#in my mind I see my grandson standing in the backyard with his children playing the man are strong and his cool head and moral compass

[harmcityherald]

My Artemisia

[a-lockman5]

Dirty Little Secret {Devi x Paxton}

A/N: Hooray! So after about 8.5K, I cut this one off. I like the way it ended, and it was fun to imagine a future Daxton. Thank you so much to the person that requested it! I am throwing around the idea of working on a part 2, so if I get at least 5 “upvotes” for a part 2, I will take it on.

Summary: Devi wasn’t interested in dating anymore. She wasn’t hurt or messed up from a previous relationship. She just wanted to meet a guy that made time stand still. It just didn’t happen. That is, until a man from her past walked into her office.

Warnings: Fluff, drinking/alcohol abuse, time-jump (Devi and co. are in their late 20s), forbidden love, taboo, mild burns, sexual themes - nothing explicit

Don’t forget, request/ask is open!

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“Debbie, you have a new patient today,” the office manager, Barb called out, thrusting a folder into the air.

“It’s Devi,” she swiped the folder from her, “you know, like that grandson you’re always going on about.”

“Oh, sorry, dear. I keep forgetting.”

“It’s alright, Barb, thanks for grabbing this,” she turned away toward her own desk. I’ve only been working here for two and half years. Why should you have caught on by now?

Devi Vishwakumar didn’t know what she wanted for the future when she graduated nearly nine years ago. She had spent her high school career with two things on her mind: having a love life and getting to Princeton. She’d managed both. After dating Ben Gross for the entirety of their junior year, Devi and he ended things amicably largely because being friendly rivals was much more fun and somehow resulted in less legitimate fighting. Senior year, she enjoyed the company of another classmate named Tyler Herron. He was academically minded, but still a jock in his own right. He played for the soccer and basketball teams, and Devi found she received common invites to parties that previously she thought only came from her friendship with Paxton Hall-Yoshida. Eleanor and Fabiola continued to prove they were the best friends anyone could ask for, but she also learned to love Shira and Zoey. Though they often seemed more superficial than Devi thought to care for, their aspirations were just as real as Devi’s and they had minds made for business and marketing. When time came for graduation, Devi felt more seen and cared for than she ever thought she could, and that’s what she said in her valedictorian speech. She also couldn’t help throwing a jab at Ben for beating him out, but to be fair, he insinuated letting her win in his own speech.

When she arrived at Princeton the following fall, Tyler forged his own path to MIT. Devi had no intention of bringing a boyfriend into college with her and was not at all hurt when Tyler felt the same way. She did wish she’d beat him to the punch, but at least they too split mutually and were able to be friendly on social media. Being single gave Devi the opportunity to focus on what was most important – her future.

Her mother made it very clear to her, she was to pick a college major before arriving for her first semester. Not having a plan is lazy. Are you lazy, khanna? Even when her mother was thousands of miles away, Devi could hear her loud and clear in her head. Though, she found she was right. Devi had to be prepared to make decisions for herself otherwise all the work she’d put in to get to Princeton would be for nothing. She chose Biology and pursued it relentlessly.

By the time she was graduating with her bachelor’s in biology, she’d made plenty of friends during that time who helped her choose to further pursue Physical Therapy. It was funny, she often thought, how she spent so long working to move across the country for her favorite Ivy League school to then end up back in her backyard for graduate school. The University of Southern California had one the best PT programs in the country, and Devi was proud to have studied there. Her final fieldwork was assigned at OSMC, Orthopedics and Sports Medicine Calabasas. After a thrilling experience, and impressing her Clinical Instructor at every turn, she was asked to stay on after graduation. Naturally, Devi accepted.

OSMC was not only the most exclusive orthopedic surgery and rehabilitation practice in Southern California, but it was also where she felt most at home. Outside of having a coworker who passively refused to learn the correct pronunciation of her name, she was in her element every day. Plus, she got to meet some really cool people. Professional athletes, actors, stuntmen, they all came to OSMC for physical rehabilitation. Legally, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone else that she’d personally worked with Dylan O’Brien, Diego Boneta, and Mookie Betts. She liked to remind herself of those things regularly though. Living in the LA area also allowed Devi’s relationship to improve with her mom, who finally voiced how proud she was of Devi… when she first started working. Now, she was worried that Devi would never settle down.

Devi had begged her mother not to place her in an arranged marriage when she was still studying at Princeton. The conversation actually took place at Kamala and Prashant’s wedding ceremony. It wasn’t that she didn’t think it could work – Kamala and Prashant proved that love could flourish from being set up. Devi wanted something different though. She wanted what Nalini and Mohan had. They met when they were children, and never wanted anyone else. She wanted to meet a man and feel the electricity that could make her forget her own name (like Barb seemed to do every day). Heart softened by the reminder of how Mohan had swept her off her feet, Devi’s mother agreed. That was six years ago. More recently, Nalini reminded her daughter regularly that all of the handsome driven Indian men in her age range had already been swept up, so she was on her own. She also made it very clear that grandchildren were to be in her future.

Did her mother’s constant badgering sour Devi on dating? Maybe a little bit. Did she get guys to buy her, Eleanor, and Fabiola drinks when they out only to ditch the same guys at the first opportunity? Absolutely, but what woman hadn’t done that? It had been a long time since Devi saw a man that made time stand still, and Mehcad Brooks was treated in her therapy gym.

No, Devi was not the romance obsessed teen she once was. Honestly, it’s better this way. Now, I can focus on my career, she thought. She pulled up her schedule on her laptop and noticed she didn’t have an appointment for three hours. “Hey, Barb? What time is that eval coming in?”

“Scheduled in thirty minutes!” She called back.

“Who ya got, D?” Amir, one of the physical therapy assistants, asked. “Someone rich or someone famous?”

“Go ahead and take a look, you’ll probably be seeing them next week,” Devi replied going to grab a mug of coffee.

“Hey, another Olympian. Paxton Hall-Yoshida!”

“Devi, oh my gosh, are you okay?” Hannah’s voice sounded like it was a hundred miles away. Devi didn’t come back to reality until she felt a damp towel being pressed into her arms. “Here, there’s coffee all over your leg. I don’t want you to get burns.”

Hannah was their rehabilitation technician. She helped keep things picked up, sanitized, and would provide physical assistance if they needed another set of hands during a session. At the moment, she was saving Devi from second degree burns, and cleaning up the broken ceramics from the coffee mug she’d just dropped. Hannah was right too; Devi chose the wrong day to wear a skirt and had drenched her right leg in hot coffee.

“Hannah, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me,” Devi told her pressing the towel on her knee and calf with one hand and crouching down to help pick up the pieces of her mug with the other.

“Devi, I love you, but please don’t help. We don’t want you to cut your hand open,” she laughed. Devi was known to be a little clumsy. “I have a pair of scrubs with me if you want to wear them today.”

“You are a lifesaver, Hannah. I don’t care what Amir says about you!” she called over her shoulder, heading into the locker room to change into Hannah’s scrubs.

Okay, Devi, get your shit together. Maybe it’s not even the same guy. Except, of course it was. How many Paxton Hall-Yoshida’s were Olympic Swimmer’s for the US team? One. There was one. One Paxton Hall-Yoshida that Devi had routinely made a fool of herself in front of when she was in high school. Paxton Hall-Yoshida that gave her the best first kiss a girl could dream up. Before she started dating Ben, Paxton was all she thought about. Now, she was supposed to treat him? God, I feel like I’m fifteen again! she thought, kicking the lockers angrily. She had to get a grip. She had exactly twenty-two minutes to handle the situation.

After changing quickly into the burgundy colored scrubs, Devi found herself in her boss’s office. “Makayla, is there any way I can give my eval to one of the other therapists?”

“Why?” She tapped her acrylics on the desk impatiently. Makayla was notorious for being in all the gossip of the clientele in their practice. Devi knew she had to be careful telling her too much. If she knew Devi and Paxton went to high school together, the questions would never stop until Devi ended up with word vomit about both of their personal lives.

“Uh... I just spilled hot coffee on my leg, and I am feeling pretty tense from that still.”

“Alright, Devi, I’m going to level with you. This particular client asked for you specifically. Apparently, he knows one of your previous clients, and they were a satisfied customer. He will not be happy if he works with another therapist. Are we going to have a problem?”

Devi swallowed her argument about conflicts of interest and gave her boss a tight-lipped smile. “No problem. I’m flattered, obviously. Thanks.” She rose from her seat and began to back out of the office. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help,” she gave a small wave and didn’t notice the way her foot caught on the door frame until it was too late.

She screwed her eyes shut, waiting for impact. It’s a reflex to reach your hands out toward the ground when falling in order to protect your head, but instead it often results in one of the most common fractures. Devi knew her bottom and back could take a fall and so she resisted the urge to catch herself, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to meeting the floor.

Except she didn’t hit the floor. “Woah!” she heard man’s voice shout before she was caught by a strong arm. “Good thing you got my good side.”

When she opened her eyes, there he was. Holding her in mid-air with one arm, Paxton Hall-Yoshida smiled down at Devi like Christmas had come early. He gingerly aided her back to a standing position, and she tried to ignore how he bit his lip and smirked at her. Man, he had not changed a bit, except that somehow, he looked stronger and more handsome than the last time she’d seen him.

“Oh, thank goodness. We didn’t need Danni getting hurt again!” Barb giggled from behind the front desk. Devi opened her mouth to correct the office manager again but didn’t manage to get the words out before Paxton.

“It’s Devi,” he told Barb. “D-e-v-i; it means goddess.”

“Oh!” Barb smiled like it was the first time she’d heard Devi’s name. “Well, thank you, young man. This goddess is your physical therapist today.”

“Lucky me,” he grinned. “Lead the way, Dr. Vishwakumar.”

It was all Devi could do to stop the heat from coloring her cheeks as she led Paxton through the therapy gym to one of the exam rooms in the back. No one interrupted them or disrupted their course. That was an expectation of working in an office with so many VIP clients. Professionalism came first, and Devi kept blasting that in her head. Be professional. Be professional.

Once they reached the exam room, she stopped at the open door and gestured for him to enter ahead of her. She tried to stop herself from checking out his backside, but the high school sophomore in her won the battle. And just like when they were in high school, this boy – nay – this man had an amazing way of filling out clothing that would otherwise be loose fitting. God, he looked good.

When she looked up, she was glad his back was still to her. For the first time, possibly in her entire life, Paxton didn’t catch her in an embarrassing moment. “So, Mr. Hall-Yoshida, why don’t you take a seat and” –

She was cut off by his soft laughter. “Come here, Devi,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

She found herself returning his embrace, and it actually helped her relax a little. “It’s good to see you too, Paxton,” she told him when she pulled away a moment later. “How long has it been?”

His eyes squinted over her shoulder as he thought about her question. “Ben Gross’s Christmas party 2022, right? Eight years?”

Somehow, in that moment, it felt like yesterday. “Yeah, that’s right. The one party at Ben’s that didn’t end with me in the deep end of the pool,” she grinned.

His eyes raked over her for a moment, so intense that she chose to turn away and grab his chart to distract herself. Then he laughed again. “At least sometimes it was on purpose.”

“Yes, not all of us are as graceful in the water as the Paxton H.Y.” she smiled up from his paperwork. “Alright, we could catch up for hours, but we have to get your evaluation done. Tell me what’s going on with your shoulder.”

Paxton smirked, but nodded and did not argue with moving on into the session. He explained his sudden onset of pain during a training session. Sharp pain. He noticed more during strokes or overhead activity. It was difficult to sleep on that shoulder, but otherwise, if he wasn’t using it, he didn’t have pain. Everything Paxton told her confirmed what the orthopedist had diagnosed: shoulder impingement syndrome. Just to cover her bases, Devi confirmed positive results for Neer’s and Hawkins’ tests.  He demonstrated mild weakness in the affected shoulder, and pain seemed to onset just at approximately 100 degrees of flexion.

“Okay, looks like you saw Doctor… Matthews? Did he explain this to you?”

“Not really… he said I’m pinching a muscle in my rotator cuff?”

“Kind of, more like a tendon,” Devi said grabbing a model off the counter. “So, you know how this is a ‘ball and socket’ joint so to speak. Normally, you have full range of motion and the ball rotates in the socket without any pain or stiffness,” she explained demonstrating the normal range of shoulder flexion. “Right now, you have some inflammation in the space between the ball and socket, so whenever you raise your arm above shoulder level, there isn’t enough space for the joint to rotate normally. Because of that, you pinch that tendon, it hurts and causes more inflammation, and then the next time you raise your arm, you’ll pinch the tendon, it’ll hurt and cause inflammation, and so on.”

“So… every time I raise my arm… like on every stroke, I make it worse?” he asked, his forehead furrowing.

“Not really, but you’re not making it any better. Every time you raise your arm above shoulder level, you’re basically reinjuring it. Don’t worry though, we can fix it.”

“Dr. Matthews didn’t think I would need surgery.”

“Oh, god no, and I would never do surgery. A – out of my scope of practice, B – can you imagine me with a scalpel and a living, breathing person? Bad idea.”

She smiled when he started laughing. This was Devi’s favorite part of her job. She had many A list clients walk into her office, and there was always a level of fear that they wouldn’t be able to reach 100% again. Sometimes, it was true. Devi liked being able to alleviate that fear and make people as comfortable as possible though. Paxton was no different. He’s just another client, she told herself, and continued in her explanation.

“See the reason it keeps happening is because you’re not giving the inflammation a chance to go down. Between swimming, lifting, and day to day activities, your arm goes over your head a lot. First thing we have to do is, limit that.”

“So, I can’t swim?”

“Not unless you can do it with your left arm by your side,” her head tilted in sympathy. “It’s not forever though. I want you to keep your arm below 90 degrees of flexion – below shoulder level for four weeks and I want you to complete these exercises every day, two to three times per day,” she pulled her pre-assembled shoulder impingement program out of a binder. “I want you here twice a week and we’ll follow up on your progress.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “If you seem like you need more attention, then we’ll add a session weekly. Honestly, Paxton, this is a really common injury, especially for swimmers. It’s known as ‘swimmer’s shoulder.’ You’ll be back in the pool in plenty of time to qualify for 2032.”

He smiled warmly at her, and she could see his stress deflating. “Thanks, that is really good news.” He stood from his seat and advanced toward her before catching himself, “Can I hug you again?”

She grinned. “As long as you keep your arm below 90 degrees.”

She saw a spark in his eyes as he thought of a retort, but his expression changed to his easy smirk and he nodded. “Deal. Thanks, Devi,” he said as he pulled her into him.

“So, we’re done, and I can go?” he seemed nervous.

“Yeah, I have another patient in,” she glanced at her watch, “thirty minutes? Wow, I thought this was a quick one.”

“What time do you get off?”

“My last appointment is from 4:00 to 4:45 this afternoon.”

“Let’s get dinner tonight. Are you busy?”

Was he asking her on a date? No, just as friends to reconnect. Still, she had to keep things professional. Dot the T’s, cross the I’s – “What?” Nailed it.

He exhaled in a gentle laugh, his right arm reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “I, umm, I asked you to have dinner with me.”

“Like a date?”

He stared at the floor, another laugh escaping him. “Yeah, Devi, like a date.”

To be honest, she was a little angry with him for this. “Paxton, I can’t.”

“Devi, come on. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. It doesn’t even have to be a date! Just two friends, catching up.”

She opened the door, attempting to usher him out. “That would be hugely unethical, Paxton. If you wanted to ask me out, you shouldn’t have handpicked me to be your therapist. I can’t date one of my clients.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again with a nod. “You’re right, I’m sorry, Dr. Vishwakumar. I didn’t mean to offend you. Thanks for all your help today. I’ll see you next week,” he told her. It would have seemed respectful or sincere if he hadn’t smirked the whole time. He was already at the front desk, presumably scheduling his next appointment when Devi reached her desk. He turned, his eyes settling on her immediately. “Oh and, Dr. Vishwakumar, you look good in that color,” he said with a smile that made her knees weak.

“Devi, he was flirting with you!” Hannah rushed to her side once he was gone.

“Lucky me,” she grimaced, pulling her phone from her desk drawer.

*We’re getting drinks tonight.. Actually we’re going out. Get hot.*

***

“So why are we going out tonight?” Fabiola asked, pouring shots of tequila in her kitchenette.

Fabiola had a cozy apartment in Koreatown. After receiving her degree in mechanical engineering from UC Berkeley, she received an entry-level job at Aldrin Corp. Within a few years, and some well-timed retirements, Fabiola was promoted to Senior Project Engineer. It was a job that was made for her. She often said she felt she was more hands on than previous SPE’s she’d worked for, but it also gained her the respect of her subordinates and made meeting deadlines that much easier. Her salary allowed her to not only afford this apartment near downtown LA, but to keep saving. Devi thought even with Eleanor climbing the ranks in her own field, Fabiola would be the first to have a suburban home like they’d all grown up in. For now though, she’d have the apartment closest to the clubs, and would be their pre-game hub.

