again that Merope had stopped using magic when Tom Sr. left her, she no longer wanted to be a witch.

James shook his head slowly as he heard that, he couldn't even imagine it. With the way Meropes life had gone though, he could almost see why she'd think that. Still, he wasn't convinced Dumbledore had the mark on this one, he could picture any number of things going on with her situation.

It could have been more reasons, her emotions so in despair it had sapped her powers, that had been known to happen. In any case, they were about to witness the results of Merope in the act of refusing to raise her wand, even to save her own life.

"She may not have even been able to, or known how," Lily said quietly as she brushed at her hair. "Birthing a child can be quite the complicated thing, if there aren't doctors around any number of problems could arise. She may have even just been sick, not taking care of herself properly, there's really no telling what magic could have done for her even if she had been around it."

Harry quietly asked, she wouldn't even stay alive for her son?

Lily's breath caught hard in her throat, she felt smothered at the very mention of this. Her own final words echoed through her mind, that she was willing to die for her child, leaving him without his parents as she'd know full well. She had to force herself to stop there, lest the pain of it all push into the here and now, reminding herself that whatever this woman's situation, no matter how much it was like her own, had already happened. Her's hadn't. Even if she had to choose the same in the end, it would still be her choice.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, asking if this could be Harry feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?

"Pity for the mother doesn't quite spew out into the spawn," Sirius huffed.

Harry quickly disagreed, he was just saying she'd had a choice, unlike his mother.

"Of course I did!" Harry's mother's voice came out a sharp snap, and he looked startled, even wounded for it. She'd kept herself very well put together, he'd had no idea what she'd been thinking of moments ago. "I could have, have-" she couldn't even say the despicable words, of letting Voldemort take him from her. "But I didn't, and I never would. There's always a choice Harry."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the only thing he could offer for his question he hadn't really thought through. The echo of the dementors again played through his mind. Voldemort had told her to step aside, and she'd refused, hence his very life he breathed now.

Dumbledore gently reminded she'd had a choice too.

Lily's face only burned that much more, that Dumbledore had to be the one to remind him of that. The loss of the life Harry had been deprived of never got easier to hear, that his headmaster would be the one to say that to him.

So had Merope, and she'd chosen death in spite of the son she was leaving behind. He asked Harry not to judge her too harshly, she did not have the same courage as Lily Potter had.

Dumbledore rose then, and Harry asked where they were going now.

Dumbledore said into his own memory. He should find it rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate.

Sirius snorted loudly, just to help ease some of the tension back out of the room for someone else showing such a high opinion of themselves. He was still ignored.

Harry bent over the Pensieve; his face broke the cool surface of the memory and then he was falling through darkness again. . . . Seconds later, his feet hit firm ground; he opened his eyes and found that he and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.

Dumbledore brightly, pointed himself out, a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart.

This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.

"I'm sure he was very hard to spot, you obviously needed this guidance," James did get a chuckle out of that at least, wrapping one arm tighter still around his wife who still looked distant.

Harry complimented the suite before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance,

Sirius full out laughed for that, while Harry didn't look remotely abashed.

finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once.

"Who only knocks once?" Remus muttered at that random detail.

After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.

Dumbledore introduced himself, and asked to speak to the matron. The woman appraised him for a moment before bellowing at the top of her lungs over her shoulder for a Mrs. Cole.

The boys had no more been expecting Sirius to shout that at the top of his lungs, but Lily still managed to startle hardest of all, right out of her revere.

"Was that necessary?" She demanded of him.

"Yes," he agreed without looking over, but a satisfied smirk none-the-less in place he had her full, undivided attention again.

Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore and invited him in.

Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.

She was prescribing new sheets for Eric, who was oozing from those chicken pox of his.

"Did, chickens attack them?" James asked slowly, with genuine concern for wherever this place was.

"No, it's a Muggle disease, makes your skin get red spots all over that itch." Lily shrugged, recalling her fascination as a youngster when her whole class had them for a time except her, even Petunia had gotten them.

"What's that have to do with chickens?" He prodded further, pleased more than anything she was back to chatting with them again without that horror of her future in her eyes, or some secret she wasn't sharing with them in her smile.

"It's more like, it sort of looks like a chickens pecked you all over," she tried to visualize it for him, but when James just looked more baffled than ever she burst into giggles and waved Sirius on.

Then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.

"That's about as likely with this man around," Sirius agreed.

Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination,

"I still have those moments," James agreed, deciding for now to stop lingering on the idea of a chicken chasing a bundle of kids around.

she said feebly, to come up to her office.

She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.

Dumbledore spoke of the reason for his visit, Tom Riddle.

She asked if he was family, and Dumbledore explained no, he was a teacher and here to place Tom in his school, Hogwarts.

"I'm surprised he didn't lie about that," Harry said, wondering if all normal exchanges went like this, rather than Hagrid bursting a door down for him.

"He's no reason to," Remus reminded, "even if she went and looked it up, Dumbledore would produce some paperwork for her."

She asked why the interest, and he explained his name had been down since he was born. When Mrs. Coal continued to be skeptical of this, he produced a blank sheet of paper and handed it to her. Her eyes lost focus for a moment as she 'read' it over, but handed it back saying that was all in order.

Harry gaped at that one, looking wildly around for some kind of explanation, while they all laughed at his expression. It was still nice to see him confounded by magic.

"I didn't say it was useful paperwork," Remus said around more laughter, as if that was all the explanation needed.

Harry rolled his eyes but let it go, deciding it was enough explanation for now. Obviously he still had more to learn in his next year of school.

Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few seconds before. She offered him a glass regardless, and he happily accepted.

It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.

He asked of Tom Riddle's history? He was born here in this orphanage?

Mrs. Coal agreed, saying she remembered it clearly, that New Year's Eve. She'd just started.

"Oh good, I always wanted to know his birthday," Sirius said dryly.

"We're dishing out plenty of socks this holiday, I'm sure we can ship along a pair for him," James rolled his eyes.

"Poisonous socks," Remus muttered, causing Harry to snort in surprise and James and Sirius to exchange a heavily amused smirk. Harry clearly hadn't heard all of Remus' mutters, but he would be now.

This girl had arrived staggering up the steps. Didn't take long after that, the baby had been delivered in an hour, and she was dead in the next.

That really was just, sad. Sirius could have connected many things to the moment of birthing Voldemort into their world, but honestly the start to it all was so depressing! The megalomaniac would be carrying that on to this day and never let them forget it, it seemed.

Dumbledore asked if she'd had any last words, and Mrs. Cole spoke only of what she'd named the boy. She'd first hoped he'd look like his papa, and Mrs. Cole wouldn't lie, this mother was no beauty.

"Lovely," Lily said tartly.

and then she told he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father.

James's mouth still twisted with a nasty sneer for that. No child should be named for such a creature as that Gaunt...though he supposed if there was one exception it was Voldemort.

They'd wondered whether she came from a circus,

"Not far off honestly," Remus huffed.

and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. She died soon after that without another word.

No one of any of those names had ever come looking for the boy, so here he'd stayed. She continued without prompting he was a funny boy.

Dumbledore asked for specifics, and he got them. He hadn't cried as a baby-

But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass.

She confirmed he had a place at this school? Nothing she spoke of now would change that?

Dumbledore agreed.

She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush he scared the other children.

"Oh joy, so he really was a psychopath even as a kid," James muttered in disgust. Why were they listening to this again? It was only more of a reminder where Harry could have ended up, where he almost had and should have been rather than with those Dursleys who cared nothing for him. At least this Mrs. Cole had a clear concern for the kids in her care.

Dumbledore clarified he was a bully?

Mrs. Cole suspected it, but she'd never caught him in the act, some very nasty stories though. Billy Stubbs rabbit hadn't hung itself from those rafters.

Lily choked in shock while all of the boys grimaced uncomfortably. A murderer indeed, even as a child, for something like an animal was never a good start to life.

She was jiggered though if she could figure out how he'd done it. Then there had been that summer outing, taking all the orphans to the beach. Amy and Dennis had gone off with Tom to explore some caves, they'd never been the same when they'd come back.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the tight pull on his mind sharp once again for something he was sure he should have been connecting with, but he just ran his hand through his hair in agitation and wished his mind to shut up with its uselessness.

She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed from all the gin consumed, her gaze was steady. She told without remorse not many would be sorry to see the back of him.

Dumbledore explained this was not permanent, he would have to return here, at least over his summer holidays.

Mrs. Cole called that better than a rusty poker whack on the nose.

She got up then, surprisingly steady on her feet, though two-thirds of the bottle were gone, and asked if he'd like to see the boy?

Dumbledore agreed at once.

She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Harry saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.

"Sounds better off than you were," Lily muttered so quietly she didn't even seem to realize she'd said it, but James heard, tightening his arm all the more around her as he realized they'd been thinking the same thing.

As they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered, telling Tom this was Mr. Dunderbore.

"I'm going to start calling him that," Sirius said at once with conviction.

Harry and the two Dumbledore's entered the room,

James got a good chuckle out of that.

and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.

There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had got her dying wish: He was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale.

"Urgh, that's almost as bad as his squashed snake face he has now," Sirius said in disgust for Dumbledore trying to humanize this constant Bludger on their life. The full force of his words wouldn't hold though, he could deny no more than anyone this was still just a kid, even one that had already grown up to be what they knew. He wanted to hate him on principle, but while it was there, it was not the only thing he could focus on.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.

Dumbledore spoke first, asking how he was doing, holding out his hand to be shaken.

The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

Dumbledore continued, using his title now, but Riddle repeated this sharply. He started throwing out all manner of accusations, thinking Dumbledore a doctor? Had that women sent someone to look at him?

"I'm sure he needs it," James huffed.

He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.

Dumbledore tried to politely deny this, but Riddle shouted at him to tell the truth!

"What an impertinent child," Lily huffed, thinking he could speak to any adult that way.

He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. He asked who Dumbledore was?

Dumbledore repeated his title, and explained his place in Hogwarts as a teacher.

Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leaped from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious. He shouted this was some trick to get him in an asylum!

"I'd like to lock you in one surely, it's to bad Dumbledore didn't have the forethought," Remus sniffed.

Riddle insisted he hadn't done anything, and Dumbledore could ask the others for proof!

Dumbledore patiently explained he was not from an asylum, and nobody was forcing Tom to do anything.

"I know Dumbledore's calm about everything," Sirius said with only mild sarcasm, "but now I'm wondering just how many people think they're being shipped off to a nut house. Personally I wouldn't have minded so much, couldn't be worse than the one I grew up in."

Riddle sneered he'd like to see them try.

"More like try to force him out," Lily said bitterly.

"That basilisk couldn't have gotten him rather than Myrtle," James agreed.

Dumbledore continued Hogwarts was a place for people with special abilities, not a school for mad people.

"Eh," Sirius waved his hand vaguely, eyeing his best friend obviously. "A lot of them do seem to wind up there."

"You're the poster child," James agreed without looking over.

It is a school of magic.

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

"He was, looking at, each of his, eyes?" Remus muttered in confusion.

"I don't get it, did Dumbledore have a lazy eye during this conversation..." James trailed off in confusion.

"We always knew he was mad," Sirius shrugged without concern.

He repeated magic in a whisper. That's what he could do?

Dumbledore kindly asked what was it he could do exactly?

Riddle breathed with excitement now, how he could make things move without touching them, make animals do what he wanted without training them. He could hurt people, if he wanted to.

This really hadn't been very funny to begin with, and the feeling just continued to grow worse with each passing moment this little Tom spoke.

"Bloody hell, he's a menace," Sirius noted like he was eyeing a coming storm.

"What, made him like that," Remus was grasping for words he wasn't even sure there was an answer for. "I'd have thought we'd seen evidence by now the kids picked on him because he was magic, that's why he'd hate them, but from everything we've heard it's the complete opposite. He's using magic against them because, he likes it!"

"I, I really must wonder if it wasn't that love potion." Lily said hoarsely. "I keep thinking, over and over, I've never heard of a child being conceived under the influence of one. Maybe it had, some effect on the child then."

"Oh great, so not only did she refuse to even look for an option to stay alive for the child she forced into this world, it's all her fault it was this way from the start!" Sirius was getting angrier at Merope by the second, looking for something to vent on that wasn't a kid. It still wasn't easy, he couldn't even work himself into a proper temper because the image kept lingering of some girl Lily's age, their age, without anyone to care for or turn to.

"Sirius." He didn't need the soft rebuke James gave, but it still helped cool him, preventing anything else that could have come next.

"I still don't see a solution in all this," Remus sighed. "Is there a cure? If there was and he'd actually feel something resembling human emotions again, would it even matter, it certainly wouldn't really make up for all the crimes he's committed."

"You'd think Dumbledore would have recognized all this himself before inviting him to learn more magic to do more harm," James agreed.

"Maybe he thought he could, I don't know, fix him, help him, certainly not make him a monster." Sirius finished, while Harry felt Remus flinch slightly beside him. He glanced over in surprise, but didn't understand that look he quickly hid from his face before the other two could see it.

Sirius certainly hadn't anymore to say on this though, what had happened, happened, and he honestly doubted he'd see anything in Dumbledore's own memory the man wouldn't have already spotted, so when no one else offered anything he kept going restlessly for this to be over. Not that anything else going on in Harry's life was much more fun to be getting to.

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

He'd always known he was different, special.

"Most of our kind do," Lily agreed softly. Agreed with Voldemort of all people! She never forgot though, those years before that weird kid Snape on the block had finally tracked her down and told her what she was. How, special, she'd been, unable to help but use Voldemort's own choice of word in understanding.

Dumbledore agreed he was right, though he was no longer smiling as he told Tom Riddle he was a wizard.

Riddle asked if he was one as well, and when Dumbledore agreed, Riddle at once told him to prove it in the same tone as he'd told him to tell the truth.

Dumbledore asked if this meant he was taking his place in Hogwarts then?

When Riddle snapped of course, Dumbledore imposed on him this would then mean he would be referred to as Professor, or Sir.

Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an recognizably polite voice, how sorry he was, and then properly asked him to show him some magic.

"Urgh," Sirius' nose crinkled in disgust for not only that mockery of politeness he'd so used as well. He hated any idea he'd done anything remotely similar to this cretin.

Harry was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell Riddle there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, that they were currently in a building full of Muggles and must therefore be cautious.

"No," Lily corrected. "Much like Hagrid setting that grate aflame for you, a little magic is always allowed in the beginning, to ah, prove a point I should say."

To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there.

"Oh, Dumbledore wouldn't really," James scoffed at once.

"Still, certainly not a kind trick on the kid," Sirius began, before his words caught up with him and he finished venomously, "other than this one."

But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand, demanding where he could get one of those.

Dumbledore agreed all in good time, but for now, it seemed something was trying to escape that wardrobe.

Sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it.

A soft snort of laughter echoed around, before Remus spoke up what they were all wondering, "what did Dumbledore do?"

