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callme--starchild · 4 years

Text

I Could Do About Anything

Della was able to see all angles, she was sure of that since she was a child. She couldn't remember if it was a skill that she had always had or that she developed as she grew up, but it was undeniable that it was there. Also, there were other possibilities that the sight of it offered her, and that was to read people, particularly her brother.

Of course, there were non-believers (including Donald himself) who claimed otherwise, and there were others who argued that it was because they were twins that Della was able to know what he thought, and that was partially true. Because while there were times when they found themselves thinking the same thing, the truth was that both also worked individually, and Donald himself was a different world from her.

A world that was commonly incomprehensible to many, including her. Not exactly because of the way her brother speaks, but because of the way he acts. It was not a secret that they were completely opposite, even Della had heard such comments since they were in high school, and she knew that he did as well because of the erratic way in which his behavior changed despite remaining like the typical shy boy from the corner.

Perhaps that was why she had sensed the discomfort of her twin throughout the journey, even if she was a few kilometers from him and even if she turned her back to him, as if it were a gentle breeze brushing her feathers and fiddling with her clothes. Her gaze remained focused on the sky, a path that she recognized on the way and that she recognized back; however, a part of her was focused on the conversations that were going on behind her. Goofy chatted with the children, Max's name popping over and over with such a familiar fondness that it left an emptiness in the pilot's stomach,

(Especially since it reminded her of her brother while talking about the triplets, but it didn't make sense: would Goofy have a child?

Her brother always got on better with him than her, but she had always known him as a loving guy, and surely she would have known of a child before she had taken the Spear of Selene; particularly what will his wife be like? She must be very gallant if she, again, had managed to conquer Goofy of all people.

Which, in turn, made her wonder about Mickey and Minnie, because so far the only clue she has had since her return has been that melon that Donald had with him on the island and—)

on the other hand, and now that she had stopped talking to LP, she could hear her brother having a pleasant conversation with Agent— Beakley. And though Della couldn't figure out what they were talking about, her hands were shaking on the wheel. Because Donald's desire kept tickling her mind.

Specifically, on his reason for asking it.

Not having to worry about the family being captured or lost.

"Della." Her uncle's calloused hands on hers made her blink, and she returned to focus on the flight — much to the extent that Launchpad took care of it to her apparent distraction, though she did let her uncle know that she was listening to him with a gesture, "are ye okay? Ye've bin very… quiet since we got on the plane."

In fact? No. At least, not quite. Lost, lost. Lost. The word poked at her brain incessantly, and it frustrated her.

Della cherished having discussed the Spear's topic with the children, and having her uncle's support despite yelling at each other — it was to be expected, though, with their tempers. However, she acknowledged that she still owed her twin a conversation; not only about the rift that she had formed between them a decade ago, but also about the time when he was the one who was on the moon and her apparent disinterest when he told her through that bizarre melon. Her brother had always been someone who refused to talk, particularly if it involved his feelings, but he had even refused to speak after the invasion and it made her stomach clench.

Lost.

Della knew she was lost even when she returned to her home. From the terrible second impression with her uncle to the relationship with her kids. She had no idea how to be a mother, she had barely read a thing or two even when she was waiting for the triplets because her thoughts were more focused on the world behind that stardust she saw through her window after every adventure, and when she landed on the Moon her priority had been to repair the rocket and return to Earth. Instead, her brother had read all the books on parenting the moment he discovered that she was waiting, and even she could claim that he had been made from other sources that she was still unaware of to date.

Her mind had always been in the clouds and that had led her to be stranded in space without being able to develop her motherhood. But Donald had always been on Earth, being the father and mother of her sons; But having wished Gene for a normal and perfect family, she had a feeling that perhaps it could be something more.

"Yeah, yeah, Uncle Scrooge," she said in a distant voice; though she knew she had been slow to respond, her uncle's concerned expression confirmed it once she returned to concentrating enough on the vast stage in front of her, “but I need to think a few things. Launchpad, would you mind continuing the flight to the mansion?"

Of course, the other driver was an incarnate sunbeam, and he only responded with a thumbs up and a smile without reciting any words or questions before taking the wheel again.

But no matter which direction her mind took, they all came to the same conclusion: she should speak to Donald soon.

It was with that thought in mind that she headed for the houseboat, feeling her shoulders grow heavier as she approached. The triplets and Webby were watching TV, and she had literally seen Beakley in the kitchen not long ago. Scrooge had retired to his office with Isabella's journal and Duckworth was away, doing ghost things; ergo, there was no one who could interrupt her during her conversation with her self-proclaimed best friend, but that did little to relax her and, otherwise, made her tenser. Not just because it wasn't a secret that Donald was more emotional, the lamp incident had proved it to her, but because with their infamous temperaments it was a lousy combination in case the situation got out of control, what if …?

When she was least aware of it, her metal foot stepped onto the hatch that gave her access to the boat. And even though she knew it was more sensible to go to the door and knock, especially remembering how strict her brother had been about his privacy from their distant adolescence — that, on second thought, it made no sense when it came to Donald because: what could he hide from everyone that required a dress code that never existed? —, the truth was that she was very impatient to discuss this issue to walk the deck only to go to the bow and also wait to be attended.

No. If she was going to do this she was going to do it now, and with that conviction, she raised the hatch.

"Donald, listen. I know I'm coming unannounced, but you and I have to…" Down the stairs, her words died in her throat when she saw the aforementioned accompanied by… a strange-looking duck, who had also become tense at her presence. They appeared to be looking at a framed photo, but the abrupt way in which they parted, as if they had been caught doing something wrong, did not go unnoticed.

This puzzled Della much more than expected, perhaps due to the fact that...

"Dumbella! I told you to knock.” Donald was really calm, when he used to be on the alert for a visit from any stranger. If that in itself was strange, he just looked a bit annoyed at her sudden entrance.

"Don't worry, D," however, his features seemed to relax when said stranger addressed him, approaching to murmur something that caused him to stifle a laugh. That definitely didn't twist something in his stomach.

Her brother looked relaxed, off guard, more cheerful than she could remember, and it took the pilot out of focus on the reasons that brought her to the houseboat in the first place. Sure, she remembered seeing him like this during junior high and high school with Mickey and Goofy, or in college with José and Panchito; but right now there was something in his gaze that she was unable to define.

Particularly, there was the fact that her brother used to chat about the antics he did with his friends all the time, and the visits did not wait when they were in the mansion on an almost daily basis, not to mention the multiple sleepovers that her little brother did per week.

In one way or another, they had adopted a small place under their roof, allowing her to know and grow fond of them, even if they got on better with her twin.

But this guy? She didn't recall Donald mentioning an outrageously dressed mallard, not even in a slip; there were no antecedents, there were no visits. Still, his calm in the face of this unfamiliar new face tickled the back of her neck, and she didn't like it.

"Er…" She cleared his throat, and it seemed that they too had been pigeonholed into their little bubble. There was also the look that this guy gave her at all times, as if he was watching her and reproaching her for some reason she did not know. "Donnie? Don't think I'm planned to be rude, but who is he?"

Having to fight her willpower not to point him out because Donald would scold her for the rudeness, she instead pointed her eyes at him, and the frown of her strange companion didn't soften - at least, not with her. That did less to reassure her, especially considering the way her brother's eyebrow arched in confusion, at least until he met his partner's gaze and his face lit up in an unusual way, and it lit a small sparkle in the pilot's gaze.

"Oh, where are my manners?" he exclaimed with a small blush blurring the feathers of his cheeks, and her desire to make fun of him increased but she was held back when she noticed that Donald was really sorry and her conversation with him continued in a pendulum.

"Easy, Ol-Don," he cleared his throat, letting his hand rest on the sailor's shoulder for a second, though of course, it would be enough for him to relax, before addressing her again with a serious face, all traces of complicity that he seems to have with her twin fading away.

And judging by the way his eyes widened, he noticed it too.

"Uno Ducklair, Donald's old friend. Nice to meet you.” His voice had certainly turned strict, enveloping in a dark aura that mystified Della as he shook her hand, with a smile that might look real if not for her keen eyesight.

She wasn't sure if the other duck in the residence would have noticed, but it seemed to be eyeing the blissful Uno with an indecipherable expression. Most disconcerting was the way he tried to hide his outstretched arm from her brother, as if he were trying to protect him.

But from who?

"Erm, I'm... Della Duck, Donald's sister. I'm sorry for the… intrusion, but I didn't know my brother was expecting visits" and she was really sorry, considering they both seemed to be in the middle of a chat when she arrived "nice to meet you."

Before shaking her hand with the mallard's, she sighing aloud at the grasp.

"Wow, you really have a strong hand, huh?" Laughing nervously, she heard her brother reproach her in the background.

But Uno knew.

Uno knew he wouldn't find himself in the Ducklair Tower again until years later as Odin Eidolon, when Donald and his adventures as Paperinik, as well as the friends and enemies they had made along the way, were nothing more than a vague memory in the abandoned lair. However, there he was: the tower reviving while he was reactivated and his data was transferred, the memories that he had kept hidden from his creator becoming overwhelming during the moments in which he became accustomed again to the environment that was the hiding place that once witnessed the tommyrot of two partners who saved the city and saw Anxieties in their spare time.

Uno knew that the first image in his database after that memorabilia was Donald's face, cheerful and full of life, always telling bad jokes as he faced Evronians and the misadventures of daily life. The glint in his gaze as he thought of the future with his nibling, who would later become nephews. And Uno knew that he should appreciate that look again, being almost instantaneously that he looked for his old fellow in the system while his arms were in charge of giving the last details to the body that had begun with so much care before being deactivated.

He had missed him, he had to confess. He was not ignorant that many of the machines of the time of his partner of crime were incapable of feeling any emotion; but after meeting Lyla and himself learning about them after his friend, that stereotype had been erased from his data or, in Donald's words, thrown out the window.

As he polished the finishing touches to what would be the new recipient of his data, he hadn't gone unnoticed the adding of some Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck as saviors of the city. And though he found the absence of Paperinik alarming, that concern was forgotten the second he found the whereabouts of said vigilante.

In just a few minutes, an Artificial Intelligence had given way to an android that was heading to the McDuck Manor. That, while he took in every detail, feel, and color that the city was from a new perspective.

But as an AI, Uno's data was collected, and he was able to remember.

And he remembered every afternoon they watched every episode of Anxieties, new or old, while they both tried to disguise the effect that Saxony Starbright had on them and made a few comments about the plots and absurd twists that the writers made even if they used to be on the edge of the seat at such absurd twists like the hypocrites that they were.

He remembered every mission he did alongside Paperinik, being his eyes and ears in the tower as the hero took care of the casual villains and the Evronians in his umpteenth futile attempt to increase his army, as both would joke about it later while he checked the little scrapes and bruises between his feathers.

But he also remembered those wounds that were not generated by the occupational hazards, those occasions when Donald had to work harder and not smarter due to the adventures he faced every day in the company of his sister and his uncle. Those moments when he limped into the secret apartment, refusing to be checked to retire to put on the suit of his second job despite the reprimands he gave while Donald was dressing or when the situation was resolved, when the hero was too mentally and physically exhausted to fight the worrying intelligence.

When Donald was on the brink of hypothermia from some magical ice he was on.

When he came in exhaling a cocoa scent and trailing bright-colored plumage, his sensors detecting sensitive peck marks under his own feather coat, particularly in the cranial area.

Or each time he came in with more and more scars, his clothes shattered, bald spots, and even obvious bruises. Many times because of some crazy adventure, other times because he fought someone at school, the character of his partner added to the physical ability that he possessed from his self-induced training.

When he arrived depressed due to an argument with family members, because he refused to go out with them to the next hidden temple, because of his bad luck or even his cousin's getting in the way of each meeting, or because he was still not understood metaphorically and literally by his family or a third party.

For his family.

Uno did not know how, but until he discovered that Della was waiting even before Donald, the occasions in which he had seen him truly smile, at least with his family, could be easily counted and that because he had collected them, and on the other hand he really stood out when he was with friends, including him.

He really didn't want to feel some things unless they involved Donald, and while this technically involved his partner, he also knew the fondness he had for his family, so his confusion at his reaction was not only valid, but justifiable.

"Uno?" He blinked, and they knew what a relief it was for the sailor to mutter that name again even if there were no words in between, and even blinking out of his thoughts was so strange and wonderful to him, "Is everything okay?"

It was then that he recognized how nervous Della was in front of him, and tried not to feel joy at it because this was his best friend's sister and while he wanted her to fear and more, he did not want to get into an argument with Donald after a decade of estrangement and a lot of time to recover.

"Yes, yes, my apologies," and though he wasn't really sorry, it was gratifying to see Della tense enough because that was the least he feared every time Donald had to leave Duckburg with them. "I'm not that used to physical contact."

And well, that wasn't entirely a lie. Donald has been the one who has gotten him used to it, and that because he used to be very affectionate back in the tower, and getting used to the body was also new to him, but he did not know how much he had changed in recent years if the first thing he had done when he saw him was to keep clung.

But Della was watching them warily, and somehow both knew what the next question would be before it exited the pilot's peak:

"And how did you meet?"

"During the time you were in flight school," Donald began almost instantly, finally intervening between his sister and Uno even if he tried his best not to make it weirder than it already was, "I was looking for a part-time job and coincidentally Uncle Scrooge had just bought the Ducklair Tower so I started working there. Uno is... one of the sons of Everett Ducklair, the previous owner of the tower" Donald had to accept that his lying skills had rusted over the years — after raising the triplets on honesty, but the least he could do and he was grateful for was dancing around the truth because he had become the custodian of the Tower while his sister soared through the skies in search of her pilot's license, as uncomfortable as it was for him to even mention the name of his old friend's master's name.

But he also didn't want to know her reaction to knowing how involved he was with artificial intelligences, aliens, droids, and time travels. Especially when it was all over and it had been a lot to him at the time.

"Hmm, well Uncle Scrooge said you changed a lot while I was in school, that you had become more sensitive or something, and more alert," she commented out of nowhere and with a thoughtful expression, and Donald blinked after hearing someone snort, rolling his eyes after recognizing Uno's giggle even though a smile was visible on the edge of his beak, because if he had heard that several times during his time as a janitor and superhero, many times for teasing or bothering him, the truth was that he missed the teasing a lot — coming from his partner — because, unlike the ones he had heard on multiple occasions, they were not malicious. Besides the fact that facing bad boys had indeed helped his temper during his studies "it must have been for that. I guess I must thank you… Uno."

Still, neither of them missed the discomfort on Della's face, or the way she fiddled with her scarf, and her smile became strained as she spoke more.

Maybe it was because of the fact that Donald had secret friends? Because of the looks Uno gave her behind the back of his brother? Was it some older sister instinct that hadn't been around since high school coming to life and yelling at her to protect her brother from Uno at all costs?

And that was the hardest part, because Donald didn't look at all overwhelmed or alert by the mallard's presence. Indeed, she felt her twin relaxed in a way that only happened when he was with José and Panchito, and that had been while they were in college.