“Yeah, you’re lucky you picked tonight. I had an early table read this morning, but I don’t have to be on set again until Sunday,” Eleanor agreed, touching up her eyeshadow.

“You will not believe who walked into my office today,” Devi groaned, leaving the bathroom to meet Fabiola at the counter. She swiped a shot off the counter and downed it with a wince.

“What about the salt and lime?” her friend asked in outrage. “I cut fresh lime for you!”

Devi grabbed a wedge and bit the flesh out and Fabiola nodded curtly. “I’ll use the salt for the next one.”

“So, who was it?” Eleanor asked, gliding out of the bathroom to join them. “Was it Sebastian? I know he’s almost 50, but I don’t know how you didn’t go home with him at the last premier party.”

Eleanor was a successful actress. She wasn’t a leading lady yet. She was gaining a lot of clout though. Enough clout to be at premier parties with Sebastian Stan… and Amandla Stenberg… and Tom Holland. Her phone was full of A-list stars and she was not legally obligated to keep her mouth shut about any time she spent with them. She very thoughtfully brought Devi and Fabiola to her premier parties as her guests, and that meant that they met a lot of A-list stars too.

“It was not Sebastian Stan,” Devi rolled her eyes, “and I’ll remind you, he texted you the next day asking you to thank me for calling his driver to come get him, remember? He was plastered and did not need to wake up with a stranger in bed with him.”

“Yeah, he’s really shy and private about his personal life. That fruit basket he sent you was intense.”

“Hello, losing focus,” Fabiola redirected while refilling Devi’s shot glass. “Who came in today?”

Devi groaned as she remembered her obligation to patient privacy. “I can’t tell you. Stupid HIPAA. What I can tell you is, he asked me out at the end of the session.” Eleanor and Fabiola grinned at each other before turning their grins on Devi. “What?”

“You wanted to say yes!” they said in unison.

“What? No, I didn’t. I’m dreading seeing this guy again next week.”

“No, you’re not! You’ve told us tons of stories of your patients flirting with you and your coworkers. Never once has it prickled you to the point of wanting to go get hammered in a nightclub.”

“Fabiola’s right! You’re fantasizing about getting with this guy in the exam room like on Grey’s. God, will that show ever not be relevant?”

“The point is the reason this has you tweaking is because you know you can’t do it.”

“Shut up, you guys suck.” Devi said, preparing a salt strip on her wrist for another shot.

“So, give him to another therapist so he isn’t your patient.”

“I tried before he even walked in, but Makayla said he asked for me specifically. She said something about how he knew another satisfied client.”

“Why is your job so sexual?” Eleanor laughed to which Devi glared. “Sorry, I’m sure all of your clients are satisfied.”

“You’re the worst,” Devi laughed, grabbing a lime wedge and thrusting the saltshaker into Fabiola’s hand. “Now are we pre-gaming or what?”

After more than enough shots resulted in finishing off the bottle in record time, Eleanor called for a car. The girls piled in, giggling a lot more than they had been a half hour prior. Fabiola insisted on controlling the music, though no one argued. Fab had an excellent knack for reading the energy and picking the perfect soundtrack. At least normally. This time, what she thought to be a great throwback jam, took Devi back eight years to a time that would only increase her anxiety to think about.  2022, Ben Gross’s Christmas Party.

***

“Coyote girl!”

“Hey, Trent,” Devi smiled meeting him and Paxton by the punch bowl. “You didn’t dip your balls in this again, did you?”

“Come on, Devi, I’m in college now. Would I do that?”

She looked between Trent and Paxton: Trent attempting to look way too innocent, Paxton analyzing him just as much as Devi. Suddenly, he turned to Devi. “You know what? I brought a bottle of Jack. It’s in the fridge. I’ll share with you.”

Devi smiled in gratitude as Paxton led her inside. “So, you’re drinking?”

He smiled. “We get a break from meets during Christmas break, so I figure once or twice won’t hurt.”

“David!” she heard as soon as she and Paxton entered the kitchen. The moment they started dating, Devi told Ben that the ‘nickname’ bothered her. He almost never used it anymore, but he was obviously drunk. “Wait, no sorry. Devi!”

“What’s up, man?” Paxton fist bumped Ben. “I don’t trust Trent, so Devi is drinking my stuff. Cool?”

“Cool, man, and thanks for the heads up. If you don’t trust Trent, I don’t trust Trent.”

Ben and Paxton had reached a relationship of friendly acquaintances by the time Paxton graduated. It had been a necessity when Ben tutored Paxton in order to meet the requirements for his swim scholarship to Stanford. At the time, it brought Devi mixed feelings. Being a few years removed from the drama of her sophomore year, it was nice they could all just hangout without it being weird.

“So, Ben, I gotta know. Why are you having a Christmas party?” Devi asked. “You don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“True, but you can’t throw a party over winter break without accepting that people are going to call it a Christmas party, and expecting half the guests to wear ugly sweaters whether it’s required or not,” Ben explained, only slightly tripping over his words. “I just steer into the skid.”

Devi and Paxton grinned at him before laughing. “Hey, whatever. It’s a dope party, and you guys are just too sober to appreciate it,” he accused good-naturedly, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels out of the refrigerator. “Get moving and come find me when you’re on this level. Unless I’m with Emma, then come back later.”

“Emma?”

“His girlfriend. She’s wicked smart, and she even convinced his parents to be at parents’ weekend. They’ll probably get married,” Devi told him as Ben went back outside.

“I’m sorry, do you go to school in New Jersey or Boston?” he teased.

“What?”

“You’re turning into a New Englander, Vishwakumar,” he told her, taking a pull of the Jack. He stepped in close enough to her that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

“I am not,” she laughed taking the bottle from him and taking a pull of her own. She coughed a little as it went down causing him to smirk. “I don’t usually drink whiskey.”

“Here,” he turned to the fridge and grabbed a soda. “Chase with coke, it helps.”

Just as she went to open the can, a group of people came in, immediately crowding them because they were going to use the island for a game of quarters. At least, that’s what she was able to glean from the drunken shouts of her old classmates. She felt an arm wind around her waist and looked up at Paxton – her chest practically pressed against his.

“Hey, you want to catch up to get drunk or catch up with a friend?” he leaned down to speak in her ear.

“How about both?” she smiled, grabbing the bottle of Jack and slipping through the crowd with Paxton close behind.

“Devi, come on! Catch up!” she came back to reality to have Eleanor thrusting one of the mini fireball bottles she’d shoved in her purse into Devi’s hand.

“I hate fireball,” she groaned.

“Fireball!” her friends shouted, and they all downed a bottle.

“Ladies, we’re here.”

“Okay, okay, one more for the club,” Devi insisted.

With a cheer, all three girls shot another small bottle of fireball. After tipping the driver, Eleanor led them past the line and walked straight up to the bouncer.

“Ladies,” the man smiled. “You on the list?”

“Eleanor Wong,” she stated her name with a flutter of her eyelashes.

He was silent as he skimmed his clipboard. “I don’t see it…” he trailed off, looking up at Eleanor, “but hey, aren’t you in that new spy thriller with Michael B. Jordan?”

Her eyes lit up, “Yes! Shot for Death! Tom keeps saying I’ll get used to being recognized, but it’s such a rush! Oh, here he is now,” she held a finger up to the stout but muscular man as she answered a phone call. “Hello darling,” she said with a flourish. “We’re outside, but he says I’m not on the list. Could you?”

Within seconds, Tom Holland popped his head out the door. “Mal, they’re with me. They’re under my name.”

“My apologies, ladies. Head on in, and I can’t wait to see you on the big screen again, Ms. Wong.”

“Thank you!” she blew him a kiss as the girls hurried inside.

Tom and Eleanor greeted each other with a hug as Devi and Fabiola wandered over to the bar. When Eleanor first made friends with some prominent stars, Devi was star struck regularly. As she got more into her career, and treated more and more celebrities, she began to get used to being in their presence.

“Drinks or shots?” Fabiola shouted over the music.

“Shot for me and then I’m going to dance.”

“Yes, girl!” Fabiola pounded the bar, gaining the attention of one of the bartenders. “Can we get three B-52s?”

“Make it four and put it on my tab,” a man’s voice called from beside Devi. Her initial thought was that Eleanor and Tom had caught up to them, but it clicked almost immediately that the accent was distinctly American. And then it clicked again that she would recognize that voice anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” she wheeled around on him.

“I’m out with some friends. What are you doing here, doctor? Are you following me?”

“Paxton?” Fabiola caught his eye past Devi.

“Hey, Fabiola,” he grinned. “Good to see you!”

“Same,” she smiled back. “I didn’t know you were in town?”

“Yeah, I’m home for some physical therapy,” he shouted gesturing to his shoulder.

It took Fabiola exactly no time to connect the dots, and Devi could feel it. Instead of looking at either of her current companions, she accepted the shots from the bartender with as much gratitude as she could muster. Devi carefully pushed a shot to her left and then to her right, clutching the remaining shots tightly.

“I’ll go give Eleanor hers.”

“Nope,” Fab cut off her escape and plucked the extra shot out of her hand. “I’ll do that. You take yours and go dance!”

“Oh, I’ll cheers to that,” Paxton said, leaning forward so she could hear him. “Come dance with me.”

Maybe it was alcohol from their successful pregaming clouding her judgment, or maybe it was the way she could lose herself in Paxton’s gaze just as easily as when she was fifteen years old, but Devi couldn’t stop herself from nodding and clinking her glass against his as they downed the shots in unison. He smirked at her, grasping her hand gently and leading her to the dancefloor.

It was crowded already, but so many of the people here loved that paparazzi never got in, and they could cut loose. Devi loved that atmosphere. Under the flashing lights, music pumping so loud you can’t hear anything else, dancing with friends, or a guy she would be way too nervous to talk to otherwise – it all just made her feel alive.  She felt that same adrenaline as Paxton kept his left hand firmly on her hip but did not pull her into him. Instead, he left just enough space between them for things to be innocent.

As the beat dropped on a new mix, Devi felt Paxton’s hand like an anchor. They locked eyes for a moment, and she swore she could feel the energy crackling between them. The corner of his mouth quirked up, gaze never leaving hers. This man asked her on a date that morning. The man she’d so desperately wanted as a teenager – the man that she nearly idolized and seemed so unattainable in her youth was the same man in front of her, the one looking at her like pure sex. The thought had a laugh bubbling up in her that she couldn’t stop. Full belly laughter overtook her as she bounced and swayed to the music and just lost herself.

She wasn’t sure how much time past, but at some point, Eleanor and Fabiola joined them. The music had shifted from EDM to a mix of the most beloved hip hop music from ten to fifteen years ago. As intended, that shift had more people pouring onto the dancefloor, and having any space to breathe was impossible. To Devi, it was perfect. The beat was pulsing so loud, it felt like her own heartbeat, and the familiar music was lending to everyone’s closet-love for karaoke as people around her belted the lyrics. Then she felt two hands at her hips pulling her slightly backwards to dance against a man’s chest. Normally, she didn’t mind dancing with strangers. As long as they didn’t get too handsy, she didn’t even mind the approach this guy took. Tonight, things felt different. Her eyes flew open, and immediately met Paxton’s. His look was calculating. He wasn’t going to stop her if this was what she wanted.

The thought brought an easy grin to her face as she reached a hand out toward him. His lips twitched into a crooked grin, but he met her hand and spun her into him. In that moment, time stood still. Devi didn’t notice who had approached her before Paxton’s rescue. She wasn’t sure if Fabiola and Eleanor were still on the floor with them. All she knew was that her back was pressed against Paxton’s chest, and it felt like she belonged there. They swayed to the music together, and she felt his left hand rest on her hip again. His other hand swept the hair off her right shoulder, and she felt him press tighter against her.

“What do you want from me, Devi?” he asked, his breath hot on her neck.

“You’re not dating anyone?” she asked disbelievingly. “Not at all, not even one-night stands?”

They were sitting in Ben’s theater room on the floor passing the significantly less full bottle of Jack between them. It was nice. It was easy. The awkwardness of what happened in high school long behind them.

“Hey, I have never had a one-night stand,” he pointed at her. “Have you?”

“Well, no, but I’m me and you’re you,” she laughed.

“What does that mean?” his eyes narrowed at her good-naturedly as he took another pull from the bottle of Jack and passed it back to her.

“I just mean, one of us probably has people lining up to sleep with them, and the other one is me,” she shrugged.

“Why would you even say that? Have you looked in a mirror?”

“Come on, stop, I didn’t mean” –

“I’m serious, Devi. You are a very weird girl, like that’s your brand, but it’s hot. You’re hot. If you really think guys aren’t interested in you, you’re not paying attention.”

“Stop,” she waved him off, cheeks burning hot red. “You don’t have to do that.”

He was scooting closer to her until their thighs were touching, and his gaze was searching hers looking for any hesitation. “I know. I don’t have to do anything. You know what I want to do?”

Her skin tingled under his stare, and she shook her head ‘no.’ Her stomach somersaulted when he reached a hand up to cradle her jaw. “I want show you how beautiful you are.”

Devi turned in his embrace, draping her hands around his neck. Paxton’s head immediately fell to the crook of her neck, and she played with the hair at the nape of his neck as she leaned into his ear. “I want you to show me how beautiful I am.”

His head snapped up and he pulled back to look her in the eye. His jaw had gone slack, and he was looking at her with such curiosity that it made her second guess herself. Maybe he wasn’t interested after all. Maybe he’d just been swept up in not seeing her after so long that morning. Maybe he just wanted to see if he could still get her to fall at his feet. Maybe this was just a game to him. She started to unwind her arms from him to escape her embarrassment when he pressed one of her arms down to stay in place around him. His other hand was firmly pressed against the small of her back.

“Let’s get a drink,” he suggested, waiting for her confirmation. When she nodded, he took her hand off his shoulder, pressed a kiss against the back, and led her from the dancefloor back to the bar.

“What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey sour,” she told him.

“Thought you didn’t drink whiskey?” he grinned.

“Things change.”

When their drinks were made, he nodded to a staircase, and she set off toward it with him close behind. The upper room was a quieter atmosphere. Tables and chairs, booths, a pool table – it was a great offset from the chaos downstairs. He placed their drinks down on a booth, and she slid into one side expecting him to slide in opposite her. Instead, he slid in next to her.

“Paxton, look I’m sorry if I misread things, I just” –

He placed a hand on her knee. “No, don’t do that. You didn’t misread anything. Just tell me why you said that exactly?”

***

Devi woke to the feeling of a hammer slamming against her skull. She could feel the sunlight piercing through her eyelids, making her roll over and press her face harder against her pillow. She heard a toilet flush, and that prompted her to inspect her surroundings a bit more closely. Blearily, she moved to a sitting position as the faucet in the bathroom ran. It was her apartment, that much she could tell. Maybe Eleanor and Fabiola decided to come back here? Fabiola lived closest to the club. That was why they pre-gamed at her place. Why would they come back to her place? Was she the only one coherent enough to call for a ride? With the way she felt this morning, that was unlikely. No, so who was using her bathroom and whistling as they walked down the hallway?

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and unplugged it from the charger. She had a few unread messages in her group text with her friends.

*Let us know when you wake up this morning, we want to hear all the dirty details!*

*Also, avocado is a great hangover food!*

The dirty details? What did Devi do? So much of the previous night was a blur. At least she has clothes on – one of her dad’s old t-shirts and a pair of pajama shorts. That had a to be sign that she didn’t do anything too stupid. So, who was out there?

Only one way to find out, she thought, hoisting herself out of bed. She stepped out of her bedroom, and immediately smelled eggs. Devi padded down the hallway to the kitchen, and there was a steaming cast iron skillet sitting on a hot pad at the breakfast bar. No one was in the kitchen though.

“Hey, you’re up!” a voice cheered from behind her. Devi whirled around to the living room, to see Paxton on her couch carefully stretching one arm over the other shoulder.

“Jesus! Paxton, what are you doing?”

He tilted his head at her with a quizzical look. “I’m doing my shoulder exercises. You’re the one that assigned them.”

“Not that!” she couldn’t help but holler at him. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. His arms fell to his sides. “You actually demanded that I come here.”

“What?” her eyes went wide as she did her best to recall the events of last night. “Did we…?”

He started laughing as he stepped past her and behind the breakfast bar. “I knew you were too drunk to remember. No, we did not have sex. You were mad at me for that last night by the way.”

“No…” she trailed off taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Oh yeah, I told you I was going to take the couch, and you said you’d been waiting like ten years to see whether or not I stuff my swim briefs,” he smirked. “I don’t, in case you’re still wondering.”