Sirius shushed him, they were now all listening more intently than ever. Here, something could finally show to be the purpose of all this, something Voldemort actually cared for?

For the first time, Riddle looked frightened.

Dumbledore instructed him to open the door.

Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

Tom was encouraged further to take it out.

Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.

Dumbledore asked if there was anything in that box he shouldn't have?

Riddle agreed.

Harry couldn't help half shouting in his excitement, "what kind of magic is that? How did Dumbledore even know to use that spell, to know that wasn't his?"

It was rather odd to be sure, seeing Harry getting so worked up over magic as if he were eleven himself again, but James still answered, "certainly there's a few spells one could do to check ownership of a few objects. After all Mrs. Cole and Riddle himself said, I'm not terribly surprised he's stolen things from kids as well."

Harry waved Sirius on impatiently now, knowing something massive was coming.

Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Harry, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them.

The others merely looked more baffled than ever why Voldemort had cared about such things, when it had been clear nobody of significance in his life had left him any of that. Souvenirs, perhaps, from his time in that orphanage? Though they'd been given no inkling so far he valued anyone, certainly not close enough to be given a gift.

Harry however looked ecstatic, his eyes lighting with some dim understanding he couldn't yet fully grasp, but did not need any extra sense telling him to pay attention now, he was riveted.

Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

Dumbledore calmly said he was to return those to the owner, and he would know if this wasn't done. Thievery was not tolerated at Hogwarts.

Riddle did not look remotely abashed;

"Of course not, that's an actual human emotion," James muttered in disgust, honestly believing Lily's theory more every line. Did he have any emotion in him? Obviously he did, as Harry had been all to painfully aware of last year, but then what was this...this lack of humanity pouring from such a young soul? There was just no way this was natural, as if he'd ever needed that confirmed considering what Voldemort was now.

he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he agreed in a colorless voice.

Dumbledore continued Hogwarts was a place to learn control of magic. Before, he had surely only inadvertently been using his powers for anything of ill intent, but this would not be tolerated at school.

"Inadvertently I'm sure," Sirius mock quoted.

Such acts could cause expulsion. Tom was not the first to have his magic run wild, but now he knew the truth, if this continued the Ministry of Magic would punish this severely.

"Starting with all the good threats, then," Harry huffed.

"Not that it did him any good," Remus agreed with heavy sarcasm, not missing the irony Harry had been under threat of both, where as likely the perfect Tom Riddle they'd heard of in the past never had.

All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws.

Riddle politely agreed.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly he hadn't any money.

Dumbledore drew a leather money-pouch from his pocket, explaining there was a fund for that. He may have to buy some of his things second hand, such as spellbooks-

Riddle interrupted where to buy such things, without thanking him for the money he was now holding.

Lily tisked quietly, but considering the many unspeakable things he had, or in this case would do, it really was a passing insult to her.

He was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

Dumbledore explained Diagon Alley, he could escort him there?

Riddle said that wasn't necessary, he traveled London all the time by himself, then caught himself and more politely asked for directions.

Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle, but once again he was surprised. Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage,

Lily couldn't help the clear disapproval that time though, cutting off with a heavier scoff. "He's just a boy, surely he needs supervision."

"Maybe it would have stopped him growing an early interest in places like Knockturn Alley," Harry agreed, vividly remembering their protest of his short time alone there at eleven.

"I think that's already been set in stone," Sirius disagreed with an eye roll. "Besides, the kid turned down the help, I certainly wouldn't stop him not minding himself and getting run over."

Lily turned her scowl on him but couldn't really snap for that. She still couldn't make it sit right in her head like he so clearly could, this was still just a kid.

and finished he'd have the right place when he found Tom the barman, easy enough to remember. They shared a name.

Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly.

Dumbledore caught on, asking that he dislike the name Tom?

Riddle muttered there were a lot of Tom's, before asking if Dumbledore had known his father? He'd been told his name was Tom Riddle.

Dumbledore gently said he had no knowledge of this person, and Riddle continued it must be his father. It couldn't be his mother, or she wouldn't have died, she couldn't be magic.

All five of them frowned, another wash of sympathy for the soul that was Tom Riddle. They didn't know what to call that moment. Innocence, for his lack of knowledge that even magic could never really stop that? Callousness on his mother's behalf? It was certainly a true foreshadowing of his future nature.

Riddle changed the subject then, asking about getting to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore explained that was all on the ticket, and the date of the departure from King's Cross.

Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again.

"I guess I should feel flattered it's not just Hagrid who leaves out the detail about that barrier," Harry muttered for himself.

Taking it, Riddle said he could speak to snakes. Was that normal?

Harry could tell that he had withheld mention of this strangest power until that moment, determined to impress.

"Why would he think that would impress him?" Remus asked with a lingering frown for the boys logic. "He's already mentioned he could control animals at will, and Dumbledore hadn't really reacted to that. Why would speaking to a particular species be of anymore significance?"

"Your guess is as good as ours," Sirius reminded.

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment before saying it was unusual, but not unheard of. Then Dumbledore made his departure, and Harry and Dumbledore did as well, landing squarely in the present-day office.

They both sat down, and Harry said Riddle had believed that faster than him. He hadn't believed Hagrid at first.

"I'm sure a wide range of reactions exist out there," Lily agreed absently. She'd thought Snape a loon until she'd been convinced, Harry had taken some convincing, and Riddle had believed it instantly. It sort of made her want to do a study on all the varied reactions a Muggleborn could have, if it wasn't so thoroughly depressing her son had found himself in that category.

Harry then simply asked if Dumbledore had known?

Dumbledore elaborated, had he known he'd just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?

"I'd, be genuinely impressed if he did." Remus muttered.

"I'm sure if he had, he wouldn't have let his life go on as long as he had," James said belligerently.

Lily wasn't so sure, thinking about what had been said earlier and Dumbledore's willingness to try and help others. What was the point of no return for him then? Was there one?

No, he had not. The evidence had been very plain and upfront there was something about him, that led him to strangling animals and seeking isolation and dominance over his peers. Harry interjected he was also a Parselmouth.

"You already knew that?" James frowned at Harry in confusion why he'd pointed this out.

"Suppose up until that point I would have thought he wouldn't realize it until later in life," Harry shrugged.

Dumbledore agreed, but his ability to speak to serpents did not make him nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination.

"I'd hope so," they all muttered agreement to that.

He noticed the late hour then, and said before they departed for the night, he wanted to make sure Harry had noted a few things. Firstly, his aversion to having the name Tom.

"I'll be sure to give him a more original name," Sirius said deadpan.

"Why not even go from another anagram of his own," James answered with a smirk Lily was already trying to read around, though not before he started with, "I've noticed a certain few letters spell out the word-"

She didn't care enough to let him finish.

Harry nodded.

He also highlighted his ability of being self-sufficient. He had no help, and no want of it. Many of his current Death Eaters claimed they alone were in his confidence, but Dumbledore was sure this was an allusion. Voldemort had never had a friend, nor he believed, did he ever want one.

Putting this into the perspective of his adult self was helping them really, it certainly pushed off their confusion at that notion and put disgust right back in place discussing this vile plague on humanity in their life.

Lastly, that box of stolen articles from the children in the orphanage, his trophies, souvenirs even, of particular acts of his unpleasant magic.

"I, can see what he's going for," Remus said slowly, his eyes suddenly widening at the possibility. They'd been half right in their guess, but gotten the motive wrong then.

"I'm still not sure what the point of those are," Sirius had his head cocked to the side curiously. "So he does value objects then, nicked something from people he's murdered, maybe. Would stealing his closet full of knick-knacks of the dead put him off enough for us to kill him then?"

James laughed at the absurd way Sirius managed to phrase that, but Harry was sitting right on the edge of his seat now, his face trained on the book while his godfathers words spiraled sickeningly in his head, forbidden to look upon, longing to know.

Harry should bear in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, would be important later.

"Well Dumbledore certainly thinks so," Lily sighed, wishing the man would just spit it out no matter the hour, this felt more important than a bedtime. She didn't like the bead of sweat her son didn't even seem aware of tracing down his taught face.

Harry was dismissed, and he got to his feet to leave. He stopped however, when he saw the ring was no longer there. He turned back to Dumbledore curiously, and asked if he'd tracked down the mouth organ next?

Dumbledore approved of Harry's guess, but corrected that mouth organ, had only ever been a mouth organ.

Harry swallowed loudly, but no one needed that to feel the tension all along the room. What else had that ring been then? Lily read the final line carefully,

On that enigmatic note he waved to Harry, who understood himself to be dismissed.

but when it yielded no good results she turned to the others for some kind of explanation that was certainly evading her.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 25: The Faceless

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

A shocking confession leaves Nadya confused and Serafine on edge. But now isn't the time for them to be divided. When a hidden threat makes itself known, the only way they're getting out of the City alive is together... or not at all.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“Cynbel, please let her go.”

It’s not her lack of oxygen that has them on edge. Serafine is a vampire, she doesn’t need to breathe. But something about the sight of her slender neck and how fragile it looks in his broad palm makes Nadya — at the very least — starkly aware of how easily he could separate her head from the rest of her.

Jax is still as stone in her periphery but Nadya hears the all-too-familiar hiss of his katana handle dislodging from the sheath. That very sound has saved her life more than a fair few times but now, of all times, it only fills her with dread.

“Don’t Jax — he doesn’t…” she wishes she hadn’t looked back to see Serafine’s nails digging long red grooves into the pale arm that holds her captive; it’ll haunt her for years to come, “he doesn’t…”

What? He doesn’t know what he’s doing? That’s too tall a tale, one even Nadya herself can’t muster the energy to believe. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

She took everything from him. He’s just returning the favor.

“This isn’t what I wanted… if I had known… if someone had told me this is what I’d learn…”

Nadya almost throws her heart up on the ballroom floor. “Cadence?”

Nothing makes sense. Nothing made sense when she woke up the first day she knew vampires were a real, actual thing and they just haven’t made sense every hour of every day following. Even more now when she takes into account where she is — what she is notwithstanding. And all this happening right in front of her isn’t the exception.

But she knows what it looks like when Cadence is… overtaken by something out of his control. It doesn’t look like this.

With literally no confidence in what she’s doing or that she’ll survive the sheer idiocy of the attempt Nadya starts slowly moving towards them.

Adrian practically chokes. “Nadya—what are you doing?”

“Get the fuck over here—” hisses Lily, too. But the only one who actually does anything is Jax. Classic Action Man.

“Don’t you d—” Jax’s words get cut off, like most angry declarations do, when the back of Nadya’s hand collides with his face. Not that it was her complete intention but it does the trick and gets him to back away. Still she can feel him fuming behind her; hear the full whistle of his sword meeting the open ballroom air and every time his teeth grind together as he thinks up new ways to drag her back just as she ends up too far out of his reach.

“I can do this.” Nadya reassures them, even if she sounds a little meek doing it.

There has never been a point in her entire life where Nadya was taller than the next average human. She has a dozen more things wrong with her to have a complex about; her height is not one of them. But standing at his back Nadya can’t help but feel smaller than she really is. He’s not just tall now, is he? He’s weighed down with thousands of years and no guilt to speak of.

No, Cadence isn’t. Remember that… she has to remember that.

Steeling herself, Nadya reaches up and out with a hand that has no business being that steady when she’s ready to jump out of her own skin… and lays her palm on his back. Even she’s surprised when she sighs in relief. Nothing’s changed yet; Serafine looks ready to claw him down to the bone in the next second or two. But somehow Nadya just knows this isn’t the nightmare scenario they really should have prepared for.

“I’m sorry I called you Cynbel. You’re not him, Cade.”

“On the contrary.”

Nadya’s brow furrows with resolve. “Let her go.”

“Why should I?” before Nadya can even open her mouth, “This is who I’m supposed to be, isn’t it? This is what’s expected of me…”

Serafine’s hands fly to her neck, wiggling two—three fingers in a gap that definitely wasn’t there before. She’s getting through to him. Weirdly, and pretty much solely on luck at this point, but she is.

She takes a moment, puts on her brave face, and presses her hand down hard enough for him to actually feel her touch.

“But is it what you want to do?”

She’s waiting for him to speak when she sees it; the barest flicker of his head from side to side. Whatever came over him to begin with is sucked out into the void just as fast. Cadence recoils far across the room before Serafine’s knees even hit the ground.

Adrian’s at her side immediately. “You’re okay… you’re okay…” Crooning in her ear, kissing the droplets of sweat from her temples and holding her so tight Nadya can see the strain of it on his muscles from here but if their situations were reversed… well she doesn’t comment, leave it at that.

“Adrian —” the woman hiccoughs his name; like there’s no other word that could even compare, “— Adrian I…”

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“Non, mon amour… none of us are.”

Serafine’s in good hands — some of the best and Nadya has personal testimony to back her case. But she still lied, and some part of Nadya can’t help but wonder what else she’s hiding behind the psychic walls she knows about and maybe the ones still there just out of her conscious reach. So she doesn’t feel any guilt about turning away from them and running across the room, leaping over broken hunks of wood and a few husks of armor until she’s skidding on her knees along the flagstones to where Cadence sits, huddled. His knees pressed to his chest and a not-so-strange emptiness in his eyes staring through her, rather than at her.

Nadya’s watched herself in the mirror too many times not to know what a panic attack looks like. Immortal or not.

“I’m not him — I’m not him I swear —”

“I know you’re not.”

“But I am. Somewhere I can’t reach — like an itch inside of me and all it takes it one little scratch and suddenly — suddenly I don’t know where I am, or what I’ve done, and there’s always so much blood…”

She tries to laugh it off, “well you are a vampire…” but that’s not helping so probably best to pretend that didn’t happen.

Sometimes all that can be done is nothing at all. So Nadya just sits there. Pulls her own legs up against her chest (though that’s more to keep warm than anything) and rests her chin on her knees while Cadence mumbles whatever he needs to tell himself to calm down. Some of it she recognizes; a litany chant of “I’m not him, I’m not him, I’m not him,” while others are languages she’s heard but doesn’t know, and a few she’s doubtful have been languages for a long time.

Twice Nadya glances over her shoulder and through her hair to check on the others. The first time Adrian and Serafine are right where she left them. The next; they’re gone. Jax and Lily are either too smart or think she’s too dumb to be left with him on her own and, sure, that’s fair. But hopefully the smile she tries to offer them conveys just how much they really mean to her.

A loud thud makes Nadya jump in her boots. Whirling her head around to see Cadence finally easing up in his limbs and a large crack in the stone where the crown of his head decided to take a break. Besides his closed eyes and absolutely no breathing whatsoever, though, he seems relatively unharmed. Physically, anyway.

But he’ll talk when he’s ready. She just waits. and waits. and has an awful lot of time to think about certain things while she’s waiting and none of them are exactly pleasant. Unfortunately the stretching silence is more than ample opportunity for Nadya to finally understand exactly what happened back there.