"I was just telling Uno to introduce him to the rest of the family, that you came in was a mere coincidence," Donald commented, with a smile so bright it puzzled Della, when was the last time you saw him so happy about something that surrounded him?

But she couldn't question it too much when Donald's face turned strange, blinking as his expression changed.

"What brings you here anyway? Not that it bothers me!" He clarified quickly, grinning nervously, and Della could have sworn the third duck's face turned warmer, and that was something she could share: she had also missed seeing Donald turn into the same nervous wreck as to when they were young adults. The duck cleared his throat and crossed both arms behind his back, “it's just, well, the only times you come unannounced are when you can't sleep. Now that I think about it, you seemed to want to tell me something… is everything okay?"

As he looked thoughtfully, he acknowledged that sooner or later he would have to talk to his sister about his desire and what happened next was more than evident. However, he did not expect it to happen so soon, and Donald preferred to wait once the situation with Uno was over and he had had enough time to think about what to say to her.

Unconsciously, that little consideration from the sailor had been enough for Della to remember what had dragged her into the boat in the first place, it can't be that she has forgotten so quickly!

However, the pilot couldn't help but wonder if now was the right time, especially seeing how calm it was in comparison to the cave. Actually, it was as if he had never had a breakdown in the first place.

She wanted to preserve that for a few more moments. Furthermore, she would never have known how to start that conversation even if she could chat with her brother at the time.

"It's not that important, it can wait." She shrugged, maintaining a serene expression that she now felt more sincere. If Donald noticed that tiny detail, he didn't say anything. "Don't you mind if I keep you company to the mansion? If anyone had the audacity to put up with my brother's plover head, it's worth knowing."

She olympically ignored her twin's reproach in favor of sneering at him, feeling satisfied when the mallard giggled despite the faint reddish tinge in the sailor's feathers.

"I don't see why not," Uno commented. And even though he still looked relatively tense, his shoulders looked more relaxed when he side hugged Donald. Della could not gloat over that small victory given the strange glint in Uno's eyes. It was a bit inhuman, though the pilot didn't want to jump to baseless conclusions, but they seemed to be on the alert, "but I'd rather wait: the plover head was thinking of wait and respond with the whole family present, he doesn't want to leave anything unsolved."

Unlike her, there seemed to be an iota of homesickness when he used the same nickname to poke fun at Donald, and though he rolled his eyes this time, an exhausted smile took place.

Della flinched when Donald suddenly raised his voice, his voice raspier with the effort.

"Family, can you come over for a second?!" Even Uno smiled, wincing at the future state of the sailor's throat. "I want you to meet someone!"

#el's fanfiction #one more wish au #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #paperinik #duck avenger #ducktales fanfiction #alternate universe #ducktales au #della duck #scrooge mcduck #donald duck #uno #duno if you squint #doesn't include finale spoilers

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libermachinae · 5 years

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A Little Scrap

Also available on AO3!

Summary: Ratchet is such a dad that even getting sparked up can’t stop his systems from activating sire protocols.

Notes: Might do more with this, haven't decided!

✨ ✨🚑✨✨🚚✨ ✨

Some creators would say they’d known from the moment of conception. Poems and songs had been spun around the moment two beings coalesced into one and the bond between them solidified into a new consciousness, a binding of all the features that had drawn them to each other in the first place. They said that their first words to their newspark had not been in any language that could be reproduced in a vocoder, but had been something deeper, something generated from those same basic codes that had gifted Cybertronians with the capacity to love.

Ratchet knew it was scrap.

Back before bonding was seen as a dangerous weakness and sparking was less rare (though never common; had it not been for the Well, their war would have amounted to little more than a spat between neighbors), he’s been more than happy to expound on all the biological realities that made those romantic fantasies impossible. Going to battle against misinformation, he brandished lecture notes as a spear, textbook chapters his shield, and years of peer-reviewed studies the cavalry to back him up. Source after source confirmed what any adult with a functioning logic center should have known: one would have no way of knowing whether they were a carrier or a sire until medical tools had confirmed it.

Though it came too late to be of much use in his campaign to get himself barred from any social circles containing creators, the most damning evidence he’d encountered, the unit that would have bolstered his forces enough to guarantee victory, turned out to be his own firsthand experience.

[[Decrypting personality component crtr_01.]]

The readout appeared while Ratchet was on monitor duty, watching the little blips of his teammates rove over the map while he waited for the signal to reel them in. The self-diagnostics feed was a software he’d had programmed during an outbreak of engine cough, back when the war was being fought in the trenches of Cybertron and you couldn’t walk two steps without a cloud of exhaust blowing in your face. He’d needed a tool to catch early warning signs of the disease in his code, and afterward had never had a reason to uninstall it. Most of the time, it scrolled unnoticed on the bottom corner of his HUD, alerting him that fuel processing was normal, gyro stabilizers were normal, t-cog alignment was normal, etc., and in recent years had shifted to such low priority he rarely processed the data, letting it naturally cycle into his deletion queue. Had he been doing anything more engaging than waiting for the signal to pull a lever, he would have missed it.

[[Integrating crtr_01.]]

He frowned. Though he’d expanded his knowledge of coding once the deficit of medical expertise among the Autobots reached critical levels, it had never been his specialty, and he didn’t recognize the file. Curious, he isolated the first half as a keyword and used it to search his medical archives, hoping its relation to other fragments would be a clue to its function.

Self-diagnostics continued to update him on the code’s development.

[[Personality component integrated.]]

[[Checking for motivation conflicts.]]

[[No conflicts found.]]

[[Sire protocols engaged.]]

Ratchet straightened up.

His optics flashed.

“Scrap,” he said aloud, a fact he would be teased for relentlessly years down the line.

They’d—but that wasn’t supposed to—the Matrix didn’t allow—but, if anyone could have done it, Optimus—

Optimus was out in the field.

Ratchet’s processor flew into action, all hesitation gone because Optimus was compromised and their fragile newspark—their newspark, what the frag—was in a potentially hostile environment.

He tuned into comms while his fingers almost independently punched in the coordinates for the little blip on the screen that might as well have represented the total of Ratchet’s universe.

“Optimus!” He barked it in the same tone he’d once used to send residents scrambling.

: :Ratchet?: :

His new coding sang at the sound—that voice! isn’t it beautiful? so kind, so wise, so regal, a perfect bot and a perfect carrier!—and he had to remind him himself via memory playback of the last minute and a half why he’d called in the first place.

“As Chief Medical Officer, I am requesting your immediate return to base.” Now that he knew Optimus was safe, coding softened his tone, trying to tempt the wayward carrier back to safety.

: :Is this an urgent matter?: : Optimus asked.

“Yes.” He finished typing the coordinates and threw the lever, the ground bridge blooming open at his back, and for once couldn’t even think about the energon consumption as he waited for a response.

He felt like his spark was thrumming with the excess charge of his panic, and all he received in return was a curious tug on their bond, wisp-like from this distance. Ratchet pushed back with his apology (He’d yelled at Optimus!) and concern (What if Decepticons arrived? What if the energon was unstable? What if the vibrations from Bulkhead’s mace traveled through the floor, up through Optimus’ pedes, and into his spark chamber, disrupting the tiny bundle of photons within? Was that even possible? Why had he been so blithe as to assume a wartime medic could skimp on reproductive health?), hoping it would be enough to convince Optimus without Ratchet showing up in the field to drag their Prime back to base.

It was already taking all his self-control not to go ahead and do it.

: :Something wrong at base?: : Bulkhead asked, startling Ratchet. Though he’d intended to access the team-wide channel, he’d forgotten about every other Autobot in existence the moment Optimus’ voice had come through.

“Negative,” he managed to say.

: :BbbRREppTt vrrrmphVREE bp bp?: :

“Patient confidentiality,” he said in answer to Bumblebee’s question. “Just know that it is urgent Optimus remove himself from the field.”

: :Got it, Ratchet.: : Arcee’s confident tone somewhat settled Ratchet’s tense spark, though nervous static still crackled along his lines. : :We’ll get him out of here.: :

Ratchet smiled, sure that Arcee would know his gratitude even if she couldn’t see it.

“The ground bridge is open at your coordinates, Optimus,” he said, unable to look away from the bright center, each stray shadow making his systems hitch in reckless excitement.

There was a pause. Ratchet imagined the others gently corralling their Prime to the waiting ground bridge, reminding him of his duty to the CMO.

A burst of static as comms came back online.

: :I’m on my way,: : Optimus said, resigned. His curiosity prodded at their bond again, and Ratchet sent over calm assurance, his new sire protocols settling now that he knew his bonded was headed toward safety. Toward him.

It was difficult to put to words the feeling of stressed coding, the same way he hadn’t exactly been able to explain to the children what it meant to be bonded to another mech. They’d been able to understand the emotional bond as a form of heightened empathy, but there were no appropriate words in English to describe the deeper connection, the physical feeling of having one’s innermost self tied to that of another. In the same way, he doubted he would be able to explain to them what it was that had him staring over his shoulder after Optimus’ message came in, the flutter of excitement in his chassis that all the miserliness in the world would not be able to tamp down.

He thought he’d be able to control himself, but he was already moving the moment Optimus’ silhouette appeared. In the sole defense of his pride, he didn’t quite sprint.

And anyway, no amount of pride could have stopped him from pulling Optimus into a tight hug.

“Ratchet?” Optimus asked, concern evident among his confusion now that they were separated by the mere plating of their frames. “What’s wrong?”

How did he answer that question? Though he had no intention of keeping this a secret from Optimus, he wasn’t sure the right words existed to explain their new situation. Ratchet squeezed tighter, focusing on the one thing he was capable of in that moment: holding Optimus close, knowing he was safe, knowing he would be kept safe. At least for as long as their duties would allow. The sire programming was turning out to be more intense than had been implied in Ratchet’s med school readings, prioritizing itself over what were usually Ratchet’s primary impulses, like maintaining a gruff exterior and dismissing anyone younger than a millennium. Now it was just Optimus, and keeping Optimus safe, and making sure Optimus knew he was loved, and—

“Should you not close the ground bridge?” the Prime advised, in that infuriating tone he used when he was channeling the wisdom of the Matrix.

Ratchet grumbled in answer, withdrawing from the embrace but reaching down to entwine their fingers.

“The others?” he asked, guiding Optimus back into the base like they were a pair of newbonds entering their apartment for the first time.

“They remained to finish sweeping the mine.”

Obviously. Ratchet wasn’t sure why he’d asked, except that his processor was lost in a fog of anticipation for the coming conversation. He needed to say it. Optimus didn’t have the diagnostics program, so unless the Matrix had prematurely shared the news, he had no idea that he—that they—

“Ratchet, the ground bridge?”

“Right, of course, my apologies.” Ratchet forced himself to release Optimus’ hand and turned to the control panel, pushing the lever back to standby. Though the team was still one comm away, isolation came to settle over them, the way the light in the base dimmed once the swirling vortex had been shut down. He relaxed against the control panel, trying to get a handle on the blooming process trees that kept growing out of control every time he tried to figure out what to say.

He felt a hand over his shoulder, offering gentle, loving caresses. Did carrier protocols make a mech more affectionate? It would make sense, reinforce support networks that would be necessary in the later carrying stages to—

Focus, slagit!

He turned back to Optimus, took the free hand so that together they formed a perfect circuit. Optimus’ hands were larger than his own, but they fit together in such a way that Ratchet’s processor was finally able to settle with the familiarity.

“A few minutes ago, I received an alert from my self-diagnostics,” he started.

“Are you alright?” Optimus asked.

“I… I am,” Ratchet decided.

Though insufficient, the answer settled Optimus, the texture of their bond changing from corrugated anxiety to a wavy curiosity. Blue eyes looked on, giving space to continue. Ratchet squeezed those familiar hands and felt them return a pulse of affection.

“I’ve activated sire protocols,” he said. “We sparked, Optimus.”

Optimus’ optics flashed within a frozen expression.

“Oh?” he tried.

(Ratchet would later try to deflect the teasing by bringing this moment back up; never landed as well.)

Ratchet nodded and now could not keep the excitement from his movements.

“We did. We have a newspark, Optimus!”

The Prime’s optics were still bright, mouth stretched into a line that didn’t seem to indicate any particular emotion.

“The Matrix, though, isn’t it supposed to…” He turned pointed eyes down to his broad chest compartment, the container for the two most important things in the universe (plus the symbolic artifact of Autobot leadership). Optimus was well established in the field of mystical speeches about the mysterious, infinite powers of the Matrix, but remained apologetically lacking in his understanding of the physiological effects it had on his frame; apologetic specifically to Ratchet, who had made the subject his own area of obsessive research for the first few decades of the primacy.

“The exact limitations are different for everyone.” The line that was practically a requirement for closing out any study of the Matrix. “The evidence is there, though. Creator protocols are directly linked to spark health and status. Unless Earth has…” He was going to say a native spark parasite population, but the thought alone caused his battle systems to request activation, so he shelved it and instead released one of Optimus’ hands to begin leading him to the repair bay. “Anyway, I’ll show you on the scanner. If creator protocols just came online, it’s unlikely you’ll have noticed anything, but the equipment should be able to pick it up.”

They entered the repair bay and Optimus sat on the medical berth while Ratchet booted up the nearest medical terminal. When a loading bar appeared on the screen, his processor took that as permission to imagine the bit: silvery plating, red accents (a chevron? audial antennae?), little round helm, large cyan optics, nubs to grow into tires once the t-cog matured, clean plating free of insignia, practically limitless storage space to fill with the wonders of the world…

The program finished loading and filled the screen; Ratchet stole the distraction to reassert himself as the ornery old medic, though he could not stop his spark from thrumming when he thought of tiny hands wrapping around a soldering iron. He retrieved the scanner and turned to Optimus again, laying a hand against the familiar windshield to confirm the placement of his spark. After so many years as friend, physician, and lover, he could have found it with his sensory suite shut down, but the pulse of warm life under his touch blossomed through his frame in a way he could not deny himself.

He passed the scanner over the point in a narrow angle, approximating a three-dimensional reading. It beeped to let him know it was satisfied, and then the data began compiling on the terminal, delicate measurements translated to essential diagnostic tools.

“Would you like to consider a name?” Optimus asked.

It was not the promise Ratchet’s coding longed so desperately to hear, but it was a kindness, nonetheless. In the quiet of the moment, as they waited for a machine to reveal the truth of their future, Ratchet’s thoughts cleared a bit and he was able to admit the actual prospect of their Prime carrying a newspark in wartime. It was a pain that again he could not put to words, almost like a burn but borne out of a deep pressure in his fuel lines, but it was dulled by the Optimus’ offered compassion: this new life was not theirs to keep, but for however many minutes the little scrap of photons had left, they could claim it as their own.

He was about to answer when the computer dinged, a congratulations to itself on a job well done, and he embraced the opportunity to avoid the question.

“Here we are,” he said, filling in the silence for good measure. “As always, the Matrix at least has the decency to keep you in good health. RPM’s a little higher than normal, and energy concentration, but… hm.”