“Oh my god,” this new information and the headache still throbbing against her skull was enough to make her vomit. Instead, she just dropped her head to the counter, the pressure soothing against her forehead.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. It was cute… in a very Devi way,” he brushed her arm gently. “Sit up, you need to eat.”

She shifted her head slightly to meet his eye. “I yelled at you for not showing me your dick, and you stayed the night and made me breakfast.”

“Yeah, I had to make sure you were okay,” his eyes warmed to hers. “Now, sit up and eat.”

She obeyed and smiled when he pushed a loaded plate toward her. “This looks awesome.”

“Yeah, I had to work with what you had, but I call it a southwest sweet potato hash,” he told her proudly. After loading up his own plate, he came around the breakfast bar to sit next to her.

“So, anything else I should know about last night?”

“Well,” he paused to swallow a bite of food, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

She thought about the events of the previous night, as Paxton hopped up again.His energized movements distracting her, she asked, “Are you not hungover at all?”

“Based on what you told me, I had a lot less to drink last night than you did, so no, I’m not,” she heard him reply. She was staring at her plate because too much movement made her nauseated.

“You didn’t happen to make” –

“Coffee,” he cut her off happily, placing the mug in front of her, “and here’s some Tylenol. I was looking for blowfish or something but doesn’t look like you have any.”

She gratefully took the little pills from him and threw them back with a swig of coffee. “I used to. I stopped getting hungover for a while too.”

“Why’d you go so hard last night?”

“I think you know why,” she said with a glare.

He pursed his lips in a pout before choosing to ignore her implication and coming back to sit with her with his own cup of coffee. “So, what do you remember from last night?”

“I remember dancing with you on the dance floor.”

“Anyone else? Eleanor, Fab, some dude that I’m pretty sure was Lucas Hedges?”

“Okay, yeah. Some guy started dancing on me, and I wanted to dance with you instead,” she replied casually, continuing her breakfast.

“Nothing else? You don’t remember going to the upper room to talk about what happened at Ben’s party?”

“We talked about Ben’s party?”

“Well, yeah, funny thing is, I didn’t remember that,” he told her with a nostalgic grin. “Like I remembered it, but I thought I dreamt some of it.”

“What? Like what?”

“Well you were gone when I woke up, and never said anything about it so I thought…”

“You thought you dreamt making out with me?”

“Well, see so that’s all we did? It’s hard, because when I’ve dreamt about it since then…” he trailed off, the tips of his ears turning pink at his own admission.

“You’ve dreamt about it since then?”

“Not like a ton… it’s not like I’ve dreamt about you every night for the last eight years, that would be kinda creepy probably. Just any time something reminds me of you, it seems to come up… high school, something about Gross in the news… seeing you on social media… it’s not that weird.”

“Paxton…”

“I mean, whatever, I know I’m going to dream about last night for a long time,” he winked. She didn’t understand how he could have so little shame. Then she remembered she had enough to go around. “You made it your mission to remind me of every dirty detail of that night at Ben’s.”

“We made out last night?”

“We started to, yeah. Instead of getting hot and heavy, you ran off to the bathroom, and I found you with your head in a urinal. That’s when it was time to go home.”

“And that’s what you’re going to dream about?” she scoffed.

“No, I’m going to dream about you pawing at my zipper yelling about pringle cans.” He settled into a close-lipped smile, but it didn’t hide the mirth in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Devi groaned, slipping off her stool to flop over onto the couch.

She could hear Paxton laughing. Soon, he was settled on the couch with her. She turned her body just enough to catch his eye, and he patted his lap. She rolled her eyes but stretched out so her head was on his thigh and she was looking up at him. His features were soft, gentle, caring.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he told her softly, one hand carding through her hair. “I don’t mind when you act like you like me.”

“I’m not acting,” her eyes fell shut, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp could lull her to sleep.

“Yeah?”

She hummed an affirmative. She was pretty sure if he kept scratching her head like that, she’d say yes to anything. And of course, she liked him. She was never able to truly deny that fact. Even when she’d had boyfriends, she’d be lying if Paxton wasn’t always lingering in the back of her mind. How could he not be? His appearance was god-like. He was beyond hiding behind words – if she was honest, that was her favorite part – he wasn’t afraid to be real with her. And he never gave up on her. As rocky as their friendship had started, as often as they lost touch, here he was telling her, he still thought about her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she almost whispered.

“Me too.”

She felt his hand trace the edge of her face, and couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his touch, and pressing a kiss to his palm. Somehow, it was comfortable, intimate. She felt like she was born to be here. The same thought she had eight years ago came back to the forefront of her mind: It’s always been Paxton. At that realization, her eyes popped open. He’d leaned his head back, eyes closed; he looked as close to dozing off as she felt moments ago. His lips formed a peaceful grin, just slightly curved upwards, and his two small moles pinning opposite corners of his mouth were barely shadowed by the growth of his facial hair overnight. His long eyelashes curled naturally in a way, Devi thought, women would kill for. She always knew he was hot, but she never really took the time to notice how beautiful he was.

Before she could stop herself, before she could think twice, Devi leaned up and pressed her lips to his. And time stood still. Just as she was going to pull away again, his hand found hold in her hair, and his lips moved over hers with fervor. She wasn’t sure who opened to the other first, but in a flash their tongues were dueling for dominance. Instead of admitting defeat, Devi pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down. He, honest to god, whimpered in response. She smiled against mouth before he swallowed her smile with one, two, and then three slow languid kisses. He pulled away, pressed her to his chest that she could feel was heaving. When she looked up to meet his eye, they were closed again, but he wore the most breathtaking smile she’d ever seen.

“Mm... I want to take my time with you,” he told her, pressing another kiss to her lips. She blushed at his implication. “God, I am not going to forget this any time soon.”

“Mood, my guy. Big mood,” she agreed, sitting up next to him.

He turned so he was halfway facing her, and his left hand took refuge on her thigh. “Can I ask you something?” he asked, waiting for her nod before continuing. “Okay, I don’t want to pop this, like, bubble we’re in right now, but… what does this mean going forward?”

“Paxton…” her eyes softened. She knew what she wanted, but with her job, how could she…

“Devi, listen. I know it’s my fault that you’re my therapist. I know that I made this difficult, but I really just wanted to see you, and now? I know one thing for sure, I really don’t want to wait another eight years to kiss you again.” he sighed, and repositioned again so he was fully facing her, clasping her hands in his. “I’ll wait for four weeks if it’ll make you happy. I’ll be your dirty little secret if that’s what you want. Just don’t turn me down. Let me take you to dinner, bring you flowers, make you soup when you’re sick. Give me a chance to sweep you off your feet.”

“Honestly, I’m stuck on ‘dirty little secret.’”

He smirked. “Lingering looks… shirtless assessments… secret dates… secret hookups,” he told her sensually, pausing between each suggestion to press a kiss first to her lips, then the corner of her mouth, her jaw, and finally ended by sucking her earlobe into his mouth and dragging his teeth over it. She shuddered under him, and felt him smile against her neck. “Do you like that idea?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

[deamstellarus]

A Touch of Ink (5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Date Attempt #2

Word Count: 4604

Warnings: Uhm, fluff and some maybe intense-ish (not really) kissing?

A/N: I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know how I feel about this chapter. I rambled a bit and some parts aren’t really necessary but it is what it is I suppose. Next chapter will be super fluffy though!

Series Masterlist | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4

Chapter 5:

“I should probably get going soon,” you said, still straddling his lap with your head lying on his shoulder. “You probably have an early morning.”

He hugged you to him a little tighter then relaxed his hold on you. This close you could see the shades of blue that made up his eyes, the ring of navy that outline his irises, the flecks of grey with tiny specks of green. You could get lost in them. He leaned forward and kissed your cheek.

“Thank you, for going with the change of plans,” he smiled. “How about we try again next week? I mean, how quickly could Becs be sick again right?” He chuckled.

“That’s true. But really, it’s not a big deal, Buck.” You kiss him on the nose, then got off of him and the couch to stand. You adjusted your shirt while Bucky stood up. You grabbed your keys and phone off the counter before turning back to him. He stood by the door with his hands in his pockets, head down with a hint of a smile on his face. You walked back to him.

“I'll see you tomorrow, maybe?” you asked. His head popped up.

“Yeah, of course. I'll text you...or call you. Whichever you prefer.” You couldn't help but giggle at his nervousness.

“I'll see you tomorrow then.” He wrapped his arms around you for the second time that night, and pulled you into his embrace. A few moments later, he reluctantly released you and opened the door. You gave him one last smile before slipping through and heading for the stairwell, hearing the door close behind you.

As you walked down the hall, you ran into a wall of muscle. You looked up into the face of Steve, who seemed exhausted.

“Sorry, Steve. Didn't see you there. Long day?”

“Yeah, it’s been- wait, weren’t you supposed to have a date with Bucky tonight?” You couldn’t stop the smile on your face when you nodded. “Well, that’s great!”

Steve pulled you into a side hug before he yawned and practically unhinged his jaw. You laughed.

“Get some sleep Steve.” You gave him a little push toward his door. “Have a good night.”

You unlocked your own door, and once inside, leaned against it. Your mind ran through the “date” and you couldn’t help but smile. You loved everything about it. Unconventional first date, sure, but Bucky is wonderful and Noah is adorable and you honestly couldn’t wait for your next date.

You went to bed with a smile on your face.

“Y/N! I’m so sorry your date had to be cancelled the other day!” Becca caught you the moment you walked into the bookstore. “I was just so sick on Wednesday. It’s not his fault. You should give him another cha-”

“Becca, calm down,” you interrupted. “We still had our date. It was just a date for three instead of two.”

“Oh. Oh.” Becca’s eyes were wide. “Well that’s...that’s really great, Y/N. How was it?”

“It was really nice. Bucky cooked. We had lasagna, and afterward we played with Noah and watched a kids’ movie before Noah went to bed. It was all very sweet.”

“Aww! And after Noah went to bed?” Becca quirked an eyebrow at you.

“We talked. Mostly about our pasts. I learned about Dot? She seemed amazing.”

“She was.” Becca said, a distant look in her eye.

“He told me how she died… and how her family treats him and Noah.”

Since that night, you couldn't help but be heartbroken, not only for Bucky, but for Noah. He's so young, and to have a family that will not put aside differences to visit him is so sad. Luckily, he has a good family here, made up of members of this quiet little town.

“They're...something else.” Becca shook her head to clear it. “Well I'm glad you had a good time. Are you seeing each other again soon?”

“Yup! We talked about trying again next week? And meeting up when we can before that.”

“I knew you'd be perfect together!” Becca gushed.

“Slow down there. We’re not officially together or anything. I think we're taking it slow? Just dating for now.”

“But you like him?” she asked. The warmth had returned to your cheeks.

“Yeah, I like him. I really do.” Becca grinned at you.

“So are you in for coffee or books today?” You’d almost forgotten why you were at the Hideout in the first place.

“I’m actually here for a little research. I’m trying to find books about fantasy and myths?”

“Oh? What are you doing that requires that kind of research?”

“It’s for a project I’m working on. I could just as easily look up references and whatnot on the internet, but I like to find books on the topics sometimes. A bit of history to get a better understanding of the subject.”

“Huh. Whelp, the selection is kind of small, but it would be this way. Follow me.” Becca came around out from behind the counter and you followed her down one of the aisles. She stopped abruptly in the middle of a bookcase. “These top three rows are pretty much all we have on folklore and fantasy and myths, that aren’t exclusively in the children’s section.

“That’s alright. Thanks so much Becca!” She left and you browsed through the selection until you found a large book with a red spine. Fairy Tales, Folk Lores, and Myths: The Guide to Another Realm.  Huh. Pretty cheesy title, but as you flipped through the pages, there were visual references as well as elaborate stories and tales about magic, adventure, and love. You didn’t know how long you were sat on the floor thumbing through the pages until someone startled you. Becca giggled.  

“Sorry! I’m going to grab some lunch, so I’m going to close the store for a bit. Want to come with me?”

“Lunch?” You checked at your phone for the time and realized it was already past noon. “Oh wow, I didn’t think I’d been here that long. Sure, I probably should eat something before I starve.”

“Sam never said you were dramatic.”

“That’s because he’s always been the bigger drama queen and he knows it.” She held out a hand to help you off the floor, and your bones ached as you stood up. Your muscles were sore. “Wow, remind me not to do that again,” you laughed.

“Sure thing. Come on.”

The two of you went over to Tony’s, where Wanda was your waitress. She practically squealed when you came in.

“Oh! How was the date? Give me all the details! Don’t leave anything out! Please? Aren’t we friends, Y/N?” She pouted with the biggest green puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Yes, fine, sure.” You laughed at Wanda took a seat next to Becca in the booth. “Well, it was nice. Bucky cooked dinner, and it was delicious. Then we watched a kids’ movie and played with Noah until it was his bedtime. And then we talked. About our pasts and whatnot. And then we kissed.”

“What?” both exclaimed simultaneously.

“What do you mean you played with Noah until bedtime? I thought Becca was babysitting him?” Wanda said, leaning forward and pouting in frustration.

“She was really sick, and he couldn’t find another babysitter on such short notice.”

“And you were okay with that?”

“Honestly? Yeah. I like Noah a lot and he’s not rowdy or obnoxious. He’s sweet and loves his dad. It was a nice dinner.”

“You didn’t tell me you kissed, Y/N,” Becca said, her face unreadable.

“Sorry. Is that a problem?”

“Um, not really? It’s more surprising than anything else. Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone since Dot.” Your eyes went wide at that. “He’s been on dates before but they never went very far, and certainly didn’t generate enough chemistry to kiss.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know. In the moment, it just felt right. I really like him, guys.” They had matching soft eyes and smiles on their faces.

“That’s great, Y/N. I think Bucky really likes you too,” Becca said as she reached across the tale and put a hand over yours.

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious with the way he makes heart eyes at you,” Wanda giggled. Becca checked her watch.

“Hey, let’s order something. I have to get back to the shop soon.” You both ordered and soon your food arrived. Halfway through your meal, Becca placed a to-go order. You looked at her questioningly.

“This is for Bucky. I usually bring him lunch on Fridays and he brings me lunch on Mondays. We’ve done this since he started at Black Widow, when he forgot to bring food and he was super busy one Friday afternoon, so like the perfect sister I am,” you rolled your eyes at that, “I brought him lunch. The following Monday, I was really grumpy because it was raining and I had a headache and he saw me through the window looking otherwise... pathetic, I’ll admit it. I hate Mondays and the rain just messes with my mood. Anyway, he saw me and brought me lunch and it did cheer me up, and the habit kind of just stuck.”

“That’s really sweet, Becs.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well I love him. We were really close as kids, even when he started highschool and I was still in 4th grade. He never really excluded me and let me join him and his friends when they played football and stuff in the backyard, and let me come with them when they went out to get ice cream during the summer. We’ve always been close. Me and Steve too, to be honest. They’ve been best friends since they were in diapers, and I basically grew up with him too. It’s like I have a second brother.” She rolled her eyes at the grin on your face. “Anyway, let’s get going. He’s probably starving. It’s a tad later than I usually drop off his food.”

The two of you went to the counter and paid for your food, then headed across the street to the tattoo shop. On the way there though, an older woman stopped Becca, frantic about how some book on crocheting plush toys lied to her or something and she needed a new gift for her grandson. Becca tried to calm her down, but it wasn’t an easy feat.

“Hey Y/N, will you run this in to Buck? I gotta go help Mrs. Mugillicutty before she has a heart attack,” Becca said, handing you over the bag of food. Without waiting for a response, she left you to calm down the old women.

“Sure Becs, no problem,” you muttered under your breath. You stopped in front of the shop. You couldn’t see Bucky from the window. He must be in the back or something. There didn’t appear to be anyone else was there but Bucky would be expecting Becca to bring him lunch, right? You steeled your nerves that came out of nowhere and pushed open the shop door. A little bell overhead rang out as you entered.

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” A voice from the back called out.

You took the opportunity to wander around the tattoo parlor. There was a sitting area in the front that consisted of a couch and a couple chairs, and a coffee table with magazines. The front desk had a big binder flipped open to a couple elaborate tattoo designs. As you got closer, you heard...snoring? You peaked your head behind the desk and were greeted with the sleepy face of a yellow lab. He reminded you of your family dog back home. Ahead of your were two tattoo stations with chairs that reminded you of a dentist seat. At the station you saw Bucky at that first night, there were papers with hand-drawn designs on a corkboard on the wall. You took a step closer to the drawings when one caught your eye. It was one of the few that was drawn with ink instead of graphite. It was a mandala, but it was formed out of flower petals compared to the geometric shapes you’ve seen before.

