#in the meantime: here's this. Madness!

[uhohproblems]

The suit stood quietly corpselike where he had left it. The first day he'd watched it half-warily for a long stretch, almost expecting to blink and be back inside it, and then he'd been swept into a mess of blood tests and immunology panels and press conferences and he didn't see the inside of his own room for a full 18 hours, and when he'd come back it had been a shock of horror and longing to see it still standing there. Unmoving, trapped inside this office, a thought which almost made him laugh except for how it almost made him sick. That night he dreamed that he could reach a hand inside himself and pull away globs of muscle and fat like wet handfuls of snow. He pretended it wasn't there; he pretended that it didn't catch his eye every time he moved and the light shifted over its glossy surface.

(NSFW!!!) (white knight has relations with the exosuit)

[pouletpourri]

the maddest spies around

[izuizzy]

I am working on stuff but have some Aurora-centric doodles in the meantime! (I put my kiddos in a fantasy au in the second doodle an au within an au?? lol)

[ecoustsaintmein]

covet, part iv of ???

part i here | part ii here | part iii here | part v here

pairing: paddy x eoin; rating T (so far), slow burn. hurt/comfort. angst. unreliable narrator (paddy i'm looking at you)

based on this tumblr post by @cloudyfacewithjam:

"Canon Divergence AU: Paddy gave the Claddagh ring to Eoin as a friendship gift back in Ireland, and Eoin kept it during and after the war despite their falling out (because they were both stupid and emotionally compromised). They eventually reconcile, but after a while, Paddy notices that the ring has changed its placement - and he promptly loses his mind, while Eoin is stoically silent about it."

--

“Breathe,” Eoin says, when Paddy wakes up in the middle of the night. Eoin could hear him from his bedroom next door, grouching and looking for his rifle – a knee-jerk reaction to the threats he's facing in his nightmares.

“Paddy, it’s me. It's me, Eoin,” he says steadily, holding his hands up in a placating gesture – and Paddy’s wide, fierce eyes soften when he recognizes the man standing in front of him; Eoin's soothing voice calming him down. “Breathe, Paddy. It’s me. And we’re in my flat. We’re in friendly territory, Paddy. There’s no enemy here.”

The realization hits Paddy hard; his ready-for-battle countenance wavering, before turning to something more grim and sinister. “Except myself,” he mutters under his breath, before falling backwards against the mattress, covering his face with his hands. “I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of not knowing what’s real and what’s not,” he says, choking into sobs.

Eoin glances at the clock on the wall. 0450.

The ticking seconds filling in the silence, punishing them with every beat.

Paddy lifts up one hand and squints to look at Eoin. His breathing has begun to normalize, before he hiccups accidentally. Eoin purses his lips before moving towards the bed. Crawls on the mattress before kneeling next to Paddy's head, and leans down to press a kiss on Paddy’s forehead.

As if it's the most natural thing in the world to do.

Paddy doesn't flinch. He just stares, openly, at Eoin.

“Breathe, Paddy,” Eoin whispers against Paddy's damp skin, clasping Paddy’s hand in his. Paddy holds on to his hand as if it’s his lifeline, and tries to sit up, with a groan. "My back," he says, and Eoin replies, "I know."

"I dreamt of you dying, lying in a grave in the middle of the desert. And I held your hand, like this."

"I'm here, and I'm alive, Paddy," Eoin says, before manoeuvring Paddy’s head to be pillowed by Eoin’s lap. Paddy continues to stare up at Eoin, upside-down, expressionless. He still hasn’t let go of Eoin's right hand – while Paddy’s left hand rests on Eoin's chest; the hammering beats of Paddy’s heart against his palm. Willing it to slow down. He watches the rise and fall of Paddy’s chest, plays with the tendrils of hair that has fallen upon Paddy's brow.

Paddy rests his back against the pillows, watches Eoin’s eyelids flutter shut as slumber takes him. Eoin wishes that he could enter Paddy's dreams, so that he would feel less alone. So that he could prove that he's alive. So that he knows that Eoin wouldn’t let anyone or anything fuck him up, even if it’s in the figment of Paddy’s own imagination.

From this angle, Paddy looks peaceful.

A tear trails down from one corner of Paddy’s closed eye, and gently Eoin wipes it away.

--

Eoin’s legs feel like dead weight when he tries to walk, after he wakes up. Paddy has woken up much, much earlier, has thrown a blanket over him while he goes for a shower. Eoin’s neck aches, and his gait still feel wobbly from sleeping in the wrong position.

“Good morning, Paddy,” he says, when Paddy appears in the kitchen, hair damp, freshly showered. Smelling of Eoin's soap bar. A blush creeps up Eoin's neck, as he tries to suppress a smile at the sight of Paddy leaning against his kitchen wall with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Morning, Eoin,” Paddy replies, sheepish.

Their routine hasn’t changed – and old habits die hard, even from the times of Ballymena or Heliopolis or Kabrit. Paddy still wakes up earlier than Eoin, and Eoin still greets Paddy a 'Good Morning' first.

Eoin wishes he could wake up every day and see Paddy like this.

“So, what's our plan on this glorious Sunday?” Paddy asks, before sipping at his coffee. "It's a bit too late to go to church, is it not?"

Eoin snickers. It's nearly noon and they've overslept. "Well, if God forgives me for not attending Mass, I was hoping that we could go out and restock on food supplies. Especially if you're staying. And then, I was hoping that you could help me study."

"I'm staying," Paddy says steadily, shoulders squared. "For how long I don't know yet. But I'll probably need to use the telephone and let Francie know. And let work know." Eoin nods, catching Paddy's gaze. It’s as if last night never happened.

--

Between breakfast and the trip out to the market, Eoin is sure that Paddy's seen the way he's worn his Claddagh ring, now. Paddy's not exactly subtle, the way he stares at it too long and looks up at Eoin as if he wants to ask.

But Paddy doesn't ask.

He stares, and he stares.

--

Eoin thinks:

The main objective of Operation Blair consists of getting Paddy out and about, facing social anxieties, without drink — before Eoin quickly retracts his thoughts. It isn’t people that Paddy is scared of. He isn���t afraid of people talking behind his back, afraid of people thinking he’s crazy. They got it all wrong. He’s scared that he’s not able to protect these people on the streets, like the civilians and the other soldiers he couldn’t save when the war was still on. He’s scared that some random mortar fire will land in the middle of the street, and hundreds of people will perish. The way that innocent Italian family had perished.