But beyond that, there was no excessive energy drain, no internal pressure, standard shape and density. Ratchet stared at readouts a few hours ago he would have called completely normal and could not understand them.

“Oh.”

Optimus’ spark was alone.

The pressure in Ratchet’s lines tightened.

“Ratchet?”

He shook his head, trying and failing to put on a smile that didn’t fit.

“Sorry, Optimus, looks like my old spark’s glitching.” His vocoder didn’t want to put the words together, hitching between syllables like failing to say it would stop the reality from manifesting. He reset it and tried again. “Nothing there, after all.”

Optimus’ optics flashed with surprise. Ratchet couldn’t blame him. He didn’t make diagnoses without being certain of his conclusions, and under different circumstances would have hesitated longer to admit such a mistake, ran several more tests and consulted his archives. His spark was aching with an emotion he had no interest in putting to words, though, and he had to dedicate his focus to getting out of the repair bay. Don’t think about the conversation Optimus would want to have later. Don’t think about—about that. Don’t think about anything. Just move.

Optimus stood from the berth but did not approach Ratchet, though every protective in that huge frame of his was probably aching to console his bonded. Instead, he stood back while Ratchet went through the motions of saving and filing the spark readouts, tagging it as a standard inspection.

“Do you know the source?” Optimus asked, offering Ratchet a problem to focus on that was not his own code going haywire. Or at least, a different way to look at it.

“I have a few theories,” he said, because coding still was not his strength and ‘a few theories’ really meant ‘chapters I need to review.’ It would take time to understand and debug, but from a physical standpoint, he already had the scanner primed for the task, so he turned it around and drew the same shape that he had over Optimus’ chassis.

“Let me know if I, or any of the others, can be of any use,” Optimus said. “I care very deeply for that spark, and if it is ailing would like to see it made well again.”

Normally such concern would have been a source of embarrassment for Ratchet, with a shard of fondness peeking out underneath. Now, his protective protocols just insisted that this was nope, wrong, need to protect Optimus. It struck him that he needed to get this glitch worked out as soon as possible, otherwise Arcee would accuse him of being a more extreme version of himself than usual: he hated losing arguments in front of the team.

The terminal dinged again, and this time Ratchet turned to watch the results spill onto the screen.

High RPM, understandably; below average density, which was a bit odd; the irregularity of shape he’d had all his life; elevated internal pressure, which…

Energy stores were down 15% from standard. Not a huge margin, but he’d been tracking these numbers for millennia, charting energon consumption the way Optimus followed Autobot ships in battle. A discrepancy of that magnitude was something to investigate on a normal day.

After a day like this…

Ratchet laid a hand over his chassis, above his warm spark.

“Scrap.”

“Ratchet?”

Optimus was closer now, drawn in by the terrific blankness that had filled their bond. Ratchet tried to draw up something to fill in the void but was having trouble processing. Familiar arms were raising toward him like a part of his processor was saying it was his job to defend now. Like a bit of coding had flicked on, a patch he wouldn’t be aware of because he’d never been fitted with the diagnostic feed.

“Well, Optimus,” Ratchet said, vocoder hitching for a brand new reason, “I might’ve found our bitlet.”

#maccadam #transformers #tfp #optiratch #ratchet #optimus prime #my writing #fanfiction #was getting self conscious about volume of angst #so i made this lmao #a little scrap #longfic

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cerradofolc · 4 years

Text

This is the story where word 'cyberpunk' appears first time ever.

First published in AMAZING Science Fiction Stories, Volume 57, Number 4, November 1983

* * *

The snoozer went off at seven and I was out of my sleepsack, powered up, and on-line in nanos. That's as far as I got. Soon I booted and got -

CRACKERS/BUDDYBOO/8ER

on the tube I shut down fast. Damn! Rayno had been on line before me, like always, and that message meant somebody else had gotten into our Net - and that meant trouble by the busload! I couldn't do anything mor on term, so I zipped into my jumper, combed my hair, and went downstairs.

Mom and Dad were at breakfast when I slid into the kitchen. "Good Morning, Mikey!" said Mom with a smile. "You were up so late last night I thought I wouldn't see you before you caught your bus."

"Had a tough program to crack," I said.

"Well," she said, "now you can sit down and have a decent breakfast." She turned around to pull some Sara Lees out of the microwave and plunk them down on the table.

"If you'd do your schoolwork when you're supposed to you wouldn't have to stay up all night," growled Dad from behind his caffix and faxsheet. I sloshed some juice in a glass and poured it down, stuffed a Sara Lee into my mouth, and stood to go.

"What?" asked Mom. "That's all the breakfast you're going to have?"

"Haven't got time," I said. "I gotta get to school early to see if the program checks." Dad growled something more and Mom spoke to quiet him, but I didn't hear much 'cause I was out the door.

I caught the transys for school, just in case they were watching. Two blocks down the line I got off and transferred going back the other way, and a coupla transfers later I wound up whipping into Buddy's All-Night Burgers. Rayno was in our booth, glaring into his caffix. It was 7:55 and I'd beat Georgie and Lisa there.

"What's on line?" I asked as I dropped into my seat, across from Rayno. He just looked up at me through his eyebrows and I knew better than to ask again.

At eight Lisa came in. Lisa is Rayno's girl, or at least she hopes she is. I can see why: Rayno's seventeen - two years older than the rest of us - he wears flash plastic and his hair in The Wedge (Dad blew a chip when I said I wanted my hair cut like that) and he's so cool he won't even touch her, even when she's begging for it. She plunked down in her seat next to Rayno and he didn't blink.

Georgie still wasn't there at 8:05. Rayno checked his watch again, then finally looked up from his caffix. "The compiler's been cracked," he said. Lisa and I both swore. We'd worked up our own little code to keep our Net private. I mean, our Olders would just blow boards if they ever found out what we were really up to. And now somebody'd broken our code.

"Georgie's old man?" I asked.

"Looks that way." I swore again. Georgie and I started the Net by linking our smartterms with some stuff we stored in his old man's home business system. Now my Dad woudln't know an opsys if he crashed on one, but Georgie's old man - he's a greentooth. A tech-type. He'd found one of ours once before and tried to take it apart to see what it did. We'd just skinned out that time.

"Any idea how far in he got?" Lisa asked. Rayno looked through her, at the front door. Georgie'd just come in.

"We're gonna find out," Rayno said.

Georgie was coming in smiling, but when he saw that look in Rayno's eyes he sat down next to me like the seat was booby-trapped.

"Good Morning Georgie," said Rayno, smiling like a shark.

"I didn't glitch!" Georgie whined. "I didn't tell him a thing!"

"Then how the Hell did he do it?"

"You know how he is, he's weird! He likes puzzles!" Georgie looked to me for backup. "That's how come I was late. He was trying to weasel me, but I didn't tell him a thing! I think he only got it partway open. He didn't ask about the Net!"

Rayno actually sat back, pointed at us all, and smiled. "You kids just don't know how lucky you are. I was in the Net last night and flagged somebody who didn't know the secures was poking Georgie's compiler. I made some changes. By the time your old man figures them out, well..."

I sighed relief. See what I mean about being cool? Rayno had us outlooped all the time!

Rayno slammed his fist down on the table. "But Dammit Georgie, you gotta keep a closer watch on him!"

Then Rayno smiled and bought us all drinks and pie all the way around. Lisa had a cherry Coke, and Georgie and I had caffix just like Rayno. God, that stuff tastes awful! The cups were cleared away, and Rayno unzipped his jumper and reached inside.

"Now kids," he said quietly, "it's time for some serious fun." He whipped out his microterm. "School's off!"

I still drop a bit when I see that microterm - Geez, it's a beauty! It's a Zeilemann Nova 300, but we've spent so much time reworking it, it's practically custom from the motherboard up. Hi-baud, rammed, rammed, ported, with the wafer display folds down to about the size of a vid casette; I'd give an ear to have one like it. We'd used Georgie's old man's chipburner to tuck some special tricks in ROM and there wasn't a system in CityNet it couldn't talk to.

Rayno ordered up a smartcab and we piled out of Buddy's. No more riding the transys for us, we were going in style! We charged the smartcab off to some law company and cruised all over Eastside.

Riding the boulevards got stale after awhile, so we rerouted to the library. We do a lot of our fun at the library, 'cause nobody ever bothers us there. Nobody ever goes there. We sent the smartcab, still on the law company account, off to Westside. Getting past the guards and the librarians was just a matter of flashing some ID and then we zipped off into the stacks.

Now, you've got to ID away your life to get on the libsys terms - which isn't worth half a scare when your ID is all fudged like ours is - and they watch real careful. But they move their terms around a lot, so they've got ports on line all over the building. We found an unused port, and me and Georgie kept watch while Rayno plugged in his microterm and got on line.

"Get me into the Net," he said, handing me the term. We don't have a stored opsys yet for Netting, so Rayno gives me the fast and tricky jobs.

Through the dataphones I got us out of the libsys and into CityNet. Now, Olders will never understand. They still think a computer has got to be a brain in a single box. I can get the same results with opsys stored in a hundred places, once I tie them together. Nearly every computer has got a dataphone port, CityNet is a great linking system, and Rayno's microterm has the smarts to do the job clean and fast so nobody flags on us. I pulled the compiler out of Georgie's old man's computer and got into our Net. Then I handed the term back to Rayno.

"Well, let's do some fun. Any requests?" Georgie wanted something to get even with his old man, and I had a new routine cooking, but Lisa's eyes lit up 'cause Rayno handed the term to her, first.

"I wanna burn Lewis," she said.

"Oh fritz!" Georgie complained. "You did that last week!"

"Well, he gave me another F on a theme."

"I never get F's. If yu'd read books once in a -"

"Georgie," Rayno said softly, "Lisa's on line." That settled that. Lisa's eyes were absolutely glowing.

Lisa got back into CityNet and charged a couple hundred overdue books to Lewis's libsys account. Then she ordered a complete fax sheet of Encyclopedia Britannica printed out at his office. I got next turn.

Georgie and Lisa kept watch while I accessed. Rayno was looking over my shoulder. "Something new this week?"

"Airline reservations. I was with my Dad two weeks ago when he set up a business trip, and I flagged on maybe getting some fun. I scanned the ticket clerk real careful and picked up the access code."

"Okay, show me what you can do."

Accessing was so easy that I just wiped a couple of reservations first, to see if there were any bells and whistles.

None. No checks, no lockwords, no confirm codes. I erased a couple dozen people without crashing down or locking up. "Geez," I said, "There's no deep secures at all!"

"I been telling you. Olders are even dumber than they look. Georgie? Lisa? C'mon over here and see what we're running!" Georgie was real curious and asked a lot of questions, but Lisa just looked bored and snapped her gum and tried to stand closer to Rayno. Then Rayno said, "Time to get off Sesame Street. Purge a flight."

I did. It was simple as a save. I punched a few keys, entered, and an entire plane disappeared from all the reservation files. Boy, they'd be surprised when they showed up at the airport. I started purging down the line, but Rayno interrupted.

"Maybe there's no bells and whistles, but wipe out a whole block of flights and it'll stand out. Watch this." He took the term from me and cooked up a routine in RAM to do a global and wipe out every flight that departed at an :07 for the next year. "Now that's how you do these things without waving a flag."

"That's sharp," Georgie chipped in, to me. "Mike, you're a genius! Where do you get these ideas?" Rayno got a real funny look in his eyes.

"My turn," Rayno said, exiting the airline system.

"What's next in the stack?" Lisa asked him.

"Yeah, I mean, after garbaging the airlines . . ." Georgie didn't realize he was supposed to shut up.

"Georgie! Mike!" Rayno hissed. "Keep watch!" Soft, he added, "It's time for The Big One."

"You sure?" I asked. "Rayno, I don't think we're ready."

"We're ready."

Georgie got whiney. "We're gonna get in big trouble-"

"Wimp," spat Rayno. Georgie shut up.

We'd been working on The Big One for over two months, but I still didn't feel real solid about it. It almost made a clean if/then/else; if The Big One worked/then we'd be rich/else . . . it was the else I didn't have down.

Georgie and me scanned while Rayno got down to business. He got back into CityNet, called the cracker opsys out of OurNet, and poked it into Merchant's Bank & Trust. I'd gotten into them the hard way, but never messed with their accounts; just did it to see if I could do it. My data'd been sitting in their system for about three weeks now and nobody'd noticed. Rayno thought it would be really funny to use one bank computer to crack the secures on other bank computers.

While he was peeking and poking I heard walking nearby and took a closer look. It was just some old waster looking for a quiet place to sleep. Rayno was finished linking by the time I got back. "Okay kids," he said, "this is it." He looked around to make sure we were all watching him, then held up the term and stabbed the RETURN key. That was it. I stared hard at the display, waiting to see what else was gonna be. Rayno figured it'd take about ninety seconds.

The Big One, y'see, was Rayno's idea. He'd heard about some kids in Sherman Oaks who almost got away with a five million dollar electronic fund transfer; they hadn't hit a hangup moving the five mil around until they tried to dump it into a personal savings account with a $40 balance. That's when all the flags went up.

Rayno's cool; Rayno's smart. We weren't going to be greedy, we were just going to EFT fifty K. And it wasn't going to look real strang, 'cause it got strained through some legitimate accounts before we used it to open twenty dummies.

If it worked.

The display blanked, flickered, and showed:

TRANSACTION COMPLETED. HAVE A NICE DAY.

I started to shout, but remembered I was in a library. Georgie looked less terrified. Lisa looked like she was going to attack Rayno. Rayno just cracked his little half smile, and started exiting. "Funtime's over, kids."

"I didn't get a turn," Georgie mumbled.

Rayno was out of all the nets and powering down. He turned, slow, and looked at Georgie through those eyebrows of his. "You are still on The List."

Georgie swallowed it 'cause there was nothing else he could do. Rayno folded up the microterm and tucked it back inside his jumper.

We got a smartcab outside the library and went off to someplace Lisa picked for lunch. Georgie got this idea about garbaging up the smartcab's brain so that the next customer would have a real state fair ride, but Rayno wouldn't let him do it. Rayno didn't talk to him during lunch, either.

After lunch I talked them into heading up to Martin's Micros. That's one of my favorite places to hang out. Martin's the only Older I know who can really work a computer without blowing out his headchips, and he never talks down to me, and he never tells me to keep my hands off anything. In fact, Martin's been real happy to see all of us, ever since Rayno bought that $3000 vidgraphics art animation package for Lisas birthday.

Martin was sitting at his term when we came in. "Oh, hi Mike! Rayno! Lisa! Georgie!" We all nodded. "Nice to see you again. What can I do for you today?"

"Just looking," Rayno said.

"Well, that's free." Martin turned back to his term and punched a few more IN keys. "Damn!" he said to the term.

"What's the problem?" Lisa asked.

"The problem is me," Martin said. "I got this software package I'm supposed to be writing, but it keeps bombing out and I don't know what's wrong."

Rayno asked, "What's it supposed to do?"