She kinda wishes she hadn’t.

When Nadya finally looks up again she’s met with the familiar sharp scrutiny of Cadence’s stare. Small blessings. But unfortunately that means no more waiting around.

“You know… don’t you.”

A long, stretched silence. Like Cadence would rather have waited out the decades it took for Nadya to grow old and wither and die just so he wouldn’t have to give her an answer.

Maybe that’s why she’s so surprised that he actually does. His voice so quiet; a whisper on the wind.

“I had my suspicions.”

“Since when?”

His eyes narrow in a glare. “Oh, not long. Just since Valdas showed up on my office doorstep with a bouquet of orchids in one hand and dinner reservations in the other. So… late May, early June?”

“Alright, cool it Sassmaster General. It’s a valid question.”

“… Fair enough. There’s a litany of other small things… ones that could be coincidence on their own but trying to call them that when put together just made me realize I wanted to stay ignorant. Can’t really do that now though, can I?”

Nadya can’t help the frown tugging at the corners of her lips. “Then… why ask me to help you figure it out? Why come all the way upstate to tell me I’m your ‘last chance?’”

Amused, Cadence huffs a wheezing, heartless little laugh. “Because that’s exactly what you were. I never lied — I swear to you on that. But so long as there was even the slightest lack of proof… so long as Kamilah Sayeed bit her tongue in her fear rather than confront me, or Valdas skirted around real truths and didn’t actually know what happened during the War; I could pretend all the signs pointing to me… were meant for someone else.”

With a long groan Nadya leans back, propped up with her palms on the dusty floor and head angled up to the dark-stained ceiling. “Well that’s… great.”

He arches a thick brow. “What is?”

“Oh, you know… Listening to you has me realizing that I owe pretty much everyone in my life giant apology fruit baskets when all this is over.” Rolling her head back to attention; “Because if I sounded half that delusional I have literally no idea how they put up with me.”

It’s more meant to settle her nerves than anything else but hey, the fact it gets the barest quirk of a smile out of him is just a bonus.

“I’m lucky there. Most of the time it’s only Kathy who has to. And she’s contractually obligated, so…”

“Yeah, but she’d be there anyway.”

“You know… I don’t think you’re wrong there.”

His dry laughter doesn’t last long. In fact, it dies out right in the middle — like a scratched record. Nadya looks up to see something pained crossing over Cadence’s expression, making him bite at his lower lip until he’s wiping blood from his chin before it stains his sweater.

“What do you know about him, Nadya?”

She doesn’t need to ask who.

Cadence finally looks her in the eyes again and immediately Nadya wishes he hadn’t. The pain bleeds from him into her soul in scalding waves of despair. “Have you shared in any of his memories? I’m… I’m so sorry if you have. Because from everything I could uncover, he was not the kind of man that someone like yourself would want to get to know. Not in the intimate way the Bloodkeeper can.”

“‘Someone like myself?’”

“Someone good. Someone kind, and caring, and empathetic, and filled with a desire to put their goodness out into the world and who always seeks out the chance to do better — to be better.”

And doesn’t that make her laugh. Nadya can’t really help it.

“Well that’s kind of loaded. You make me sound like some kinda altruistic angel. I’m definitely not.”

“You are compared to him,” the vampire insists; so fiercely and like the louder he speaks the more she’ll believe him — in a way she kind of does, “hell—everyone is compared to him. That’s what it looks like when you put an ordinary person side by side with a monster.”

Nadya thinks back; back to the memory Valdas had used her to relive, to the portraits hanging in the Musea Sanguis and in Marcel’s library, and then back farther still. To things she doesn’t remember—couldn’t be remembering, not with her own mind—times of strange, chaotic confusion. Where the rest of the world was full of noise but muted; empty and hollow and devoid of the things Nadya filled her existence with the most.

Life. Longing. Laughter. Love.

Them.

And all of it gone. No, not gone… something can’t be gone if it never existed in the first place. That’s what makes their arrival so jarring; so violent. Like a knife to her middle and the blade is made of something she needed but could only accept in a terrible, traumatizing way.

Before she knows it, Nadya’s crying. And not even Serafine’s kind of silent, lovely tears either; where she’s shrieking like a banshee but still somehow perfectly pristine. She’s heaving sobs and holding her sweater sleeves to her nose to keep from looking like a snot monster and thank god Cadence is there to hold her glasses to keep her tears from staining them all up. But they sting and burn in her eyes and she misses them so—so much it hurts—so much it’s going to crush her—so much she would rather be anything but conscious if it keeps her from feeling the ache of being apart from them—

He waits until all that awfulness is reduced down to, like, a two to hand Nadya back her glasses. She takes them gratefully, voice thick with a stuffy nose, and wishes there was any way in the world she could play this off as cool.

“Do you want to…”

“It wasn’t me,” Nadya clarifies before Cadence can even get the question out, “I mean… it was me, but it wasn’t… me. Anyway that doesn’t matter.”

He looks doubtful. Glances at something over her shoulder and Nadya’s sure she looks like a real mess but she’s grateful, for once, not to have someone else to shoulder her burdens. They’re never going away. She needs to learn to deal with them by herself too.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” —a beat— “about that. But I’m not sure about what’s gonna happen going forward.”

His shoulders slump. “Right. Because I…”

“… attacked her, yeah.” Nadya groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. “We really have to stop trying to die before we even make it back up top.” We’re doing Gaius’ work for him.

“It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

Now it’s her turn to look doubtful. Cadence takes it in stride though; like a good trooper. “Honestly,” he continues to insist, “I… will admit I was a little out of sorts back there but, no offense, she’d done the very thing I was hoping no one would ever do.”

“And how can we be sure you won’t…” What’s a nice way to mime slamming one of the most powerful vampires in the world into the wall like she was a rag doll?

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, suddenly unable to look Nadya in the eyes, “I see what you mean. Well luckily… there’s a simple way to avoid all of that trouble. I don’t fight, I don’t black out.”

Simple, he says, and even shrugs his shoulders like they’re talking about the freakin’ weather, or what to order for appetizers. And very much not about his tendency to go Ultimate Street Fighter on anyone who so much as looks at him the wrong way when he’s like that.

Though… it does tug on a few lightbulbs in her head. “When you saved us in the alley… that was you…”

He nods and finishes it for her; “— avoiding conflict, yes. As far as I can tell, brains over brawn is the best way to go. It doesn’t always happen; my blackouts. But there’s always the risk.”

Nadya sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. “And… if it were to accidentally happen anyway?”

She really doesn’t like the way Cadence’s face falls. At least he’s being honest though…

“As far as I’m aware, and I use the term loosely, Kathy is the only one who can bring me out of those… fits.”

“‘Fits’ being flashes of Cy—” But there’s suddenly a hand over her mouth that’s keeping her from saying the name. Cadence levels a stern frown right in her eyes. The intensity of it both jarring and a little cool at the same time.

“Please… for my sake, and yours, and probably everyone’s. Don’t… don’t say his name.”

“Just in case?”

“Just in case.”

Okay that’s… maybe half of one of their problems solved. Nadya can only hope that wherever Adrian and Serafine are they’re talking, you know with their mouths, and not… anything else. Adrian would vouch for him, right? He knows Cadence pretty well — he’s always at least liked the guy.

Cadence offers Nadya a hand and helps her up. All the color drains from her face in that exact moment; which is just bad timing more than anything.

“Are you alright?” he asks, that same concerned frown back in place like it had never left.

“Yup, peachy keen.”

Note to self!! Do not bring up Adrian’s weird One Nighter with the Bad Guys!!!

When the pair come back up on Lily and Jax, her friends exchange dual looks of ‘yeah, we’re not buying this.’ And it’s sweet — they’re sweet. The best friends a girl could ask for, really. Well… a best friend and a loose acquaintance who happened to be handy with a super sharp sword.

Before they can say anything though Nadya holds up her hands and takes the floor for her own. “Yeah, it’s weird — and yeah there’s a lot that still needs figuring out. But he’s still Cade, he’s still our friend… he’s just more our friend on the sidelines than our friend on the front lines. At least until we get back up to the surface and find this stupid Tree. Okay?”

Neither of them respond. Not an option. “I said o—kay?”

Lily sighs and nods… then leans in none-too-subtly. “This isn’t a Voldemort-and-Quirrell thing, is it?”

And Nadya can say it is with full confidence that she shakes her head. “Think Jekyll and Hyde.”

“You know I can hear you, right?”

They look up into Cadence’s not-at-all amused frown. Well… at least some things were kind of normal still.

Or they were.

Until a loud, hollow groan echoes across every wall and ceiling beam she can see.

GGGGHHHHHHRRRRRR…

Lily (rightfully, even if it stings) glances down at Nadya’s stomach. She throws her arm over it self-consciously. More than a little offended but fear is rapidly overtaking every other emotion she’s capable of.

“Was that —”

“No!”

GGGGGGGHHHHHHRRRRRR…

“Are you s—”

“It wasn’t my stomach, Lil’.”

Who groans beside her. “You couldn’t have pretended with me for like… a minute?” Touche.

GGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHRRRRRRNNNN…

By the third time nobody is moving. Necks craned up to the rafters, flashlights moving this way and that desperate to find the source. Even though, by that third time, they all know a universal truth.

That the noise—whatever it may be (that isn’t Revenge of the Canned Beans)—is way too loud to be coming from inside the Manor.

But not too loud to be echoing on repeat around the cavern just beyond the door.

Way to go Nadya. You just had to jinx it!

Like a group of teenage mystery solvers their gangs collide smack dab in the middle of the front foyer. Adrian and Serafine on one end, Nadya and the gang on the other; and for a brief moment the eerie howling in the distance is forgotten in the face of their more recent… revelations.

Serafine reaches up to her throat unconsciously. The sight makes Cadence swallow and avert his eyes.

“Bigger problems, guys.” Nadya stresses; emphasis on the stress.

Adrian’s frown deepens. “You heard it too then?”

“How could you not?” Jax looks to the gaping space that used to be the front doors as he says it. They’ve barely given it a thought since their arrival. But now… all Nadya can see is a giant hole in their defenses.

Tch, what defenses?

Nobody asked you.

All together (though with Serafine pointedly on one end and Cadence on the other — no complaints here) they empty out of the King’s Manor and into the cavern. The damp air leaves a chalky taste on her tongue, but taste isn’t the sense she needs most right now.

No one moves.

No one speaks.

Nadya doesn’t even give herself the luxury to breathe.

Finally, Lily breaks the silence; raising her voice to be heard over the nearby waterfall. “I can’t tell if I’m just hearing the echo in my head or…”

“I don’t understand…” While the rest of them look around aimlessly for any sign of the disturbing noise’s source, Serafine knows these caverns well. Eagle-eyed her head darts this way and that; locking on to the staircase they arrived from as well as others in the dark too dim for Nadya to see.

Jax scoffs. “What’s not to understand?”

“The Knights collapsed the old districts during their purge. Our path was the way through which I escaped; but the rest have been sealed off ever since.”

“But isn’t there even the slightest chance one of the tunnels could have been discovered?” asks Adrian, whose shoulders slump when she shakes her head.

“Non, not this far down.”

GGGGGGGHHHHHHRRRRRR…

Nadya’s stomach sinks. No matter where they look it all rings the same. The noise is coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once; reverberating through the stone until it isn’t just one sound, but a legion.

This time, Jax doesn’t wait until it fades to voice his frustrations. “Maybe back then it would have been, but we can’t rule anything out.”

“You think we did not anticipate the City lasting through centuries of innovation?”

“Well I sure don’t think a bunch of Dark Ages scavengers anticipated the light bulb.”

“Jax —”

“No, Adrian, he’s right.”

“I don’t recall asking your opinion, Monsieur D’or.”

Senseless arguing. The untraceable growl like an ever-present white noise. It all fades to wordless noise; something Nadya can hear but doesn’t take the time to process.

And through the cacophony of it all she hones in on one sound.

Dainty, whimsical laughter.

She looks back over her shoulder to the Manor’s depths. It suddenly seems so dark inside, which makes sense seeing as they—and their flashlights—are all out here. But the cavern has a natural glow to it. Phosphorescent mushrooms, maybe. Or the way their LEDs catch and sparkle all the way down the waterfall overhead.

It makes the way back in look like a yawning abyss. Beckoning her, calling out for Nadya and her alone.

She allows her feet to carry her back inside; trusts them to guide her to where she needs to be. Every step forward and the laughter grows louder — is joined by the ancient whine of a bow on strings and the pipes whistling in the background. Music fit for a grand party.

Nadya surprises even herself when she isn’t startled by the movement out of the corner of her eye. Maybe because she’s pretty sure at this point her eyes are about as untrustworthy as the rest of her senses. This is a memory. She’s certain of that. What she isn’t certain of, though, is to whom the memory belongs.

Their group is small; no more than five or so, all dressed in dark and rich fabrics and all wearing some form of mask. She only sees half a face; nothing more… and nothing less. Odd, translucent figures flit around them like they exist in some kind of bubble but those never last. Other than Nadya they are the only ones in the foyer but that’s in the here and now. Wherever they really are — whenever they really are — they are huddled away from curious attentions.

The closest figure to her is a man with eyes hidden with a more traditional mask design. If only that did something for bottom half of his face turned down into a frown so sour Nadya feels her own lips start to twitch.

“There’s an awful lot of Faceless here tonight,” says the sour-faced man; turning his nose up at party guests Nadya can’t see, “I would not have wasted my time with such a disparaging lack of prestige.”

Nadya’s brow wrinkles in confusion. Whatever that means. But by the way his entourage reacts he’s speaking boldly and way out of line.

“Really, Marquis?” asks one of his entourage in scandalous whisper.

“I would think not showing your face would be far worse.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, yes.” Agreement ripples out among them in hushed tones. Nadya can’t see his eyebrows behind the mask covering his forehead but his eyes are definitely narrowed.

“So quick to judge me — yet I’m eager to see how many of you survive the waltz with such slim pickings!”

A woman passes by close enough for Nadya to imagine the tickle of lace trimming on the back of her hand. The Marquis’ crowd parts, unbidden, and allows her to settle at his side. Somehow Nadya knows before the woman even opens her mouth that she is the source of the ghostly laughter that drew Nadya in.

She regards the Marquis with cool expression defined in a waxing crescent of thin silver plating contoured perfectly to her every curve. The gathering shifts dynamics. No longer do they hang on every scathing insult from the Marquis. They would much rather hear what she has to say.

“Indeed Marquis,” comes her soft reply; her voice melodic and darkly alluring, “I share your sentiments. Of course, with the weight of prestige carried by one such as yourself you must not be worried about the inevitable tilt in scales this night.”

The Marquis bristles. Nadya’s arms break out in gooseflesh.

“And what makes the great Duchess say as such?”

“Why my dear Marquis; they do, of course.”