“Hey, Becs. Sorry, I wa-.” Bucky stopped mid-sentence. The grin on his face when he saw you initiated the butterflies in your stomach. “Y/N! What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you.”

“Hi. I uhm… Becca! She sent me over with this.” You handed him the bag from Tony’s and watched as his eyes lit up.

“Oh my gosh. Thanks! I’m starving. Noah was slow getting up this morning and I barely got him out the door with breakfast, but I didn’t have any time to eat something myself..”

“Oh, well I’m happy I could bring it over.”

“I’m happy to see you again.” He set the bag down on the stool at his station, then turned back to you, reaching out to hold your hand. “I had a good time the other night.”

“Me too.” You couldn’t stop the smile on your face.

“Honestly, I don’t want to wait until Wednesday to see you again. How about tomorrow night? My parents could probably watch Noah. What do you say?” You were almost distracted by the twinkle in his eye.

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

“Great!” He pulled you into him and kissed your forehead, just as you heard the bell over the door ring.

“Hey! Get a room!” Clint said, walking in with Natasha. He went over to the dog you’d seen earlier, with a small to-go bag in his hand. The dog got up and his tail wagged like crazy. Clint pulled a slice of pizza out of the bag, holding in front of the dog’s face for a moment before it was snatched out of his hand. The dog went back to the dog bed and happily chewed on the pizza.

“Is that good for him?” you asked.

“Who, Lucky? Lucky loves pizza. It’s how I found him, by the harbour, eating pizza from an abandoned box behind the pizzeria.

“Huh. He’s cute,” you said, slightly concerned for his eating habits, but he seemed happy and content so who were you to judge.

“Oh he’s the best!”

“What brings you here?” Natasha said.

“Oh! Just brought him lunch, from Becca.” Natasha hummed in response then turned and headed to the back of the store..

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” you whispered to Bucky. He laughed in response.

“She’s like that to most people. She’s actually pretty nice, and fiercely loyal. She just comes off a bit rough. If she didn’t like you, you’d know it.”

Oh. “Okay, well I’ll let you get back to lunch and work!” You went on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow!”

“So what do you think?”

“This place is beautiful in the moonlight.”

You and Bucky were walking hand in hand down the boardwalk. You’d just had dinner at a little restaurant by the harbour. The dinner was nice, but the company was better. Bucky’s hand found yours multiple times throughout the night and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so much. He insisted on paying the bill when it came, but when he suggested getting ice cream on the boardwalk afterward, you slipped the cashier the money before he could. “Fair is Fair,” you’d told him. With ice cream in hand, the two of you strolled by the boats in the harbour, looking out at the water. The waves were smaller than when you’d seen them in the daytime and the water seemed to be glittering.

“I can’t believe you grew up with this just outside your door. Well, essentially.” Bucky chuckled.

“Yeah, it was great. Becca and I rode out on my dad’s boat practically every other weekend.” His thumb drew circles on your hand as he held it. “I could take you out on the water sometime if you’d like.”

“Really? That’d be amazing!”

You stood at the end of the dock by the lighthouse for a while until a breeze blew by, causing a shiver to run up your spine. Bucky noticed and shrugged off his leather jacket, placing it on your shoulders. You slipped your arms into the sleeves and were instantly surrounded by the smell of leather, sandalwood, and… Bucky. You burrowed yourself into the jacket as much as you could, savoring the warmth. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s get you back home. It’s pretty chilly out here.”

When you arrived back at your apartment building, you waited for the elevator to come down to the first floor.

“I’m not ready for the night to end just yet,” you said, gazing up into his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Uhm.. do you want to come back to my place? I have some wine and beer, or coffee and tea, if you’d like.” You hoped you didn’t sound too eager.

“Yes!” He blurted. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I mean, yeah, that’d be great.” Once inside your apartment, you told him to make himself at home. “What would you like to drink?”

“You don’t have to make anything special for me, just whatever you’re having.”

When you came back into the living room, Bucky was looking at the pictures on your wall. There was a photograph of you and Sam from when you were about four and Sam was seven, posing in your Halloween costumes. You’d gone as Minnie and Mickey that year for the annual Halloween party your mom throws. You handed him the bug of tea and he thanked you.

“You were adorable!”

“Were? Am I not adorable now?” You quipped back, quirking your eyebrow at him. Bucky’s eyes went wide, and his mouth opened and closed several times like a fish.

“I’m just kidding Bucky. I’ll admit, Sammy and I were pretty cute kids,” you said, taking a seat on the couch.

“I’d say you’re pretty cute now,” he said as he sat next to you. He put his mug on the coffee table and placed his arm on the back of the couch behind you. You took a tip of your tea, then set your mug on the coffee table.

“Well aren’t you sweet.”

He glanced at your lips before looking back into your eyes. Before you knew it, you were leaning into each other and your lips connected. His lips were warm, much like the first time you’d kissed a few days earlier. Unlike the first time though, this kiss was thorough and you melted into it. You cupped his face with your hands, fingers grazing the scruff on his face. His arms went around your waist, holding you to him. His strong hands lifted you from your position beside him to seat you on his lap, legs straddling his thighs. A position you noticed he prefered. His fingers gripped your hips, not too tight to leave a mark, but enough to let him feel in control. You pulled away for a second, gasping for breath as you remembered you had to breathe. You rested your forehead to his, peeking at his closed eyes. You held onto his shoulders as he let go of you and leaned forward to take off his button up and throw it over the arm of the couch, which left him in a dark t-shirt that showed off his tattoos. His eyes finally met yours again and you could see some hesitance of what you were doing. You ran a hand through his chestnut hair.

“We can just keep doing this, we don’t have to go any further. This is plenty for now, alright?” You kissed his cheek. “Is this okay?” you whispered, hoping that you hadn’t crossed some line or pushed him too far.

He nodded, grinning back at you. “More than okay.”

You bent your head down and he reached up, his lips captured your once again.

“Have you ever thought of getting one?”

You were lying together on your couch, your head on his chest. His arm was around you, his thumb drawing circles onto your side through your shirt.

“One what?” you asked, tilting your head up to see his face.

“A tattoo. When I found you in the shop yesterday, you were looking at some of the designs I’ve done for people. Have you ever thought of getting one yourself?

“To be honest, I have, once or twice. But I’m too scared. Not of needles or anything, just the pain. My tolerance is not the highest and I bruise easy.” Bucky hummed at your response. “But I have imagined getting something that was drawn for me, you know? Like a unique piece that had a meaning behind it or connected me to someone.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe someday I’ll get something.”

“Well, when you do decide to get one, I’d be thrilled to do the honors.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.” You pulled his arm around you a bit more to get a closer look at the images.

“If you wanted to see them, you could've just asked.” He laughed softly.

He turned in his spot, holding you by your arms to sit you up with him. He took off the t-shirt he was wearing and you gasped slightly at his bare skin. You reached out and lightly traced the edge of where the sleeve began at the top of his shoulder. A green and red dragon curled its way down half the length of Bucky’s arm, with its curved neck at his shoulder. The skin there was a little bumpy compared to the smoothness a couple inches underneath it.

“That's part of the scar. When I decided I wanted something to cover the scars, I told Stevie I wanted something that would cover a large majority in one go. He came back a couple days later with the dragon. He’d really gotten into art history in high school and drew in all different styles he read about on the internet. I guess the dragon was something that stuck in his mind because it ended up working perfectly and Nat did a great job.”

On the underside of his forearm, a set of three red roses bloomed on his skin, textured and made to appear real. You traced your fingertips around the green leaves filling out the empty spaces.

“Roses were Dot’s favorite. She used to say, ‘I know they’re overrated but they smell so nice.’ It seemed like a less cheesy way to remember her, you know?” You hummed in agreement.

On the inside of his bicep, just below the dragon’s head, was the phrase, “‘Till the end of the line,” written in a pretty script that contrasted with the other colorful designs on his skin.

“It's something Steve and I used to say to each other. It meant that we’d always have each others’ backs. You wouldn't believe me, looking at him now, but Steve was a tiny kid and got picked on a lot by the older kids, and stuck up for others who got bullied. They'd knock him down and he’d get right back up again with bruises already forming and a cut lip. So I'd jump in because he's my best friend and I can't let him get beat up alone. Then when we both joined the firehouse, it meant even more in the field. Steve has a matching one on his right bicep actually. It was one of the first tattoos I ever did, but it’s technically Steve’s handwriting.”

“‘Till the end of the line.’ I like that. Feels nostalgic somehow,” you said. “Can’t really imagine Steve as anything close to tiny though.”

You turned his arm over to look at the last tattoo that took up the majority of the front of his forearm. It was of ocean waves, rough and choppy with a lighthouse in the background.

“This one isn’t as sentimental as the others. I’ve always loved the water though, I grew up on it, so I like having it permanently a part of me. The lighthouse though is the same one down by the harbor. Lights the way home, my dad would say. Stevie drew something similar to this one day and I knew I wanted it on my arm.”

“Wow, it seems like Steve has drawn most of your tattoos.”

“Well he is the better artist. He’s been drawing as long as I could remember. There used to be a time where you couldn’t find him without his sketchbook nearby.”

“Well, I appreciate his artistic eye,” you said. You laid back down on the couch together, your body snuggled into his side. In the silence, with your head on his chest, you could hear his heart beating fast.

“Do they bother you? The tattoos, or even the scars?” When you glanced at him, you could tell he was nervous about your answer.

“I think they're all beautiful, James. I think anyone who thinks differently is wrong,” you whispered, not wanting to break the comfortable quiet you were in. You caressed his chest absent-mindedly.

“I haven’t really dated since the accident,” Bucky said. “Nat and Stevie have tried to set me up with people before. To “get back out there” they said, but it never worked out. I would go out on the date, usually meeting them at Tony’s but by halfway through dinner, I’d want to leave. I found myself comparing them to Dot, their personalities, how they laughed, what they looked like, what their interests were. Sometimes, they’d see the tattoos and would judge me, not openly talking about them, but they’d eye the bits of ink peeking out from my shirtsleeve and a look of disgust would flash across their face before they corrected it. And then there’s the fact that I have Noah, and what young person wants to be in a relationship with a man who already has a son? By the end of the night... I would feel awful. I would feel like I wasted their time, and mine…” He took a deep breath, but when he exhaled, it was shaky. “The worst part was that I felt like I was cheating on Dot. Like what I was doing, dating other people, was seen as trying to replace her.”

“Oh James…” You stroked the side of his neck.

“She was the love of my life, the mother of my son. I felt like I was...was disgracing her memory or something.”

His arms around your waist tensed for a moment before they loosened. You leaned back in his hold to look up at his face. His hand went to your cheek, thumb absently brushing your skin as he stared into your eyes.

“But then I met you. Well, heard about you first, briefly, from an energetic six year old.” He chuckled. “But when I first met you at the Hideout? I think I even surprised myself that day how at ease I  was and comfortable I felt around you.” He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “I don’t want to scare you, or put too much on you...I know I have a lot of baggage...but I like you. And I think you like me too.” You rolled your eyes at that but smiled at him. “I don't want to rush into things, but I’d really like to see where this goes. I guess what I’m trying to say is, will you be my girl?”

[Chapter 6]

[adamgeorgiou]

Eulogy for Pappou

Adamos Georgiou has passed away. Finally, he is allowed to rest.

The obvious and uncomfortable irony of trying to memorialize him now is that he's been gone, in truth, for a long time. The mind of the man who passed away was not that of the man who created his legacy, my family's legacy. It is a harsh thing to point out in such a sensitive setting, but my pappou's late condition is necessary to note in order to properly prioritize the simple, tragic, and relatively short-lived character of his later years; against the bold, sturdy, remarkable stroke of his long past. It's too easy to think that his more recent life was the more relevant, and therefore that it should be what I talk about now. But his dementia stands insignificant and unnoticeable next to the massiveness of his past.

Another irony of this eulogy is that I'm likely not the right person to make it. I mention this not as false humility, but as a proper acknowledgement of the fact that I did not know Adamos Georgiou for the majority of his lucid life, and even when I did, I was just a dumb kid intimidated by this grizzly bear of a man who spoke in foreign poems with a straight back and wise eyes that could just as easily be iron as clay.

I look back and I remember silly but vibrant moments.

Him sitting at his kitchen table, from his reserved corner seat, telling me the old stories of Aesop and Socrates and Plato. I can still see and hear him describing Icarus flying too close to the sun, how the beeswax that held his wings together melted, his pride becoming his downfall. Or how Socrates willingly drank the poison he was sentenced to die by, rather than flee, in order to prove his belief in the righteousness of the justice system that convicted him.

I remember Pappou not liking it when I preferred pizza and hot dogs to his gourmet curries, but always passing a well cut slice of an apple or orange to the backseat during long road trips upstate.

I remember him fiercely giving my sister and me his famous single syllable roar when we were being too rowdy in the car on the way home from church, and us instantly cowering away silent and terrified.

I remember him waking up before dawn with my dad and me to go fishing out in Greenport, him ready with a meticulously packed tackle box full of lures, lines, and savory snacks for both us and the fish.

I remember his gardens, before he gave them up. Me, useless and happy with dirty knees and a spade, always impressed with how he managed dozens of vegetables and herbs, when at our house we only ever had tomatoes and cucumbers.

And I remember his shed, in it a small, red, trapezoid toolbox made out of steel, full of rusted tools; and shelves with a half dozen spools of different types of string, one type, waxy and thin, he would use to make elaborate grips to knives and fishing poles, and another, nylon and white, he would use to hold tomato vines to their supports.

Everything he did was a detailed project that he was consciously steering towards success.

That's why they called him the Captain.

Adamos Georgiou was a man who took life seriously. He didn't let life happen to him, instead he grabbed it in both fists and bent it to his liking as best as he could. When it was time to make a decision for himself and his family, he didn't wait, he acted.

Moving from Cyprus, to The States, back to Cyprus, and then back to The States -- chasing opportunity, avoiding war and risk, and refusing to be disheartened by material injustice -- he never gave up, he never stopped working, and he never compromised his principles. You couldn't break the guy. He wasn't the type that would let his own animal impulses distract him from his higher goals. He believed in the potential for people to create meaning, to create good works; and he knew he was responsible for realizing that potential in his time on Earth.

He took responsibility. That's what I see as the overwhelming theme of his life. He took responsibility. Consciously, and with intent instead of dogma, he took responsibility. And in so many cases, he won the games that he played.

He raised and supported a beautiful, healthy family. He was hospitable to the communities he operated within. And he imparted so many wonderful, significant traditions with such a hearty charisma.

When I was younger, I used to hate going to Greek School. In theory, Greek School was an extracurricular class where you were taught the Greek language through a strict, proven method in a focused, formalized environment. In practice, Greek School was a bunch of Church ladies cycling between filing their nails, picking students to read from single-ply textbooks sold by the Greek Scouts of America, and propagandizing you to be more patriotic through the door-to-door selling of cement and sawdust chocolate bars. I still have flashbacks to one of those teachers spitting on me as she howled, "YOU MUST BE PROUD, ΠΑΙΔΙΑ! Be PROUD THAT YOU ARE GREEK!" And I still have some of those chocolate bars in the back of my freezer. All I ever wanted back then was to get out of that repurposed house-turned-classroom and to go to Taco Bell.

One of the yearly chores of those classes was to memorize a Greek poem and recite it in the church basement for Greek Independence day. This was simultaneously one of the more interesting and nerve racking assignments, because it involved memorization, which I viewed as a kind of game; but also you had demonstrate this skill in front of the entire parish. Year after year, I would do this. I would get on stage, and recite the sounds and syllables I had committed to memory over the weeks, no idea what I was actually saying, and then I'd pass the microphone to the next kid in line, and breath easy until after the ceremony when it was time for bagels and glasses of milk. (Meanwhile you’d get yelled at by the church custodian, Marco, for taking glasses of milk, because as everyone knows milk is for coffee not for children.) None of this ever meant anything to me beyond the moment's anxiety. But then one year something different happened.

I remember our class got off the stage and they invited my pappou up to say a few words. This had never happened any of the years before, to my pappou or any other adult, as far as I can remember. Usually, it was 5 to 6 classes of kids, each a year older than the last, each shuffling through monotone and rote read poems of imperceptible difference, each poem a test of patience and self-control and maddening boredom for those sitting around waiting for the others to finish.

But now my pappou is on stage. I know that guy. He's alone. Why is he up there? What is he doing? And in the brief instant during which all these questions were popping into my mind, he boomed into a multiple paragraph poem, energy overwhelming his posture, and exiting through both his voice and an outstretched finger, which would come down to mark the significance of a specific stanza or piece of punctuation. His greatness in that moment was undeniable and the church-goers sitting in that basement hall stayed silent the entire time, and then when he finished, many minutes later, they crashed at him with reverence and applause.