"Oh, it's a real estate system. Y'know, the whoe future-values-in-current-dollars bit. Depreciation, inflation, amortization, tax credits -"

"Put that in our tang," said. "What numbers crunch?"

Martin started to explain, and Rayno said to me, "This looks like your kind of work." Martin hauled his three hundred pounds of fat out of the chair, and looked relieved as I dropped down in front of the term. I scanned the parameters, looked over Martin's program, and processed a bit. Martin'd only made a few mistakes. Anybody could have. I dumped Martin's program and started loading the right one in off the top of my head.

"Will you look at that?" Martin said.

I didn't answer 'cause I was thinking in assembly. In ten minutes I had it in, compiled, and running test sets. It worked perfect, of course.

"I just can't believe you kids," Martin said. "You can program easier than I can talk."

"Nothing to it" I said.

"Maybe not for you. I knew a kid grew up speaking Arabic, used to say the same thing." He shook his head, tugged his beard, looked me in the face, and smiled. "Anyhow, thanks loads, Mike. I don't know how to . . ." He snapped his fingers. "Say, I just got something in the other day, I bet you'd be really interested in." He took me over to the display case, pulled it out, and set it on the counter. "The latest word in microterms. The Zeilemann Starfire 600."

I dropped a bit! Then I ballsed up enough to touch it. I flipped up the wafer display, ran my fingers over the touch pads, and I just wanted it so bad! "It's smart," Martin said. "Rammed, rammed, and ported."

Rayno was looking at the specs with that cold look in his eye. "My 300 is still faster," he said.

"It should be," Martin said. "You customized it half to death. But the 600 is nearly as fast, and it's stock, and it lists for $1400. I figure you must have spent nearly 3K upgrading yours."

"Can I try it out?" I asked. Martin plugged me into his system, and I booted and got on line. It worked great! Quiet, accurate; so maybe it wasn't as fast as Rayno's - I couldn't tell the difference. "Rayno, this thing is the max!" I looked at Martin. "Can we work out some kind of...?" Martin looked back to his terminal, where the real estate program was still running tests without a glitch.

"I been thinking about that, Mike. You're a minor, so I can't legally employ you." He tugged on his beard and rolled his tongue around his mouth. "But I'm hitting that real estate client for some pretty heavy bread on consulting fees, and it doesn't seem real fair to me that you... Tell you what. Maybe I can't hire you, but I sure can buy software you write. You be my consultant on, oh . . . seven more projects like this, and we'll call it a deal? Sound okay to you?"

Before I could shout yes, Rayno pushed in between me and Martin. "I'll buy it. List." He pulled out a charge card from his jumper pocket. Martin's jaw dropped. "Well, what're you waiting for? My plastic's good."

"List? But I owe Mike one," Martin protested.

"List. You don't owe us nothing."

Martin swallowed. "Okay Rayno." He took the card and ran a credcheck on it. "It's clean," Martin said, surprised. He punched up the sale and started laughing. "I don't know where you kids get this kind of money!"

"We rob banks," Rayno said. Martin laughed, and Rayno laughed, and we all laughed. Rayno picked up the term and walked out of the store. As soon as we got outside he handed it to me.

"Thanks Rayno, but . . . but I coulda made the deal myself."

"Happy Birthday, Mike."

"Rayno, my birthday is in August."

"Let's get one thing straight. You work for me."

It was near school endtime, so we routed back to Buddy's. On the way, in the smartcab, Georgie took my Starfire, gently opened the case, and scanned the boards. "We could double the baud speed real easy."

"Leave it stock," Rayno said.

We split up at Buddy's, and I took the transys home. I was lucky, 'cause Mom and Dad weren't home and I could zip right upstairs and hide the Starfire in my closet. I wish I had cool parents like Rayno does. They never ask him any dumb questions.

Mom came home at her usual time, and asked how school was. I didn't have to say much, 'cause just then the stove said dinner was ready and she started setting the table. Dad came in five minutes later and we started eating.

We got the phone call halfway through dinner. I was the one who jumped up and answered it. It was Georgie's old man, and he wanted to talk to my Dad. I gave him the phone and tried to overhear, but he took it in the next room and talked real quiet. I got unhungry. I never liked tofu, anyway.

Dad didn't stay quiet for long. "He what?! Well thank you for telling me! I'm going to get to the bottom of this right now!" He hung up.

"Who was that, David?" Mom asked.

"That was Mr. Hansen. Georgie's father. Mike and Georgie were hanging around with that punk Rayno again!" He snapped around to look at me. I'd almost made it out the kitchen door. "Michael! Were you in school today?"

I tried to talk cool. I think the tofu had my throat all clogged up. "Yeah...yeah, I was."

"Then how come Mr. Hansen saw you coming out of the downtown library?"

I was stuck. "I - I was down there doing some special research."

"For what class? C'mon Michael, what were you studying?"

It was too many inputs. I was locking up.

"David," Mom said, "Aren't you being a bit hasty? I'm sure there's a good explanation."

"Martha, Mr. Hansen found something in his computer that Georgie and Michael put there. He thinks they've been messing with banks."

"Our Mikey? It must be some kind of bad joke."

"You don't know how serious this is! Michael Arthur Harris! What have you been doing sitting up all night with that terminal? What was that system in Hansen's computer? Answer me! What have you been doing?!" My eyes felt hot. "None of your business! Keep your nose out of things you'll never understand, you obsolete old relic!"

"That does it! I don't know what's wrong with you damn kids, but I know that thing isn't helping!" He stormed up to my room. I tried to get ahead of him all the way up the steps and just got my hands stepped on. Mom came fluttering up behind as he yanked all the plugs on my terminal.

"Now David," Mom said. "Don't you think you're being a bit harsh? He needs that for his homework, don't you, Mikey?"

"You can't make excuses for him this time, Martha! I mean it! This goes in the basement, and tomorrow I'm calling the cable company and getting his line ripped out! If he has anything to do on computer he can damn well use the terminal in the den, where I can watch him!" He stomped out, carrying my smartterm. I slammed the door and locked it. "Go ahead and sulk! It won't do you any good!"

I threw some pillows around 'til I didn't feel like breaking anything anymore, then I hauled the Starfire out of the closet. I'd watched over Dad's shoulders enough to know his account numbers and access codes, so I got on line and got down to business. I was finished in half an hour.

I tied into Dad's terminal. He was using it, like I figured he would be, scanning school records. Fine. He wouldn't find out anything; we'd figured out how to fix school records months ago. I crashed in and gave him a new message on his vid display.

"Dad," it said, "there's going to be some changes around here."

It took a few seconds to sink in. I got up and made sure the door was locked real solid. I still got half a scare when he came pounding up the stairs, though. I didn't know he could be so loud.

"MICHAEL!!" He slammed into the door. "Open this! Now!"

"No."

"If you don't open this door before I count to ten, I'm going to bust it down! One!"

"Before you do that-"

"Two!"

"Better call your bank!"

"Three!"

"B320-5127-OlR." That was his checking account access code. He silenced a couple seconds.

"Young man, I don't know what you think you're trying to pull-"

"I'm not trying anything. I did it already."

Mom came up the stairs and said, "What's going on, David?" "Shut up, Martha!" He was talking real quiet, now. "What did you do, Michael?"

"Outlooped you. Disappeared you. Buried you."

"You mean, you got into the bank computer and erased my checking account?"

"Savings and mortgage on the condo, too."

"Oh my God . . ."

Mom said, "He's just angry, David. Give him time to cool off. Mikey, you wouldn't really do that, would you?"

"Then I accessed DynaRand," I said.

"Wiped your job. Your pension. I got to your plastic, too."

"He couldn't have, David. Could he?"

"Michael!" He hit the door. "I'm going to wring your scrawny neck!"

"Wait!" I shouted back. "I copied all your files before I purged! There's a way to recover!"

He let up hammering on the door, and struggled to talk calm. "Give me the copies right now and I'll just forget that this happened."

"I can't. I mean, I did backups in other computers. And I secured the files and hid them where only I know how to access."

There was quiet. No, in a nano I realised it wasn't quiet, it was Mom and Dad talking real soft. I eared up to the door but all I caught was Mom saying "why not?" and Dad saying "but what if he is telling the truth?"

"Okay Michael, Dad said at last. "What do you want?"

I locked up. It was an embarasser; what did I want? I hadn't thought that far ahead. Me, caught without a program! I dropped half a laugh, then tried to think. I mean, there was nothing they could get me I couldn't get myself, or with Rayno's help. Rayno! I wanted to get in touch with him, is what I wanted. I'd pulled this whole thing off without Rayno!

I decided then it'd probably be better if my Olders dind't know about the Starfire, so I told Dad first thing I wanted was my smartterm back. It took a long time for him to clump down to the basement and get it. He stopped at his term in the den, first, to scan if I'd really purged him. He was real subdued when he brought my smartterm back up.

I kept processing, but by the time he got back I still hadn't come up with anything more than I wanted them to leave me alone and stop telling me what to do. I got the smartterm into my room without being pulped, locked the door, got on line, and gave Dad his job back. Then I tried to flag Rayno and Georgie, but couldn't, so I left messages for when they booted. I stayed up half the night playing a war, just to make sure Dad didn't try anything.

I booted and scanned first thing the next morning, but Rayno and Georgie still hadn't come on. So I went down and had an utter silent breakfast and sent Mom and Dad off to work. I offed school and spent the whole day finishing the war and working on some tricks and treats programs. We had another utter silent meal when Mom and Dad came home, and after supper I flagged Rayno had been in the Net and left a remark on when to find him.

I finally got him on line around eight, and he said Georgie was getting trashed and probably heading for permanent downtime.

Then I told Rayno all about how I outlooped my old man, but he didn't seem real buzzed about it. He said he had something cooking and couldn't meet me at Buddy's that night to talk about it, either. So we got off line, and I started another war and then went to sleep.

The snoozer said 5:25 when I woke up, and I coudln't logic how come I was awake 'til I started making sense out of my ears. Dad was taking apart the hinges on my door!

"Dad! You cut that out or I'll purge you clean! There won't be backups this time!"

"Try it," he growled.

I jumped out of my sleepsack, powered up, booted and - no boot. I tried again. I could get on line in my smartterm, but I couldn't port out. "I cut your cable down in the basement," he said.

I grabbed the Starfire out of my closet and zipped it inside my jumper, but before I could do the window, the door and Dad both fell in. Mom came in right behind, popped open my dresser, and started stuffing socks and underwear in a suitcase.

"Now you're fritzed!" I told Dad. "I'll never give you back your files!" He grabbed my arm.

"Michael, there's something I think you should see." He dragged me down to his den and pulled some bundles of old paper trash out of his desk. "These are receipts. This is what obsolete old relics like me use because we don't trust computer bookkeeping. I checked with work and the bank; everything that goes on in the computer has to be verified with paper. You can't change anything for more than 24 hours."

"Twenty-four hours?" I laughed. "Then you're still fritzed! I can still wipe you out any day, from any term in CityNet?"

"I know."

Mom came into the den, carrying the suitcase and kleenexing her eyes. "Mikey, you've got to understand that we love you, and this is for your own good." They dragged me down to the airport and stuffed me in a private lear with a bunch of old gestapos.

I've had a few weeks now to get used to the Von Schlager Military Academy. They tell me I'm a bright kid and with good behavior, there's really no reason at all why I shouldn't graduate in five years. I am getting tired, though, of all the older cadets telling me how soft I've got it now that they've installed indoor plumbing.

Of course, I'm free to walk out any time I want. It's only three hundred miles to Fort McKenzie, where the road ends.

Sometimes at night, after lights out, I'll pull out my Starfire and run my fingers over the touchpads. That's all I can do, since they turn off power in the barracks at night. I'll lie there in the dark, thinking about Lisa, and Georgie, and Buddy's All-Night Burgers, and all the fun we used to pull off. But mostly I'll think about Rayno, and what great plans he cooks up.

I can't wait to see how he gets me out of this one.

Brought to you by The Cyberpunk Project

Page last modified on Monday, October 2, 2000.

#cyberpunk.ru #cyberpunk #Bruce Bethke #dystopia

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annoyinglyjovialbird · 4 years

Text

Voltron: Next Generation

Nuclear Decisions: II

Word Count: 2787

Darrar sat in the middle of the floor inside his makeshift cell. As soon as he was given full command of Seklok's former ship, he used the tracking device in the mecha to find the massive ship that housed the Voltron Lions and their Paladins.

Speaking of the Paladins of Voltron, they were sitting in their chairs on the bridge. Three of them looked uncomfortable, one looked furious, and the last one looked confused. Shiro took in their expressions, wondering what had happened while he and Keith dealt with their new prisoner. You know what? Maybe he didn't want to know why Kova's eyes glinted.

"Team," Shiro began, three Paladins already half out of their seats. "We have a prisoner." They sat back down, readjusted themselves, and paid more attention.

"They want to speak with the half-Galra onboard." Keith stood next to Shiro with a hand on his hip. "Something about recruiting." Kova's eyes flared, her mouth curling in a sneer.

"Eject him," Kova growled. Eyes turned to Kova who simply gripped her arms harder. She had her arms crossed like an angry school teacher.

"There has to be a reason he's here," Shiro said, trying to keep the peace.

"If there's a reason, why should we give him the benefit of the doubt?" Kova's gleamed dangerously. "He snuck onto our ship, where Keith was being held." Keith's eyes widened at the statement but agreed nonetheless. "Yorak's after me. Eject him." Kova ended with resounding finality.

"We can't just eject someone without a good reason, right?" Caleb turned from his sister to his dad. Shiro didn't say anything, seeming to agree with Kova. "Dad, you can't be serious!"

"We have to think ahead," Shiro said, turning around to look out the window to the inky black space outside.

"This person," Kova began. "Could reveal Voltron to the entire universe. Why is it fair to keep him here longer than necessary, where he could confirm suspicions." Kova stepped around her console to stand in front of the railing around her station. "We either eject him or kill him, and last I checked, we are /against/ killing people."

"Hey!" Kenny exclaimed. "Why are you looking at me?"

"Reasons."

"Whatever his reason is, maybe we should hear him out first," Keith said, half-turning towards Shiro.

"Hear him—" Kova's eyes widened at the blasphemous suggestion. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He's looking for half-Galra, right? Chances are he's half-Galra, too."

"We can't boldly make that accusation, Kova."

"I can boldly make that accusation! I'm half-Galra!" Kova looked up, eyes losing their sharpness. "If the entire universe discovered Voltron returned, it'll be a bad end for all of us."

"Are you sure you aren't exaggerating anything? Maybe we should keep him. Yorak might want him back." Caleb turned around in his chair to stare at the back of Shiro's head, in hopes of having his voice heard.

"Have you met Yorak?" Kova glanced between Caleb and Shiro's turned heads. "He's insane. He'll do whatever it takes to get what he wants, and he currently wants me. We should let him go."

"Uh," Liz shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Don't we get a say in this?"

"No." All formerly speaking parties said at the same time. Liz reclined in her seat, meeting eyes with Kenny. He touched the side of his forehead with his fingers, keeping his hand flat. He also rolled his eyes while pointing at the arguing party. Liz smiled gratefully, nodding her head.