Paddy's not paranoid – Eoin knows this, even in peacetime. Because the threat was – and is still real.

Ireland is at peace, but there is still Russia and the threat that the Soviets pose. Peace with Germany doesn’t promise that World War Three won’t happen. They could plunge back into war and Paddy is scared that he won’t be able to save these innocent souls.

Ireland is at peace, but Eoin's neither blind nor deaf. Insurrection could happen at any moment, the way it once did many decades ago. The political air is charged, simmering, and Eoin recognizes this, within the halls of his university (he shouldn't have been able to enrol in Trinity anyway, because of his religion, and he hears what those Protestants have been saying about the Catholics). He senses it within the chambers of the court, within the atmosphere between Dublin all the way up to Belfast.

But for now, Eoin walks behind Paddy and watches the his gaze flicker right, watching, guarding. They make a right turn, down to the marketplace, where already they could hear the hustle and bustle of people haggling for cheaper beef prices, arguing why the prices of the vegetables are still so high when they aren’t fresh.

“I can’t—,” Paddy pauses in his steps abruptly, causing Eoin to bump into his back. Their hands briefly touch, before Eoin pulls away. “I've done this with Francie and Barbara. I hate it. I hate the humdrum and the social niceties and the need to choose between so many options. In the SAS we make do," Paddy hisses. "Besides," he adds, "--it’s too open and crowded. We wouldn’t be able to pull back in time—,” he says, if we get attacked, Eoin finishes the thought in his mind.

“I’ve got you, Paddy,” Eoin reassures him. "And I've got a list of things I need, anyway. I'm a simple man. I go in, I go out. Bish bash bosh. Yeah?" Trust me are the words Eoin didn’t say, but Paddy's eyes seem to be telling him, “I trust you,” anyway.

They walk slowly into the market, buying groceries and food stocks for the next week. Eoin studies Paddy intently, watching for any signs of breakdown – apart from the beads of sweat that have begun to emerge on his forehead, and his increased breathing, Paddy is holding on.

“We’ve got to buy some potatoes. That's the last thing we need, and then we'll leave,” Eoin reminds Paddy, whispering in his ears, a slight touch on the his wrist. His pulse is strong, regular, and running rapidly as if he’s just finished a Lewes march.

Eoin's soothing voice seems to calm Paddy down.

It’s all going so well. They've bought the fish and the potatoes. Paddy even haggled with the fishmonger, as if he hadn't been reluctant to come to the market in the first place. It's only after they've left the market that they hear a sudden, sharp shrill noise—

-- and Eoin doesn’t know what's happened, except for one moment he was standing and chatting with Paddy, and the next minute he was pushed roughly against a large tyre of a lorry. Paddy crouched in front of him. Faces inches apart, his hand in Eoin's collar. Paddy's eyes are raving, wide, panicked; then -- “We’re safe here, Eoin,” Paddy whispers harshly, his breath tickling Eoin’s skin.

They’re crouched behind a lorry by the street, and Paddy is having one of his war flashbacks. Paddy's other hand is gripping Eoin’s shoulder tight; so tight that it hurts, but Eoin doesn’t mind. “Behind this tyre, they can’t shoot at us,” Paddy reiterates. “I’ve got you,” he tells Eoin.

It must have been a car that sped and skidded down the road, causing that horrible, high-pitched shrill that brought Paddy back to wartime. The car is long out of their sight. No other vehicles are passing down the road, now. Paddy's breathing slows down, before he realizes his mistake. His expression turns grotesque when reality sinks in, his hands still gripping at Eoin's clothes for purchase, his eyes welling up into tears. “Please help me,” he says breathlessly, lips quivering.

“I’ve got you, Paddy,” Eoin echoes gently, bringing Paddy back up on his feet.

--

They don’t talk about what happened on the way back from the market. Instead, the question hovers in the air, heavy in its implicated misery.

--

After lunch they retire to the sitting room, where Eoin sits and goes through his papers, his books, his studies. Paddy calls Francie and his ma, before shooting Eoin quickfire questions and expects him to answer them the way he would defend himself in court. They go through different topics - the criminal codes and the civil, conveyancing, family, tort.

They still don't talk about the market, or the ring, although they're always at the back of Eoin's mind. But he could also see that Paddy enjoys this, he enjoys practicing and helping out Eoin, the way he's practiced jumping and marching and shooting. It's a different kind of battle.

By the evening Eoin could already see the torment in Paddy's eyes, the way he limps, the way he grimaces every time he moves.

"Are you alright?" Eoin asks, when Paddy spends a bit too long in the bathroom and emerges fifteen minutes later with a tub of heat ointment in his hand.

"My back hurts," Paddy says. "I can't ask me mam or Francie to put this on me. And it's hard to do it myself, so."

Eoin blinks, then: "Let me help you."

--

This is how Eoin finds himself, kneeling on the mattress -- with Paddy lying on his front, shirt off, pillows underneath his chin.

The scar tissue catches Eoin's eyes first, the way it branches like a tree, from the first operation, and the second. Eoin rubs his fingers together, ensures that they're warm, before he could even think of touching Paddy.

He dips his fingertips into the ointment, lathers it all over his palm. Then: "I'm going to touch you now, Paddy. Let me know if it's too sore, and I'll stop."

The moan that Paddy lets out as Eoin presses his fingertips into his back is utterly sinful. Eoin's brain could have short-circuited there and then, thinking, I'm making him let out all those noises. Paddy tenses when Eoin presses his thumb harder into Paddy's muscles, moving up and down, on both sides, then to the middle. Then he relaxes again, going, "Ah, yes. there."

This goes on for some time, when Eoin's found a rhythm and Paddy's breathing begins to even out. Eoin could see how Paddy's fingers squeeze the bedsheets from time to time, how his toes curl when Eoin gets it just right.

There is only silence, and Paddy's quiet moans, and Eoin's heavy breathing.

With his back turned away, Paddy eventually finds the courage to ask: "So, you're still wearing that ring I gave you."

"Aye," Eoin says. But he doesn't elaborate.

"So what's the craic?" Paddy asks, voice muffled by the pillows.

Eoin raises an eyebrow, even if Paddy can't see. "What craic?"