The Duchess points a slender, silk-gloved finger towards the doors leading to the ballroom. She, the Marquis, his adoring fan club — they all turn to witness the arrival of someone Nadya doesn’t get to see. Whoever it is exists outside of what’s left of this memory.

They vanish all at once; the candle blown out by a wind both real and not that carries around Nadya and leaves her… wrathful? No, that isn’t quite the word she’s looking for. Whatever it is it’s something she’s never felt before — and that’s probably not a good thing.

The only thing that comes close is—

“There you are.”

Relief washes the worry away from Adrian’s face when he sees her. If she wasn’t still trying to put a word to this new experience of hers she’d probably echo the sentiment. But her stomach aches — like physically, painfully aches — and she has to rub her palms into her eyes as a wave of exhaustion makes him go temporarily fuzzy.

Hands fall protective on her shoulders. “Please don’t wander off like that again, Nadya…” And for a man without breath he sure sounds like it was punched out of him.

“Sorry.” But it isn’t a sincere apology as much as it is an automatic response. Nadya knows it; worse still Adrian knows it. His grip tightens ever so slightly.

“Adrian?”

“Did you find her?!”

“We’re… in here.” He calls out to answer, and not a moment later the others file into the parlor with varied degrees of relief.

They’re her friends. They care about her. So why does the sight of their faces fill her with a passionate rage?

Something is very very wrong.

“Who are the Faceless?”

A muscle tenses in Serafine’s jaw. The brief, accusatory glance she throws Cadence’s way is about as subtle as a bullhorn.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“That’s not an answer. Who are they?”

On either side of her, Adrian and Lily exchange looks of surprise — and mutually melt into concern. Sure, Nadya will fully own up to the curt, harsh tone she has right now but if they knew what she was feeling… if they could understand even a fraction of the pain roiling in her belly right now they might just be a little testy too.

Realization dawns on the psychic’s face way too slow for Nadya’s current temperament.

“You saw something… a memory.” —and is that a flicker of fear hiding in those eyes?— “What — or who — did you see?”

“Answer the fucking question.”

“Nadya.” And she’s acting like a jerk; she knows that. But the bewildered way Lily accuses her with her own name feels like a knife to the chest.

“What?!”

“No — that’s my question. What is the matter with you?”

Nadya opens her mouth — she can feel a whole litany of insults and jibes right there on the tip of her tongue — so she bites down hard enough to break skin to keep them buried where they belong.

“I—I don’t know…” her words muddled around the stinging cut, “I… I just…”

I’m so…

Dammit! What word is she looking for?!

“The Faceless were the lowest tier of our society,” answers Serafine; finally, “and by all accounts they were the majority of them as well. By our rankings they were forbidden to wear a mask — a status symbol — that would show their face. To do so was a grave insult, with graver consequences.”

“Tch…” Jax shakes his head minutely. “Ridiculous…”

“Think what you will. But they were the foot soldiers the night of the purge; the first to die… for their betters.”

Faceless.

Nameless.

Ageless.

The Manor is suddenly maddeningly quiet.

“Hundreds of them…” she whispers, “hundreds on either side. He hated being seen with them, near them, even far away. What does it matter though? Hundreds of them and he outranked them all… There aren’t enough bodies.”

Cadence sucks in a breath; his teeth clenched. He’s gone pale; as dead on the outside as he technically is inside. “There aren’t enough bodies…” he repeats, each word weighed on his tongue heavy with truth.

The rest of them join him as the historian spins in a wild circle rooted in place. They had pushed the skeletons and their armor aside after that first walk through the Manor’s main passages. It kept them from tripping over scattered bones in the dark. It kept them from having to think about the weight of lost life.

It wasn’t the Marquis’ laughter that drew her back inside.

Nadya looks down at her trembling hands and chokes on her own scream.

The sight is enough to send her into a terrified frenzy. The bulging twisting spiderwebs of black that were now her veins, of greying skin so fragile it feels paper-thin, of talons yellowing with age and crusted with layers upon layers of dried blood…

Forcing a ragged sob through her chest is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. Like pushing a mountain through a molehill, or mouthfuls of blood down her gullet where her hungry eyes were too big for her stomach. “Getthemoffme —” she shrieks, “— getthemoffmegetthemoffGETTHEMOFF!”

She’ll do it herself if they won’t. Teary, bloodshot eyes falling on the sword just out of reach but strong arms stop her in her tracks; hold her back, stop her from getting rid of these awful—rotting hands—

“NADYA!”

Lily’s always been able to scream louder than her. So loud the echo of it rings high-pitched in her ears long after her best friend has stopped shouting her name. She clutches Nadya’s hands with her own; a horrifying sight. And no matter how hard she pulls Lily doesn’t let go. Adrian doesn’t release her from the captivity of his embrace.

The chill of Lily’s smooth skin burrows a home in her muscles and bones. She squeezes them tightly; bordering on real pain. But nothing is more painful than what’s to come.

“Nadi’…” the way Lily says her name; thick and haggard and with wet tears on her lips, “Nadi’ you’re scaring the shit out of me…”

Good! “Don’t look—don’t look at them. Don’t Lil’ don’t…”

“At what —” her eyes widen in understanding, “— at your hands? Nadya, look.”

She blinks back her tears, her apologies, her pleas of desperation… and sees nothing but her own hands — clammy and shaking but so very human — cradled in Lily’s tender care.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“They’re just hands, baby girl.”

“No—no they were…” But were they, really?

Nadya keens and doubles over as another wave of something tears through her middle. Her legs are ready to give out. Adrian—bless him—is the only thing holding her up now, so she accepts it and sags against his chest too exhausted to move.

Adrian presses a tender kiss to her temple. His lips like a cool palm against her feverish fit of pique. But he’s shaking, filled with a fear all his own. He can’t swallow it down forever.

“Serafine,” he pleads against the shell of Nadya’s ear, “help her… please.”

It’s kind of him to ask, Nadya thinks wistfully, even if it’s too late. Three hundred years—left behind left in the dark—made to flee from the fire—abandoned forgotten sacrificed—scouring endless paths for even a drop enough to slake the thirst—forced to guzzle down the same taint in shared blood over and over and over again—too late.

She can hear Serafine’s somber voice, muffled through the skin tight and calloused over her eardrums. If only Nadya remembered words enough to know what she’s saying.

Words… Finally, an eternity later; she has the right word to describe the pain.

“She feels empty.”

They left her there. Insolent, vainglorious things — and they just left her. Abandoned her despite her prestige, despite her beauty and wit and charm; condemned her to twist and wither both alone and surrounded by her kind.

They let this happen to her. They let her delicate hands warp into talons and did nothing to stop her alabaster skin from greying with disease. They were content to forget her while her long hair falls out in clumps, while her own bone tries to break free from her skin and mars her with protrusions like horns for lack of success.

They honored her in wretched memory. As her youth peeled away, sinking in and hollowing out, until what they remembered and what was left was no longer the same. Until all that was left was an insatiable hunger. A starvation that consumed her — mind, body, and soul.

Her only companion… an emptiness inside.

Until now.

There aren’t enough bodies among the dead. Where did they go?

Stumbling—staggering—starving. Scrambling endlessly through winding passages, surviving on the eternal cycle of their Taint. Unable to find freedom in the tangible darkness.

They didn’t go anywhere. They never left.

Outside the ancient and hallowed walls of the King’s Manor, the horde growls. Louder than before; and now—knowing what they know—far more menacing.

“Lily,” Adrian reacts quickly, motioning for the younger vampire to help him as they both take up on either side of Nadya, their combined strength and her arms over their shoulders practically lifting her off her feet.

“We’re too exposed here. We need to get deeper inside.”

And judging by his tone he knows that his suggestion is less than ideal. But what other choice do they have?

“Do we have any idea how many there could be?”

“Don’t look at me. Those two were the ones here when it happened.”

“Technically —”

“Yeah, I included you in this. Don’t gimme that look.”

“No doubt there were a fair few of those left behind who thought Turning the enemy would be a final insult… but all it takes is one of those vile creatures to breed a swarm.”

There’s a long pause. Then— “Trust me,” says Adrian, “I’ve seen it firsthand.”

Lily wasn’t there that night. At the Musea. She had the pleasure of roughing up Nicole, not going head to head with the things vampire horror stories are made about.

“So… theoretically. How good are our chances?”

Adrian chooses not to answer; and in that moment even the tiniest flicker of optimism is snuffed out.

They regrouped in a second-floor parlor of some kind. Filled with more burned wood than the rest of the Manor and a misshapen, disfigured lump in the corner Nadya comes to realize is a pile of painting canvases. Stacked one on top of the other then set ablaze. Though the smell of oil and paint has long since seeped into the wood, potent enough to make her feel a little woozy, they don’t have any immediate plans to father elsewhere.

This parlor is the only one with a window facing the network of tunnels leading far to the north of Paris. Their only way out.

“We must assume we cannot go back the way we came,” Serafine admits gravely, “even if we managed to slip by a few of them without being heard no doubt the torches have long since attracted them like moths.”

Jax grimaces. “We practically rolled out the red carpet for them, is what you’re saying.”

Nadya doesn’t turn away from the window; doesn’t think she has the strength to do something so strenuous as turn even the tiniest bit. But she sees Serafine’s reflection clear as day, and the woman’s curt nod makes her heart sink.

They probably shouldn’t have put her on lookout duty, all things considered. Not just because every shadow she sees out along the rocks makes her blood freeze in her veins, though that’s definitely a factor.

If I can’t trust my own eyes… how can they?

Talk about being under pressure.

Jax looks at Adrian. “You guys dealt with something similar at that Ball, didn’t you? How’d you take care of them then?”

“We nearly didn’t,” Adrian admits, and it occurs to Nadya this is the first time she’s ever heard him talk about the attack at the Awakening Ball, “and when we learned it was someone from Vega’s Clan who smuggled the initial wave in, our survival seemed less like luck and more like just another part of his plan.”

“But you still fought them off, you still won.” The younger vampire insists.

Frustration starts makes Adrian’s replies terse and forced. “Yes, we did, but that was with the combined strength of the entire Council—including Kamilah’s two thousand years of experience—and more than several of North America’s strongest vampires.

“Not to mention the Trinity.”

The last part he says like more of an afterthought; quieter and more to himself. A muscle ticks in Cadence’s jaw but he remains otherwise silent.

“Then our course is clear,” Serafine steps between them; practically a whole different person than the woman in the ballroom, “we wait for their attack to gauge their numbers. Then we do whatever we can to break through to the Northern Quarter.”

There’s a weight to her words that has nothing to do with the literal Feral horde practically on their doorstep. They don’t have any other choice; not a one of them. They’re the only ones who know what weapon will kill Gaius and if that means only one person pries their way back up to tell the ones fighting back home… so be it.

“I don’t like the thought of waiting them out.”

“You do not have to like it. We have no alternatives.”

“Rrragh!”

Behind her Jax lets out a short growl of frustration. The very sound makes Nadya flinch on her stool; shoulders hunched and shaking like a leaf. The scuffled sounds of his frantic pacing stops immediately. She can feel his eyes boring into her back, watching; waiting for her to break like a little glass figurine.

She’s caught by surprise though when Cadence unfolds his arms and approaches with loud and purposeful strides. She hears every step until he’s at her back like a wall — or a shield.

On the other side of the glass the shadows shift again. Like they sensed the tension easing from her soul for even a fraction of a second and have to make up for the lost time in terrifying her. Nadya decides then that’s more than enough of an excuse to turn her back on them.

When she can finally meet her friends’ eyes she looks up to find Serafine studying her intensely. “Wh-What?” she asks, voice wavering.

It doesn’t help she’s still too scared to look at her own freakin’ hands.

“You were inside the creature’s mind.” Gee, thanks for stating the obvious.

“I know. I was there.”

“Perhaps you could be again.”

“Perhaps you could shut up.”

Lily quirks an eyebrow at her in a silent question. No doubt they’re all wondering just how much of what Nadya says and does is in fact Nadya Al Jamil… and how much is the twisted madness of a starving Feral. But they don’t need to worry; she’s pushed that thing as far out of her little personal space bubble as she could. That anger is one hundred percent hers, and one hundred percent warranted.

Cadence clears his throat over her head. “Well if it’s any consolation, Jax, it won’t be a long wait…” Unprompted, he’s taken up Nadya’s vigil; eyes so wide she can see a thin ring of white around his blue irises and focused far in the cavern’s distance.

The shadows are moving faster now. They scuttle like spiders around shallow cliffs and down the many many staircases, descending on them in a frenzied haze until there aren’t many of them, but instead one big mama shadow heading their way.

There’s no deluding herself now… those aren’t shadows.

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 2

The Resonance Cascade hurt. Tommy felt the dimensional rift tear open space as if it were a hole punching through his own body. Even with his limited power there was no way he could have stopped something so catastrophic from happening. By the time the convulsions died down, the monsters had already hopped the gap.

Black Mesa was buckled and warped like a Coke can left in a freezer. Tommy wound up somewhere further away from the blast than he anticipated and had to pick his way through the wasted hallways to get back to the explosion site. What a mess. He passed the bodies of humans and extraterrestrials alike, fighting down a growing sense of nausea as he went. Did Benrey do this? It seemed like a stretch, even for him.

Tommy eventually found Gordon, alive and relatively unharmed, and learned that Gordon had picked up three others on his way out of the test chamber. Benrey was unkillable, as was his nature, so that presence didn’t surprise Tommy. Dr. Coomer was always tough, and it stood to reason that he could survive the blast from an interdimensional anomaly. Bubby, well. He wasn’t dead anymore, was all Tommy knew.

Now, they were trucking through the test facility at a steady clip, picking off creatures as they went. Tommy wasn’t armed - he didn’t need to be - but Gordon was making decent headway with a crowbar and Bubby had… located a revolver somehow. Tommy had questions about Bubby. For now, however, he was hanging in the back of the group, keeping one eye on Benrey, because Benrey was always up to something, and one eye on Gordon, because, well, just look at him.

The elevator crash had shoved him off a cliff he was never climbing back up from. That was a hard thing for Tommy to watch; aside from witnessing the death of three strangers, he also had to see something small and fragile snap inside Gordon, like the breaking of a flower stem. He hadn’t killed those people, not really, but he believed that he did, and that was somehow worse. Tommy didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how to tell Gordon that a lot more people would die before this was over.

To make things worse, the company they kept was slowly chipping away at Gordon’s sanity. Bubby was insufferable. Coomer was unhelpful. Benrey was… flirting with him. Indistinguishable from harassment, which Tommy knew from firsthand experience. The new guy needed someone in his corner. It may as well be Tommy.

Gordon was at least adjusting relatively well to the supernatural. He had gotten over the idea of aliens invading pretty quickly, and when Bubby had outright told him he was born in a tube in the lab, Gordon took it in stride. That was right before he had clapped a heavy hand on Tommy’s shoulder, sending a shiver all the way through his body.