"We were advised to keep Voltron a secret. We should continue to do that." Kova ended with a serious note.

"Very well." Shiro turned around again, facing the teens. "We should cross-reference with the Altean database and touch base with Coran."

"If Earth was so out-of-touch with the rest of the Galactic Coalition, what do you think the chances are they'll help us?"

"I, uh, I actually, uh, um," Allie stammered.

"Allie?"

"Sorry." She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "It's just that, I, uh..." Her words died on her tongue as she noticed that every pair of eyes in the room were now fixated on her and whatever she had to say. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, or whatever the Altean equivalent was.

"Allie?" Kova tried to get her attention. "Allie." The young girl began to shake. "Allura." Kova's deep commanding voice finally got the young girl's attention, making eye contact with the young girl. "Look at me. Just me." Allie's breath evened out the longer her eyes met Kova's. "What about Altea?" Allie sighed, nodding her head, looking determined.

"I have authorized clearance over the Altean records." Allie seemed to sit taller in her chair. "I wasn't just trained by Altean medics, I was also trained by bookkeepers, advisors, and everyone else who had a position of power over Altean life." She turned in her chair to face Shiro, Keith, and everyone else. "I just need a name."

"Are you sure?" Shiro asked, glancing at Keith.

"Yes." Allie sounded confident, nodding her head.

"Alright then." Kova stood to her full height, placing her hands on her hips. "Let's go, team."

"Kova." Shiro tried to stop her, but she ignored him.

"Allie, you can use my console," Kova called out, watching the other teens file out of the bridge. Caleb joined Kenny on the long trek down to the engine room. Liz and Cake marched themselves to their rooms. Shiro, while hesitant, walked out as well with Keith on his heels. They would go back to the observation rooms in the med bay to interrogate their prisoner further. Kova was the last to leave, watching as Allie stood from her chair and climbed the staircase, slowly morphing. By the top of the stairs, Kova was now having to look up at the newly tall Altean. Kova was level with Allie's shoulder, but that didn't deter her. With a hand on her shoulder, the fear that had begun to brew inside Allie had seemingly dissipated momentarily. With a smile and a nod, Kova left the young girl alone on the bridge, closing the door behind her. The bridge door didn't close all the way, however, but Allie was oblivious to this.

Her thin fingers hovered over the console's keyboard, wondering whether she should continue or not. Chances were her login didn't work anymore, and she would have to contact Altean directly. With that thought in mind, Allie set to work with an ease that scared her. She had typed the call code so many times before. Why was she afraid she couldn't remember it?

The screen in front of the window appeared with three white dots on its Altean blue screen. The call connected just as Allie composed herself.

"I truly hope you are calling to apologize." An older woman with blonde hair pinned back in a high bun with a braid crowning her head, sharp purple eyes, and pale green markings pointedly said. She was looking down at a screen in her hands, pressing something. Allie took a breath to calm her nerves as the woman continued. She had looked up to glare directly at the screen. "Otherwise, I'm hanging up."

"Please don't, Romelle," Allie pleaded. Romelle put down the screen she had been holding and positioned herself to completely face Allie.

"Allura," Romelle began, lacing her fingers together in front of her. "What do you want?"

"I would like to formally request reinstatement of my access to Altean records."

"Really?" Allie had been bowing her head. At Romelle's reply, she looked up to see an eyebrow raised on Romelle's bored face. "I would rather you apologize."

"For what exactly?" Allie asked, confused. Even Kova outside the door could hear her confusion. She also jumped when Romelle slammed both her hands onto the table.

"Are you playing coy with me, Allura?" Romelle's eyes lit with anger, while Allie tried her best to not shake in fear. "For denying your title!"

"Denying my—" Allie repeated as realization dawned on her. "What title is there for me to deny?"

"Allura." Romelle's tone softened, as though she were explaining something to a child. To be fair, she was, but I think Allie is old enough to think for herself. "You are named after the greatest hero known to Altea. You should be carrying her mantle, her title, her very name, with honor and grace."

"Isn't it more honorable and graceful to let those close to her mourn than announce an heir?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Her friends joined together to celebrate her memory." Allie looked down to her hands again. "Announcing an heir to the Altean throne on that specific day seems disrespectful."

"Allura, your father served alongside her for a great many years. You were named after a person of strength."

"So were a thousand others."

"You are the daughter of the Emperor. The only daughter of the Emperor. No one else will ever have that honor."

"I know all that." Allie snapped. "I still don't understand what I have to apologize for."

"For denying your title when you left Altea." Allie's jaw slackened. She couldn't have been redder.

"Is that it?" Allie slammed her hands on the console, making Romelle jump slightly. "You're the one that recommended me to the Garrison! You're the one you told me to keep a low profile! That's why I dismissed the royal guard! That's why I didn't go around school announcing 'I'm Princess of Altea! Bow to me, peasants!' Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

"Why, I never!"

"Never what, Romelle?" Allura glared at the older woman. "Never suggested the Princess remain a secret until she has learned some valuable skills, then become offended when she isn't announced on Remembrance Day? Never instructed the guards to disguise themselves, then grew angry when they weren't ornate enough? Never announced the name Allura when asked what my name should be, then wondered why a thousand others were the same name?" Allie was close to panting as she listed off everything in anger. "Because you did it, Romelle. You did it all. So it's not my fault when I say that I don't want to rule people that don't know about my very existence! Not when I'm lost in a sea of a thousand strong." Her voice softened as her rant came to an end. Her anger left her with every word until it all left her body. Only the humming of the Coeus's engines remained, a constant rhythm through the silence. Romelle's violet eyes widened at Allie's outburst, so still that Allie thought the connection had cut out. Romelle moved to compose herself, with hardened eyes.

"No." She said. Blood rushed through Allie's ears as Romelle said that one word. "I will not reinstate your access. If you need something, you call me. Understood?" Allie wanted to yell and kick and scream at the unfairness, but she didn't. She gave a slight nod, which Romelle pursed her lips at. "Goodbye, Allura." The screen turned off, letting the distant humming take over. The star-studded darkness swallowed Allie whole, to which she gritted her teeth at. A hand on her shoulder cleared the darkness, flling her with fear. The fear quickly turned to dread when she turned to follow the hand to its owner.

"You okay?" Kova's usually sharp amber eyes had softened, looking genuinely worried. Allie had shrunk down to her original height. Well, the original height that Kova had met her in. Allie was shaking, small hands balled into fists at her sides. At Kova's question, Allie's bright blue eyes welled up with tears, falling down her cheeks. Kova managed to lift her other arm so that Allie could hook her arms around Kova's waist, resting her head on the older teen's shoulder. Kova wrapped her arms around the young girl's shoulders, rubbing her back as she sobbed into her shoulder. Kova whispered in Allie's ear, but she heard none of it. She continued sobbing until there were no more tears to shed, and allowed Kova to lead her back to her room.

———————

"What do you wish to do?" Vhix asked, looking from the front window to Yorak. Yorak's features were shadowed ominously, with fingers laced in front of his mouth.

"Create a distraction." Yorak lowered his hands, staring at the huge white and orange battleship. "Draw her out." Vhix made a round-up symbol, getting the attention of the lower ranking soldiers, who set themselves to work.

"Anything else?" Vhix asked. Yorak quietly eyed every structure on the Coeus until he found an odd-looking piece. A dingy satellite that seemed to be made of scraps was attached onto the outer surface of the Coeus, almost completely out-of-sight. Almost. "Yorak?"

"Fire on the satellite." Yorak turned, voice echoing in the command chamber. Soldiers immediately got to work, readying weapons. "Fire on the ones who come out until the Black Lion intervenes." Yorak strode forward towards the different officers, each of them doing all but physically pinning themselves to the wall as Yorak passed their desks. Shivers ran down their spines, but they said nothing, briefly stilling their movements. Vhix followed, curious as to what Yorak had planned.

"Ready the cannon," Vhix ordered. "Aim for the satellite." Vhix got an answer quickly. Target was locked. "Fire." A small blast was fired from the wide array of weapons the ship had access to, but it was enough to destroy the small satellite on the Coeus. They waited for a few minutes, then a few minutes turned into twenty-five. Movement was spotted on the outer surface of the Coeus. The person wore Paladin armor, but it wasn't the color Yorak wanted. The Paladin was red. Caleb was close enough. It would motivate Kyla to react faster.

"Fire on the Paladin." An onslaught of blasts was released from the ship onto the Coeus. Caleb barely had time to duck and hide when the shots began to ricochet off the metallic surface and onto his face. "Intercept his call."

"Sec to Coeus, I need assistance!" Caleb said over his ear piece, his pleas being heard by not only the Coeus, but also Yorak's crew. "Sec to Coeus!"

"Jax to Sec, incoming assistance." Yorak smiled creepily as Kyla's voice responded to Caleb's plea. Sure enough, the Black Lion emerged from the massive ship, roaring away. Along with it came the other three Lions dragging a fourth along with them.

"Griffin to Sec, where are you located?" Another female voice came over the transmission. Before Caleb could answer, another blast landed next to him. His scream echoed over the transmission. He was safe, relatively speaking. His armor protected him from any sort of debris. The shockwaves hurt like quiznack, though.

"Hold!" Kyla called out. Another blast came from Yorak's ship. "I said hold!"

"Let's listen to her, shall we?" Yorak said, much too pleased with himself. The Black Lion had flown to a stop in front of Yorak's ship. "Hello, Kyla."

"What do you want?" Her voice was cold, hard, and angry. Yorak smiled again.

"I want you to listen to me." Yorak leaned forward, imagining Kyla was doing the same. "Join me or watch your precious team be destroyed."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh really?" The cannon mounted on the front of the ship lit up with purple energy, aimed directly at the Coeus. The Black Lion stood firm in its path, but it wouldn't be a match. "Your choice, Kyla. Join me, or die." She sat in silence in the cockpit. No words were exchanged, none of the Lions made a move. The Green Lion was perched on the Coeus, shielding Caleb and the satellite from further destruction. Blue held Red by a long tether, with Yellow directly above them.

"Fine." Kyla sounded defeated, but defiant. Perfect. "Don't hurt them."

"Of course, Kyla." The communication cut off as the orders were given to open the hatch. The Black Lion was pulled in by a traction beam, disabling the energy inside the Lion. As the Black Lion was being brought into the transport bay of the Yorak's ship, the rest of the crew of the Coeus could only look on in silence.

Almost giddy, Yorak went down to the transport bay to meet his new comrade. Kyla wore her black and white Paladin armor with violet cuffs around her wrists. She wasn't fighting the soldiers who grabbed her roughly by the arms.

"Well, then." Yorak shooed off the guards, taking their place on Kyla's arms. "Now we can have our little party."

"Little?"

"Yes." Yorak shoved Kyla forward to the other side of the ship, where the huge telecommunications happened. "We're going to announce the Fire's return to the entire universe."

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rosesisupposes · 5 years

Text

Fall to Rise

Part 11 of Another Goddamn Hero Story

read on ao3

Chapter Relationships: Romantic LAMP; Familial LAMPT; Background OC pairings;

Chapter Warnings: Memories of trauma; questioning memories/reality; mentions of past death/murder; cadaver mention; Human experimentation; nonconsensual experimentation; cryogenic freezing; mention of blood loss

Word Count: over 7,600 i’m so sorry

Taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious@bewarethegrammarpolice @jemthebookworm@arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse@thelowlysatsuma @monsterinatophat @turtally-pawsome @um-yes-hi-hello @idkaurl @potestessemagishomosexualitatis@hawthornshadow

a/n: yeah, it's been a minute. i started law school, things got hectic. here’s a Lot of Things

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337501 [UPDATED] Classification: M.1.iv [Primary Tier Neutral, Unknown] Name: Agent Whisper Status: INACTIVE /////////Reason: Reformation-In-Progress, Enrolled Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Thomas Sanders Affiliation: Neutral Partners/Sidekicks: DI#A-4894 - Team Left Brain; DI#A-4895 - Team Right Brain; /////////The two teams volunteered to oversee his reformation Primary Foes: None Powers: Pathokinesis - Broad Spectrum; Illusions - Broad Spectrum; Self-Healing/Rejuvenation - Broad Spectrum; /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] There have been multiple edits to this entry, and I’ve no idea why, and I can’t see the history. Can you check this? - Joan Costume: Black t-shirt with a skull that can change between white and floral, jeans. Age: 19 Height: 5’10” Pronouns: He/Him H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Enrolled Note: Brother of DI#337437 - Gale Force; Presumed killed in IR15-Z-0632, apparently self-healed; Unclear if powers were created by [REDACTED], or if they were always present and [REDACTED]. /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Talyn, what’s going on? Why can’t I un-redact these phrases? /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] I have no idea - these details weren’t added by me. It makes no sense. The note was added, and then edited and redacted. But from the code it looks like both changes were from… Logan?

~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337413 [UPDATED] Classification: Class A.2.iii [Secondary Tier Hero, anomaly] Name: Crimson Marauder Status: ACTIVE Civilian Name: [TOP SECRET] Roman Fitzroy Affiliation: Hero ///////// H.A.T.C.H. Status: On Call Partners/Sidekicks: member of DI#A-4895 - Team Right Brain; Works with DI#A-4894 - Team Left Brain; Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Psionic Construction; /////////Able to manipulate color of constructions along the red spectrum, unless it is a previously-created object being stored in a psionic pocket dimension; Constructs that have persisted need less energy to maintain; complete lack of consciousness can deconstruct Costume: Black Suit with Red Blocks, Gold Belt, Black and Red Cape with Gold accents; Black and gold mask Age: 25 Height: 5’ 11” Pronouns: He/Him H.E.A.R.T.S. Class N/A Note: Formerly known as Scarlet Prince, see DI#337321; Origin and family unknown

~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337437 [UPDATED] Classification: A.1.iv [Primary Tier Hero, unknown] Name: Gale Force Status: ACTIVE ///////// H.A.T.C.H. Status: Blackout Only Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Patton Sanders Affiliation: Hero Partners/Sidekicks: member of DI#A-4895 - Team Right Brain; Works with DI#A-4894 - Team Left Brain; Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Air Manipulation - Broad Spectrum; Costume: Grey calf-length tunic, slits up to waist with loose sleeves over loose white trousers; light blue belt; matching blue symbol of a hurricane across chest. Does not wear a mask. Age: 21 Height: 5’10” Pronouns: He/Him H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Enrolled Note: Highly volatile, responsible for deaths of DI#265351 - Commander Eagle and DI#337236 - Silver Sparrow, see IR15-Z-0632; First appearance at Harmony City Foster Care; Origin and family unknown. ///////// Changed affiliation after unmasking of DI#337501 - Agent Whisper revealed to be his brother. Still unclear if he is an anomaly or if the Sanders bloodline is super, particularly because of DI#337501’s involvement in [REDACTED]. /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Talyn, it’s happened again here! Has Logan been messing in our files? /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Joan, this is really troubling - some of the edits have been made while I know Logan has been in the field. DREAM may have been hacked. I’m going to have to suspend all access until further notice.