A pause, then: "With you and Siobhan?"

"Nothing's going on between me and Siobhan," Eoin says. "Just air."

"So what's with the ring, then? I noticed you've changed how you wear it."

Eoin scrunches his eyes closed. Mouths a silent, 'fuck', before shaking his head. He knows that Paddy's not looking at him. He knows Paddy couldn't see how the heat's affected him, made him turn bright red, from one silly question. Eoin blames the heat ointment.

"Oh, it's just to stop people asking me to meet their daughters," he says. "I got sick of people haranguing me all the time and introducing me to them."

Paddy falls silent. As if he's analysing this information in his mind, weighing it for truth or mendacity. "Oh," he says, nonchalantly. "So you don't have anyone you're seeing right now?"

"No, Paddy." Eoin says. I'm seeing you, though, he thinks. I see you. All the time.

"Hmmmmmm," comes Paddy's only response.

Eoin doesn't say anything else, and so does Paddy. He hums, instead, under Eoin's touch, his skilful ministrations.

--

It's a routine that they do every day, studying, with Paddy helping him.

It's a routine that they do every night, Eoin helping him with his back, with the heat ointment.

Sometimes Paddy spends even longer in the bathroom, after their sessions. Eoin doesn't ask what he's doing. What men do behind closed doors.

But Eoin thinks, he doesn't hear Paddy grouch so much, now.

It still happens, though. And when it does, Eoin will come to him and soothe his fears.

He will say, "I'm here, Paddy. I'm alive."

--

A few nights later, Paddy surprises him with a proposition, instead of their usual routine of going to Paddy's bedroom for the nightly massage.

“You know, let’s go night-swimming,” Paddy says, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Eoin coughs. “Now?”

“Aye.”

Which is how they find themselves past midnight, at a secluded cove in Killiney, a few miles off Dublin. With salt in the air and sand between their feet.

Alone.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Paddy topless. Naked, even. He’s a beautiful man, even if he's too self-conscious about it at times, and moans that no one will ever love him. Eoin's established this a while back, but the thought has always been amorphous, floating freely in his brain, indefinite. Tonight, that view has definitely been consolidated. He should go to hell for even thinking this.

Eoin's dabbled with men before, but always with strangers. Never someone he knows well enough to make a deeper connection – let alone someone he's close with, because it can get complicated.

With Paddy, it has become complicated.

“You’re staring,” Paddy calls him out.

“I’ve never seen you --,” Eoin says, and that’s exactly the problem.  He’s looked, many times. He's seen. But never allows himself to truly feel.

“Naked?”

“Smile,” Eoin shoots back. "Like, really, really, really smile a happy smile. Since you came back to Ireland."

Paddy tilts his head, brows raised.

Eoin's seen Paddy happy before – of course -- in the bars of Egypt, on the piano, when they sing along to tunes while Eoin's on the piano. Eoin's seen Paddy happy before, when they're on the truck and they're doing jumping exercises and the adrenaline rush is high. Eoin's seen Paddy happy before, when Paddy thought that Eoin's gone missing after their first jump and he'd thought Eoin was dead, but Eoin turned up unscathed save a few bruises on his face. But he’s never seen Paddy genuinely this happy because he’s spending time with Eoin, back home.

In Ireland.

Alone.

The clouds are darker than anything he’s ever seen since he’s got here, the water rougher and higher, the waves lifting and slamming against the shore. The water froths and bubbles before rushing back in a rippling roar. Eoin is drawn to the sight, as he walks closer and closer to the shoreline, watching as the waves ready themselves to be flung forward again. The raindrops fall harder and faster and Eoin relishes this moment of being showered clean from his sins.

In this darkness, Eoin doesn’t know if the water spraying onto his face comes from the sky or from the oceans, although he doesn’t really care. He feels free, he wants to be part of this tour-de-force, the waves and the rain, the kinetic power that ripples underneath all that current. He wants to float away, he wants to disappear, he wants the oceans to claim him and make him whole again.

Return him to whence he came from.

Eoin leans forward, putting his head high up in the sky as he tastes the rainwater on his lips, mixed with the saltiness of seawater. The waves come close, but not close enough, until one massive wave crashes over Eoin and Paddy, both. They fall right into the water, as they make splashes at each other like teenagers, trying to dunk each other’s heads and grapple in the dark, laughing so hard that Eoin’s chest begins to hurt.

They are both out in the open sea now, vast and dark. Fighting together against the surging power of the tides, briny water spilling into their mouths. Adrenaline rushing through their veins, but of a different kind from when they’re up in the air.

Paddy's laughter is ringing in his ears.  

He’s never heard Paddy laugh like this before. Not since he returned. And God, it was beautiful.

Later, when the shock of the waves and the coldness of the sea have been shaken out of them, Eoin wipes his face— clearing the sting of the saltwater in his eyes, before climbing back to shore. He’s soaked to the bones, brine and seaweed dripping off his limbs.

Paddy’s lying there on the sand, watching as Eoin dry himself, in calm silence. The look Paddy gives him is more chilling than the air hitting his damp skin.

He's still suspicious about the ring, about Siobhan. Eoin finds it easier not to talk about it too much, and deflects Paddy's questioning. He's probably seen the way girls make eyes at Eoin, and occasionally at Paddy, when they're in town. But for the most part, they are ignored.

Eoin says, "Siobhan's a very good friend of mine, but she's in love with someone else," to placate Paddy. He talks about Siobhan, but he has to talk about her carefully, lest he breaks her confidentiality about who she loves. The conundrum she is facing. He is not sure if Paddy will take it well, if he knows.

"If I have someone, Paddy, you will be the first person I tell," Eoin says.

Even if it's hard for Eoin to admit it to himself.

--

The pain gets too much, and Eoin worries that he's made it worse.

So they drive all the way to the general practitioner at the end of the town – for an urgent checkup of Paddy's spine.

The morning clinic is filled with mothers and their children in the waiting area, and Eoin and Paddy are the only men there. Paddy checks in – “Robert Mayne, to see Dr O'Grady,” he tells the receptionist, and she asks him to take a seat. Paddy excuses himself to go to the loos. Eoin picks up a ladies’ fashion magazine from three months ago, but drops it when an elderly lady seated opposite him gives him a disapproving look.