My pappou had faith in the power and beauty of words and ideas, and he knew it was his responsibility to pass them on and keep them alive, for if he didn't who would? I knew then that many of the adults in that room didn’t have the courage to be onstage, let alone the talent to deliver the words with such confidence or even the knowledge of knowing the words in the first place. And that meant that my pappou likely didn’t start with that talent or knowledge either. At some point in his life, he made the choice to develop and to learn. Someone once said, ‘Courage isn’t an absence of fear. Courage is the willingness to act despite fear.” In that moment, watching my grandfather, I began to understand what it was to be a man. I was proud to be Greek and proud to be his grandson.

My own love of books; of telling stories; of the balance between hospitality and gratitude; of nature, the mountains, the sea, the animals. Every backyard BBQ, every early morning adventure, every household project. The focus, the finesse, and the brute force, at times. The desire to achieve and to persevere and to preserve.

All of the things that together add up to being a good man. All of the things I hold as ideals.

They are rooted in him. In Adamos Georgiou.

When I think now about his death, I truly don't feel sad, as in the heartache of lost love. That grief has already been paid slowly over the years.

Instead, I am overwhelmed with a combined sense of respect and inspiration and thanks.

And if I am sad, it is the sadness of a disappointment that he couldn't be around longer so that I could've thanked him as a man, and so that I could of continued to have learned from him directly, instead of simply through his legacy.

[loverickandmorty]

Alright I just couldn’t take it anymore– I had to write a short fic based off of this post I made a couple of days ago. I love the idea of Rick secretly visiting a baby Morty. I need this kind of pureness in my life. Here it is! Rest of it is under the cut. 

Rick Sanchez stood outside his daughter’s house, hands stuffed into his lab coat pockets, taking in the peace of the late summer night. He glanced at his watch; 1:32 AM. There was no one else around; the street was illuminated by a single streetlamp, as quiet as could be. Rick passively observed a stray cat wandering the fences, jumping into different backyards, unaware of the boundary lines. He sighed as a cool breeze blew through the night, making his lab coat flutter around his knees. Though Rick had been to many different planets with locations that were more beautiful and peaceful than any other human could ever imagine, there still seemed to be something about Earth that made it so he couldn’t stay away from his home planet for too long. For once, his mind was quiet.

Of course, Rick’s mind could never stay noiseless for long; after the breeze finished blowing and returned the street to its quietness, thoughts began racing through his head as fast as they possibly could.

No, he wasn’t here to dawdle; he was here for one reason, and one reason only-to see his grandson.

This was Rick’s fourth visit to see his grandchild; Morty was only five months old and was just beginning to develop some resemblance of motor skills. Rick knew that he couldn’t keep secretly visiting Morty for long, because soon his memory would begin to develop and he would begin to remember his grandfather. That’s what he had had to do with his granddaughter, Summer. Rick did the simple math in his head; she should be about three now.  

Rick distinctly remembered the first time he saw Summer. She had only been a month old, and had been so tiny in his arms. Of course, her parents hadn’t known he was there; like what he was doing with Morty, he had also secretly visited Summer when she was very young. Rick had heard from other Ricks that, across the multiverse, Beth had had a daughter with the guy who got her pregnant in high school—Jerry. There were countless things, terrible things, that Rick wanted to do and could do to his daughter’s husband; however, he forced himself to stay out of it. He had already been gone from Beth’s life for too long; showing up just to disparage her husband would cause more drama than it was worth. However, curiosity had gotten the better of Rick, as it often did, and he desired to at least catch a glimpse of his granddaughter. He was surprisingly struck by the red of her hair; the color was identical to her grandmother’s. He had secretly visited and held Summer in the dead of night every month or so until she was about eight months– by then, she was beginning to remember him.

Rick had decided to call it off, and stopped visiting. He couldn’t risk Beth knowing. 

However, it wasn’t long until Beth had become pregnant again. He had been in the Citadel when he heard the news of a second child. This one, a boy, had inverse brainwaves to a Rick—the perfect cloaking mechanism from the Federation.

Once again, curiosity got the better of him, and Rick had secretly visited his grandson, Morty, for the first time.

Rick shook off the thoughts, returning to the present. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling his portal gun out from his inside pocket. He fired it, stepping through the green portal to emerge on the other side, into Morty’s room.

The portal closed behind him as Rick tucked away the portal gun, looking around the small room. The white crib was against the wall, gentle moonlight streaming in through the closed window. A mobile hung from the ceiling, dangling cut-out planets, stars, and rockets above the crib.

Rick rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of it, but in truth he liked its appeal. Maybe it would help get Morty interested in science.

Rick leaned over the side of the crib. Inside there was the small body of his grandson, the yellow and blue blankets strewn around him in an obvious attempt to cool down from the heat of the summer night. Rick watched Morty’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, in the gentle biological rhythm of sleep.

Rick scooped the child up in his arms, gently cooing at him, not wanting to wake him.  Dammit, this kid was cute. 

“Y-you’re gonna be my little Morty, Morty,” Rick whispered. “And we’re gonna go on all kinds of adventures! You’re gonna be my little buddy, and I’m gonna show you the who-o-o-le multiverse. You wouldn’t believe the amount of shit that’s out there, lil’ guy. It’ll blow your mind! And-” Rick stopped; Morty had begun to gently fuss, arms and legs beginning to stretch out. Opening his large eyes to reveal deep brown irises, he looked up at his grandfather, furrowing his brow as he tried to understand who this stranger was.

             Rick grinned. “Damn, Morty, y-y-you’re an ugly baby. I guess all babies are, though. Your sister definitely was, as was your mom.” An image of his granddaughter and daughter as babies flashed through his mind. He shook off the memory, his own brown eyes staring back at his grandson, searching for that spark of intelligence that he hoped Beth had passed on. Rick was genuinely concerned that that no good, lazy sonofabitch Jerry’s genes had dominated in the brain department of his grandchildren.

             He really hoped they hadn’t.

             Morty’s eyes searched Rick’s face as one of his hands reached out, latching onto the lapel of his grandfather’s lab coat. Morty’s fingernails were no larger than a half grain of rice; he gently felt the material in his fist, moving it between his fingers, amazed at its feeling. Rick smiled, admiring his grandson’s squishy face.

             Rick’s heart gave a twinge. He rationally knew that his love for his grandchildren was merely an evolutionary trait in order to promote the survival of the human species, and he was merely succumbing to his evolutionary history. And yet…

             There was a soft sound of gentle padding of sock-covered feet down the hall. His heart began beating quickly. Rick swiftly and gently put Morty’s wiggling body back in his crib before fumbling for his portal gun in his coat pocket. He pulled the interdimensional device out and aimed it at the wall, pulling the trigger, a bright green light emitting from the emanating portal that appeared. He glanced over his shoulder; standing in the bottom half of the doorframe was his three-year-old granddaughter, dressed in a pink nightgown, the green portal light illuminating her small features. Summer stared up at Rick, anything but fear in her brown eyes.

             Rick put his fingers to his lips and winked before hopping through the portal, the green swirling source disappearing behind him, leaving Summer in a dark room illuminated only by the gentle moonlight.

             Summer blinked, the smallest amount of comprehension bringing sensory information together like puzzle pieces in her young mind. She heard her parents’ door open and watched them as they both sleepily padded down the hall to her.

             Her mom scooped her up in her arms, yawning. “Summer, are you okay? What’s going on, honey? Daddy and I thought we heard some funny sounds out here. Is everything alright?” Her dad put a light hand on her back, obviously exhausted.

             Summer looked at her brother’s crib. “The weird man was here again,” she said, matter-of-factly.

             “The…the weird man, eh?” her mom said, yawning again.

             Summer nodded. “He has magic powers! He has…” she thought hard, trying to remember what was in the strange man’s hand when he disappeared through the wall. “He has a magic wand that makes him go away!”

             “Mm-mm, that’s nice honey. Okay, well, we should all try and go back to sleep. Do you want to sleep with me and Daddy tonight? That sounds nice,” her mom sleepily rambled, absentmindedly playing with her daughter’s red curls. Summer nodded, putting her head on her mom’s shoulder and her thumb in her mouth, the enticing thoughts of the strange man slipping out of the forefront of her mind.

             Suddenly, Morty began fussing from his crib, his gentle whines beginning to turn into cries. Beth sighed, turning to Jerry. “Will you…? Just bring him to bed with us.”  

             Her husband half nodded before going over to his son’s crib, hushing and cooing to Morty as he picked him up and held him close to his chest, arms gently wrapped around him. “C’mon now Morty…”

             Beth and Jerry, holding their children, made their way to their bedroom. They climbed into bed, Summer and Morty snuggled between their parents. Morty, Summer, and Jerry quickly fell back asleep. However, Beth lay awake, listening to the soothing sound of her husband and children snoring peacefully. Though she was exhausted, her mind couldn’t stop thinking about the supposed strange man that Summer had mentioned. Beth was certain that it was just another one of Summer’s imaginary friends. She had watched her daughter playing with her imagination many times before; why should this time be any different? It wasn’t the first time that Summer had mentioned the magic man, either; once a month or so, Summer would wake up in the middle of the night talking about a weird man who would disappear with green magic. Beth didn’t dare risk thinking about it possibly being her father; she refused to allow herself that luxury of hope. No; Rick and his green portal gun had disappeared from her life years ago. Why would he come back now? It certainly wasn’t him.

             And yet…

             Beth sighed and stuck a foot out from underneath the covers; it was beginning to get hot with four bodies in one bed. She decided to tuck the thoughts of the imaginary man away. She closed her eyes and rolled over, allowing her children’s gentle breathing to lull her into sleep.

[assbuttyourlife]

When We Were Young - Chapter Sixteen

Pairing : Misha/OFC

Warnings : Language, Fire, trauma, PTSD, family members’ death (including child), therapy, flashbacks (not in every chapter), injuries, cheating. Long fic. Angst, fluff, Smut. Mention of suicide.

Words : 5794

Summary : After her grandmother’s funeral, Lily must return to the place she lived in when she was young and has to confront the ghosts of her past. She will run into an old friend that she thought was lost forever.

WWWY Masterlist

AO3 link

CHAPTER 16 - UNDER THE STARS

Lily and Misha spent the afternoon at Brook Park, exploring all the places they used to hang out on, the waterfall near the wooden bridge being their favorite spot. They used to come here often during the weekend, even when the weather was not very good, sometimes with their families to enjoy a barbecue together, but most of the time just the two of them so they could fool around without being caught. As they sat on a big flat stone in the river, Lily explained to Misha that this was where she'd read her grandmother's letter, Katie by her side. She remembered her words : Take your time... Don't do anything that doesn't feel right, and when he asked her if selling the estates felt right to her, she had to admit it didn't, but she didn't know what else to do. He promised he would help her figure it out if she needed to, suggesting a few ideas about what she could do with the houses, but she clearly wasn't convinced. For dinner, they went to eat at their favorite restaurant. It was a small and cozy place in town, and they were amazed to see the people who owned it back then were still the same and remembered them perfectly. That's also where they learnt that every person who knew Lily's family in town thought they all died in the fire. Mrs Jones, the old lady who cooked, even had to get out of her kitchen to check if she heard right when her daughter told her Lily and Misha were here.

“I knew I wasn't crazy! I saw you on TV once and when I said to Catherine 'it's the Krushnic boy!' she said I was crazy because you were supposed to be dead, but I knew it!”

Lily laughed quietly. She hadn't changed a bit! She always had been very straightforward and told what she thought when she thought it, which often leaded to awkward situations.

“Aw look at you, you're so handsome! And even rich now, from what I understood!” She winked at Misha.

Yeah... Just as Lily predicted... awkward. But she wasn't done, she turned to Lily and cupped her flushing face.

“I thought I would never see this pretty face again! You look so much like your mother! You haven't changed that much... except that weird hair color but whatever.”

Misha snorted and hid his mouth with his hand to not show he wanted to laugh.

“What are you doing now, Lily?” Mrs Jones sat at a table and asked them to join her, while her daughter brought them some drinks.

“I'm a professional violinist at the Seattle Symphony Orchestra.”

The old lady clapped her hand in excitement.

“Oooh that's lovely! I remember you played in the school orchestra indeed! So what brings you busy heads back in our quiet little town?”

Misha was very quiet, but he really enjoyed this little reunion.

“We're actually here to... umm... move on and maybe find some answers. What happened in 1990 is still very blurry for us.” Lily explained.

Mrs Jones was very surprised to learn that they found each other back only a few months ago.

“Really? It didn't tilt when you saw that handsome face in your TV?”

Lily almost sarcastically thanked her for reminding her that she wasted years with Misha because of this, but she knew the old lady meant well.

“I don't... watch TV that much.” She replied shyly and cleared her throat.

Misha decided it was time to step in the conversation to avoid more awkwardness.

“Any chance you could clarify a few details about the night of the fire or what happened next?”

She looked up and squinted her eyes, visibly trying to remember anything she could. "There was an article in the local newspaper the day after it happened. It clearly said that no one from the Hagen family survived. It was a little more vague about your family, Misha, because they didn't clearly name you, but it was obvious for the people who knew you at the time that you all passed. I still have the article if you wanna read it."

Lily glanced at him and nodded.

“That would help us a lot, Mrs Jones. Thank you!”

The old woman asked her daughter to go get the box where she kept every articles about the people she knew (which was a lot!), and finally found what she was seeking and handed it to Lily who put it down on the table between her and Misha so he could read too.

NORTHFIELD : TRAGIC OUTCOME IN HAGEN'S FARM

By Leslie Shepherd.

Fire crews have left the scene of a devastating fire in Hagen's Farm's main house. Half of the property was destroyed.

The fire was extinguished at 6.30am after burning for roughly an hour.

Three persons were taken to hospital to be treated for smoke inhalation and fire wounds, but saddly succumbed to their injuries later in the morning.

The fire is not being treated as suspicious.

We all will remember the Hagen's Family thanks to the very respected Simon Hagen who devoted his whole life to make our county a better place, especially for our children.

His wife, Bethany, is now the last member of this beloved family, as her daughter-in-law Mary (42), granddaughter Elise (16) and grandson Ryan (6) were found dead when the fire crew arrived.

The article was short, but full of lies! Who the hell was so eager to see them all dead and spread that stupid rumor ruining their lives in the process? Misha swore to her he would find out.

Reading this crap made Lily's anger grow.

“They didn't even mention you or any member of your family!”

Misha looked at her and couldn't hide his bitterness.

“You were part of the respected family, we were just nobody. I'm not surprised. But I don't look so bad for someone who succumbed to my injuries in the hospital, right?”

He took a photo of the article with his phone, knowing his mom and Sasha would want to read it too.

“I would really love to find that Leslie Shepherd to ask who she had her information from.”

Lily had to admit she was curious too and the idea was tempting, but they were supposed to go back home the next day and probably would have no time to go to the newspaper's offices.

Mrs Jones stood up to head back to her kitchen.

“I will help you if you need to. I was very sad to know Bethany was all alone when obviously it wasn't true.”

Lily thanked the old woman and quickly explained what they did and where they went after the fire, and they finally ordered their meal.

They ate quickly and went to buy camping supplies before going back to the farm. Thankfully, it was late August, the days were still long, so it wasn't dark when they arrived. Misha parked the car at the end of the road, near the wooden sign, and they were now standing on the cross path between the pond and the cottage, with their suitcases and all of their stuff. "So... Where do you wanna sleep?" Misha asked playfully, the excitement in his voice was almost palpable. "I already know what you're gonna reply, but I'd say in safety inside the cottage?" He glanced at her sideways with a smirk. "And what am I going to reply, smartass?" She lowered her voice trying to imitate his sarcastic tone, puppetting her hand and lolling her head at the same time. "Oh come on, Lily that's the easy way, where is your adventurous side? We need to sleep in the cold night among the spiders and the rats!" He burst out laughing at her lame imitation. "Bats and Raccoons too!" He mocked. She slapped his arm.

"I hate ya! What other crazy plan do you propose?" He rubbed his arm, pretending she hurt him. "No need for such violence! I thought we could just lay on the grass in the house's backyard or something. Or maybe near the willow tree? Like we did for your twelfth birthday, you know... back when you weren't a woosie..." "Oh right, I remember that night. I particularly enjoyed the snake paying me a visit in my sleeping bag. Good times!" His brows raised and his face lightened with a huge grin. "Are you sure it was a snake?" She frowned and innocently looked at him, confused. "What else could it b-" She paused and opened her mouth wide, inhaling in shock. "Oh you dog! We were way too young for that!" He laughed, crinkling his nose which accentuated his wrinkles and she couldn't help smiling back at him, thinking it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. He had always been cute, or at least that's what she thought, but he really aged up well. Misha started to walk towards the pond and she followed, dragging her feet. "Remind me to take a smaller suitcase next time!" She huffed carrying all of her stuff and pulling at her suitcase. "Stop complaining, we're almost there!" "Why did we take all of our stuff with us since we're going to sleep outside anyway?" "Because rule number one: Never let anything behind in a car, especially when it's a rental car." When they arrived at the pond, Misha put his stuff down in the small waterfront cabin. " Right, because leaving our stuff in the nature like that is so much safer..." "Lily..." She heard his threatening voice and stopped settling her bags to turn around and look at him, not liking this tone too much. As soon as she made eye contact, he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her on his shoulder. "You will learn to behave."