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

“Pat, are you sure about this?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.”

“This just feels like the superhero equivalent of a whoopie cushion. Or ‘down low, too slow.’”

Patton hugged his brother around the shoulders. “I mean it, Tommy Salami! You won’t be hurt.”

“It’s a long way down, though,” Thomas said, eyeing the edge of the roof nervously.

“Never fear! Your knight is here!” Roman announced, landing gently by the brothers with a smile. He bowed gallantly to the teen. “Sir Roman Fitzroy, on official Safety Net duty!”

Thomas smiled shyly. “You’re sure?”

“Of course, my Very Special Agent! Even if you can’t fly naturally, you’ll feel just like a bird,” Roman said, gesturing off the roof with a flourish. Floating in mid-air was a giant red cushion, soft, plush, and downy.

Other students at HEARTS were mingling around in various levels of trepidation and excitement. Some were confirmed flyers, ready to practice more and to build up their reaction time. Some were like Thomas, testing for latent abilities in a controlled environment. And some knew they couldn’t fly, but were here for the experience anyway.

“Ready?” the teacher called. A ten-year-old wearing what looked suspiciously like a beloved blankie tied around their neck like a cape clapped their hands and nodded. “Here we go!”

The teacher scooped the little one up and tossed them onto the trampoline, launching them into the air in a burst of surprised giggles. Their cape fluttered behind them as they bounced, eyes squeezed tightly shut. When they finally opened them, it was to realize they were floating about fifteen feet above the heads of their classmates.

“I doned it!”

“Yes indeed! You did it!” one of the older students said as their classmates clapped and cheered. The elder girl floated up serenely to their level. “Can you get down yourself?”

The child frowned and focused on their feet. Slowly, they lowered down to the ground once more, sparking another round of applause as the next student stepped up to try.

Finally, it was Thomas’ turn. There were rounds of encouragement from the crowd, though more subdued than they had been for the others. But the youngest students didn’t flinch or waver, just cheered as Thomas offered his hand to the teacher. Patton floated just by the edge of the roof, Roman at his side, ready with the enormous cushion to catch him should he go awry.

Virgil glided up beside the two just as Thomas was tossed onto the trampoline. He bounced high into the air, making a strangled yell that grew louder as he immediately started to plummet. But in a breath, air wrapped around him and he was gently deposited on his feet by Patton’s side.

He smiled shakily at his brother. “I guess you got the ginger and the flying genes, Pat.”

“You okay now?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Thomas said. He looked over at the other students. The ten-year-old who’d gone first was going for a second turn, keeping their eyes open this time. “I think I’ll leave the flying attempts to the experts though. C.C. was right - they said they weren’t sure I’d like it.”

“Who’s-” Patton started, but one of the students walked over with impeccable timing.

“Hi! I’m CC! I’m in Thomas’ class.”

Patton grinned and shook their hand. “I’m Patton, Thomas’ brother.”

“And you’re also Gale Force,” CC said with a nod.

“Only when I’m in uniform! I wouldn’t want you all to think I’m full of hot air,” he replied with a wink.

They laughed brightly. “Ooh, can I add that to my list? I’m documenting super school, you see. The conversations here are so much fun to overhear!”

Patton agreed willingly, and asked about their favorites and classes, watching with pleasure as they drew Thomas into the conversation too. Not everyone was so comfortable with his brother, the shadow of his past still lurking in their minds.

CC smiled suddenly at the brothers, interrupting the conversation. “Did you know? You’re going to be happy.”

“Is that another prediction?” Thomas asked them. He slipped a hand into Patton’s, a tic of seeking reassurance that had been carrying them both through their school days.

CC shook their head, smiling softly. “It’s a guarantee.”

Only feet away, Virgil tugged Roman towards him, fidgeting with the papers in his other hand. “Hey, could you come over here for a second?” Roman looked nervously at Pat and Thomas, not wanting to leave them. Virgil smiled in understanding. “We won’t go far - I’ll help you keep an eye on them. I just want to be safely out of earshot.”

Roman followed him to the the other half of the roof, where the building rose up into the elevated classrooms. He was intrigued by whatever Virgil had to say, but still took the opportunity to slip a hand into his back pocket to squeeze his ass.

Virgil turned with a smile, bringing them chest to chest, and leaned down to steal a kiss. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Depends, is it working?” Roman asked with a wink. The past month had seen them all maintaining a laser-sharp focus on Thomas and his recovery, leaving only the occasional night and stolen moment for them to solidify the affections they’d finally expressed in so many words. Virgil, Logan, and Roman all cared far more about supporting Patton in his reunion and joint recovery with his brother than escalating their relationship - but there were still the occasional moments where they couldn’t, or didn’t want to, restrain themselves.

Virgil drew back smirking, one brow raised. “Up to you, Princey. We can get distracted in the closet right around the corner, or I can share the surprise with you.”

Roman exaggerated his pout, circling Virgil’s muscled waist with both arms. “How dare you pit my love of your kisses against my love of surprises. Can’t I have both?”

Virgil kissed Roman’s temple. “Here, read this first, and maybe there’ll be time for distraction after.”

He handed Roman the sheaf of paper he’d been twisting in his hands. Roman smoothed out the crinkles and glanced over it. He did a double take and looked over it again, reading closer, mouth falling open as he went.

“A new foster home?”

“Not just any foster home,” Virgil said, a smile slowly stretching across his face. “One that’ll allow supers to stay together with non-supers. One that’ll work with HEARTS without making kids leave their home to learn.”

“For them?” Roman asked, glancing back across the roof at Patton and Thomas.

Virgil nodded. “For them and everyone like them. And if a kid is staying there, there won’t be a cost to go to HEARTS. I’m working on Joan to allow the normal foster allowances to go towards school fees.”

Roman smoothed the paper again with hands that shook slightly. “For me,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question, but Virgil nodded all the same, resting a comforting hand on his boyfriend’s waist.

Roman’s eyes filled slightly as he smiled up into Virgil’s dark ones. “Virge, this is wonderful . Where’s it going to be? Who’s gonna run it?”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling slightly. “My family’s house, actually. It was my moms’ idea. I already have to talk them out of adopting every single friend they meet - what if I just… didn’t talk them out of it? And I’m hoping that this means Thomas won’t ever have to be on call. His detail can just be protecting the kids, maybe keep Pat with him too-”

Any further words were cut off by Roman tugging his head down to silence him with enthusiastic kiss after kiss. “You wonderful, brilliant, beautiful man,” Roman said in between kisses. “You’re so considerate and sweet and smart!”

The packet of papers were discarded as Virgil responded with equal enthusiasm despite a spreading blush. Roman summoned a discreet wall around them, preempting any students stumbling by.

They could tell the others the news later, at a less interesting time.

~~~~~~

That evening found the brothers Sanders taking time away from the other students again. Mealtimes were fine, but the atmosphere after dinner, where teens and kids and young adults all mixed and played in the common areas still had twinges of uncomfortable familiarity.

So Thomas sat instead with his brother on the roof of the school in the setting sun, staring out at the reflection of the clouds on the harbor. The light bathed his face in blood-red tones as he listened to the crash of waves and call of gulls.

“Patton, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he started, then paused with a nervous laugh. “I don’t know that I really want to know, but I have to find out sometime. How do I know when it became real?”

“What do you mean, kiddo?”

“I spent so long hallucinating in what I think was the facility. But I saw myself escaping almost every day. When did I do it for real? When did I start infecting everyone else with my visions?”

Patton turned to look at his brother. The boy looked scared, but his face was set, even as he refused to make eye contact.

“It was a bit over a month ago that the first attack came,” Patton supplied.

“What happened in that one, Pat?” Thomas asked. His voice was strained and distant.

“Are you sure you want to know, Tommy? You didn’t know what you were doing, you can’t blame yourself-”

“Yes I can, Patton!” Thomas interrupted. “I have to! I didn’t know it was real, but I still chose to attack innocent people, even if I thought they were just illusions. I could have stayed nonviolent, I could have just tried to hide from it all, but I just… it hurt, so much, every time I watched the home collapse around me, every time I had to feel the fire and bricks blasting through us, and I lashed out. I need to know what I did. How else will I ever make up for it?”

Tears leaked out of Patton’s eyes. “You’re… Thomathy, I know you will make up for all of it. We both will. I lashed out, too. We’ll work hard, and we’ll become the heroes we needed when we were younger. We’ll help.”

Thomas grabbed Patton’s hand, squeezing too tightly. “I still need to know, Pat. What did I do that was real? What happened that first time?”

Patton sucked in a shaky breath. “How many of our friends do you remember, from before? From when we were kids?”

Thomas closed his eyes. “I remember… I remember Leo. And Derri and Dahlia. And… Ms. and Miss Parson.” He opened his eyes, looking anxiously at Patton. “Am I right? Were they real?”

“They were real,” Patton confirmed. “They were our Hundred-Acre Wood friends and our moms, or the closest we got.” He steeled himself, breathing in deep. “Do… do you remember Damien?”

Thomas frowned, responding slowly. “Yes, I think I do. He was older than me? He left, early. There was… something happened. An accident?” He looked for confirmation.

“Sort of. The experiments weren’t an accident, but the fire in the lab was. Dam’ got adopted and then the man who’d taken him turned out to be not very nice.”

Thomas stiffened at the mention of ‘lab’, but he squeezed Patton’s hand tight and forced himself to relax. “I… yes, I remember. Did he…?”

“He survived, but we didn’t know it. I only learned he was alive recently… the day of your first real attack. He was transformed, given powers, so he got sent here instead of back home.” Patton gestured to the brick school underneath them. “Tommy… do you remember who was with Damien when he left?”

Thomas spoke sadly, eyes fixed on the horizon, staring off into distant haze of remembrance. “Val. Valerie. Kanga. She… we lost her too.”

Patton swallowed. “She… was in the same place as Damien.”

“And the same thing happened to her?” Thomas turned to look at Patton, his eyes searching for confirmation. At Patton’s nod, he looked off, eyes flitting as he poured through his twisted, unclear memories. “I dreamed about her a lot. I saw her so many times. She kept coming back, sometimes the same age I remember her, sometimes older. One time she brought me Teddy. But usually she just hated me. She blamed me for letting her go and letting her get hurt and... I could never help, never enough.”

Patton squeezed his brother’s hand. “What was the last time you saw her?”

Thomas frowned. “I… the day I hurt Roman. She was there, angry with me, telling me that Roman was the reason she was so hurt. She had burn scars from his light powers, and dark bruises all over.” He looked up. “What that real?”

“No, it wasn’t, kiddo. Roman never met her,” Patton said. Tears were coursing down his face, and his voice was thick. “The last real time was three days before that. She… she was given powers too, like Damien, but they were painful. She had feathers growing out of her skin, purple and black ones…”

Thomas scrambled to stand, backing away from his brother. “No. No, you’re lying! That time wasn’t real, it couldn’t have been!”

Patton stood too, grabbing Thomas’ hand before he walked off the roof by accident. Tears continued to fall down his face. “I’m sorry, Tommy. It’s real.”

“But that means that I-” Thomas choked out, and then the sobs took over as he crumpled to the ground. His entire body shivered and convulsed as the reality of his actions took hold.

Patton knelt with him, trying to hold as much of him as possible, crying into his shirt. “You didn’t know,” he whispered. “You didn’t mean it.”

“But I did it anyway!” Thomas wailed. “What have I done, Pat? What kind of monster am I?”

“The one you were made into,” his brother said, voice hardening despite his grief. “The one the world created, leaving you behind. Like they left me behind.”

“The world didn’t create me, Pat,” Thomas responded. “People did, and I did.”

Now Patton looked at him in confusion. “The heroes? They created me too. They’re part of the world.”

“No, Pat. The people in that facility. The lab. Whatever it was.”

Patton hesitated. “I don’t want to make you talk about it, but… what do you remember of that place? Do you remember faces?”

Thomas wiped his eyes. “No. Maybe I did once, but I- no, I don’t want to remember. It’s too much. Too much pain and fire and…” He curled in on himself again. “Please don’t ask me to remember them, ” he asked in a tiny voice.

Patton wrapped his arms around as much of him as he could, holding him close. “I won’t. I’m sorry, Tommy. It’s okay now. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Thomas reached up a hand to bunch in Patton’s shirt, gripping tightly. “Is this real?” he whispered.

“Real, Thomas. It’s real.”

~~~~~~

Things weren’t always great. Logan had learned to be okay with that. Thomas had nightmares, waking in cold sweat and anger, lashing out at anyone who got close. But slowly, he was recognizing them all faster, seeing them as safe. Recovery would be a long road, but they were all on their way. Virgil had started therapy, partly at Logan’s urging and partly as encouragement for Roman and the Sanders to go too. Logan came sometimes for group sessions, more a supporter than a patient. Roman and Patton had nightmares too, but they always woke to the tangle of limbs in the enormous bed that now dominated most of Virgil’s apartment bedroom. They had a good arrangement, even if Logan was finding that he became far too easily flustered by Roman and Patton’s much more overt forms of affection. It was new and intriguing, but the frequency with which he blushed now was, frankly, embarrassing.

He had time to discover all the new shades of red he was able to turn because the level of super activity had also dropped sharply. Virgil and Logan hadn’t been called since that last attack, and they’d been reveling in their newly-free time by exploring the city as civilians, bringing their boyfriends and Thomas out to the Skylar home in surburbia, and taking them on leisurely flights above the cloud cover. When Logan received a call one morning to go see the mayor at City Hall, he was more intrigued than alert.

“Virge, wanna come?”

“Hm, I didn’t get the call, you think I could?”

“Why not? It’s just Joan.”

“You’re right. C’mon, starlight. Want a lift?”

They walked into the office together, stopping short as they realized the alert hadn’t been quite the casual call they’d assumed. The windows were blocked out with heavy shades. The table was covered in printout and status reports that threatened to drown a very frazzled-looking Talyn in paper.

“Joan, Talyn, what’s going on? You needed to speak with me?” Logan asked. “I brought Virgil, I hope that’s okay…”

Joan paced backed and forth, their normal worry lines looker much deeper than normal. They paused one or twice, about to speak, but glanced at Virgil and Logan, then around the room, and away as they resumed pacing. Finally, they sighed and asked, “Can we go to the roof?”

The roof of City Hall was the same graceful style as the rest of the Neo-Renaissance building, with swooping arches and balustrading that made it stand apart from the marble of the other government buildings. The roof had a cupola that had clearly been designed to make it even more distinctive. Now, it functioned as an entrance for flying supers into the building, one that Virgil preferred if he was arriving without Logan. But that wasn’t its only purpose.

“I’m going to turn on the dampers,” Joan told them bluntly as they filed into the small space from the stairwell.

Logan stiffened in shock, glaring at the mayor.

Virgil reached out a gentle hand to rest on his boyfriend’s back. “I trust it’s for a good reason?” he asked Joan drily.