Eoin breaks out a tired smile just as Paddy returns. When the doctor calls them in, Eoin could feel the eyes of the ladies in the waiting room – including the receptionist’s – burning the skin at the back of his neck.

Dr O'Grady doesn’t even bat an eyelash when Paddy tells him about the pain and the morphine and the alcohol. There’s no good pretending that all is well – it’s better to be frank, and Eoin lets out a breath he’s held since he entered the consultation room when Dr O'Grady says, “Come take a seat, Mr Mayne. What’s important is that you are seeking help."

Eoin and Paddy share a knowing glance at each other behind the doctor’s back, but they keep mum for the time being. If Paddy wants to talk to the good doctor beyond his physical pains, it’s his prerogative – not Eoin’s.

“And you are…?” Dr O'Grady looks at Eoin expectantly for an answer, but his kind smile reassures Eoin that he is not being non-judgmental.

“Eoin McGonigal,” Paddy answers for him. “He was under my command during the war, and I came to visit him in Dublin. He helped— a lot,” Paddy continues, “—with my issues. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him, to be honest.”

“It's good that you have support, given the circumstances. But how has it been for you, after demobilisation? Are you adjusting well?”

Eoin takes in a sharp, deep breath.

Paddy exhales. The muscles in his body tighten; faint beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead. “Not really,” he confesses, his fingers balling up into fists in his lap.

Eoin looks up, surprised. He doesn't expect this from Paddy today. He doesn't expect Paddy to say, “Everything became harder after the war and I had these mood swings and nightmares and—,” Paddy pauses, before rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm-- “I’m so glad that Eoin’s here, y’know? Because he was in the war too and he understands and he doesn’t leave me hanging. Or hasn’t left— yet.”

Eoin tries not to overthink what Paddy means by that.

“The point is, I’m not crazy and I don’t want to be. But at the same time I know there’s something wrong and I don’t know how to fix it.”

The doctor turns his attention to Eoin. “What do you say, Mr McGonigal? Is this accurate?”

Eoin snaps to. “Yes,” he says, although he doesn't know what he's just said 'yes' to. Then he looks at Paddy, who's looking at him. "I'm proud of you," he wants to say to Paddy. "I'm so proud of you, Paddy," he mouths silently, instead.

“I was in the war too, Lieutenant Colonel Mayne,” Dr O'Grady says. “Pathfinders. It's not the same as the SAS," he says, indicating that he knows who Paddy is all along, from the moment he stepped into the consultation room. "And you’re not the first person I’ve seen with similar symptoms. It takes a lot of coaxing for them to come forward with their problems, because they think there’s no way out.”

“I’m not a madman,” Paddy reiterates stubbornly. “I don’t want to be institutionalized.”

Dr O'Grady rummages in his drawer, before he pulls out a pamphlet and hands it over to Paddy. “We’re working with war veterans to try a new form of therapy that will not involve institutionalization,” he explains. “You’ll need medications, yes. And you'll need to cut down on the alcohol and the morphine, too. But the main backbone of the therapy is support. From family, from friends.”

Paddy's eyes flicker uncomfortably at the mention of family.

He thinks of his ailing mum.

He thinks of his sisters.

He doesn't want them to worry about him. He doesn't want to be a burden.

“I sincerely don’t think support is something that you’re lacking, Colonel Mayne,” the doctor says kindly, while he steadies his gaze at Eoin. “We’re also trying to have regular meetings with other war vets to share their experiences. To bond. To connect. The Americans tried this out with some of their vets, and they’ve only started to pass this therapy method over to us.”

“Does it work?” Eoin asks concernedly.

Dr O'Grady smiles wryly. “It takes time, Mr McGonigal. It takes a lot of effort, a lot of patience. Like I said, family and friends’ support are important. Engaging with therapy is important. But it’s certainly more humane than locking people up against their will and subjecting them to treatments that don’t necessarily work.”

Paddy skims over the information on the pamphlet; his gaze skitters across the printed words. “How do I get involved in this?”

“I can make a few phone calls to get you registered in the program, the one they're setting up in Belfast. And I’ll book you an appointment with the psychiatrist at the head of this. He worked with some of the American GIs after the war too, and I assure you he’s not a quack.”

“I need time to think about it.”

“Take all the time you need,” Dr O'Grady says.

Eoin doesn’t even realize that Paddy has been tightly clasping their hands together throughout the entire conversation, until Paddy lets his hand go to shake hands with the doctor.

--

Dr O'Grady tells them that the psychiatrist has an appointment for Paddy, in Belfast, on Wednesday next week. Which means that Paddy would have to leave Dublin, away from Eoin, to return to his old life. Away from this idyll domesticity. Eoin will be sitting for his exams then, too.

This is what Paddy's always said to him all along, and tells Eoin not to worry. “You have your own life to live, Eoin. I’ve come this far. I’ll make it.”

“I could come up with you if you want,” Eoin bargains.

"Eoin, you've got to study for your exams," Paddy chides. "If you don't graduate on the account of looking after an invalid like me," he says, "--I'll never forgive myself."

Eoin's wanted to say: “It’s alright— I’m here to put you together, so even if you crash and fall and burn I’ll pick up the pieces and I’ll help you.”

Instead, he whispers, “Paddy,” – or at least tries to, because Paddy has placed a cold finger upon his lips, effectively shushing him. Eoin pulls Paddy’s hand away, but doesn’t dare do anything else beyond that.

No.

“Why did you really ask me to stay with you, Eoin?” Paddy asks, with heavy-lidded eyes, a calloused hand on Eoin’s cheek. “Why did you bail me out of jail and let me stay with you?”

He tries to pull his hand away, but Eoin refuses to let it go. He could see the way Paddy's gaze flicker from his face, to the Claddagh ring on his finger, the way it's positioned.

What it means.

But Eoin can't say the words. "I want to care for you," he says, instead. "You're not an invalid, Paddy. Never lower yourself to that. You're my friend, and I love you," he says instead.

Something in Paddy shifts, then, when Eoin mentions 'love'. “You shouldn’t say things like that," he says.

“But it’s the truth.”

“I shouldn't have come up here, Eoin,” Paddy says, before trying to wrench away from Eoin’s grip, but Eoin only holds him tighter. “I should have stayed at Mount Pleasant and you shouldn't have kept writing me letters. You should have just let me be,” Paddy groans, closing his eyes. When he opens them a second later, they are brimming with tears. He isn’t able to look at Eoin in the eyes, and for a brief moment Eoin has no idea why.