Oh no not again!

He walked towards the small pier and she understood what he had in mind. "Oh my god, Misha, no! I'm sorry! I will be nice! Promise!" He kept walking with her struggling on his shoulder, slapping his back. "Noooo!!! Please! I'm so so sorry! I won't complain anymore! It's gross in there!! I'll stink like rotten mud!!" He ignored her protest and her kicks. "It's called nature scent. You'll fit in perfectly after that, animals won't bother you tonight.”

When he stepped on the pier, he tried to lift her to throw her in the water but she gripped tight on his shirt, almost ripping it.

“Please noooooooo! I'll do what you want! It's full of frogs and fishes and... Oh god please no!!”

“Yeah, and sharks. I can't be bought, no need to bargain.”

He managed to grab her wrists to keep her from clinging to him, and he finally threw her in the cold dark green and smelly water. She splashed in it in a glorious “Aaahhhh!” and Misha took his phone out while she was swimming in the surface, swiping her sticky hair out of her face and spiting water in a cough.

That was priceless!

He was breathless but he managed to laugh anyway.

“You're dead, Krushnic! Oh Jesus fucking Christ, it's fucking cold... and gross!”

She couldn't get out of the water by the pier that was too high, and as the water was deep where they were, she had to swim to reach for the beach and get out.

Misha was still on the pier with his phone in his hand.

“Don't take pictures!!” she yelled.

He chuckled.

“I'm not!”

“I see you! Oh god you better run fast because when I get out- AAAAAAAAAAAH!!! I felt something on my leg!!!”

“It's a shark! Swim faster!” He was now giggling hysterically.

Lily ran out of the water and laid on the grass a few seconds to catch her breath, before standing up and walking towards Misha with a deadly look on her face.

“Put that damn phone away!”

“Say hi, you're live!”

She froze. “WHAT???”

Oh no he didn't...

“2568 people watching right now. They say hi, by the way!”

She ran next to him and tried to catch his phone, but of course he extended his arm high up to film from above, and as he was much taller, she couldn't reach it despite her jumps.

“Alright guys, I got a situation here, I gotta go. Wish me luck. Bye!”

Misha ended the livestream and threw his phone in his pocket.

As they were still on the pier, Lily suddenly pushed him, but he resisted and her attempt to give him the same treatment failed miserably. He ran away from the pier but she followed. She kept chasing him as they were now running up the path towards the cottage, but she forgot he was a fast runner and she soon got out of breath.

She had an idea though...

When he turned to look back at her, she pretended to fall and stayed down, trying to catch her breath. He immediately stopped in his track and ran back.

“Lily!” He screamed, worried she might've hurt herself.

Oh Misha... SO predictable!

He crouched down when he was next to her. She sat on the grass and gave him a devilish gaze.

“You're weak, Krushnic...”

He understood she played him and winced.

“And you... have a tiny frog on your shoulder.”

She jumped.

“AAAAAAAHHH!!!! GET IT OFF!!!”

She looked at her shoulders but saw nothing. When she turned back at Misha, he was laying down holding his stomach, laughing his ass off.

“What are you, twelve?”

“You deserved it. I told you, you will learn to behave.”

She looked down at herself and pouted.

“I'm wet.”

All Misha could answer was “Mmmh...” suggestively, so she squinted at him and turned back to reach the waterfront cabin and go change.

While she was busy changing into a dry pair of jeans and a sailor shirt, Misha found the main power switch and tried to turn it on because the night was now falling fast so they'd soon be in the dark. It surprisingly worked after a few tries, and the lights around the pound and inside the cabin turned on.

“I'm impressed, MacGyver!”

He smirked but didn't say anything, searching through the bags he brought from the store.

“I think we need a little treat now.” He triumphantly showed the marshmallow pack.

“Oooh... sounds great. How do you plan to do that?”

“Well... we need a fire.”

From all the stupid things he said since she knew him, it was probably the lamest.

“You can't be serious.”

He stopped picking up rocks from the ground to stare into her eyes.

“Deadly.”

Was he pushing her to fight or something? She really didn't like that idea!

“This is the stupidest idea of all time.”

“Why? Just because you're scared?”

She scoffed. “I'm not!”

He arranged a few rocks into a circle and put some wood and dry herbs inside before searching his bag for a lighter.

“Yeah, you are!”

She looked around her... They were in the nature, among grass and dry herbs and trees, what could go wrong?

“Okay maybe I am... but have you looked around you? That's a bad idea.”

“I know what I'm doing.” He replied while crouching down.

He lighted the fire and when she saw the flames and smelled the smoke, she panicked and said the meanest, cruelest and dumbest thing ever, regretting it the second it split out of her mouth.

“If it turns bad, I'll let you burn this time.”

Stunned, Misha stood up and looked away from the fire to stare at her and shake his head, only to see her with both her hands slapped on her mouth and her eyes wide open, a look of horror in her glassy green eyes.

“I'm sorry... Misha...” she whispered shamefully and stepped closer to him. “I didn't mean that.”

It was so awful and she felt so bad when she saw the pain on his face that the tears she tried to hold back suddenly burst forth like water from a dam, running down her face. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, hands clutching at his shirt, burring her face in his chest and talking between loud sobs, barely able to form words.

“Misha, I'm s-so s-sorry... I d-don't know w-what-...”

Misha sighed and closed his eyes, his chin resting on top of her head. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and shushed her.

“I know. It's fine, Lily.”

He slowly rocked her as her tears were soaking his shirt, and it soothed her immediately. She felt a bit better, feeling the warmth of his muscular chest and hearing his steady heartbeat and breath.

He pulled back just enough to take her chin in his right hand and lift it up so she could look at him, not breaking their embrace. His heart broke a little when he saw her crumpled face all wet from her tears. He could see how heavy the load of fear and guilt was in her reddened eyes.

He leaned down his head and left a quick but very soft kiss on her lips. She shut her eyes tight and leaned to kiss him back desperately, deepening it a little while cupping his face between her shaky hands.

She broke the kiss and sank into his blue eyes.

“I'm a monster.” She whispered holding his gaze.

He sniffed and smirked.

“I'll call you Nessy then... you sure smell like it.”

She had forgotten she was bathing in the smelly pond just a few minutes ago. She pulled back from his embrace very fast to smell her arm skin.

“Damn! I'll be back...”

She ran to the cabin and searched for the wipes she luckily carried everywhere, and after using almost all of them, she finally smelled better and went back to the beach where Misha was sitting next to the fire.

She sat next to him and stared at the fire, the yellow flames reflecting in her eyes.

“Mmh now you smell like... Maison's ass when I just changed her diaper.”

She snorted and took a stick to grill her first marshmallow.

“Why did you call your daughter Maison?” She asked while eating her candy.

“Because she will always feel like home to me.”

“Aw, that's cute!”

“Her middle name is Mary. To remind me of my first home...”

She stopped chewing to look at him. She couldn't believe he considered her mom's house like his first home... He was already a teenager when he moved in and he traveled a lot, but it was just hard to think he never considered any place like home before that time. She shook that thought from her head quickly before she could be overwhelmed by emotion. She had cried enough for the day.

“Why West then?”

“That I don't know... It just sounded great to us and we weren't inspired... Well, we had an original idea but it sounded too weird and I had sort of a bad experience with strange names so we kept it for his middle name.”

We...

She couldn't help the sting in her heart when he was talking about his family with such tenderness.

“What's his middle name?”

“Anaximander.”

Silence.

They could only hear the fire cracking and the crickets chirping.

Misha turned to glance at her with a smirk, proud of himself.

“That's... uncommon.” She cleared her throat.

“That's the point. He was a Greek Philosopher that Vicki, being the nerdy smartass that she is, liked a lot, and I found the name funny so we went with it.”

“Okay... Why not. At least there are good chances that he will forever be unique.” She chuckled.

“He still hadn't forgotten you promised to teach him how to play the piano by the way.”

She smiled, chewing on her second marshmallow.

“I will... I just hope he's more patient than you were!”

“Hey! I was the perfect student! I still can play the letter for Elise you know, I'm not completely rusted.”

Right... She taught him how to play the Beethoven piece when they were fourteen. He heard her play it once, on the grand piano in her grandma's house, and he liked it a lot. When he asked her what it was called and she told him it was named like her, he immediately wanted to learn how to play it for her.

That was Misha... always full of cute little attentions for her. How can you not fall for someone like that when you're an innocent and romantic teenage girl dreaming of true love?

“I'd be curious to hear that.” She gave him a sweet smile and he nodded.

“So... Talking about kids... You never wanted to be a mother?”

He had a gift to ask for the most embarrassing questions... She sighed and glanced at her feet.

"I did once... When it became serious with Peter." He frowned, his features twisting in something that almost looked like disgust.

“Really? With him?”

She gave him her biggest bitchface.

“He was good with me and we loved each other. We made a lot of plans. I just didn't... I never imagined he could be so stupid. Love is blind, obviously.”

Misha looked down at the fire. It was his turn to feel the sting in his heart now.

“Well it's a good thing you had no children then... Didn't he want that too?”

“Yes, he did. We tried but... I can't have kids.”

"You can't?" "No. When it didn't work, we went to the doctor and they found something wrong with me. Probably due to a shock or a surgical procedure in my childhood. They say I have like... 2% chances of conceiving. So basically none." He didn't know how to react. There was a time when he hesitated to have kids, but knowing the possibility was there was still reassuring somehow. Now that his kids were born, he couldn't imagine what it must feel like to know this could never happen, especially for a woman. "How do you feel about that?" She smiled weakly but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I'm... sort of okay with it. It was hard at first but I got over it, especially now that Peter is gone. Everything happens for a reason... I'm probably not shaped to be a good mom." Misha clenched his teeth. He could see she was bitter, but what she just said was unacceptable for him. "You're the granddaughter of Simon Hagen and the daughter of Mary... You definitely have the perfect parent gene. If it happened for a reason, it's because he is not shaped to be a good dad." She giggled bitterly. "I guess I'll buy a cat then!" "Do you still love him?" He asked, suddenly very serious. She frowned.

"I'm... not sure. My feelings are a bit messy those days.”

“You think?” He scoffed.

She suddenly remembered the night she spent with Peter not so long ago and couldn't look at Misha in the eyes anymore.

“Plus who cares? I can't forget nor forgive what he did to me... And yet look at me... I did the same to Vicki." Her eyes reddened and she looked down, once more feeling mortified.

Misha observed her sadly.

“Don't do that to me, Lily.”

She looked up to him and made eye contact, wondering what he was talking about.

“Don't push me away just because you're scared of what you fear could happen with my family.” “How can I live with myself knowing I'm destroying it? How can I look myself in a mirror after that, Misha? Why is it so hard for you to understand? I don't want you to lose more than you already have!”

He took a deep breath.

“If I wasn't married, would you consider resuming our relationship? Would you still want the things we wanted when we were sixteen? Would you surrender and stop running away?”

He took her hand and waited patiently for her answer, focusing on the orange glow in her eyes from the dying fire.

“You don't build anything with ifs.” She replied in a whisper.

“Answer the question. Please.”

He wouldn't give up this time, he needed answers, he needed to be sure she wanted the same as he did.

She hesitated but held his pleading gaze.

“Yes, probably.” She swallowed. “But-”

“No ifs and buts.” He interrupted harshly. He had his answer, it was all he needed to hear. She still loved him, he knew that, he could feel it, and one day she would say it back again.

He suddenly stood up and stepped on the fire.

“Geez, Misha! What the fuck?” She screamed, jumping from her spot and grabbed his arm to pull him away from it.

“We're out of marshmallows, we don't need the fire anymore. Or maybe you would prefer to let it burn all night and expend on the whole land?” He raised his eyebrow, amused by her unjustified fear.

“Oh... right. Sorry. Bad reflex.” She let go of his arm, happy that the dark night was hiding her blushing cheeks.

Misha walked towards the cabin and grabbed the sleeping bags, blankets and pillows.

“Time to settle for the night!”

He walked around the pond and through the bridge to reach the place where the willow tree was proudly standing, put one blanket on the ground, the two sleeping bags on it, settled the pillows against the trunk of the tree, one more blanket on top, and turned to look at Lily.

“Doesn't it look comfy?”

She had to admit it didn't look bad.

“Let's try it then.” She said laying down and leaning against the pillow.

“It is pretty comfy!”

Misha smiled and did the same, and they were soon silently lying at the foot of the tree next to each other. It was dark, but the floor lamp near the bridge gave them a weak glow so it wasn't too spooky. They could hear the frogs croaking near the water and the soft breath of the wind in the falling leaves of the willow tree above them. They were so thick that they could barely see the stars.

Misha rolled on his side and put his hand under his face to support him.

“Let's play.”

She chuckled.

“Aren't we a little old for this?”

“Never! There are still tons of things we don't know about each other. So... I'm gonna ask you a question, and then you answer and ask me one and so on, until we fall asleep, because I wanna know everything.”

“Oh god we really are sixteen again! Alright... Shoot.”

He decided to start easy, focusing first on what he didn't know anything about: her job.

“What's your favorite piece of music to play?”

“Oww, hard to pick only one!” She wined looking at the sky.

“Try!”

“Okay, let me think...” She thought about it a moment, trying to look for a piece she could play forever without being tired of it.

“Umm, I'd say Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Nice choice! I didn't even know you could play that with an orchestra to be honest.”

“Oh God shame on you, it means I really need to take you with me to hear a few concerts.”

“Anytime.” Misha replied with a huge smile lightening his face.

Lily played with a lock of  her hair while she thought about her question.

“My turn! I'll go for the same kind of question: What's your favorite episode of Supernatural you played in?”

That was an easy one for Misha, good thing about being away for conventions was that he was pretty much ready for about every questions she could ask.

“The French Mistake. Because we all got to make fun of ourselves and it was hilarious. You'll have to watch it to understand what I'm talking about though.”

“Yeah, I will eventually have to buy a TV.” Lily laughed which gave Misha the time to ask another one.

“Next question: How many serious relationships did you have ?”

Oh boy... that was awfully direct.

“Uuuh... It's kinda hard to tell.”

Misha sat up straight, his eyes popping out.

“THAT many???”

Lily raised both hands.

“Nooo, no! Who do you think I am? I mean it depends on when you consider a relationship is becoming serious you know... I don't...” She sighed in defeat, not bothering finishing her sentence.

“Hey! Don't wimp out! I'm not judging. Promise.” He encouraged her, being very curious now.

“Alright, alright... I'd say... Two?”

That was kind of a surprise, he expected way more than this considering she wasn't married.

“Only two? Including me?”

“Well... yeah. Why? Do you think I wanna marry every guy I meet or what?”

“Geez I hope not. So me and... Peter? Is that it?”

“Hey that's way more than one question, you're cheating! Why do you wanna know anyway?”

Misha had actually tons of questions about everything that happened to her, but he couldn't ask everything in one night, could he?

“I don't know, I'm just curious I guess. I'm married for years and you're not so... since we're the same age I just imagined you had more than two serious relationships in your life, that's all.”

“Well you were wrong. It's rare enough to find someone you love and trust to spend your entire life with, even more rare to find a second one, I guess that's it for me, at least for this life.” Lily laughed nervously, staring down at her hands.

“What about the non-serious relationships then?”

“You're asking way to many questions, I think this is my turn, Mr Collins.”

She had a strange way to insist on his name everytime she said it, it almost sounded like she didn't like it.

“Alright, but don't think you're out with this one.”

Lily cleared her throat.

“Do you have any regret?”

Misha scoffed and shook his head.

“I always say you can't have regrets, you have to learn from your mistakes, but yeah... I regret filming Karla, I regret insisting with my mom to go to the beach instead of going back here earlier to give your grandpa his Christmas presents when he was still alive, I often regret Castiel's voice but that's my bad... I regret we didn't go to sleep on the beach on June 29th 1990 like I wanted to...”

June 29th 1990... The night of the fire. She completely forgot about that. Misha wanted to sneak out of the farm that night and go to the park's beach with Lily to celebrate the beginning of the summer holidays.

But Lily thought it was too cold and she preferred the coziness of her bedroom so she insisted to stay. She told him they could go another night, but fate decided otherwise.