The mayor nodded. “It’s not about you two. It’s to keep other powers out. I really, really don’t want anyone to overhear.”

Logan sighed, his shoulders falling from their tense position. “I know you wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Go ahead.”

Talyn quickly tapped in a PIN on one of the columns, then a now-glowing button. Walls of light blinked into being around them and sealed over the entrance to the rest of the building. Virgil flexed and stretched his free arm. Knowing that his strength and durability were being neutralized wasn’t a comfortable feeling, even if he understood that it was sometimes necessary. He kept the other hand solidly on Logan’s lower back, feeling the man tremble slightly and offering comfort.

“What’s so important that needs all this secrecy, Mayor Stokes,” Logan asked, voice clipped.

Talyn came over with their tablet in both hands. “It’s the database. DREAM’s been compromised.” There was a slight tremor in their hands as they showed Logan the screenshots from the most recently-updated records. “I created this tool, and Joan is the highest-ranking official in the city, and neither of us can read these edits. All we know is that according to the system, you were the one making them.”

Logan took the tablet, staring hard. Finally he looked up. “I didn’t make these changes.” Three pairs of eyes looked back in concern. “But,” he continued, looking at the screen in confusion, “I think I know who did.”

“And who would it be?”

“Drs. Atticus and Portia Lancaster,” Logan said. “My parents. I- it looks like it might be related to their work on the origin of powers. They’ve been hinting at some more exciting experiments.”

“Hold up,” Joan interjected. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“It was all under the umbrella of EANSC 2.0, and my understanding was they weren’t sure there was anything to find, let alone brief you on. If you didn’t read the full reports, you might not have noticed,” Logan said, removing his glasses to rub his temples. His fingers shook, but his voice remained steady, if a bit detached. “I don’t know the full details myself. If I’d known you hadn’t been informed, I would have procured a summary for you.”

“Lo, we need to get these dampers off and go talk to them,” Virgil said. “If they can tell us more about how to help Thomas, we need to know sooner rather than later.”

Logan replaced his glasses. “Yes. Yes, of course. I- Yes. We shall do that. Yes.”

Virgil paused in his pacing and came over, cupping Logan’s chin in his hand. “Lo? Are you alright?”

Logan looked up at him and attempted a smile. “I… I am trepidatious. I am unclear as to why they would have neglected to inform me, if they made a breakthrough like this seems to imply.” His voice sounded oddly formal and strained. “Let us go discuss with them at once. And, Virgil, if you would - permit me to take the lead, as it were. I am quite confident there will be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. We need only ask without accusation, and it should be all revealed to us.”

“Logan-” Joan started, but Logan just shook his head. Talyn typed in their PIN again to deactivate the dampers.

“You’ll at least let us know what they say?” Joan asked as Logan and Virgil stepped to the edge of the cupola.

Logan took a deep breath and looked back. “You’ll be the first.” He stepped off the edge, becoming a blur as he did so.

Virgil nodded to both Joan and Talyn before leaping out to follow his partner.

~~~~~~

“Logan! Virgil! What a lovely surprise!”

The Drs. Lancaster were both in their lab at the university, and Portia greeted them both with a smile and a little wave. Her red hair was pulled back into a bun, but wavy strands had popped free, held back only by the headband tied into a bow. Virgil had asked, once, how no one ever recognized the former public face of Harmony City’s Heroes, even if she had changed her last name. The doctor had winked, tapping her frames, and said, “It’s all in the glasses.”

Her husband was able to pause his work too and came over smiling. Virgil had always liked the Docs - they’d welcomed him into their home as his ‘City Family,’ once it became clear he couldn’t commute out to his mums in the suburbs as much as he would have liked.

He really, really hoped that Logan was correct.

“What brings you ‘round, big guy? It’s been months!” Atticus asked, going for a hug. Virgil didn’t so much hug back as he patted the man’s shoulders awkwardly, glancing meaningfully at Logan.

The young man cleared his throat. “Mom, Dad, I have a question for you.”

Atticus’ eyes lit up, looking at Virgil and back to his son. “Are you asking us for our blessing, finally?”

Logan did a slight double-take. “Beg pardon?”

Portia chuckled, slinking an arm around Atticus’ waist. “Your father here has been hoping you’re going to make an honest man out of Virgil soon.”

Virgil blushed deep crimson at that. “I- uh. Our boyfriends might object if we got married without them?”

Logan elbowed him. “Virge, I hadn’t told them that yet-”

“Shit-”

“Boyfriends? Multiple? Are you starting a collection?” Atticus asked, blinking. “Is it like a butterfly collection, are you collecting taxonomic details?”

Logan cleared his throat. “No, Dad. I- Virgil and I have started mutually dating Roman and Patton. All four of us as equal romantic partners.”

A slight crease formed in Portia’s forehead. “Roman and Patton? Have we met them?”

“Not as such, no,” Logan said, not meeting either parents’ eyes as he fiddled with his glasses.

Atticus and Portia stared in a mixture of confusion and concern. Logan shot Virgil a pleading look, linking their fingers together.

Virgil flinched. This conversation was far more personal than he’d been prepared for, but he’d gotten them into this mess in the first place. “You may know them by their super names - Crimson Marauder and Gale Force.”

Logan squeezed Virgil’s fingers so tightly that he would have bruised, if he ever bruised.

Portia pursed her lips, the wrinkle in her brow becoming more pronounced. “Weren’t you fighting them, dear?”

“Yes, Mother, I was,” Logan started. “But things, ah, changed. And they’re reformed now.”

Virgil wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Atticus’ face in something that had to try so hard to taken as a smile. “But they’re villains, Lo?”

“They were villains,” Virgil clarified. “They both went through-- god, they went through some rough shit, and the anger from their experiences made them more villainous for a while there. But they really are wonderful men, and they’re nonviolent now.”

“Well. I suppose such a thing is possible, hypothetically,” Portia replied. She tapped her lips with a long, elegant finger. “If trauma was so involved in their moral failings, what on earth could have shaken them enough that they’re now attempting to erase them?”

If Virgil had been a cat, he would have hissed. Instead, his shoulders and back stiffened even as a chill ran down his spine. He exhaled slowly, making sure he didn’t accidentally squeeze Logan’s hand back. Feeling like this, he might hurt him inadvertently.

“Actually, Mother, Father, the answer to that question is the very question we have come to ask,” Logan said. He stood ramrod straight, meeting his mother’s eyes levelly despite the difference in their heights.

“What’s with the fancy-talk, Lolo?” Atticus asked, chuckling uncomfortably. “We’re all family here.”

“Speaking of family,” Logan continued, “Patton and Roman found their perspective on what makes a hero or villain dramatically changed by the events of the last several months. This was largely to the reappearance of Patton’s brother, Thomas Sanders.”

Virgil had never quite determined if his acute awareness of others’ body movements was part of his powers, or if it was just the natural power of anxiety. But it was enough for him to notice that both the Drs. Lancaster blinked in a way that looked a lot like recognition.

“That may be another name you have not heard, I am aware,” Logan continued. “But I am quite confident you know who he is. His alias was Agent Whisper.”

Portia gasped. “Goodness, how upsetting for your friend that his brother was such a terror upon our city! No wonder he was so upset. Such a reveal, and losing even an evil sibling would be terrible, I’m sure.”

“Dr. Lancaster,” Virgil cut in, “Patton didn’t lose his brother again. Thomas is also in reform. I thought you knew.”

“How would I know, dear?”

“Because you’ve been in the DREAM Index,” Logan replied, taking back the thread.

Atticus smiled, round cheeks crinkling. “Lo, you know she doesn’t have access to that anymore! They can’t let just anyone see all the supers’ data!”

“But you two do. You asked for my information, when I handed off my dissertation. To cross-reference, you said.”

Portia pursed her lips. “We did, didn’t we. It must have slipped my mind.”

Logan frowned. “Mother. Please. One of you has been making edits under my name. I’d like to know why, and what it has to do with Thomas.”

“That was me,” Atticus said. “I was preserving the integrity of our research. You know how important that is.”

“Which research was being implicated?” Portia asked conversationally, as if her only son wasn’t still staring her down.

“Project Charcoal.”

“Ah, a good call, my love. That’s far too sensitive to be revealed.”

“Even to the mayor?” Virgil asked innocently. “Because not even they could see past the redaction.”

Atticus walked over to the lab bench. “Lo, come sit. No need to be so suspicious - you know we’ll tell you everything.”

Logan looked to Virgil automatically, who shrugged in response. Are we ready to do this? Do we have a choice? They squeezed their interlocked hands and sat across the bench from the doctors.

“So. My dissertation became Project Charcoal,” Logan stated.

“Yes, that’s what it came to be called,” Portia said. “EANSC 2.0 was too much of a mouthful, and lost accuracy.”

“And you didn’t tell me this sooner because…?”

“You never asked, kiddo,” Atticus said with a smile. “We were telling you about our experiments - the refining of the dampener field, the RNA sequencing, that’s all under the project!”

Logan frowned. “And yet, there is clearly more that you neglected to mention.”

“Well, yes, but we didn’t want to distract you. Your hero work was more important,” Portia explained. “We were continuing our research on side-effects of EAs on civilians and it ended up being merged together, that was really the only big change we didn’t tell you about.”

“...the side-effect research?” Virgil asked quietly.

“It started after the Mystic Magician,” Logan explained. “He managed to succeed, in a terrible way. The Viper is proof of that, and the Condor was too. But it rocked the conventional understanding of enhanced abilities. My parents and the larger genetic research community started looking into whether or not civilians were affected by being exposed to active abilities.”

Atticus nodded. “We wanted to minimize collateral damage beyond what could be seen. Were bystanders being slowly mutated? Was the density of supers here self-fulfilling? So we looked at both demographic data and autopsies of casualties from super fights. We started seeing the beginnings of patterns, but nothing definite. And then we hit a wall completely when Logan was about nine years old.”

“And then, in a fluke, we discovered the EANSC - the Neutralization & Stasis Chamber. And the dampening field,” Portia said, eyes alight. “An electromagnetic field that affected the use of powers. For the first time ever, there was the idea that abilities could actually be affected externally. We had a whole new way to conceptualize the side-effects and to focus our research. And only two years after we perfected EANSC enough to implement, Logan joined us in studying just how the emotional effects of the dampers were connected to the use of abilities.” She smiled fondly at her son. “If we hadn’t been inspired before, getting to work with you was what really did it.”

Logan smiled back, relaxing. “Thanks, Mom.”

Virgil was frowning, though. “But what were you looking for?”

Logan grinned at his boyfriend, squeezing his hand. “We’re scientists, Virge, isn’t it obvious?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

Logan opened his mouth to speak at the same time as his mother did the same.

“A greater understanding of the world!!”

“A way to stop supervillains forever.”

Logan whipped around, jaw going slack. “What?”

Atticus nodded. “Loberry, don’t be naive. We don’t get these kinds of resources just for being lecturers at the university. We don’t get highest clearance in the city for teaching undergrads how to run a simple gel electrophoresis. We’re on a direct research mandate from the State. Why do you think your mother thought this work was more important than remaining an active-duty hero?”

The blood was slowly draining out of Logan’s face. “I- she was taking time off for us, for me and Bea and Jem, right?” He looked at Portia, who smiled.

“Of course, dear, that too. But I’d been fighting for almost 20 years. I was practically a senior citizen in hero years. And I was so tired of fighting villains, over and over, knowing there would always be more. So when we were asked if we’d like to work towards ending the fight once and for all, I couldn’t very well say no!”

Virgil looked sick. “You- and what, you’d unmake villains? Like the Magician tried to make them?”

Atticus laughed. “Of course not! The Magician was so ham-handed, it was sloppily done and clearly had painful results. We wanted a painless way to remove the risk. Like declawing a cat.”

“Declawing a cat isn’t painless, it’s mutilation,” Virgil snapped. “It leaves them entirely unable to fend for themselves. Was that the plan? Non-heroes left defenseless?”

“In captivity, preferably, until we were sure they could re-enter society,” Portia said with a shrug. “It’s more humane that the life sentence they get now, except for those who break out.”

Logan had released Virgil’s hands, instead gripping the table until his knuckles had turned white. “You never told me,” he said to himself quietly. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked up. “You know more about Agent Whisper than you’ve admitted, too. Tell me. Now.”

Atticus made eye contact with Portia, who inclined her head.

“We examined bystander casualties directly after some incidents and were able to find electromagnetic signatures in the brains that resembled damper fields, but different in a very key way. They were equal and opposite. If the fields correspond to suppressed emotions, then these brains had their emotions intensified, instead.”

Virgil shivered at the thought, reaching for Logan once more under the bench. Without looking, Logan moved a hand to link their fingers once more. He kept his gaze fixed on his parents.

“If there was a heightened effect happening as collateral in bystanders, we thought, there was a chance we could recreate it deliberately,” Portia continued. “And if it persisted enough to show up in autopsy, that modulation in both directions could potentially be made permanent. We could replicate dampers without the tech! But we needed to look at side effects first. We had to wait for more casualties with exposure to extreme ability usage.”

Virgil felt a headache starting to drum in his temples, the ache of anger and tears that he refused to let fall as the pieces connected before him. “And you got the fucking golden opportunity, didn’t you. At the foster home. All of Pat’s rage and grief just created the goddamn ideal specimen.”

Atticus blinked at the venom in Virgil’s voice, but responded calmly,. “It was a tragedy. Heartbreaking, of course. But tragedy breeds emotion, and emotion is the lifeblood of your abilities.”

“We were only trying to use the fields to affect the brainwaves that hadn’t yet petered out,” Portia said, as if that excused it. “We shocked when we picked up a renewed heartbeat. But the brainwaves hadn’t changed. It was still brain-dead by any measure.”

“He.” Virgil’s voice was iron and blood as he spat out the correction.

Logan was paler than Virgil had ever seen him, even when he’d needed treatment for blood loss back in the earliest months of their heroing. “And you kept going? What happened to only experimenting on organ and science donors?”

Atticus smiled in confusion. “Lo, that was never the case. We didn’t perfect the EANSC with cadavers, we had villains to test with.”

“I’m sure they agreed to be lab rats, too,” Virgil accused.

Portia just shrugged. “Anyway, we kept the body in cryo except when running more tests. It still appeared to be brain-dead, right up until the day it- sorry, he,” she corrected exaggeratedly, ” He escaped. And started killing people.”

Logan looked ready to yell, his face yet, but he stopped and took a deep breath. “Are you familiar with his powers? Have you heard about what his memory of that time period is?”

“I’ve read the Index entry,” Portia replied blandly.

“He relived his entire life hundreds of times, and the accident at the foster homes thousands more,” Virgil said quietly, dangerously. “He saw everyone he loved die, then alive and loving him, then dying again. And when the memories were done replaying, new ones started being created. All emotionally charged, extremes of elation and sorrow and fury.”

Atticus looked at Virgil, eyes glinting with interest. “So you’re saying the prolonged exposure to the modified dampers actually created this power? Fascinating!”

“What the fuck, Dad?” Logan spat out. “This isn’t some mere curiosity! This is someone’s life. You destroyed the psyched of a real, living, breathing kid and all you care about is what it means for your fucking research grant?”

“Logan, there’s no need for such language,” Portia chided. Virgil shot a glare in her direction. She looked back, eyebrow arched. “It’s just research.”

“Research that you’re going to stop, correct?” Logan asked.

“When we’ve just gotten confirmation of the biggest breakthrough to date?” she asked incredulously. "We’ll take more precautions going forward, of course, but by no means will we stop. That would be illogical.”

Blood pounded in Virgil’s ears. “I’m sorry, what? You’re going to keep going? Hell fucking no.”

Portia narrowed her eyes. “Virgil, be serious here. This is too important to let a tantrum get in the way.”

“Oh, you want a tantrum?” Virgil rumbled. He stood, bracing himself in a fighting stance. “Let me show you what a tantrum looks like.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not going to fight you,” Portia scoffed, though she stood too. She looked over at her son. “Either of you.”

“So you agree to end the program then? Because it’s one or the other,” Virgil snapped. He tapped his watch decisively. “The mayor is hearing about this. Now or never, Professor Polarity . End this madness, or get ready to see your precious EANSCs up close and personal for the foreseeable future.”

Portia’s metal hair tie popped out of her bun, letting her hair fall free as the tie flew into the air beside her. She lifted her hand, and a metal apparatus flew from the back bench to her grip. “Don’t be stupid, Virgil. I’m immune to it. It’s an electro magnetic field. You, however, aren’t so lucky.” She flicked a switch on the machine, bringing it to life. The familiar glow of dampers show out the front.

“I’m sorry, Lo!” Virgil shouted, and dove at Atticus, easily manhandling him and trapping him, one arm around his neck. “Don’t try it, Portia. I don’t need powers to be able to cut off his air. You turn that on me, you won’t like what happens.”

“You see, Logan?” Portia said, not turning as she scowled at Virgil. “You see what happens? Virgil’s spent so much time with those villains that he’s resorting to their tactics. It’s a contagion. This is why they can’t be forgiven. What reformation can there be, when their lack of morals spreads so?”

Logan was frozen, eyes flicking between his boyfriend, who had his father caught in an uncomfortable chokehold, and his mother, who was pointing a weapon at his boyfriend.

“You don’t exactly have the moral high ground here,” Virgil growled at the former hero. “Unless torturing a child is considered a virtue now.”

“Use it, Porsh!” Atticus rasped around Virgil’s arm. His fingers scrabbled to get a grip, but Virgil’s muscles were unmovable. “He’s bluffing!”

“Am I?” Virgil asked. “You said it yourself, I’m clearly infected by the influence of my other boyfriends. Who knows what I’m capable of, now? I know you love your experiments, but you just might want to not put this particular hypothesis to the test.”

Portia sneered, her face managing to look lovely even when twisted in scorn. “Atticus, dear. I love you very much. I apologize in advance if the max setting hurt you, too.” She aimed the damper squarely at Virgil and hit the switch.

Except she didn’t. And her arms were tied behind her back with pure rope, nothing metal. And the damper was secured in a plastic bin at the corner of the lab. And Logan was standing between his mother and his boyfriend, chest heaving.

“Mom,” he said, voice breaking. “How- how could you? Why?”

“I’m a hero, Logan,” she replied, as steadily as someone who'd just been bound by a family member could be. “I serve the greater good. I thought I’d taught you that, but clearly I failed.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, my love,” Atticus interjected. Virgil had released his neck, though he kept his arms twisted up behind his back. “We both tried. It turns out he wasn’t as much a Lancaster as we’d hoped.”

“Shut up,” Virgil snapped. “I’m tired of your bile, both of you.” He turned to the window, seeing the reflection of flashing lights.

Logan had his back to them all. Virgil saw the quiver in his shoulders and knew he was crying and trying to hide it. He quickly grabbed a stray zip tie and secured Atticus by the wrists to the lab bench. Then he crossed to Logan and wrapped his arms around him.

He didn’t speak. He just let Logan turn and cling to him, face buried in his chest.

Let it out, love. I’ll keep the world at bay.

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #265345 Classification: A.2.i [Secondary Tier Hero, Legacy] /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Do we update this? - Talyn /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Let’s archive this one. Save the legacy. We can record the truth in clearance for now. We can at least save Logan some heartache. - Joan Name: Professor Polarity Status: INACTIVE /////////Reason: Retired /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Reason: Jailed pending trial Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Portia Lancaster née Portia Price Affiliation: Hero ///////// H.A.T.C.H. Status: Blackout Only ///////// [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] H.A.T.C.H. Status: Inactive Partners/Sidekicks: DI#A-2305 - Forces of Nature Primary Foes: DI#265333 - The Mystic Magician; Powers: Magnetokinesis Costume: Jumpsuit patterned in red-and-blue rectangles; blue cape with Ampère model of a magnetic field; gold belt with a buckle in the shape of a horseshoe magnet Age: 54 Height: 5’6” Pronouns: She/Her H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘82 Note: Mother of DI#337255 - Dr. Vectorious; Co-inventor of the Enhanced Ability Neutralization and Stasis Chamber (EANSC) now in use at City of Harmony Enhanced Ability Containment Center (CHEACC). [Hall of Fame notes archived]. ///////// [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] As architect of the covert Project Charcoal, she attempted to discover a ‘cure’ that would strip supers of their abilities. Involved in reviving and creating DI#337501, see IR19-Z-0001