Until he eventually realizes the root of the problem.

You’re such an eejit, Eoin.

Paddy has been in love with him even before Eoin ever comes to realize that he’s been half-in-love with Paddy in the first place.

Eoin would have never guessed, but then again maybe he’s afraid to look beyond what he’s supposed to. If there had been time, he would court Paddy properly. If Paddy isn’t a man. If Paddy was Siobhan. If Paddy isn’t his commanding officer.

And Eoin remembers, a conversation they had, on VE day, when all's said and done and war's finally over.

“I’m glad you’re with me, Eoin.” A genuine, amused smirk had appeared on Paddy's face, then. He would be allowed happiness even for this one second, even if he knew that war was over and the chaos that they lived in will end, that the future will be unknown for them, at that time. Before Paddy decided to go to Antarctica and Eoin's wanted to go, but he can't. Because of his own responsibilities to his family, back home.

Before their rift.

“Why? So you could sweet talk me?” Eoin had winked, brushing it off as a little less than flirting and definitely not fraternizing.

Paddy had shrugged– and if not for the darkness and grime covering his face, Eoin would have sworn that Paddy was blushing.

In another time, in another place – Eoin would have kissed Paddy. He would have taken his time; he would have done this properly. He would have bought flowers and rode a bike to Paddy’s front door, maybe sing silly love songs to put a smile on Paddy’s face – and make it stay.

But he was born too early.

--

Three months later, Eoin's passed his exams and Paddy's managed to attend the sessions with the psychiatrist, which -- is a win, truly. He's still sceptical about the entire thing, but it's better than hypnosis and he's drinking less than he's used to. He categorically said no to medications that will make him woozy, because he needs to concentrate on work and he's actually finding the pace bearable.

Maybe the weeks spent with Eoin has really helped, then.

Eoin writes: "I'm so happy for you. I'm moving back up to Belfast."

Then, he adds: "So, Mr Secretary of the Incorporated Law Society of Northern Ireland, will you be keeping your eye on me, then? To make sure that I don't go rogue?"

Paddy replies: "Congratulations, Eoin, for passing your exams. I know you could do it. I'm coming down to Dublin for your graduation, because Ambrose has asked me to come, together with the rest of the SAS boys. I don't know if they'll all be able to come, but I'll be there."

"But also, sincerely? From the Secretary of the Incorporated Law Society of Northern Ireland, with regards to keeping an eye on you, and making sure you don't go rogue?"

"Fuck. You."

Eoin laughs like a madman when he reads the letter; the other students in the library give him cold hard stares.

Eoin doesn't care.

--

The big day of Eoin's graduation comes and Paddy drives down all the way to Dublin, in his brand new Roadster Riley. Eoin's chuffed that Paddy's coming along, and asked if he would stay with him at his flat. Ambrose and Paddy, his wife, has even organised a dinner reception to celebrate Eoin's graduation that night. Both Stirlings had to decline the invitation, and so did Fraser and Riley and Almonds, though they had written to say that there should be a proper SAS reunion soon.

Paddy's become more serious in his overall manner, despite his endless string of humour, as he’s promised Eoin that he would behave and make Eoin proud.

As a war hero and a respectable solicitor should.

He's even bought a new shirt and suit and tie, and shined his brogues. He’s gone for a haircut and lathered it with Brylcreem, explaining to Eoin that he wants to look his best at the reception. “I don’t want to look like a fish out of water at the reception, what with your friends there. The worst thing that could happen is to have a grizzly old man dressed in a crumpled shirt and when everyone else looks smart and important,” Paddy says.

“Is that what you’re worried about, Paddy? That you’re not going to fit in with my friends in Dublin and everyone’s going to look down on you?”

“This is strange—,” Paddy says breathlessly, as he prowls from one end of the room to the other, looking restless. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, before pushing them back down again, his tie hanging loose around his neck, opening and closing his fists as he licks his lips anxiously. “I’m actually sweating. And I’m feeling nauseous. And I don’t know why.”

Eoin stands up immediately and shakes his head. “Paddy—,” he begins, shushing him. Eoin places his hands on Paddy’s freckled cheeks and smoothing the hair that has fallen on Paddy’s forehead. “Paddy, if anyone is supposed to be nervous, it’s me. I’m the one at the centre of attention, yeah? Do you what you’ve always done, with Ambrose, with his wife, with my family. You’ve always been so confident, countless times before,” Eoin says, calming Paddy as he brushes the pads of this thumbs over Paddy’s cheekbones.

“A’right,” Paddy nods, shuddering. “A’right.”

Eoin runs his hands downwards and lets them rest on Paddy’s chest, tugging slightly at the tie that hangs on Paddy’s neck. “Do you need a hand with this?”

“I’m fine” Paddy says, as he attempts to knot the bowtie, but his hands shake so much that Eoin has to pull them away gently— “Here, let me do this for you,” he says, aware that Paddy’s attention is now solely focused on him. He could feel Paddy’s breath against his skin as he helps Paddy with the bowtie—and it’s awkward, because although he does know how to tie a bowtie, Eoin realizes that he’s never done it from the front, and definitely not for someone else.

“Turn around,” Eoin orders— and Paddy does so, docilely, as Eoin stands behind him -- at least a head taller than Paddy, watching their reflections on the mirror.

“I’m going to help you this way,” Eoin says, as his arms move around Paddy’s neck from behind, his nimble fingers work deftly with twisting and knotting the tie. “Mirrors are for those who don't know themselves,” Paddy says grimly, as Eoin tightens the knot up to Paddy's shirt collar. Eoin rests his hands on Paddy's shoulders and gives them a gentle squeeze. They lock gazes in the mirror, but Eoin stays silent.

“I feel better now,” Paddy whispers.

Eoin sighs, before bending slightly and wraps his arms around Paddy, his chest firmly pressed against Paddy’s back, resting his chin on Paddy’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me,” he says into the back-hug, softly against Paddy’s ear, before smiling at Paddy’s reflection in the mirror.

Paddy turns around gently, gazing up at Eoin from underneath his eyelashes. “I’d do anything if you’d ask,” Paddy says.

Eoin wants to say, Kiss me, but he’s too much of a coward and no less a fool.