Wow, that was nice. Been a long time since Tommy felt something like that. He almost forgot to be offended when Gordon jokingly said that he was five. “We love our little Tommy,” Bubby had commented sarcastically. “We love Tommy,” Gordon had agreed genuinely.

Tommy didn’t know what to think about that, his brain glitching out in a pleasant sort of way with Gordon’s hand still on his shoulder. Then he let go and they kept moving, leaving Tommy just standing there, pulse on the uptick.

Get it together, man. You have an apocalypse to deal with.

A brief raid of the break room brought back memories of that morning. Was it really just that morning? The past few hours had felt like days. There wasn’t a lot to be found in there except the drinks from the vending machine. Tommy hung back while his colleagues pawed through the drawers and cabinets.

Gordon glanced at the bulletin board and over to Tommy, flashing a smile of acknowledgement. Tommy returned it with a wordless raise of his eyebrows. So he still had a sense of humor in this nightmare. That was a good sign.

The eye contact between them lingered for far longer than was appropriate. Take a picture, baby, it’ll last longer, was what Tommy’s brain said. “Grab a soda, it’ll help you see faster,” was what came out of his stupid mouth. Nice one, genius.

The laugh Gordon barked out seemed to surprise him. It was tight with stress, but his smile was lovely as ever.

“I don’t know what that means,” he chuckled, hefting the crowbar in his hand, “but sure.”

He really didn’t know what the hell Tommy was talking about and he still laughed at the bullshit he blurted when his brain stopped working. Tommy smiled and shook his head. He was definitely keeping this one.

The vending machine was cracked open like a walnut and they continued on their way.

It became an unspoken game between the two of them. Who could break the other out of reality, startle them into joy at the end of the world. Tommy won points the most often - Gordon wore his emotions on his face and he was already so strung out from stress that the barest attempts at levity set him off laughing. Occasionally, though, Gordon caught Tommy off guard with his wit. His jokes were more orchestrated. Grandiose. Special presents just for Tommy.

One such occasion was after they’d broken into the locker room. After addressing the corpse by the benches, Gordon began rifling through his locker for his passport in a vain attempt to placate Benrey. Tommy watched him carefully as he entered such an enclosed space with the entity. Just in case he tried something. Gordon found his passport, but his attention snagged on a solitary picture frame in the corner.

“That’s my baby,” Gordon informed the team.

He had a baby? Tommy studied the photo with interest. He didn’t strike Tommy as a fatherly person, and the fact that he had a child complicated whether or not he was single. Of course, that wasn’t an automatic disqualifier -

“I have a son,” Gordon insisted, with emphasis.

Tommy belatedly realized that Gordon was staring straight at him as he pointed at the photo. He blinked. Okay, man. He got the hint. Gordon wasn’t on the market - wait.

That was a stock photo. He could see the watermark stamped across the image. Gordon’s stare was still locked onto Tommy, a barely contained smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“That’s Joshua,” he said.

Tommy had to duck into the adjacent room to laugh.

Damn, he was good. Tommy leaned one hand on the wall, holding the other against his ribs in a fit of giggles. Why did Gordon have that in there? Just for kicks? He distantly heard an  oblivious compliment Dr. Coomer launched in Gordon’s direction and a caustic insult from Benrey.

“What did you say about my boy?” Gordon demanded in mock outrage. “Did you call him shit?”

Tommy sagged against the wall, catching his breath. It took him a couple seconds to recover from that one. What a knockout.

---

It turns out Gordon Freeman’s sense of humor is difficult to nail when one is enduring an extraterrestrial apocalypse. Shambling forms accosted them on all sides, and while the party was able to more or less hold their own, the tension in the air was palpable. Each member of the team was paranoid for their own reasons, making their words sharper, their actions heavier.

Benrey had disappeared shortly after after the explosion in the bathroom, and Tommy could see him flickering on the edges of his vision every once in a while. Creep. He’d turn up eventually, on his own terms. Tommy had learned by now that there was no making the entity do what he didn’t want to do, but his presence nearby still made his skin crawl.

Dr. Coomer was on edge as he came face to face with his doppelgangers throughout the maze of carnage. Tommy had put together that this man was either a clone or a base for one, and it was becoming increasingly apparent as his speech grew more and more incomprehensible. Gordon thought he was having a stroke once. It was probably more accurate to say that he was having a breakdown on the DNA level.

Gordon and Bubby were the only two who seemed legitimately concerned about the aliens that were steadily pouring into the facility. Bubby was a surprisingly excellent shot with the revolver, and while Gordon wasn’t exactly a deadeye, he could at least swing that crowbar around with a decent amount of wallop. The adrenaline was running hot through all of them as they lay waste to the creatures in the facility. This was dangerous, and everyone was on edge.

As the situation grew bleaker, Tommy found himself cracking jokes reflexively, just as a nervous tic. He was used to having a pretty good grasp on reality - or, at least, on his definition of it - but the Resonance Cascade had dropped him in an inkwell and he could no longer tell which way was up. What parts of the impossible were planned? What parts of it could be stopped?

Most of his jokes were ignored by his nervous teammates. Understandable. When he dramatically bemoaned the loss of his tic tac drawer and the crucial calories they contained, he wasn’t even sure if he was being serious or not. They had seen so many people die in such a short amount of time. Watching the group’s brittle humanity crumbling apart at the loss of life was not making it any easier.

When the four of them witnessed a stranger plummet from a precarious catwalk to the void below, Gordon stood there, staring at the place he had disappeared from, for quite a long time. Tommy hung back as he always did, leaning his shoulder on the doorway. This poor mortal with a too-big heart. He was not going to be the same if he made it out of this ordeal alive.

“How deep is that hole?” he finally asked, either to find a sliver of hope that the man was still alive or some comfort that he had died quickly. “How deep is that hole?”

Beside him, Bubby folded his arms and blew out a breath. “Uh, I believe this hole has to be about five hundred feet deep,” he guessed.

Gordon’s face went worryingly blank as he processed this. Tommy watched him, feeling a twinge of sympathy tug at his stomach. There was no solace to be found in the catastrophe tearing through the facility, especially when the facility itself was grown from such rotten roots. Things were about to get far worse before they got better.

“We’re trying to dig to the center of the earth,” he told him wryly.

Gordon’s responding laugh was heartbreakingly sour.

They moved on, and Tommy was about to follow the group when Benrey materialized beside him. He only came up to Tommy’s shoulder where he stood next to him, but he still managed to pull off an intimidating leer.

“Dude, quit hitting on the new guy,” he said thinly. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Tommy paused. Slanted Benrey a stare that could cut glass. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” he muttered.

“I’m not hitting on him,” the entity shot back. “I can’t stand him.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. Sure.

“It’s not my fault he showed me his dick,” Benrey went on, crossing his arms. His voice was like a razor, and it set Tommy’s teeth on edge.

He drew in a long, slow breath through his nose. “Why,” he asked, “would you tell me that.”

Benrey grinned, sharklike, and shrugged innocently. “Just something to think about.”

He blinked out of existence, leaving Tommy there alone to frown at nothing. He scoffed. Asshole. No tact whatsoever.

The fact that the entity had his eye on Gordon, too, made him uneasy. Not enough that Tommy felt the need to interfere - anyone with half a brain cell would know not to trust Benrey and Tommy was certain that Gordon had at least two. But he could see him slowly chipping away at the new guy’s sanity, piece by teeth-grinding piece.

The being had no appreciation for subtlety; winking in and out of this plane, killing indiscriminately, parading around like an interdimensional peacock. Tommy watched it all with a growing sense of disdain. That kind of power was not something to be fucked around with, and that was all Benrey ever did.

Tommy and Benrey’s relationship was like a careful dance in a room full of knives, each step a decision that could help or hurt both of them. They shared a supernatural origin, but their similarities ended there. Tommy didn’t trust him one iota, and Benrey vacillated rapidly between being obsessed with Tommy and outright despising him.

He had to remind himself that while the entity rarely outright lied, his words were often so ridiculously, insufferably cryptic that he might as well have been dishonest. The piece of information he had just dropped could mean anything, deposited in such a way to needle against Tommy’s skin like sandpaper. This was how Benrey worked, feeding people bullshit just to get them riled. Tommy didn’t need to retaliate. Unlike Benrey, he was raised with some fucking manners.

He had no power over him as long as he didn’t let it get to him.

He wasn’t going to let it get to him.

Oh, who was he kidding? It got to him. Tommy made a mental note to let an industrial door slide shut on Benrey the next chance he got. What was it going to do, kill him?

Chapter 1 <-----> Chapter 3

[popatochisssp]

Make Your Mark, 7/10

Series: Undertale, Swapfell Relationship(s): SF!Sans/Reader Chapter Warnings:  Suggestive themes, general bastardry 

AO3 Link

In a world where soulmates exist, monsters and humans have one thing in common: the first time two soulmates touch, a mark randomly appears somewhere–anywhere– on their bodies to represent their match.

It still doesn’t make relationships easier…but maybe it does make them a little more interesting!

The moment it happened was burned into your brain in perfect clarity.

It goes like this:

You’re outside, enjoying the first real taste of decent weather after a seemingly interminable winter. Your boyfriend is early to pick you up for your date—as always—but he surprises you with an uncharacteristic offer to simply relax and kill time at a nearby park until your dinner reservations.

In hindsight, you think he must’ve seen how tired you were from the less-than-intentional all-nighter you’d just pulled and wanted to give you a chance to rest until you were fully functional once again.

At the time, though, you’re just touched by the suggestion and let Sans lead you to a park bench, excited to people-watch and spend a little time with your favorite skeleton.

The latter was a given, but the former… apparently, not so much.

Somewhere between the crisp, spring breeze and the dulcet tones of Sans chuckling about all the laypeople’s egregious fashion faux pas, you manage to doze off right then and there.

You don’t know how long you’re out, but you wake again to the bony line of warmth against your side—and the surprise that Sans seems to have fallen asleep, too.

You admire him, your skeleton beau: the tired droop of closed eye-sockets, the severity of his handsome features softened somehow by unconsciousness, and slowly, your eyes begin to drift down…to the claws he has gently curled around your knee.

The bare claws, free of the gloves he always wore.

You don’t know what compels you to reach out.

(Yes, you do.)

(Nearly a year of dating, and Sans hadn’t once touched you, skin-on-bone. Hugs and hand-holding and flirty words aplenty, but he ‘LIKED TO TAKE THINGS SLOW, IF YOU DON’T MIND…?’ and you’d agreed to that, no matter how curious you were to know if the two of you…)

(…It’s no excuse.)

With a pathetically thin veneer of deference to your promise, you settle your hand on your own thigh, so dangerously close to Sans’ phalanges that you can feel the magical heat of them, radiating.

It’s exactly as thrilling as you thought it’d be, knowing that all you’d have to do is twitch and it would finally happen, but knowing with even more certainty that you shouldn’t be doing this.

But…

It’s fine, you reasoned to yourself, over your nagging conscience. I’m not touching him. I’m not gonna move. He’ll never even know. It’s not hurting anybody. It’s fine.

And it was.

Until…

Well, suffice it to say that your brilliant, impulsive, ‘I just won’t move my hand’ strategy didn’t account for Sans moving his hand more than a fraction of an inch.

And with the barest brush of your pinkies, that was that.

-

It’s been three days since that moment.

Three days since you touched Sans for the first time and got away with it, passing off your squeak of surprise as not expecting him to have woken up, going on a lovely date that you managed not to ruin, and later undressing to find what you’d hoped for more than anything—unequivocal proof that Sans was your soulmate.

And also, three days in which Sans hadn’t said a thing about you being his.

The way you see it, there’s only two possibilities.

Either your soulmark did show up on him, somewhere unusual that he just…hadn’t found yet…or…

Or you’d incurred the worst karma in the universe and you were one of those tragic, rare cases where you weren’t a match to your own soulmate.

There wasn’t much you could do about it.

Sans was far too sharp to be fooled by any sneaky attempts to get him to undress around you ‘just because,’ and to simply ask him would be to admit that you’d thoughtlessly betrayed his trust for a selfish reason, and the thought alone was enough to make your heart leap into your throat.

So for awhile…you just stewed in anxious guilt, in silence.

You’re not the type to just sit around forever, though!

You feel the need to do something, and you find yourself heading over to Sans’ house—not to see him, he was working, but maybe you could do something nice for him!

A few chores around the house, some light cleaning, a head-start on dinner, the usual ‘being a thoughtful datemate’ stuff that took a little bit of responsibility off of Sans’ shoulders.

And made you feel less aware of your sins crawling on your back.

You’re bent over Sans’ mattress, struggling with a particularly stubborn yet freshly laundered fitted sheet when…

“MY, MY, WHAT A VIEW…”

You jump, whirling around to find Sans right behind you, his shark-smile spread into a lascivious smirk.

Even as your cheeks heat, you very intelligently squeak, “Sans! You’re home!”

“LOOKS AND BRAINS,” he teases. “YOU NEVER CEASE TO AMAZE, DEAREST.”

You spin right back around and return to making the bed, grumbling a petulant, “Shut up, I thought you were at work…”

“I WAS,” Sans says, “AND NOW I’M HERE. FUNNY HOW THAT WORKS, ISN’T IT?”

“Hilarious,” is your retort, and his only reply to that is an undeniably fond laugh.

The sound eases the tension in your shoulders, though, because despite yourself, Sans has rapidly worked his way into your heart.

Sans has become a little like home to you.

“…SO, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO SHOW ME MY SOULMARK?”

Home, and maybe also a heart-attack.

“Sorry, what?!” you ask, wide-eyed and stunned.

Seemingly oblivious to your distress, Sans merely shrugs.

“I’VE BEEN QUITE PATIENT,” he says, “BUT REALLY, THREE DAYS IS PUSHING IT. IT IS MY MARK.”

“I! You…! How did…”

Slowly, though, the answer comes to you, the one you should’ve known all along.

“You were awake,” you realize. And then, infinitely more infuriatingly, “You did it on purpose?!”

Sans snorts, rolling his eye-lights.

“OH, COME ON, NOW,” he tsks, “YOU DIDN’T REALLY THINK I’D EVER FALL ASLEEP IN PUBLIC, DID YOU?”

………

You grab the closest thing you can reach and swing, beaning Sans full across the face with his own overstuffed pillow.

The ‘WHOOMPH’ it makes is pretty satisfying…but by the look on his face, you know he could’ve dodged it.

He let you whap him and that kinda makes you want to do it again.

Instead, you hiss, “You son of a bitch, I’ve been freaking out about that!”

Damn him, he thinks this is funny, his eye-lights brightening with obvious mirth. “HAVE YOU?”

“Yes! I thought I’d…! Violated your personal space! Betrayed your trust! I thought I was the shittiest datemate ever!”

Sans laughs—no, he cackles, like a goddamn super-villain and you raise the pillow, fully ready to swing on him a second time.