She turned on her side to face him as he stopped talking for a while, lost in his memories.

“I'm not blaming you for anything, just to be clear.” Misha pointed out.

“I know. But where would we be today if it never happened? What would've happened in the morning when I would've come home to see a burnt house and my family dead because I left to have a good time with my boyfriend? Would we still be together? Would you be an actor today? Would you be happy and famous and loved by thousands of people?”

“We will never know. But if I'd have to chose between you and my career, Castiel would certainly not have my face today.”

That was a touching answer and a very emotional moment... until Lily heard something moving in the high herbs behinds them and froze. She gripped on Misha's forearm.

“Did you hear that?”

He did, but it was probably the wind, or maybe a harmless rodent and frankly, he didn't care. Lily looked at the direction of the noise and winced.

“I'm sure there's someone.”

“Seriously? Who would be here in the middle of the night, Lily? Just ignore it.”

“I don't know but... I saw a shadow moving...”

“Oh it's probably a ghost then. You can relax, I have salt.”

She looked at him confused.

“Salt?”

He chuckled.

“Don't worry about it. I work too much. Just come here and ignore the noises, it's just the wind, really.”

He extended his right arm and offered her to snuggle against him. She hesitated a few seconds, but when she saw he wouldn't pull his arm back, she gave in and laid against him, her head on his chest and her left arm on his waist. He wrapped his arm around her and stroked her hair away from her face gently.

She shivered against him, feeling the warmth of his body contrasting with the chill of the night, and he groaned weakly when she squirmed, enjoying her proximity a little too much.

“Lily... if you keep doing that I will have a serious manly problem...”

She froze a second but looked up to him before sitting up and getting inside the sleeping bag.

“Sorry.”

He did the same, sensing they would fall asleep soon, and they moved back to their snugly position right after.

Misha sighed. It was so pleasant to lay under the tree with her again, under the stars.

“Can we just stay like this forever?” He whispered.

She smiled weakly.

“I wish.”

He leaned his head a little to softly kiss the top of her forehead.

“I don't even want to think about what life would be without you again. I don't know how I survived.”

She closed her eyes, melting in his words. She just looked up and gave him a faint smile before tenderly kissing his cheek. Her whole body and soul wanted to say 'I love you' at that moment, but she couldn't resolve herself to say it. She had no right.

“Goodnight, Misha.”

She fell asleep in his arms one more time.

[addledconsciousness]

The Beginning part 2

As I said earlier, there’s not a whole lot of my early childhood I remember, so in order to understand why you need to understand my family dynamic and most of all need to understand who my father is.

(TW and CW ahead for domestic violence, child abuse and bodily harm)

My mother married my father when she was 18 because her mother fell ill and didn’t think she was going to make it. She wanted to make sure my mother was taken care of so pressured her into marrying her high school boyfriend. My grandmother never ended up dying, and she’s still kicking to this day, but the deed was done and my mom had her first child shortly after. 

My brother was the first male grandson for my father’s side of the family. Coming from a traditional Italian Roman Catholic family this was a huge deal. He was like the second coming. He would continue the bloodline, the family name was secured and he would take over the family trade after my father and his father before him. The family trade being cattle ranching, more on that later. Then I came along 18 months later. From what I was told my brother could not be more upset. He wasn’t getting the attention he was used to anymore, and I was (by everyone’s account) not a great baby. Constantly sick, screaming and never sleeping. He once asked my parents to take me back where ever they got me, but who could blame him really, I was a terror to the whole family.I eventually got older and traded the screaming for shy silence, still sick a lot (probably mostly stemming from the kidney issues in the previous post) but I was quiet now. Three years after me came my sister who ended up being the exact opposite. My brother and I found our groove together eventually but this other girl threw a wrench in our system and I treated her much like my brother treated me at first. We both had a history of pushing each other off things (this is late 80′s early 90′s so not a whole like of child protected anything going on there) but we all came out relatively unscathed. At least from each other. 

Mark, (not my brother’s real name) and I had a past time of playing Nintendo together. He usually kicked my ass at everything as he was a little older and better coordinated; but I remember competing to see who could get to the highest level in Mario, him beating me in every game of Tecmo bowl (which I still refuse to play to this day because of it) and some other ones. I also remember sitting on my dad’s back when he would take over and play himself and I would just sit and watch him. I remember he would come home from work and would take a nap on the couch and I would sit behind his legs and watch TV with my brother and sister.

My mom was always around the house as my dad preferred she didn’t have a job. After all, who would watch the kids and make dinner and clean the house if she was at work? So I never liked leaving her side if we ever had to go anywhere. The only person who could hold me without my immediately starting to cry was her and my grandma. So I was a stage 5 leg clinger from an early age. Since we didn’t have anyone around other than family, going anywhere with any sort of crowd made me nervous. I’d rather stay home and play outside than go into town to run errands.My siblings and I played a lot outside, my mother insisted on it. We we’re allowed to even come in the house most of the time because she didn’t want us watching TV or spend all our time playing video games. So we ran around like crazy wild children on our property.

Growing up on acres of land with no one else around definitely gets the creative side going in kids, at least it did in us. There wasn’t a whole lot around so we made up games to play with each other. There was this hill behind our house that we used to jump down and climb back up for hours. In the winter since we didn’t have central heating or air (I know right), we had a wood burning stove instead. So my dad would go out and cut wood and bring it home and that was our source of heat when it was cold. We’ll all those coals and ashes needed to be cleaned out of the stove every so often and dad would throw the old ashes off to the side of the yard. One day when we were playing out back I fell down the hill in the backyard like I had done so many times before, but this time there was an added element, hot burning coals. 

Now maybe my dad thought they were out or maybe he just didn’t care (because who throws themselves into a pile of ashes), but needless to say, I threw myself into a pile of hot ashes. One bloody scream and a trip to the hospital (mind you was at least an hour and a half away) I had burned my arm from my wrist to my elbow to the third degree. The doctor told my my mom they removed most of the burned skin and wrapped in some kind of burn aid that needed to be on for a few days and to come back in a week but to expect a high amount of scarring and tissue damage. Dunno how it happened but when I came back for my follow up appointment and they removed my bandages it was like nothing even happened. They honestly couldn’t explain what happened. They took pictures to document and everything because there should have at least been some scarring. My arm was perfectly healed. Not sure how I got away with that, but I’m grateful.

Back to the story at hand though. So stay at home mom, with three young children and a dad who I guess at the time was starting to get irritated with his lot in life, and his wife, abuse the verbal and physical abuse started shortly after that. My dad isn’t the best of guys on a normal day and knows exactly what to say to tear you down when he’s sober, so when he was drunk (which was more often then not) he’d just get mean and violent. Anything we did to piss him off would mean being yelled at an belittled. He used to call my brother all sorts of names and tell him he was stupid. He would do the same to my mom in front of us and my brother after he got a little older (maybe 6 or 7) would try and stop him. This of course only enraged my dad and couldn’t let a little kid stand up to him so he had to put him in his place. He used his hands mostly, but if belts and electrical cords were handy those were convenient to used too. Which of course would send my mom into bear mode trying to protect her kids and she would get the worst of it. Me being the tiny emaciated kid I was didn’t stand a chance. So i’d let him yell at me and berate me and say all kinds of horrible things because it was better than being hit. I still have a scar on the back of my head from when I caught the buckle on a belt. Living in constant fear and panic because I never knew what was going to rub him the wrong way on a day to day basis made me an extremely cautious kid. I spent a lot of my time figuring out the right things to say and do in order to avoid being punished. Mind you, this is all before the first grade. 

So that is were my journey with trauma started, this is where my brain started making neural connections in my flight or fight response to survive and be on alert at all times instead of appropriate times. This is where I started leaning on my mind and trying to out think a grown man to get the desired outcome of not being beaten instead of getting to be a kid. It’s also where I started forming the distinct mindset of survival at all costs. I didn’t know until recently that my childhood trauma was the basis for most of my mental illness today (figured people grew out of that and now that I am no longer in those situations that It didn’t effect me anymore). I also didn’t know that living in that state for years and years and years actually mapped my brain for fear and anxiety to be the baseline for how my brain and body worked. 

All that is to say, that is one of the reasons I am doing this. To help get my thoughts straight, to confront my memories on my own terms and to work through them with techniques taught to me by my therapist in a safe environment that I can control. It’s not reliving my trauma but identifying what happened to me and learning to accept and let go. 

That’s enough for now, but I’m feeling pretty good about this so far. I’m not as freaked out as I thought I would be airing out things so far, maybe it’s because it was the oldest abuse and I’m far removed from it, or maybe that part of it was so normalized that It doesn’t hit me too hard to talk about it. At any rate, i’ll be ending it here tonight.

[dixonspeaker-blog]

6th Grader’s Weren’t Allowed to Play Sports

By Dixon Speaker

For Paulette Speaker

6th graders weren’t allowed to play sports. That was the rule. Maybe they wanted us focusing on the radical transition from elementary school, where one teacher taught all subjects in one single classroom, to the middle school format where 8 different teachers taught their own specialized subjects in 8 different classrooms. This was difficult, especially for young boys who latch onto any new distraction like rodeo clowns to a loose bull. Or maybe the reason was something simpler, like they didn’t want us playing contact sports with 8th graders who were significantly more developed than us. In football, for example, the middle school league was called “The Unlimited League,” as in, wow, that guy who is about to hit Dixon looks like he weighs unlimited pounds. I did play Halfback in high school, and during one game a missed down block by our center created a free sprinting lane for Garnet Valley’s 315-pound nose-tackle. I’ve never been struck by a moving car but this was the closest thing to it. Anyway, regardless of the reasoning, the rule they had was no sports, so everyone in 6th grade had to find other things to do. For me this created a problem. I played a lot of sports growing up. You could say my life was made up of finding ways to pass the time between games. Most 6th graders just went home and played with their brothers or sisters. This wasn’t an option for me. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I still don’t. On top of that, both my parents worked full time: My Dad travelled 3-4 days a week selling purified natural gasses while my mother worked until 6 o’clock at night as an executive in a furniture company. So every day after school I took the bus to Mom Mom’s. Mom Mom’s house was located literally on the edge of a cliff, sandwiched on the other side by a busy highway that she would never dream of letting me cross alone to seek out comrades in the surrounding neighborhoods. I was therefore left to occupy myself at Mom Mom’s cliff-side abode, which had several acres of fenced-in backyard to run through, but no other children to share it with. There was only so much a 12 year old child interested in sports and videogames and a 70 year old woman who grew up with a pet raccoon could do together before they both got bored. I had to find something to do with my time, and what I decided to do was to try out for the school play (This was allowed. No sports, but any and all other after school activities were acceptable). The play that year- the “fall drama” as they called it- was an adaptation of The Little Rascals.  You can guess what the play was actually about, because I don’t remember. I was not an actor. I was never in a play before. No one in my family had any type of performance background. In fact, the only time I remembered stepping foot inside a theatre was once when I was very young. A bearded man in a yellow costume darted across the stage and terrified me down to the most central whispers of my being. I cried so hard my mother had to take me home early. A picture of that man remains vivid in my memory, even today. I joined the play anyway. I had a The Little Rascals movie on VHS tape that I would watch from time to time. Also, trying something foreign and failing badly still outweighed spending every day after school alone watching Disney in a dark corner of Mom Mom’s house. Now, before trying out for the play you have to think about trying out for the play, which was much more stressful than the tryouts themselves. Being in the school play was not considered “cool” by any standards, something I was very much concerned with in 6th grade. Middle school was a weird time for me. There was a lot of figuring out who I was and who I wanted to be going on, and I knew precious little about either. What others thought of me, how I appeared, was something that consistently occupied my thoughts. It was this type of thinking that lead to the events of this story. The day before tryouts I was approached by one of the deans, Mr. Sag. We locked eyes across the hall. I knew that I was toast. Mr. Sag was old, so old that he actually taught both of my parents when they attended that same middle school many years before. Pennsylvania teachers got generous pension benefits, at least they did back then, so it was common to see strange old men like Sag in schools throughout the state. He shouted my last name as he approached me. Speaker! I didn’t say anything, just stared up at him and blinked. He was a big man. His face was a slab of wet meat hanging in a butcher shop. I heard you’re trying out for the play he said. Well, I was, you know, just thought I. His eyes fired up and he took a step closer. His head blocked all the light in the hall. He took a deep breath before he spoke. Are you an athlete, or are you some thespian? Spit flew out of his mouth in all directions. He stomped off without waiting for a response. I turned slowly just in time to see the back of his enormous head bob down the stairs and out of sight. Students were walking all around me but I might as well have been standing alone on the moon. I was impressionable and crushed to pieces. I sat quietly through the rest of my classes without answering any questions or writing a single note. I went straight to the bus after school. At Mom Mom’s I ate a TV dinner and watched Disney in the dark until my mom picked me up at 6. In the car I told her I had changed my mind. I didn’t want to try out for the play anymore.