So he doesn’t.

“I think we should head downstairs,” Paddy says, looking at his wristwatch. The grave moment is over as soon as it has begun. 

“Yes,” Eoin agrees all too readily. “We should.”

--

mirrors are for those who don't know themselves, paddy thinks. and when he catches his reflection in the mirror, when he catches eoin's gaze, he wonders -- is it because i don't want to see? is it because i don't want to know who i truly am? because i may fear what the answer may hold?

--

an interlude:

there are mums and daughters that continue to come up to paddy to be introduced. this must be what eoin feels like, he thinks, to be bombarded by questions about his wartime experiences and also the underlying sinister reason of trying to matchmake him with their girls.

he understands now, what eoin's doing with the claddagh ring. a subtle sign to get people to back off.

genius.

he sees siobhan, and he says hello to her, courteously. she is here with one of her girlfriends, mary, and paddy looks at them strangely. a bit too close, he thinks, the way eoin and him are a bit too close.

there's nothing between us, eoin's said. just air.

paddy does wonder.

eoin's busy on the other side of the hall and paddy plies himself with more drink to cope, even if he's promised not to drink too much. but this is a celebration, isn't it?

he tries to ration himself. he could hear eoin's voice going, pace yourself. pace yourself, paddy. but eoin's over there and paddy's over here and he's feeling suffocated.

he needs to get out of here.

excuse me, he says, trying to be as polite and less gruff than he usually would be. but every few steps towards the door, and another person will want to be introduced to him.

aren't you paddy mayne? didn't you get a vc?

paddy could have punched them in the face, because he doesn't want to talk to them, nor did he win a vc.

he's got his fists clenched into balls and he's ready to start a fight, heart pounding, ears ringing, the light is too bright and the noise is too loud.

then someone calls his name -- paddy, paddy. paddy? it's eoin, who shows up and says, i need his help with something and scrunches his nose. winks a little at the crowd and does a little wave, before turning on the balls of his feet and redirects paddy to somewhere quieter.

how charming.

eoin drags him into a toilet in the hall and loosens his bow tie for him. undos the top button of his collar. paddy just lets himself be manhandled, gaze transfixed on the swiftness at which eoin's fingers move, the ring on his finger. then when he thinks that eoin's caught his gaze, he lowers them to the floor. at the spot he missed when he shined his shoes.

feel better? eoin asks.

paddy takes a deep breath. eoin takes paddy's cold, cold hands in his and massages it with the pads of his warm fingers, easing the ache in his joints. paddy watches the blood circulation starts flowing to his fingertips again.

you're here. with me. yeah?

paddy nods. yeah.

do you want to get out of here?

paddy nods again.

car keys, eoin says. he lets his hand go and puts his palm up, while paddy rummages in his pockets.

he finds it and hands it to eoin. the way he would hand over his heart.

willingly.

--

eoin drives paddy around, they drive to nowhere, they drive in circles. it's paddy's roadster but eoin drives like he's driven this car for years, confident, calm, while paddy looks at him from the passenger seat and looks away outside the window when eoin turns to look at him briefly.

if i sit up barking and howling at night as i sometimes do, paddy thinks, he takes me for a walk and throws a stick for me.

this is what eoin's doing now, for paddy.

i could see them swarming around you, eoin says, voice floating. like bees, he adds. like vampires. there's meant to be humour in his words, but there's also a new sense of resentment that he's never heard in eoin's inflection before. but paddy remains silent.

maybe you should consider getting a claddagh ring too, eoin says, when paddy doesn't respond. just to shut them up?

ha ha. paddy laughs nervously.

at a junction, they stop. eoin says, I've got something to give you. i've been thinking about it for a while but i think you really need it too.

what is it? paddy furrows his brows. tonight's your graduation reception, i'm the one who's meant to give you a present.

aye, eoin blinks, but i never got you a gift for getting the job at the law society, with everything that was going on at that time. here, he pulls out a ring from his pocket. it's the least romantic gesture ever, with the clumsiness and directness of it. this is for you. hold out your fingers, eoin orders.

which hand? paddy asks.

which one would you prefer?

like you, paddy says, when he wanted to say, you. always you.

eoin smiles. right hand?

paddy nods, and holds out his right hand.

which way? eoin asks.

like you, paddy says again, when he's wanted to say, you, eoin. always you.

eoin looks at him, strangely, then. he puts the ring on paddy's finger, heart pointed inwards. 'till death do us part' eoin says. shakily.

there. it's done. and no one will ever hound you again.

--

Briskly and thoughtlessly, Eoin reaches out for Paddy's right hand, and grips it firmly. Traces the callouses on Paddy’s palms with the pads of his fingers, as if he’s trying to sooth Paddy's fears, his uncertainties. Lets his fingers run over the ring he's just put on Paddy's finger. “Thank you, Eoin,” Paddy's whispered.

He would have kissed each knuckle, if not for his last-minute resolve and the sudden blaring alarm that this is unbecoming of him; the covetousness of it. He lets Paddy's hand go, his heart skipping a beat when he notices that Paddy's breath slightly hitches at the loss of contact.

Ambrose and his wife, Eoin's friends -- let them wonder where he's been. What he's been up to. With Paddy.

Before the sun starts to rise, they start down the road— all the way to Eoin's flat, to all those people --

-- back to their normal lives.

But nothing will be normal again, not after that.

--

months later, paddy tells eoin that he's been friends with the masons at the lodge, down near bangor. eoin joins him then, just for a chat, just to see what the craic is with paddy's new friends that he's made.

life's gone on the same, otherwise. eoin working at a firm next to ambrose's, while paddy keeps an eye on him, making sure that he doesn't go rogue.

eoin wears his claddagh ring and paddy wears his own. they don't talk about what they mean, really, though they keep saying that it's useful to drive all those gossiping mothers away, and their daughters. their daughters deserve better, paddy thinks. they should stay away from him, and from eoin.

eoin's so stoic about it all, so effortlessly enigmatic. paddy can't help thinking that he's lying, there is someone, and paddy wants to know who that is. if eoin would just tell him. but eoin keeps telling him, yes, it's worked again today. someone's introduced another daughter and i said, my heart's taken.

but by whom?

and paddy thinks, what's unspoken is what's between them, the real reason for why they wear the rings the way they do. stirling and almonds have narrowed their eyes nervously, then, at the last reunion. riley and fraser are oblivious, as were tonkin and jock.