“OH, DON’T,” he chuckles, “PLEASE, NO MORE…NO MORE PILLOW WARFARE, I’M ALREADY IN STITCHES!”

You open your mouth, fully prepared to say something scathing about his sense of humor.

“JUST LOOK, DEAREST,” Sans says, peeling off a glove and…

………

It is…so funny how the sight of your soulmark seems to rob you of any emotion even resembling annoyance.

It’s a little more abstract than you expected, broken up as it is across several small bones, but you still know immediately what you’re looking at, its prongs arching majestically along Sans’ metacarpals.

It’s a crown.

“DO YOU SEE?” Sans murmurs, giving you appropriate bedroom eyes. “DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU ARE TO ME? WHY IT’S SO FUNNY TO THINK OF YOU ‘BETRAYING’ ME?”

…Oh, stars above, your heart.

“I KNOW YOU LIKE THE BACK OF MY HAND—HEHEH, LITERALLY—OR I’D HAVE NEVER LET YOU SO CLOSE TO ME IN THE FIRST PLACE. NOW, COME HERE…AND SHOW ME MY MARK…”

Something in Sans’ low, husky voice demands your cooperation…and on the heels of your relief at this reciprocation, you’re inclined to give it.

You drop the pillow on the bed and step forward, closing the gap between the two of you.

Sans’ eye-sockets turn to pleasantly surprised crescents as your hands come up to the buttons of your shirt and start to undo them, one by one.

Halfway down, you hesitate.

You’ve never…

Sans has never seen you in quite this state of undress before and beneath his scorchingly intense gaze, you’re not sure you have the nerve…

Your skeleton seems to realize your predicament.

Sounding only a little amused, he asks, “ALLOW ME TO ASSIST YOU…?”

And…you let your bashful silence speak for itself.

Sans reaches out, holding eye-contact with you as his claws pluck at your buttons. They’re razor-sharp, slicing through the feeble threads sewing them on—once, an edge just grazes your bare skin, light enough to raise goosebumps—but the last thing on your mind is your ruined shirt.

Sans can buy you a new one.

You take a breath when all the buttons are gone, trying to be bold as you hold your chest out for your soulmate to see.

Knowing now that it’s mutual, you’re proud of the big, flashy diamond sat right over your heart, swirled with cool colors nearly iridescent against your skin.

Sans seems fond of it, too, his expression abruptly darkening to nothing short of ‘hungry.’

“PERFECT,” he breathes.

And without any further ado, you’re practically tackled backwards onto the bed, instinctively arching up into the pointed claws clutching your hips; the even pointier teeth ghosting along your neck.

You spare less than a second to think about protesting.

Why would you?

It’s been a year, and Sans is your soulmate—you think you’ve both waited long enough for this…

UT!Sans | UT!Papyrus | US!Sans | US!Papyrus | UF!Sans | UF!Papyrus | SF!Papyrus | HT!Sans | HT!Papyrus

[justheretobreakthings]

Welcome to the Family - Chapter 2

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Word Count: 2,213 (Total Word Count: 4,189) Read on AO3

Story Summary: Lance had been excited about his family taking in a foster kid, eager to get to meet his brand new little brother or sister, who would surely adore and idolize their super cool Big Brother Lance. What he got instead was a sullen, quiet, temperamental teenage housemate with a criminal record and a disastrous haircut.

“Keith,” Kolivan said without looking up from his phone, “Would you please stop that.”

Keith complied, stilling the leg that he had been bouncing, and which had been bumping the backrest of his chair into the wall for the past two minutes, softly but seeming much louder in the silent vestibule. With other caseworkers in the past, he probably would have met their gaze and kept going, waiting to see their reaction, but his newest caseworker was… intimidating. He hadn’t done anything to Keith, at least not yet - hadn’t raised his voice at him or ever used force to get Keith to follow directions - but his muscular build combined with his permanent resting scowl painted an imposing picture.

He been all business and stoicism ever since Keith was assigned to him, and on the one hand, it was a refreshing change from those workers who cheerily tried to convince him that they were going to basically be his new best friend. On the other, he was impossible to read, so Keith had no idea what the consequences would be for getting on his bad side. He had decided not to risk it.

So he stopped the leg bouncing, settling his feet back onto the floor, and nudging aside the duffel bag - all of his earthly possessions in one single convenient sack - that brushed against his ankle. He switched to a quieter fidget, settling on squeezing his fingertips, the fingers on his left hand wrapping around those on his right one by one. Thumb, index, middle, ring, pinky. Back to the thumb. Then switch hands, squeeze the ones on the left.

After a few minutes of this, Kolivan finally lowered his phone and tucked it into his pocket. “She’s on her way,” he grunted toward Keith. Keith nodded silently. “It’s all right if you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Keith said.

“You’re fidgeting.”

Immediately Keith stopped squeezing his fingertips and crossed his arms over his chest instead, scowling over at Kolivan. “Doesn’t mean I’m nervous.”

“All right,” Kolivan said with a shrug. He picked a small stack of folders up off of the end table in between their two seats and dropped them onto his lap, then started flicking through the top one. “I would be nervous,” he said after a bit.

Keith narrowed his eyes at him, tightening his crossed arms further. “Why?” he asked. He tried to shove aside all the thoughts that had immediately spun into his head, all the possibilities for reasons to be nervous about this new family.

“First foster home in over a year,” Kolivan answered simply. “Would make me nervous.”

Keith sighed. Right, of course it would have been something dumb like that. The case workers never told him the real reasons that he should be nervous about the new homes he wound up stuck into. What had he expected Kolivan to say? “I would be nervous to be around a foster dad who knows how to only leave bruises that won’t be seen.” “I would be nervous about a foster mother who gets handsy with anyone in reach after a single drink.” “I would be nervous to have a bedroom with a closet that locks from the outside.”

All warnings that would have been nice to know in the past, but would be too little too late now.

“Well, I’m not nervous,” Keith said. “So, you know - you can drop it.”

“Mm,” Kolivan grunted, his focus completely on the contents of the folder.

Keith leaned back in his seat to steal a glance at the papers. He caught a glimpse of the Arizona state seal and a form number, CSO-1171A. Some sort of legal stuff, then. Most of Kolivan’s job was legal paperwork, and it was all more or less meaningless to Keith, all just legalese that ultimately amounted to: this kid is now your problem, not ours.

He had a few papers of his own stuffed somewhere in the bottom of his bag, the ones he always received before being sent to a new home. A little profile of the home he was being sent to, and only the barest details at that. Names and ages of the household members, the home address, phone numbers. Keith had barely even glanced at the papers when they had been given to him. The foster parents always gave him a little tour on the first day anyway, during that little window right at the beginning when they were still pretending they were happy to have him around.

Keith knew the drill by this point, even if there had been a bit of a gap since his last home.

He chewed his lip as he tapped his toe idly against his duffel. He wondered how much these new foster parents knew about that whole deal. Kolivan probably had had to give them at least some of the details, since they’d no doubt want to know why the past year and a half of Keith’s case history was spent in juvenile detention. The question remained, then, whether or not they gave a damn about his side of the story. They usually didn’t.

Then again, these people had still agreed to foster a kid straight out of juvie, so maybe they were the second-chance-giving sort. Or, of course, the sort who took in “problem kids” knowing that such a label often got social services to turn a blind eye to harsher versions of “discipline.”

In his time in the system, Keith had experienced both, and he really wouldn’t care to have a repeat of the latter.

He was pulled from his thoughts a few minutes later when Kolivan stood up beside him, and he looked up to see that a pale blue hatchback had pulled into the parking lot outside of the transparent front doors, and the driver’s side door was swinging closed as someone climbed out of it. Keith rose to his feet as well, reaching down to grab the strap of his duffel bag before slowly straightening up and slinging it onto his shoulder.

Kolivan led him out the door as the woman approached, and Keith took in as much detail about her as he could. She was short, probably about a head shorter than himself, and somewhat boxy in build, with a very round face and wide, bright eyes. Not exactly intimidating to look at, but that of course didn’t mean that Keith should be letting his guard down just yet.

“Señora McClain?” Kolivan asked, and for a moment Keith felt a hint of panic. He didn’t speak Spanish, at least not beyond the elementary school basics. It was one of those things that he should have learned by now but simply never had the chance. How he would manage to get by in a house where the only things he could communicate were basic greetings, colors, and counting to twenty -

“The one and only,” Señora McClain, with a faint hint of an accent in her warm voice, smiling widely at Kolivan before turning to Keith. “And either you’re Keith, or I know someone who looks very similar to you in photos.” Oh. Okay, so there was no language barrier to worry about. Immediately he mentally scolded himself for panicking. Idiot.

“You can call me Tania,” she continued. “Not saying ‘Mamá’ wouldn’t be ideal, but don’t worry, we’re not forcing anything. It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.” She stretched her arms out, and Keith instantly shrank back, his duffel bag swinging to block his front like a shield. “Not a hugger, that’s fine,” Tania said. “Shake?”

Keith eyed her warily as he took her hand and shook it, watching her face closely. He couldn’t read much; her smile seemed genuine enough, but he’d thought that before when it turned out not to be the case. And - there it was: her gaze slipped for a fraction of a second to his scarred cheek. She didn’t mention it, though, as she released his hand and turned to Kolivan as the latter cleared his throat.

“Going to need your signature on a couple of these before you go,” he said, turning his folder to her with a couple of papers placed on top. “The rest you can keep.”

“Right, sure, got a pen in here somewhere,” Tania said, fishing through her purse. “Sorry Manuel wasn’t able to join us to pick you up, Keith,” she continued as she found the pen and accepted the folder from Kolivan. “He got paged into a work emergency, but he’ll be back this afternoon in time for family dinner tonight. You’ll get to meet Lance and Rachel and, oh, I believe Veronica should be home, I had her promise not to make plans this evening so she could be here for dinner. Specialty of mine, do you like ropa vieja, Keith?”

“Um,” Keith answered. Every one of those names was meaningless to him, and he had no idea what ropa-something was.

“Well, you can try it if you want, and if you don’t like it, we stocked up on plenty of different microwave dinners to substitute. Wasn’t sure what all you like, so if there’s anything you need that we don’t have, we can make a grocery run soon.” She finished with the paperwork and passed the top papers back to Kolivan before tucking the rest under her arm. “There anything else I need to do, are we clear to take Keith home?”

Keith’s grip on the strap of his duffel bag tightened and he set his jaw. He always hated it when his foster families referred to their houses as ‘home’ - they weren’t home, home had burned to ash years ago - but he’d long ago learned to just let it slide. It was just semantics, after all.

“That’s everything,” Kolivan grunted. “I’ll come by next Wednesday to see how Keith’s settling in?”

“That would be fine.”

“And you have my number?” he asked, turning to Keith. Keith nodded. He doubted he would call it - his case workers in the past had usually seemed annoyed at being contacted over anything short of murder-in-progress on the severity scale, which, thankfully, things had never escalated to - but he had it. “Seems we’re all set, then.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Tania said, clasping her hands together. “Keith, will you need any help getting your things to bring to the car?”

“These are my things,” Keith answered, gesturing to the duffel bag.

“Oh - oh, of course!” Her smile may have flickered, but it was back at full steam in a flash. “Shall we head out, then?”

Keith followed her to the car, slinging his bag into the back seat before taking shotgun. Tania turned the car on after she’d climbed in behind the wheel. “You can pick the station if you’d like,” she said, gesturing toward a screen on the dashboard indicating that the radio was currently tuned to some satellite pop station.

“This is fine,” Keith mumbled.

“You know, if you’d like, I can try and schedule a trip out to the outlet mall sometime soon, pick up some new things for you. Just, whatever you need to feel more at home.”

“Mm.”

“Lance is always up for a shopping trip, I’m sure he’d be glad to come along. He’s really been looking forward to meeting you, you know. Everyone has. I’ve got Luis’ room prepared for you - well, it was Luis’ room originally, but Marco moved into it when Luis left for college, and then he moved out too so it became a guest room, but I guess I still think of it as Luis’ room, just out of old habit. Of course, that isn’t to say that you aren’t free to decorate however you’d like - ”

Keith felt himself zoning out, and the rest of the car ride was spent with Tania chattering away about her family and the house and the plans for the week, with Keith remaining quiet except for the occasional grunt to show he was listening. It was a lot of information all at once, and it was difficult to follow. Five kids, three had moved out - no, two had moved out, the two who were in college - or, no, that wasn’t it, one had graduated, one was away at college, one in college but living at home? Or something. And then one of them was going to be in the same grade as him. Luis. Or Lance. One of the L ones. Was Marco her husband or one of the kids? And she mentioned an abuela, but Keith wasn’t sure if she lived at the house or not. It was all starting to get jumbled.

He supposed he would just have to wait until he actually got there to figure out the lay of the land.

And sooner than he had expected, they were pulling up the driveway of a large, craftsman-style house on the far west side of town, that area just on the edge of the city and a couple of streets away from being considered the countryside, and Tania was parking and opening her door. “You ready?” she asked.

Keith gaze up at the house for a few seconds, chewing his lip, before he took a deep breath a opened his own door, cautiously stepping out. “Yeah,” he said. “Ready.”

[kerfufflewatch]

This got . . . stupidly long. Like 1900 words long. Every time I do prompts, they get longer. One day I’ll be writing novels again. 

Anyway.

----

63.) Routine Kisses Where The Other Person Presents Their Cheek/Forehead For The Hello/Goodbye Kiss Without Even Looking Up From What They’re Doing + 64.) Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward

Gripping the edge of the sleek marble countertop, Hanzo sucks in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and levels a glare at his reflection in the mirror.

His reflection glowers back: his already-stern eyebrows drawn over his eyes, mouth turned down into a deep frown, the very antithesis of the happy fiancé he is supposed to be. Stop being pathetic, he instructs his mirrored counterpart, and himself. It does nothing to ease the ache in his chest and he slumps, defeated, over the sink.

Just outside the door and some thirty feet back is McCree. Hanzo had left him lounging in the hotel bar in their little corner table, nursing a bourbon and browsing an article on his phone. Ostensibly, they were waiting for their target to show so they can plant a bug and leave, but Hanzo had had to dismiss himself when his chest began to ache.

Three days of this. Three days of pretending to be engaged, which in turn meant three days of false affection, constant proximity, ridiculous pet names, and pretending to be irritated to cover how much he is actually pleased by it all.

Undercover fiances. What an absolute joke of a cover. In what way, truly, was this any more effective than simply arriving at the event as companions? What purpose did it serve to spend three days pretending McCree is his husband-to-be except to torture him? Perhaps this was some form of punishment for his past sins, a subtle method employed by a secretly bitter Winston to punish him for his past crimes against Genji.

Except Winston didn’t have a cruel bone in his body, nor half the social awareness required to even be aware of Hanzo’s predicament in the first place, and this hotel was such a popular honeymoon destination resort that it would simply raise fewer eyebrows for a couple to spend the night than a pair of men in a platonic friendship.