Halfway through school the next day I changed my mind again. Screw Sag, I was trying out for that damn play. When the 2:30 bell rung I talked a bit with my friends and by three I was headed to the auditorium. It felt strange to walk the empty halls. Like I was in the same place only very far away. Another universe, maybe another time. How the tryouts went is unimportant. I forget what it is they made me do. I don’t remember rehearsing any lines, so I probably just had to read something. I got a speaking role but it wasn’t a big role and I wasn’t even a real Little Rascal. My character was just called Dixon. When the thing was over I walked down the hill to where the busses picked us up. These were called the “Five O’clock Busses,” and they had and different numbering and routing system than the traditional busses that took most of the students home at 3. The Five O’clock Busses were for kids doing activities. I asked around that day and found out what bus dropped me off closest to my Mom Mom’s house. I had not thought about being dropped off on the wrong side of the busy highway. You’ll soon see why that didn’t matter. As I stood there, a bus which was not my bus careened into the loop and stopped abruptly. The door swung open. I looked up into the bus and saw a large woman with long blonde hair wearing a baseball cap. Her hair was flying all around. She scowled down at me. I immediately recognized this woman. Her name was Millie. I knew her because she drove me to preschool and I was her first pick-up of the day. We grew close and even had a song we would sing together until we reached the second pick-up. In elementary school I turned heinous one day and she had to pull the bus over. We never spoke again until this day. She shouted at me to get in. Silently seated on that bus, bumping forward, hands in lap, the few seemingly minor decisions and the radical consequences they created began to set in. It went like this: The night before I told my mom that I was definitely not trying out for the play. So, to her, life would proceed as usual and I would take the bus home after school to Mom Mom’s. The next day I changed my mind- now this is key- and didn’t tell anyone. If something like this happened now the change of plans could be easily communicated through a simple text message. But when I was in 6th grade cell phones were just starting to be widely distributed, and I didn’t have one yet. So I stayed after school without telling a soul. It’s also important to know that I never did anything like this. I was a thoroughly responsible child, exactly where I was expected to be at the time I was expected to be there. You can imagine the shade that descended over my poor Mom-Mom’s heart when the bus pulled up to her house that day and she watched the doors swing open, then swing slowly closed, without her precious grandson exiting. Slamming shut, they sent an impossible sadness throughout her house and therefore her life as well. This set off a series of events that moved very quickly, all while I was sitting in the middle school auditorium waiting to read my lines. Mom-Mom called my mother and told her I didn’t get off the bus, and probably that she suspected someone snatched me and that I was more than likely dead. My mom, trying to remain calm, thought to herself that I just changed my mind about the play. She called the school to check. The ladies in the office told her they could call for me on the PA system and tell me to come to the office and they would call my mom back and tell her that I was all right. In many cases that would have been the end of it, but for reasons unknown, the PA system in the middle school couldn’t be heard in the auditorium, something both of the ladies in the front office were unaware of. So, when they called my mother back 20 minutes later with the news that I had not shown up, the assumption by all parties was that I was not in the school at all. This was when my mother began to panic. She quickly flapped her arms at her desk, something she does when scared. She called my dad, then Mom-Mom again, then the school again, then several friend’s houses where I could have been. When these searches turned up empty she called the school again and it was decided that all they could do was wait to see if I somehow turned up at The Five O’clock Busses, and if I did then Millie the bus driver, who knew both me and my Mom Mom, would make sure I got onto her bus and make a special one-time drop off at a road near Mom Mom’s house. If I didn’t show up at the busses I guess they would have called the police. As I got off the bus I saw Mom-Mom’s  El Camino sitting on the shoulder up the road like a cop car on a stake out. When I got home later that night there was a newly purchased cell phone sitting on the kitchen table. . . . This was one of many events I lived through while I was younger but couldn’t fully understand until I was older. I needed distance before I could evaluate the true emotional recourse of the thing. What I immediately thought was a gross overreaction I now look back on and view as a reasonable response. Of course they were going to worry. I’m their only son. My mom still tells me to this day, “I don’t have a replacement.” Even when all signs pointed to a non-event, pointed to the likelihood that I was safe, when intense love is present, it makes perfect sense to be attracted to that worst thing, to losing that love. I believe that’s what my mom and dad and Mom-Mom experienced that day, and over time I’ve learned to love them back for it. . . . I don’t know much about life, but what I do know is that it’s something like a river. You may see different sizes, shapes, speeds, but what’s certain is that it’s always flowing forward. To resist is a temporary exercise. Water finds its way. What I have also learned about this river is that although a great distance may exist between points, it can look quite the same. The beginning can resemble the end, the end the beginning. What one experiences now is not the only time the river may break in that direction. It returns to itself. At least I think it might. This is what I mean. In 2015 my Mom decided to move to Spain for a month. She wasn’t feeling particularly happy with her job, or possibly even her life (she never said this explicitly), so in the evenings she would click through Airbnb listings in Barcelona. She would even click the heart buttons, relegating them to her “favorites” so she could go back later, look at the pictures of Spanish rooftops, and for a few moments imagine herself living in a foreign land, and by extension inside a life filled with slightly more adventure. An exercise like this is probably common inside of American homes. Perhaps your mom or dad is doing it right now. And it would have forever remained an exercise if my cousin and I weren’t living with my parents at the time. My cousin was taking nurse anesthetist classes at Penn, so Monday through Friday she would stay with us in the suburbs and commute into the city by train. She slept in my childhood bedroom with a floor to ceiling baseball mural on the wall. With Cait around we would sometimes get into the wine during the week if we were bored. One of these nights we all ended up in my mom’s office, cups in hand, ooh-ing and ah-ing over saved Airbnb pages. There was one we knew was her favorite because she had shown us before, it had the best reviews, and the host spoke English. A few moments later she had her credit card out and was asking us both if she should just do it, to which Cait and I responded with a resounding yes. So she clicked the button and just like that she had a flat for a month in downtown Barcelona. My father wasn’t present for the booking and didn’t find out until several weeks later, and even then not from my mom’s mouth but from a girl I was dating at the time. It’s not that my mom didn’t want him to know, it’s that she had never done something like this before. She was waiting for the appropriate time to break the news. Well, my father didn’t get mad because he is a sweet, sweet man. Instead he decided to support my mom’s leap of faith decision by joining her for a week of the trip. When that happened I decided to join too. How it happened was both my mom and her sister would fly over and stay for a week. This was a big deal for my mom. She had never been outside of the country except for her honeymoon in Mexico and one time to Canada, and those don’t really count. Even though she didn’t admit this to me until her sister had left and she was alone for a week, I knew my mother was scared. Making big changes when you’re older has got to be scary for most people. It’s probably because you’re not as dumb as you were when you were younger and therefore not as invincible. The second week my mother would be alone, and I would fly in for the third week. The fourth and final week my dad would come and we would all be together as a family. When my father arrived she arranged for a car to pick him up at the airport and drop him off in front of the apartment. It was the same driver who dropped her and her sister off on the first day of their trip. There was an elevator in the flat but it was old and small so he carried his luggage up the stairs. When he entered he was out of breath. Rooms are scaled differently in Europe. You can tell if you see it. It’s as if everything was measured with a different ruler, which I guess is true. These optics, coupled with his outfit, a nondescript athletic material shirt from Walmart, a blank hat, cheap sneakers, all made him seem like even more of a gigantic white person than he already was. Like Gandalf inside Bilbo Baggins’s house in The Shire. Sweat poured down his face as he unpacked his bags. When he was finally settled in my mom laid out some olives and cheese and we drank wine and talked about our trips. It was still early and I had a few places I wanted to see downtown. There was a café where Hemingway and other Ex-pats supposedly drank, some church with interesting origins. We decided to part ways. I would head out on my own while they finished unpacking. They would see a few things and we would all meet back at the apartment for a short siesta. So that’s what we did. A friend told me that everyone should travel by themselves at one point in their life, but I forget why he said everyone should do it. I remember the afternoon being extremely quiet in a city full of noise. I talked to no one. Soon enough the voices of the city began to fade. I felt light and detached, like when I would go sit in my car during my break and stare out into the brown grass moving carefully in the wind. After a beer and a long sit in an alley that I could never find again, I headed back to the flat. Honestly, I missed my parents here, even if it had only been a couple of hours. I had reached a period with my parents that would last for a while longer but not forever. Like two planets coming into view every night for a few days across a warm and cloudless August sky. This is a period I hope everyone gets to experience with their parents but I’m afraid too many seldom do. A time where you are no longer too young but they’re not yet too old. When you can drink together, make jokes together. When no one takes themselves too seriously. With this thought I bounded up three flights of stairs, heart fluttering in my chest, full of hope. I flung open the door and when I saw their faces it was this same hope that came crashing down.  

She told me the story backwards, starting with the result: My father had been robbed. It happened right away. The entire afternoon while I was meandering narrow streets buzzed on pinkish wine, they had been dealing with crisis. After he unpacked they left the flat for the subway. They were going to the city center, possibly following the same route I had taken just one hour before. To get there you had to transfer lines at one of the busiest stations in the city. They boarded a car on the yellow line and were followed by a throbbing mass of bodies. Person after person squeezed into the car, bumping them, touching them, limiting the space in which they could not only stand but also even breathe. My mother was wise to the thieves of this city. She had all of her belongings inside of a zipped and clipped handbag lined with mesh steel. She could have used it to block a bullet. She had it tucked up into her armpit. Now, the extreme caution she took on her part she transferred to my father, but the focus fell on his physical well being instead of his belongings. As people smaller than him piled into the car, he stood there swaying like some giant who misplaced his mammoth. He looked at my mother and smiled. Hold on to something, she shouted, just before the train jerked forward. I’m sure she envisioned him toppling over as the car took motion. He was in the middle surrounded by bodies, so he grabbed onto the only thing he could, the ceiling rack above his head. The car rounded a soft curve. Bodies and limbs pressed against him like a lung. The car came to a stop, the doors opened, and the throng of people leaning against him (all small women, incidentally) filed out of the car. The doors closed and the subway continued. My father’s wallet, which had been held in a zipper pocket of his cargo shorts, was gone. He felt its absence as the car left the station. And that was that.   My dad alerted my mom, who stood in shock as the last week of her trip exploded in her mind. They rushed not home but to the Barcelona Crowne Plaza. My dad had memorized its location before stepping foot onto the plane. He was a Holiday Inn rewards member, and inside a network hotel he felt more comfortable, he felt at home. Without acknowledging those working at the reception desk he marched directly to their business center where he used their phone and internet services to cancel his credit cards and place alerts on all of his accounts. He printed out pictures of sensitive documents he had emailed himself before the trip. On his way out he did acknowledge the staff, but only to ask them to call a cab for him and my mother who had been sitting quietly in the lobby, still very much in shock. They bought several bottles of wine next door before both trudging up the steps to the flat to drink and forget. To try their best to, anyway. This is how I found them. As they told me this story emotions grew inside of me. Not sorrow, not fear or panic. What grew was an overwhelming sense of frustration. Not in them, but in myself, at the thought that if I wasn’t off on my own, if I was just with them watching, this could have all been prevented. And as we sat there for a few more hours, as my mom and I poured glass after glass of wine, as dad moved from counter to couch and slowly fell asleep, whatever energy or forces that existed between the three of us changed. What I saw and felt were not two people who for 25 years existed as protectors. What I saw for the first time were vessels of some new responsibility. . . . My father recovered from the robbery and was able to enjoy the rest of the trip. I was extremely proud of him for this, another new emotion. Two days later they were off on their own again. We were to meet in a central plaza at two o’clock. At 10 minutes past they still hadn’t shown up. I began to sweat. I kept looking at my phone even though I had no service. Dreadful scenarios formed in my head. But as my mind raced I saw them turn the corner, smiling and holding hands. I told myself to relax. I told myself that they would be okay and I began to believe it. Would I continue to worry? Of course. But I knew it was an emotion I could learn to accept. On the second to last day of the trip I took the subway to the far north end of the city, the last stop on the purple line, and I went to the beach. I spent the day laying in the sand reading Charles Bukowski stories on my Kindle. A very old couple placed their bags next to mine. The woman put on a white swim cap and they waded into the shallow waves to perform calisthenics. I finished my book and when I looked up again the old man and the old woman were dancing hand in hand along the shore. There was no music, just the roar of the breakers slowly crashing at their feet. I looked at the couple and I thought that to worry was not so bad, because behind that worry were embers of love. As I looked down the beach I saw myself dancing, real slow, very old. And what I felt again was hope. Hope that one day, when my parents are gone, when my aunts and uncles are gone, there may just be some youngster sitting on some faraway beach, listening to the sounds of the same waves, worrying about me too.  

[awfully-sadistic]

Hospital

“You may want to try avoiding the use of the ‘H’ word right now, Grandfather.”

       Angelino looked up from bouncing Lala on his knee. A look of mild surprise had crossed those old, gray features before it was replaced by his typical expression of amusement; twinkling gold eyes and an ever-present grin spread widely across a hardened jaw. The silver fox had taken the statement in stride, just like any other aspect thrown at him. Except he very clearly had no idea what his grandson had been speaking of.

       “Che cos'è...?” he asked before shifting his attention to Lala once again. It wasn’t that hard to do because her giggles filled the room and their ears in the most pleasant of sounds. It had been a very long time since Angelino had the chance to play with a small child. Never mind the strange circumstances surrounding the small toddler body now wiggling and babbling in baby speak for Angelino’s attention.

       “I meant…” Angelo looked a little hesitant before it hit him that he could just speak in Italian without tipping Lala off to the word. “…Ospedale.”

       Angelino’s dark brow just rose at the word, confused as to why it would have been scary for Lala to hear that word. It seemed like he didn’t need to wait for an explanation before Angelo started again.

       “It’s Alessio’s doing,” he simply put and perhaps first because he didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings that this was any of his doing. Of course, this wasn’t sufficient enough of an explanation for Angelino and to be honest, it really did not make any sense. “Alessio has been having a tough time trying to have Lala warm up to him. It is not that she refuses to, but it is that Alessio is …scary.”

       Angelino burst out into laughter that startled the three toddlers. Lala was in his lap, having stilled in her babbling to stare wide-eyed at the laughing giant while Felina and Renee were seated at those big dress shoes, playing with blocks. The giant man himself hadn’t even noticed he had disturbed the children as he continued on his conversation with his eldest grandson.

       “I can see why she would be scary. Alessio has his mother’s face.”

       Angelo paled before looking around as if something would have stormed into the room at the mention of that slight; but Angelino wasn’t wrong. The Frenzy Matriarch had such strong features that could have only accentuated that diamond shaped face she had. Angelo resisted the temptation to cross himself before glancing back over to his grandfather, looking weary.

       “Mother is going to be paying you a visit in your dreams tonight, Grandfather…”

       And apparently, Angelino had forgotten about this until Angelo had brought it up. The color immediately drained from his face and his entire body tensed, ducking down low enough so he could hide behind Lala’s toddler body—which was entirely ridiculous looking. It was like an elephant hiding behind a small mouse.

       “Are you trying to curse me?!”

       “I think you did that to yourself when you kept bringing Mother into this.”

       “Quella donna è così spaventosa…” he muttered before straightening his spine. It wasn’t like anything was happening right now. That brief exchange was allowed to be pushed into the furthest part of Angelino’s mind (like most supernatural aspects he’d sooner like to forget) before the topic switched back to Angelo’s predicament.

       “As I was saying… Alessio was trying to condition Lala to fear me but instead, it backfired and now he cannot even be in the same room as her without Lala crying her eyes out.”

       “Then he deserves it, no?”

       Angelo would have agreed if Alessio wasn’t taking his aggression out about it with everyone else in the Family. “That much is true but…” and he explained the many instances around the Haus where not only the Frenzy’s but the Dreadful’s are getting mingled into Alessio’s bad mood.

       “I don’t think the one named Jax has even woken up yet. Ripley was the first one taken out and I think she is still buried in the backyard up to her neck.” Angelo muttered, hand to his chin as he looked thoughtful reciting the last bit of information to the Frenzy Patriarch. “So far, I’ve just put word out to stay out of his way.”

       Angelino was nodding though he was making silly faces at Lala. “That would be for the best, yes.”

       Angelo’s shoulders slumped when it seemed like he wasn’t going to get anything useful out of Angelino at this point and it wasn’t because he was distracted with Lala. Angelo’s guess was that the situation wasn’t an emergency despite his heir, one of his grandsons, and …well, Lala was a special case in relation to him… fact of the matter was that they were still toddlers and not getting any closer to a solution to revert them back to their original states. However, looking at Angelino, it really didn’t seem like he was in any hurry.

       “I still don’t understand how Alessio managed to ruin the word hos—“

       “A-Ah, not aloud, Grandfather!” Angelo cut in as soon as his ears picked up on the word, placing a hand on his Grandfather’s shoulder and squeezing in gently reminder.

       “Sì, sì…” he waved a hand to dismiss that reminder and Angelo lifted his grip, still looking weary about the direction of this conversation. Angelino seemed so light-hearted about the matter! But the elderly man continued. “That forbidden word. I don’t understand how it came to that point. Explain.”

       Angelo’s mouth pursed to the side as he tried to think of the easiest way he could explain. “Mmm, Alessio took my profession into consideration. He would use anything associated with eh… l'ospedale like my lab coat and stethoscope, trying to make them sinister so he could associate my profession into something she would find terrifying—like a horrible twist of this word association against me.”

       Angelino let out another laugh, “And how well did that work for him?”

       “Well enough for it to backfire on him; she now associates those “scary” things with him. My guess was that it was because of the intense look on his face; he really does put 100% of himself into the things he does… and without realizing the harm he was doing.” Angelo finished while using a hand to rub the back of his neck. He looked tired just reciting this info.

       “Where is he now?”

       “My guess is…” Angelo paused, his gaze trailing over Angelino’s broad shoulder to the door behind him. A set of narrowed eyes were glowering at him. “…there.”

       Angelino turned his head, looking in the direction Angelo indicated and true enough, his grandson was peering around the corner and not being too sneaky about it either. He was blatantly staring at them and luckily, those broad shoulders of his enabled him to block the sight from Lala. At least, until he walked inside.

       “How long are you intending on standing there?” Angelo asked with a dry tone.

       “As long as it takes,” Alessio replied without missing a beat.

       Angelino just chuckled, turning in his seat now and bringing Lala with him. Once those little eyes settled on Alessio standing at the doorway, she began screaming her head off. Angelino looked mighty surprised and Alessio looked mighty annoyed. To calm her, Angelino had to turn back around, hiding her from his sight.

       “See, the bad man is gone!” he laughed, extending his hands out and wiggling his fingers. Lala was smiling and giggling again at Angelino’s silly antics, Alessio seemingly forgotten.

       “You brought this on yourself for what you tried to pull,” Angelo jabbed. Alessio just snorted.

       “I just need to stay around, exposure therapy.”

       “…Do not…”

       “Well, perhaps it would be best to expose Lala to Alessio in small doses and he can’t look scary.” Angelino stated, throwing a look over his shoulder to his disgruntled grandson.

       “I’m afraid we cannot do much about his face,” Angelo said. “We are twins but we are so different.” He gave a forlorn sigh.

       “I’m going to punch you.”

       “You’ll only further scare Lala.”

       Alessio answered in silence like with most things he does. Angelino suddenly snapped his fingers, looking very enlightened. “I’ve got it!”

       “What is it?” Alessio asked, partly tempted to try anything at this point. He hadn’t had the chance to really hold toddler!Lala whatsoever. It was more annoying than a pebble in one’s shoe or that annoying sound that comes out of Ripley’s mouth that she calls her voice.

       “A costume,” Angelino answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

       “No.”

       “What kind of costume?”

       The twins asked at the same time. Of course, Angelo was asking about the sort of costume Alessio would have to fit in because it would also have to cover his face and Alessio thought there could be a hundred different other plans that would have worked better than wearing a costume.

       “Hmm, I think we have an old mascot costume from the last Headquarters picnic.”

       “Oh, the purple dinosaur.” Angelo smiled though it wasn’t back on the fond memories of any of their company picnics. The thought of Alessio wearing the costume was giving him some sort of sadistic pleasure. “I think that’s a great idea, Grandfather.”

       I think I’m going to drown you in the lake with it, Alessio shot straight into Angelo’s mind with so much venom, Angelo was only blinking in surprise.

       “That is so violent, Alessio. Lala will never warm up to you that way.”

       An annoyed grunt was the only other thing thrown his way for the rest of the night.

 Translations:

1] What is it?

2] Hospital

3] That woman is so scary…