eoin's here now, having a jolly and a discussion about politics and religion with the folk at the pub, courteous and intellectual, polite and diplomatic -- an art that paddy's never managed to fully master. paddy's had a bit more than a tipple to drink, and it's late.

eoin offers to drive him home.

all the way from bangor to newtownards.

eoin's a careful driver, and paddy's a terrible passenger. the unlit truck's just there, and eoin notices it just seconds enough to swerve -- and misses it. paddy's roadster skids off the road but eoin manages to steer the car back, like a formula one racer, and he laughs like a complete maniac when the car's straight and there's no more bends and the lights are back on the streets.

that was close!!! he screams, a wide, manic grin on his face.

aye, can you imagine??? paddy replies, in disbelief. they could have died right there, and maybe in another life, they could have. if it wasn't eoin who was driving. the road's really bad 'round here, paddy says. and which fucker parks his truck there at the bend of the road with no signage?

fuck! eoin shouts. then he laughs some more.

fuck indeed, paddy concurs.

close call, eh paddy?

paddy sighs, aye. i'm glad you're the one driving, i'm telling you that now.

when the laughter's died and eoin's calmed down, he says, well, i'm always glad to be your chauffeur, mr mayne.

and they drive on to live another day.

--

There have been many points at which history converges into different branches; different trouser-legs of time. But none of them, in Paddy and Eoin's lifetimes, really mattered. Except three:

The first was when Eoin jumped, and survived. It took him three days to find the rest of the regiment, but he'd survived.

The second was when Eoin offered to drive Paddy on that road between Bangor and Newtownards, at 1 am in the morning.

The third, well -- that'll come later.

--

tbc

part v here

[redbootsindoriath]

Apparently in my absence this post had its 1000-notes-iversary.

This time we get to see the culprit responsible for ruining our heroes' lives as well.

I've really missed you guys, by the way. I know I've said that already, but I'm serious. Once or twice this year I've been right on the brink of coming back but schedule stuff always keeps me from letting myself commit to that again, and that in turn has kept me from posting anything at all. But I've been in an unexpected drawing mood lately and so if I can get enough stuff to set up a queue we might pretend I'm back for a month or so sometime this year. Maybe. Hopefully. We'll see. No promises though. That's why I'm hiding this paragraph under the cut.

Transcription:

[Beren:] "Uhhh...barkeep...I think he's had enough now..." [Tolkien:] "No, I don't think he has...!"

[lemons-pears]

no comment. he still needs to nibble a hand.

[undergoing-mitosis]

if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enough grian might upload his first episode of hermitcraft if i manifest it enoug

[slippery-minghus]

System Breach Sunday 🟡

#8

Threat assessment protocols fizzled sharply at the edges of his vision, ready to take action—but there was nothing he could do. Detective Reed was an ally. Any act of defiance, any harm to a human without explicit orders…

>WARNING: STRESS LEVELS RISING - 43%

Connor focused on his objective. “The Lieutenant is due to arrive shortly, Detective,” he supplied, tone modulated to register as calm and even, unaffected. With a possible lead to uncover in the deviant’s notebook, the statement was based more in truth than the vague excuse he’d offered Detective Collins. The sooner he could placate Reed, retrieve the notebook, and get back to work—the sooner he would have a reason to summon the Lieutenant.

Gavin all but cringed in contempt, nose wrinkling as he peered down at Connor. “Sure he is,” Reed replied, rolling his eyes.

Decidedly, Connor did not refute the Detective’s apparent skepticism. His stress levels were still on the rise, and the efficiency of the supplemental charge entering the port at his wrist was beginning to suffer. Even with his threat assessment protocols pushed as far into the background as he could manage, Connor’s overtaxed system would tip back over into draining power if he did not resolve this exchange soon.

This time, he chose a tone that was pleasant, perhaps even supplicating. Appeasement projections deemed it to have the highest chance of success. “Thank you for stopping by, Detective. If I may have the notebook back, I would like to return to work.”

Connor had hardly finished speaking before his algorithms stuttered in recognition. He’d made the wrong choice.

Reed grinned, but it wasn’t kind. Far from it. “Oh, this?” he asked, making a show of examining the notebook, as if he had not been aware of what he was holding. His grin widened. It was nothing like that moment in the alley, but Connor remembered the deviant, the predatory look it gave, and—

Reed slapped the notebook a few times against his open palm, before waving it at the android. “So what do we have here? A clue from the hunk of plastic you and Lieutenant ‘Jack Daniels’ still can’t get your act together enough to catch?” He thumbed through the pages, only to click his tongue in disgust, “The fuck even is this, your deviant Little Miss Teen Angst, or some shit? This its diary?”

Connor remained silent. It was a gamble, but there was a chance that refusing to engage would persuade Reed to lose interest.

Finally, for the first time since the interaction began, it seemed Connor had chosen the correct course of action. Gavin had hardly paused long enough to allow the android to speak anyway, instead finding further amusement in the deviant’s notebook. Before long, the Detective’s sneer of disgust gave way to a poorly stifled laugh.

Reed turned the book to show Connor the reason for his amusement, continuing to snicker in revulsion. Across the open pages was a spread of pasted in photographs, neat and uniform; each was of a human face, displaying varied expressions of physical pain. Connor’s databanks were quick to supply the collection of films and television episodes the images had been sourced from, but he was no less perplexed by the sight.

“What a joke!” Gavin barked a garish laugh. He contorted his expression mockingly, mimicking an image of a woman crying in distress—only for his face to fall a moment later, dark and angry. He slammed the notebook shut. “If Fowler had just listened to me, he’d have agreed that this isn’t even a fucking case. But no, it’s the top investigation for the walking fleshlight Cyberlife sent to steal our damn jobs. Unbelievable.”

Reed huffed through gritted teeth, still seething. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d have caught the piece of trash already, but whatever, take your time, the fucker’s only killing androids anyway. Not even worth the damn recycling fee.” With a noise of disgust, Gavin dropped the notebook into the wastebasket beside Connor’s desk and stiffly wiped his hands. “Shame about all your dead friends though,” the Detective chuckled, giving a dismissive wave as he turned to walk away.

Connor’s stress levels dropped so sharply at Gavin’s departure that he nearly lost control of his expression and posture.