Hanzo sighs deeply. It is no one’s fault but his own that he has ended up here. Pining for someone he does not deserve, failing to quash those feelings when they first arose months ago, failing to put even the barest of distance between himself and his interactions with McCree--those were his mistakes alone, as are the consequences.

He takes another deep breath and tries to school his features into something that isn’t the absolute pinnacle of misery. He ends up with something approaching neutral. It will have to do.

He exits the bathroom, returning to the ridiculously sleek, gilded hotel lounge. McCree is just where he left him, idly scrolling through a news article on his phone. He looks up as Hanzo resumes his seat and smiles warmly, as though as though Hanzo’s return has truly brought him joy.

“Welcome back, sweetness,” he says. He reaches his hand across the table, palm-up, and Hanzo doesn’t think twice before taking it. These simple displays of affection had been an adjustment at first, but now he craves them like nothing else. “Everything alright? You were gone for a few.”

“Of course,” Hanzo replies smoothly.

That smile again, as though Hanzo has done something worthy of it. McCree returns to his article. “You didn’t miss much,” he says. “Startin’ to think this might have been a bust.”

“I am inclined to agree.” Hanzo downs the remains of his vodka tonic, watery with the ice that melted while he had a minor breakdown in the bathroom. “But we still have some time here. It would be a shame to waste it entirely.”

“That’s true.” McCree’s thumb strokes mindlessly over the backs of Hanzo’s knuckles. Something in Hanzo’s chest squeezes, too tight, and he gets to his feet.

“I am going to go for a walk,” Hanzo announces, a simple code for I am going to go scout out the area.

“Alright. You need any company?” McCree’s gaze barely flicks up from his phone. He may genuinely be engrossed in his article, but Hanzo knows better than to believe McCree is any less aware of his surroundings.

Yes, Hanzo thinks immediately, unable to shake the disgustingly romantic notion of walking along the piers with McCree at his side.

“No,” he says aloud. “I will not be long.” He trails his hand across McCree’s shoulders as he passes. “I will meet you back in our room soon.”

“Alright.” Then McCree does something odd: he tips his face up a bit, toward Hanzo but with his eyes still glued to his phone, and pauses as though he is waiting for something.

And Hanzo does something odd, too, in that even though he recognizes that something is not quite right, he still dips down and presses a dry kiss to McCree’s forehead before he departs.

He gets a few steps away from the table before he fully realizes what he has just done, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to break stride. He can feel McCree’s gaze burning between his shoulders as he walks away and he fights not to look back, afraid of what he will see on McCree's face if he turns back.

In spite of everything they have had to do these past few days, no form of kissing had been a part of it, and Hanzo had just broken that so easily that they might as well not have been faking at all.

His lips tingle faintly with the memory of the warmth of McCree’s skin. Hanzo walks faster once he gets through the front doors, taking long strides down the sidewalk and around dozens of other tourists to put distance between himself and his mistakes.

--

Surprisingly, the mission wraps up later that evening, the bug successfully planted and transferring valuable information back to Athena to be combed through later. Hanzo and McCree elect to stay the last night, rounding out their week and taking advantage of one night to relax.

The first part of the day passes quickly with the tension of their work, but once the dust settles and they retire to their suite for the night, Hanzo starts to feel nervous. Their suite is not small by any means, but now it feels constricting, trapping him with nowhere to hide with the weight of his stupid kiss hanging overhead. He can feel McCree’s eyes on him as they move about the space in their nighttime rituals.

“What?” he finally snaps after the fourth time he has caught McCree staring, only for McCree to look away and pretend to be doing anything but.

McCree winces, caught out, but he doesn’t try to make an excuse this time. He finishes folding a t-shirt and sets it on top of his duffel bag, considering it for such a long moment that Hanzo wonders if he managed to forget he was asked a question.

“I was thinking,” he says finally. “Or, well, wondering about something.”

The air evaporates from Hanzo’s lungs. He turns away to the wide desk on his side of the room, pretending to be invested in his tablet. “And that requires staring at me?”

“Maybe doesn’t require it, but . . .” He trails off, wrestling with some internal dilemma, then asks, “Did you mean to kiss me earlier today?”

And there it is. Hanzo bites back a sigh, taps at a random app on his tablet to maintain the air of nonchalance. “It was part of our cover,” he says simply.

“Okay. ‘Cept that hadn’t really been a part of it, until then.”

It strikes Hanzo then just how ridiculous this conversation is. “I do not know what else to say,” he says coolly. “We have a cover to maintain. I maintained it as we have the last several days. I do not see what difference it makes.”

“Three reasons.” Hanzo finally looks back, curious in spite of himself. McCree meets his eye  “One,” he says, “as I just said, kissing wasn’t a part of the deal unless it was some sort of emergency. Between that and you disappearing for ten minutes beforehand, it makes me wonder.”

“That was dif--”

“Two, I’ve run a couple covers like this before, and sometimes when you do it for more than a day or two, someone gets a little more invested than they mean. Feelings can run a little high, even if it doesn’t mean much, and it can be awkward later. So if that’s what’s happening, I’d like to know so we can sort it out now rather than later. And three . . .”

McCree suddenly finds his folded t-shirt very interesting again. He picks idly at the fabric, takes a deep breath, and says, “Three, I may have been enjoying this whole thing a lot more than I should be, and not because I only just now got invested, so I wouldn’t mind it if that were the case for you, too.”

Hanzo feels his jaw drop slightly with surprise. He is unsure whether to be relieved or alarmed or some combination of the two. McCree still doesn’t look at him, fiddling with the shirt, his shoulders slowly drawing up until they nearly reach his ears.

Hanzo swallows. He takes a few steps closer to the bed and licks his lips. “And if I said that were true?” he asks.

McCree’s head snaps up. He searches Hanzo’s face for something, perhaps some hint that he may be lying. A tentative smile pulls up one corner of his mouth. “In that case,” he says slowly, “I’d say there’s a lot to talk about, but for now I wouldn’t mind you doin’ it again.”

Hanzo closes the gap between them, putting himself in McCree’s space. He takes the stupid t-shirt out of his hands and sets it aside on the bed. McCree lets him, his eyes never leaving Hanzo’s, waiting. Hanzo’s heart beats against his ribs, not with nerves but anticipation.

He thinks of McCree secretly wanting this just as much as he has--wanting a dozen things that were off-limits, quietly aching with an affection he felt he had to hide, unaware just as Hanzo was of the truth of the matter.  

He reaches up, wrapping his hand around the back of McCree’s neck, and he barely has to guide him down into a proper kiss.

It’s not quite perfect, contrary to Hanzo’s childish daydreaming about how it might be. It’s a little awkward and stilted, two men who haven’t been with another in years feeling out each other. But it’s soft and sincere, and the second one is better, and the third one better still.

By the time they break, McCree’s hands have found their way to Hanzo’s hips, and Hanzo’s fingers are threaded through McCree’s hair. Hanzo opens his mouth to speak, but is surprised that McCree seems to be stuck in a brief stasis, his eyes still closed even after the kiss ends. Hanzo has a couple of seconds to take in the faint flush on McCree’s tan cheeks, the dusty brown of his lashes, and even a few faint, barely-there freckles scattered across the tops of his cheeks before McCree’s eyes flutter open and meet his again.

Hanzo forgets what he meant to say. McCree grins wryly and says, “Now think how good our actin’ would have been if we’d figured this out at the start.”

Hanzo laughs softly. “We still have to leave undetected in the morning,” he points out. “I am sure we will have plenty of chances to convince any non-believers of our relationship.”

“That’s true.” McCree tugs him closer, pulls them together chest to chest. “Hope you don’t mind, but I plan to take every last opportunity to show ‘em.”

[ragewerthers]

Do You Dare Risk All?

Summary: With a lunch that goes right and a dinner that goes wrong, the gap between these two slowly starts to close.

A/n: Its taken me awhile, but Chapter 3 is up and ready!  I hope that it’s a fun read as I really enjoyed getting to write this bit of whump and fluff to set up for Chapter 4!

You can also read at AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612211/chapters/45802942

Enjoy! :D

Words: 4965

----------------------------

As the afternoon came along and lunchtime arrived, Cor made his way back to Cartus’s office with a less than stellar meal for himself.  To be fair, he’d never really taken the time to ever make himself a proper lunch for work. Why would he? He spent most of his day either running around after recruits, which left little to no time to eat, or doing military meetings where he discussed what was going on around Eos and in those cases lunch would be ordered in for them.  Considering today was ‘chase recruits around and run them through their drills’ day it meant he was going to survive off of what he got out of any nearby vending machines.

Today’s meal was a bottled water and two bags of some sort of spicy chips that he’d picked up just down the hall from the Adviser’s office.  Knocking on the door he soon heard the call to come in and happily obliged. The idea that he was getting to spend a bit of extra time with the man was honestly making the marshal feel a bit giddy in a way he never would’ve thought was possible.  But here he was, trying to tamp down the urge to smile like an idiot as he made his way inside to greet the other.

Now that he wasn’t bleeding profusely from his nose he was able to make out Cartus’s office a bit more than before.  It was simple and clean, two windows allowing in a bit of light from the back and side of his office. Considering the time he had heard of Cartus spending here it was probably good for his sanity to have some sort of natural light.

A large, dark oak desk sat in front of the window to the back of the room facing toward the door.  Currently, Cartus was settled behind the desk in a wooden chair fully engrossed in whatever he was typing on his laptop.  In front of his desk another two chairs were set for visitors, but a comfortable looking leather couch was positioned to the side of the room underneath the other window, a plethora of bookcases adorning almost every other wall and filled to the brim with all sorts of political, economical and financial books someone could think of.

The room itself seemed much more comfortable then the one Cor had for himself, but then again he was barely there so what was the point in putting in extra furniture for company?

Returning his gaze to Cartus’s desk he realized that he wasn’t the only one ill-prepared for lunch if the can of Ebony and the two energy bars settled near the corner were anything to go on.

Cartus seemed to be just finishing up something on his laptop, his eyes squinted at the screen as he worked and making Cor roll his own eyes at the stubborn man.

“Glasses, Cartus.  Didn’t we have this discussion the other day?” Cor asked, closing the door behind himself and turning around just in time to see the narrowed look now focused on him.

“Don’t make me get Door the Immortal to teach you a lesson again,” he warned with a quirked eyebrow, reaching up to lower his glasses from the top of his head to perch on his nose.

Cor couldn’t help chuckling at that and shook his head.  “No need for that. Just a friendly reminder is all. Like I said, you’re one of the few gunners we have and I’d hate for your eyesight to suffer because of your vendetta against your glasses.”

Cartus snorted at the accusation as he typed a little more before clicking the final button to send his email.  “It’s not a vendetta! I just… hate them,” he said with a little shrug, finally turning his attention to the man who had entered and bringing a hand up to remove his glasses once more, setting them on his desk with a look of disgust/  As Cor drew closer, the Adviser’s eyes moved from his evil spectacles to glance at the items in the marshal’s hands.

“Crisps and water?  Watching your figure, Leonis?” he asked with a little tilt to his lips, making Cor scowl back at him though a smile soon appeared over the Immortal’s features as well.

“Could ask you the same thing.  Ebony and energy bars?” he asked simply, watching as Cartus’s cheeks tinged a bit pink.

“Alright, alright.  I’m not exactly the healthiest eater either,” he admitted with a little smile, closing his laptop to set it aside.  “Here, you can take either one of the seats there. Both are comfortable… -ish. Or if you prefer you can sit on the sofa.  It’s small but probably a little nicer than the chairs.”

“Thanks.  I think a chair will be fine,” Cor said politely as he took a seat in front of Cartus’s desk.

As both men settled into their lunches, however small and unhealthy they might be, they found themselves falling into easy conversation.  They discussed what they were each doing for the day, talked a bit more about what had happened earlier with Regis and Clarus, even going so far as to start telling stories on the King and his Shield to each other and what ridiculous antics they’d been pulled into.

Cor told Cartus of the time he was tasked with trying to free Clarus from his royal robes after the man had gotten his cloak caught in a revolving door.

Cartus told Cor of the time he’d been tasked with trying to find a gift for Queen Aulea when Regis had forgotten their anniversary two years ago.  Cartus could still recall the look in Regis’s eyes when Aulea had turned to him and thanked him for trying to help her husband.

Both men ended up getting so caught up in their stories that it wasn’t until Cartus’ secretary came in to remind him of his 2:00 meeting that they realized they had far surpassed lunch and lost track of time.

After agreeing to get ready for the meeting and watching the secretary leave, Cartus gave a little sigh and turned back to Cor.

“Sorry about that.  I didn’t realize the time, but I can honestly say this has been one of the nicest lunches I’ve had here in awhile.  Far nicer than simply working through it at least,” he said with a little chuckle as he took his wrappers and tossed them in a wastebasket nearby.

Cor couldn’t help smiling a bit at that, gathering up his own empty chip bags and nodding.  “There’s nothing to apologize for. It was definitely nice getting a chance to… talk and just… get to know you a bit more.  You’re incredibly good company,” he said softly, watching as Cartus’s cheeks tinged a bit pink from the compliment. Gods he was never going to get tired of that, was he?

The Adviser couldn’t stop a little chuckle even as he flushed and looked back up to the marshal.  “Well… that’s incredibly kind of you. But… I agree that it was definitely nice getting a chance to talk to you as well.  It’s definitely given me some good info on our dear Shield and King,” he joked, making Cor laugh a bit.

“Like I said.  I got pictures of Clarus floundering around if you ever want to see them.  It may have been one of the happiest days of my life,” Cor joked, smiling more when Cartus couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the imagery.

“I’ll have to take you up on seeing those some time,” the lithe man chuckled, unable to keep from smiling now.

Both men stood, getting ready to bid the other goodbye and it struck each how even though this was only a simple lunch together… neither really wanted it to end.

However, only one of them really had the nerve to say and do something about that.

“You know… I don’t have any plans this evening and… I was wondering if you’d like to grab some dinner after work?” Cor asked, watching as Cartus seemed to give pause for a moment, a look of uncertainty in his eyes.  Cor instantly read what he was thinking and raised his hands in a sign of peace. “I know, I know. No dates. I promise this is nothing fancy and honestly, you can even consider it my way of apologizing for denting your door if you want.”

That definitely made Cartus relax, a snort escaping him as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth, trying to play it off as a cough even as the smile remained.

“Well.  I suppose that dinner as repayment for the pain and suffering you caused my door wouldn’t be so bad,” he offered back, his smile growing a bit the more he thought about it.  “Alright. I’m probably going to be running around for the rest of the day so if you want you can text me where to meet you.”

Cor felt his chest warm through and through to hear Cartus agreeing to his dinner not date.  “Sounds good. I’ll send you a text when I get out of work and where to meet me. Until then,” he said, giving the other a little nod and heading toward the door.  “Oh, and Cartus?”