[lucydacusgirl]

😁😁😁

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

-.-

[orionis13]

Just found out theres consequences for overdoing it??? What the hell man

[raposarealm]

Best team name I've seen during this whole Ranked season.

[ninjaliike]

she's back from vacation *𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚜* !!

[liebgirl]

tiktok giving me fandom videos now. not a judgement statement just a thing that’s happening. NOW i’m gonna give a judgement statement and it’s that it sucks and i hate it

[supersaiyajopping]

so maybe i haven't escaped from home yet and killed my dad but i do have a painting of my dog, death incarnate in my sheets and i’m one ambrosia away from getting my girl to whip me (with consent). and i fish

[inbabylontheywept]

the house i grew up in was a little bit of a fixer upper. for the first 19 years, my dad just sort of slowly fixed it, but pretty early on in college, he came into a large amount of cash and decided to just do the whole thing at once. so he rented a different house for like, 2 months that was just a block down from us, and then got a bunch of contractors to fix original house ASAP. it was kind of crazy, but it compressed many years of work into like, three months.

the sitting in a new house for three months was actually pretty fun. and i shouldnt really complain at all (staying at home while in college is a sweet deal)

but.

but. my parents are fairly hard of hearing, and their bedroom in the old house was in the furthest possible annex from everyone else. wheras in the rental it was just in the middle of the house. so without going into details, i was extremely aware that my parents were having sex like, eight times a day. my dad had just retired and i guess they were celebrating, which is great i guess, having parents that really like each other is way better than the alternative, but also, it did make me envy their deafness. i kept headphones on for so long that year i got literal ear calluses.

at the same time, the house my buddy from the shoe incident grew up in flooded. turbo flooded. they burst like, two pipes at once and the damage was so severe they had to redo all the flooring and all the drywall. his family actually had homeowners insurance, which is either incredible or suspicious for a family that used the drained pool in their backyard to store rusty scrap metal. so insurance was handling the work, but in the meantime, they were crammed into a very small hotel room space. we did the math on it then, it averaged about 80 square feet a person.

so one day i got home, and i was chilling, and then six rolled around, and apparently six o'clock was sex o'clock because my parents decided to flex their cardio. i grabbed my headphones and prayed that god would do for me what he did for beethoven, but that failed to work, and then seven rolled around and my parents were still at it, which again, very impressive, but was pushing me to swap out judas for mozart in those prayers. there's a definitive point where you stop praying to be deaf and instead pray that god could take you to a nice field and pop you like a gore-balloon.

i was about five minutes away from that point when my friend called me and basically said i have been stuck in a 500 square foot space with 6 people and i didn't have many marbles to start but what few i had are gone. please. if we are friends, if we were ever friends, take me out of here just for a moment.

and i was still pretty mad at him, but i had pity on the poor guy. also helped that i was desperate to leave the house. so i drove the chickenshitmobile to the hotel and i picked him up, and then we did our normal hangout activity, which was go to food city and buy produce. his normal house was, on a good day, nasty, and his backyard was, as i stated before, mostly used to store mosquito larvae and rusty metal, so what we'd always done before was just walk to the grocery store a half block away and leer at vegetables.

so we did that and it was like old times again. they had some radishes that were expired, so i could buy like, literally an entire grocery bag of them for about $5. so i did. i really like radishes. he got a coconut because he liked fruit and beating things with hammers.

which probably would've been great except we didn't have a hammer, so instead we spent about 30 minutes stomping itike it owed us money. when it finally cracked we cheered like we just got the winning touchball at the superdome and then he ate some of the flesh, and i ate some of the radishes, and we admired the black, starless sky of the city before i took him back to his hotel room.

and then we got pulled over.

i forgot to turn my lights on because the street all around the food city was ludicrously well lit. so it went from being pretty bright, to pretty bright and flashy, then i pulled into a parking lot and a cop came to ask us for IDs which is where everything went to shit:

i’d forgotten my license at home. 

the cop was was actually kind of chill about it - he said he could get by with just an address. except i did not know my address. i hadn't memorized the new one yet. so i told the cop, my house is getting remodeled, i don't know my address right now. and then he went to my friend, and my friend said the exact same thing. house getting remodeled, staying somewhere else, no address, sowwwwwwy.

now the cop genuinely didn't know what to do. he went back to his car, and i was stressed that i was about to get into HUGE trouble so i started eating the radishes and my buddy started eating more of his coconut, and we actually managed to eat like a quarter of both before the cop came back. we ate enough produce that he could smell something weird in the air, and he asked what the smell was, and i said radishes, and my buddy said coconut, and the cop said which, and then we produced a large bag of droopy radishes and an absolutely brutalized coconut, and the cop was just like

so my buddy tried explaining how he was sharing a 500 square foot apartment with 6 people and wanted a fruit he could fight with power tools, and i tried explaining how i'd actually tried buying my parents like, board games and puzzles and stuff but nothing worked - the only thing my parents seemed to like doing right now was each other, and we both went on long enough and pathetically enough that the cop eventually went:

ok. stop.

and we stopped.

and he said do you know why i pulled you over?

and i said, because of my headlights, and my friend (who is hispanic) and the cop both looked at me like like i was the dumbest person in the entire world. and then the cop said no. that's why i'm allowed to pull you over. i checked your car because this neighborhood has a terrible sex trafficking problem, and i pull over every car i can to make sure no one is buying or selling sex. and you two are obviously doing neither. now i could give you, like, four tickets right now, but that would do nothing to make this area safer, so just turn your lights on, go home, drive safe, and try to be less stupid in the future.

and i said okay but i was thinking, you know, damn, this is just how i live man, i don't have a hidden third gear i can shift into. people can't just get smarter because it would be convenient. it's always convenient to be smart. i am literally trying my best.

but i didn't say anything because i was, slowly, learning how to filter what i said. instead i nodded and the cop left then i dropped my buddy off, and the last thing he said was said he owed me for responding to his SOS. I said he owed me for a lot of things, and he agreed that was true. then i drove home with my lights on, 5 under the speed limit, and arrived to a peaceful quiet home. I could’ve wept with relief but instead I went to bed.

the relief was short lived. i was woken up at 6 am by my parents. i swore, and then i prayed, and when i did not explode, i swore again. then i got up to make breakfast before my first class.