The Adviser had just been gathering a few items for his meeting when he heard his name called again and looked up to meet Cors gaze.  “Yes? Something the matter?” he asked curiously.

“Don’t forget your glasses,” Cor said lightly, the barest hint of a teasing tone in his voice as the Adviser grumbled and narrowed his eyes, picking up the glasses he had conveniently set aside so as to “forget” them.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” the man mumbled, putting the glasses into his front vest pocket as Cor chuckled and opened the door to leave.

“I do.  But I’m only keeping your best interests at heart,” he said fondly, watching as the blush that had been on Cartus’s cheeks earlier managed to somehow make it to his ears.

This man was going to be the death of him.

With a final small wave he left the office, his heart a little lighter at his future plans laid out before him.  Even if it wasn’t a date it still was exciting to think that he was at least earning back a bit of his good name in the man’s eyes.  Perhaps, even if this never led to anything romantic, he could at least consider himself a friend to the man. That would be good enough for him.

-------------------------

Cor stood outside ‘ Aberdine’s Cup Noodle Stand ’ only about two blocks down from the main Citadel building, waiting in the glow of the street lamps and fading evening light for Cartus to join him.  He’d sent a text earlier that day giving him the place for their impromptu dinner, figuring what could be less date like then going to a cup noodle stand for a quick bite?

It hadn’t been too much longer before he’d gotten a message back saying that he’d meet him there and that he was looking forward to getting away from the office.

The day had gone on a little longer than even he had anticipated, only leaving around 8:00 p.m and knowing full well that Cartus probably had a bit more to do than himself.  Cor sent another quick text, letting the Adviser know that he’d be waiting for him at the little food stand. Once again a text had been quickly forthcoming that he would be there shortly.

That had been almost an hour ago.

Cor glanced down at his phone from time to time.  Granted he didn’t want to pester the man and didn’t want to keep sending him texts so after every glance he would simply pocket it again, try to avoid the odd looks from the food stall lady and try to look up with each passerby by to see if a familiar figure could be making his way down the pavement from the main building.

Had he been stood up?

He honestly wouldn’t blame him if he had been, but the man had only just confirmed a little while  ago that he was going to meet him there.

Something wasn’t right.

A little worry built up in Cor’s stomach and he began to make his way back to the Citadel.

Luckily the place he’d chosen for their dinner wasn’t too far away and in no time he saw the imposing figure of the Citadels Tower looming over him.  Most of the windows were dark with the occupants having long since gone home, however, a few night owls still seemed to be hanging on as small flecks of orange lit up their offices.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had probably happened, but he wasn’t a man to leave things up to assumptions and chance.

A few minutes later found him exiting the elevator on Cartus’s floor, making his way down the now slightly darkened hallway and toward a door left ajar with light filtering out into the darkness.

As Cor stood outside the door he peeked in, making sure to stay quiet so as not to interrupt what may be going on inside the room.

What he saw made something in his chest ache.

Cartus looked absolutely miserable.

He sat in front of his laptop, actually wearing his glasses while the glow of the screen accentuated the tired lines marring his face.  His vest was undone, the buttoned up shirt underneath looking a little less pristine than it had earlier. The sleeves of his shirt were now rolled up to his elbows revealing his forearms and all in all he just looked the epitome of the word ‘rumpled’.  Something Cor never would’ve associated with the normally put together Adviser.

“What do you want, Scelus?” Cartus growled, not looking up from his work.

Cor quirked his head to the side and finally pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

“Scelus?” he asked, watching as Cartus looked up startled, his tired eyes taking a moment to register who was actually coming into his office.

“Oh!  Cor! My apologies!  I… oh gods, what time is it?” he rambled, looking around for something to check the time with, but apparently his mind wasn’t exactly in the right place as he glossed over picking up his phone or looking to his laptop.

“It’s getting close to 10 now I think,” Cor offered and heard a disgruntled groan from the man as Cartus ran his hands over his face, pushing his glasses back up his forehead as he rubbed at his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Cor.  I should’ve sent a text or called, but… I got… waylaid with some extra work at the last second and I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere,” Cartus apologized once more, lowering his hands and looking more deflated and tired by the minute.

“Extra work?  From Regis?” Cor asked as he walked into the office, closing the door behind him. The question was his way of gently prompting the subject.  He didn’t become one of the head military figures of Lucis by not knowing how to get information and right now he wanted to know about this ‘Scelus’.  The obvious cause for Cartus’ distress, but he knew coming right out and asking could well enough lead to no answer at all. Better to just play a little dumb for now.

Cartus shifted a little where he sat as Cor got closer, not exactly meeting the others gaze, but tugging at his shirt sleeve in a nervous gesture he would’ve definitely had a better hold on had he not been so tired.  “No. Not from Regis,” he admitted, giving a little sigh of defeat. “Scelus Asina decided to drop by and give me a few reports to finish for the delegation coming from Altissia tomorrow. It’s nothing he couldn’t have done himself, but… I always seem to find myself finishing up his work.”

Cor had settled himself in the wooden chair he’d been in earlier that day, listening to Cartus as the man vented a bit.  Apparently this wasn’t going to be the toughest interrogation he was ever going to conduct. “So he does this often?” Cor asked, watching the way Cartus’s green eyes hardened at the statement.

“At this point I don’t even know why he has a job considering I carry most of his workload,” he grumbled.  “But he plays it off as if I’m doing him a favor each and every time! ‘ Oh you’re really saving me here, Scientia!  It’s not like you have a family to get home to right? ’ or ‘ This is really going to save me from getting in trouble with the missus again!  Good thing you don’t have a bustling social life, right? ’  Somehow… he manages to compliment me, insult me and then sautner out of here with me holding onto far more work then I really need.  And the stupid part of it all is that I do it! Each and every time! Because you know what? He’s right. I can’t refute what he’s saying.  I don’t have a family to get back to and I don’t have a bustling social life.”

There was something in the way he said the last few sentences, the way his shoulders slumped and he seemed to take the words to heart that made Cors heart ache for the man in front of him.

“Cartus…,” he began before being silenced by the look he received.

“Don’t.  I don’t need pity.  It’s the truth, Cor,” Cartus reiterated, his stern expression melting into an apologetic one.  “But I’m sorry that I won’t be able to join you for dinner this evening. And I apologize for not having had the thought to text you to let you know instead of having you waste your evening as well.”

This time Cor shook his head.  “You have nothing to apologize for.  Though I’m sorry that this Scelus has decided to use your good nature in such a way,” Cor said honestly.

Cartus offered the man a little smile at that and shook his head.  “It’s… fine. Really. You think this is the first bully I’ve had to put up with?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at the marshal and Cor had the decency to look ashamed.  “Some seem to have found fit to follow in your footsteps, as it were. I can only hope they will follow the new steps you’re taking.”

Cor still felt the sting of those words.  Knowing that he had inadvertently led the way for other people to think they could take advantage of Cartus definitely didn’t sit well with him.

Gods he’d been a prick.

Cartus seemed to pick up on the mood of the marshal and he shook his head, offering a little smile.  “Cor, stop it. I can hear you getting ready to wallow and I won’t allow it. I’m an adult. I should be able to deal with a few grade school antics.  I’ll figure it out. But for now… I… should probably get this done before tomorrow.” The man glanced over at the laptop again and the files that had unceremoniously found their way to his desk thanks to Scelus.

“If you’re sure.  I’ll... stop in tomorrow and make sure you haven’t burned yourself out then,” the marshal offered, feeling the guilt still holding strong in his chest as he stood to leave the man to his work.  “Have a good evening, Cartus.”

The Adviser watched Cor stand, something unreadable in his eyes as he gave a small, tired smile in return.  “Have a good evening, Cor,” he offered in return before turning back to his work with a roll of his shoulders, the small smile disappearing as he refocused on work that wasn’t his, doing it because it merely because it needed to be done.

Closing the door behind himself, Cor stood in the hallway for a moment, his mind still processing that he’d inadvertently forged a path for others to take advantage of Cartus.  A man who had so much on his plate, but who had now become an ‘easy target’ because of his own idiocy.

He couldn’t just leave this as it was and soon a little plan had formed in his head.  A small way to make up for all the ways he’d managed to fail the Adviser to the throne.

-------------------------

Cartus was just finishing up the second of three analysis papers on the Altissian fishing commerce and the surrounding area when he heard a knock on his door.

Cor had only just left about 20 minutes prior and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out who would be milling around the building apart from security possibly coming to check up on him.

“Erm… come in?” he called, watching as the door opened to reveal one of the last sights he expected to see.

Cor had returned… and his arms were laiden with a few takeaway bags, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Really, Cartus?  You’re here… alone… at night… and you hear a knock on the door and you just invite someone in?  We’re definitely gonna have to get you back into training,” he teased, kicking the door shut behind him.

Cartus was still sat, slightly flabbergasted at the sight before him.  “What are you doing back here?” he asked before Cor’s words caught up to him and he scowled.  “And don’t give me that! I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.” With that he stood, going over to Cor to help unburden the man.

The closer he got the more the scent of the food started to get to the poor Adviser, his mouth watering as he realized that all of this was probably from a few different takeaway joints nearby.

“I wasn’t sure what your tastes would be… and I know that your lunch was worse than mine so I figured I’d bring you a bit of whatever I could find,” Cor offered with a light smile, taking the bag he still had and setting on a small coffee table in front of the sofa.

Cartus was still holding the other bag he’d taken from the marshal, the scent of curries, chicken and a few other spices making his mouth water the longer he held it.

“Cartus?  Caz?” Cor asked, unknowingly letting the nickname slip as he looked over at the poor guy, trying his best not to laugh at the dazed look on his face as he finally got his attention.  “Why don’t you take a seat and dig in? You look like you’re three seconds from passing out and I’m not going to have that on my conscious.”

Any sort of comeback or denial died on his lips as his stomach gave a growl any daemon would be proud of and his ears instantly flushed crimson.  “Fine, fine,” he agreed moving around to take a seat on the sofa and set the other bag down, starting to pull out the different food items Cor had picked up.  As he sat his mind finally caught up with the fact that Cor the Immortal had just dubbed him with a new nickname and it… made his stomach give a funny little flutter in a way he didn’t want to analyze right now.

“You really did pick up a little of everything, didn’t you?” Cartus chuckled, unable to help himself as he pulled out curry, Chicken parmesan, two slices of pizza and some Shrimp Cup Noodle, his thoughts easily refocusing on the food before him.

Cor smiled smugly and nodded, taking a seat beside him. “Yes I did.  If you can’t find something you like here then it can’t be found… at least not within a few blocks of here,” he joked, pulling out a sub, Spicy Chicken Cup Noodle, sushi and three cans of Ebony and two bottles of water.  “So… what would you like first?”

Cartus’s eyes roved over the buffett laid out before him, his stomach giving another growl as he sheepishly pointed to the curry and sushi.  “I’d happily lay claim to those two items if that’s alright?” he asked, though before he had even finished Cor was already moving the items closer to him.

“You could claim everything here and it would be alright,” Cor promised, giving him a kinder smile as he also put a bottle of water near the man.  “It’s really the least I could do after being the catalyst for all your troubles this evening.”

Cartus paused in the removal of the lid to the curry, looking over at the man sat beside him and the look of guilt that was coming over him.

“You didn’t put Scelus up to doing what he does, Cor,” Cartus said gently.  “Just because he saw fit to be a bully, that’s not on you. He could have just as easily left me alone, but he chose not to.  Like I said, I’ll find a way to deal with him like an adult. It’s nothing I want you to trouble yourself with. Though… I really do appreciate the effort of this dinner.”

As he spoke, Cor worked up the nerve to look over at him once more, finding a kind smile on the other’s features and feeling his heart beat just a little faster.

A small smile broke out over his own features now and he nodded.  “Well… like I said. It’s the least I could do,” he murmured, reaching for the Spicy Cup Noodle and settling back into the sofa cushions

Cartus seemed content in the knowledge that Cor was a bit more comfortable now and finally tucked into his own meal, eating the curry in a flourish and quickly following it up with the sushi and finally picking up the Shrimp Cup Noodle to enjoy a bit of extra guilty, salty goodness.

“Feeling better?” Cor asked as Cartus picked lazily at the noodles, eating the bits of seafood he found in it with a contented little hum each time.

The Adviser nodded, a soft smile on his lips.  “Much better. I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” he admitted, fighting a little yawn now as Cor set his empty bottle of water aside.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up a little dessert for after,” he said honestly, getting a surprised snort from Cartus and turning to see the man hiding a laugh against his hand once more.  He’d come to realize that Cartus had a tendency to hide his laugh. He wondered if he couldn’t fix that.

“Oh thank goodness you didn’t,” Cartus admitted with a little shake of his head.  “I’ve a horrible sweet tooth. I would’ve made a joke of myself in front of you and I don’t think my ego could’ve handled it.”

Cor chuckled at hearing that, making a mental note to definitely bring back something sweet next time.

Cartus leaned back against the sofa now as well, Cor soon following suit after setting aside his empty cartons.  As they let their dinner settle, Cor still mulled a few things over in his head, debating if he should say what was on his mind and in the end deciding that really… there was nothing to lose by speaking up now.

“You know… I really am sorry for everything I’ve put you through, Cartus,” Cor murmured, looking down at his lap, his fingers fiddling with nonexistent fuzz on his trousers.  “I shouldn’t have been treating you the way I have. I shouldn’t have been a bully and I should’ve just been fair to you and treat you like the amazing person you are.” Cor could feel his cheeks heating up as he spoke, but he knew this had to be said.  “And you really are amazing, Cartus. You do far more than your share of work without complaint. You are loyal, kind… and I hope that we can continue to get to know one another and… that I can continue to earn your trust and especially your friendship.”

As he finished speaking he waited for some sort of comment or remark, only finding the quiet of the room greeting his ears and then… he felt a bump against his side and a weight settled on his shoulder.

“Cartus?  Are you…?” Cor turned his head to check that everything was alright only to find the man asleep against him, the glasses that rested atop his head now slightly askew, his lips only just parted as soft, even breaths escaped him.  He appeared to still be holding onto the half full cup of noodles and Cor carefully reached over to take them from him, trying not to shift too much so as to wake the man.

The marshal couldn’t help smiling at the poor Adviser’s state, shaking his head.  “Here I am trying to have an honest heart to heart and you fall asleep on me,” he whispered more to himself than anything.  All he got for his troubles was a little hum and soft nuzzle from the brunette that made his heart melt. “Well now you’re just being unfair.”

Cor knew he couldn’t stay like this forever.  That eventually he was going to have to get up and leave and make sure that Cartus was awake and okay, but… for now he remained at his post, ever the loyal soldier, allowing the man a moment’s rest from his hectic day.

Giving another little glance to the side, Cor took in the relaxed features of Cartus and gave a little sigh, his smile still lingering on his face.

“You’re definitely gonna be the death of me.”