~~~~~~~~

a/n: It’s been over a year since I started this story, which is insane. So much has happened since I woke up with an idea of “what if royality were villains.” Thank you so much for reading and leaving kudos and commenting and particularly for theorizing. I’ve been in love with this idea, and knowing that anyone liked it too gave me incentive to finish it.

One last epilogue coming up. I promised the boys a happier ending.

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themenof--marvel · 5 years

Text

For Those We’ve Lost (Chapter 7)

Summary: It’s been more than a decade since Tony Stark and his daughter have made eye contact, or any contact for that matter. With the ever-looming threat of disaster and loss haunting Tony, and with the new Avengers Headquarters completed, maybe there was a chance for him to find a sliver of happiness in his lost family. After living in the shadows for so long, will his estranged daughter be willing to reunite? Will she even have a choice when she’s thrown into the chaotic world of the Avengers? Perhaps they both stand to gain more from this overdue reunion.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Daughter Reader

Warnings: none

**Non-canon storyline**

Taglist: sims-4-cc0707 @camu-winchester @xapham@just4muggles @aekr @sweetcarolinestudies @callie-bear15 @avengemepercy @phoenix-whiskey-tears @editsbyjenny ifyousayyouloveme @scarletmeii @hailqueenconquer @spaghettirogers @colie87 @strangemaximoff @onceuponagleepottermindlock

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Y/N grasped the marble-finished countertop, desperate for balance as her vision became shaky. As she held onto the edge, she noticed movement from the corner of her eye.

Her knees weakened and she began crouching towards the ground. Her grip gave way to rest on the floor. With her back against the supports of the table, she struggled to get her breathing to normalize. In front of her, her father appeared, worry plastered across his face. He began feeling her head for a fever before proceeding to test her pulse in her neck.

While she stared at him, unable to speak, her system displayed the surveillance pictures, one after the other, proving to her that she couldn’t trust anyone here.

Then, there was one image that appeared that stilled her breathing. It showed her, from her graduation from Cornell University. In the image, she was grinning, dressed in the classic graduation gown and cap. She stood opposite one of her teachers, grasping her certificate in her hands. She wondered if he was actually there, or if she really stood that perfectly in plain view of the school’s cameras.

That picture arose something in her that she fought back since the previous evening: rage. Her pulse maintained its elevated rate, but her senses returned. She was once more in full control of her movements.

She moved her legs below, ready to rise. Tony rested a gentle, but firm hand on her shoulder, advising her against trying to stand. With one swift motion, she removed his grip, not wanting him anywhere near her.

“You okay, Y/N?” Bucky asked, concern showing plainly. “That looked rough.”

Finding her voice, she replied, “I’m fine, thank you.” She felt sturdy on her feet, but she couldn’t meet Tony’s worried gaze.

“Maybe you should have some water,” Steve offered, motioning to the sink opposite the coffee station.

She shook her head. “No, I'm fine, really.”

“Does that happen often?” Tony asked, taking a cautious step towards her.

On instinct, she stepped away. The movement was not missed by anyone; they knew she was uncomfortable.

“Perhaps we should end the tour there for today,” Tony said, glancing at the others.

“I’d like to leave,” Y/N muttered, glancing at the stairs behind her father.

Tony nodded and said, “I’ll let Happy know.” Just as Tony turned to leave, he stopped suddenly. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, he rounded and stomped over to her. Looking her directly in her eyes, where not even she could look away, his concerned turned into annoyance. “You know, I didn’t think it was going to be this challenging to get you to at least talk to me. If being in the same room with me is so difficult, then you can return to hiding away in your apartment, taking up whatever pity jobs you can find.”

She glared right back at him. Ignoring his insult, she questioned, “Were you there, at Cornell?”

Tony immediately knew to what she was referring; her graduation ceremony. He admitted, “No, but I sent Happy. He was more than willing to go.”

She scoffed, believing the validity of the statement. “Of course, he was; he was willing to be much more of a parental figure than you were ever capable of being.”

The words stung Tony, but he couldn’t counter it; an absent father was all they had to show for their family history. “That’s why I want to make things better, get to know who you’ve become.”

After a beat of silence, Y/N responded. “It’s never going to be the same, you know. I’m not some kid you can move around as you see fit.”

He nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. “You’re your own person, I know. You even made your own Jarvis, which I have yet to figure out how you did that.”

She smirked and replied, “I’ve already broken into Jarvis, again.” As though confirming her truth, Jarvis’ voice sounded through the speakers above. “That’s right, Sir. They’re holding me hostage again.”

“Do you still want to leave, or do you want to see the lab first?”

“It’s a really neat lab,” Steve offered.

Both Starks turned to Steve, almost forgetting that the two soldiers were still around.

“Let’s see how impressive it is, then,” Y/N decided.

Tony nodded and turned, leading the way out of the lounge area.

The lab was better than anything she could’ve imagined. There was tech stuff everywhere she looked and she was ready to explore. The more she saw, the more she felt drawn to the room. She felt like she could spend night after night there, letting herself just….create. Even the software on her arm reacted, itching to play.

Tony stood back, watching his daughter stare in awe at the lab he created. From what Happy told him, Y/N seemed to appreciate technology just as much as Tony. Watching her internally fangirl over the room was more than enough to convince him that he made the right choice in bringing her here.

Steve and Bucky excused themselves, retreating to their own rooms.

As though forgetting that her father was still there, Y/N moved to the far end of the room, heading directly for a back-wall of holographic systems that were calling for her. The moment her hand rose to touch the design, it reacted, showing a screen pop-up of security cameras throughout the room.

With swipes of her fingertips, different camera screens could be re-arranged and manipulated. She smiled like a child experiencing cotton candy for the first time. She always knew that tech like this existed, but she preferred to stick with the old-school physical computers for her work.

“Sir, Y/N’s system is requesting access to the mainframe. Shall I oblige?” Jarvis’ voice rang throughout the room, causing Y/N to jump in shock.

She met her father’s eyes, as he asked her, “Requesting access now? Why not just break in like you did before?”

She shrugged slightly and replied, “Perhaps it’s tired of sneaking around.”

Tony scoffed and averted his eyes. “Let it in, Jarvis. We have nothing to hide.”

Static reverberated across the holographic screens until it settled to shine brighter than it was before. Y/N stared at the screens, wondering how she should treat her system now.

Just as she was attempting to control it, words appeared on the screen. Hello, Y/N. What would you like me to find out?

Her eyes widened, and the first thing she thought of, she replied out loud, “How do I give you a voice, like Jarvis? It would be easier to just talk to you rather than relay everything to you telepathically.”

After a beat, the words appeared on the screen. I’ll see what I can do.

Tony moved to stand right next to his daughter, as he sounded, “Using my tech to configure your own creation?”

“Isn’t that what outsourcing is about?” she replied, glancing at her father with a smirk.

As she waited for her software to notify her of the progress, she let herself escape in her thoughts. Standing next to her father, after more than a decade, bonding over software development, felt...real.

Of course, she knew it was real, but it felt like achieving something she only previously imagine. He was here and he seemed to actually want her in his life. Her heart said that she should remain guarded, but bit by bit, she yearned to be wanted. She was grown up, able to support herself, but the only missing ingredient was a family.

Did she really want to jump right back into the madness of being a Stark, especially now that his family extended into including the Avengers?

Before her mind could decide, her software popped back up on the screen. Male of female voice, Y/N?

She opted for female.

Right away, it reflected.

“How is it doing that?” Tony voiced.

Jarvis was quick to respond. “It’s taking my coding for speech and interpretation. The lines are being manipulated to suit Miss Stark and her past communication patterns.”

Below his breath, Tony muttered, “Impressive.”

After another couple of minutes, a female voice rang out, startling everyone. “Hello, Y/N. I can now officially speak to you.”

“H-how?” Y/N asked, truly at a loss for this possibility.

“’I’ve implanted my coding into the mainframe of Stark Technologies. Whenever you are here, we can speak like this.”

“What about everywhere else?”

“I trust you don’t want to seem unstable to others, so we will return to mental communication.”

Y/N nodded, adjusting quickly.

“As my creator, shouldn’t I have a name, by now?”

This time, Tony turned to her. “You haven’t named it yet?”

She shrugged in defense. “I didn’t have a good enough name for it.”

Tony scoffed and said, “Well, now’s as good a time as any.”

“What do you think you should be called?” Y/N asked, facing the screen.

After a moment of silence, the software voiced, “What about Skye?”

She thought it over, and questioned, “Why that name?”.

The response came immediately. “That’s what you called your imaginary friend when you were 6.”

Y/N balked at the statement, feeling the momentary sense of embarrassment. Tony sniffed silently, and said, “I remember that. You begged me to make a watch for your friend one Christmas. It was cute.”

It suddenly became obvious to her why she fashioned her greatest creation after a wrist accessory. All she ever wanted was to have a someone with her so she wouldn’t have to feel lonely and abandoned.

She took a deep breath and announced, “Skye it is, then.”

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #Avengers #avengers fanfiction #tony stark #original story #stark daughter #stark!daughter #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader

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fanforthefics · 5 years

Note

Ooh Sid Geno No 15 - meeting at A&E?! (In honour of my clumsy self who spent yesterday afternoon getting X-rays after falling and having to go to the ER!!)

The first time Sidney comes into the emergency room, Geno doesn’t think much of it. He’s busy, because emergency rooms in metro centers always are; he doesn’t have time to spend long on each patient. Especially not ones where the problem is pretty simple–hard hit to the arm, doesn’t look broken, splint and go. Geno pings last name Crosby first name Sidney 26 year old male oh huh he’s attractive and sort of familiar-looking and nothing else; Geno has to deal with a heart attack and someone with something he won’t say up his butt, he doesn’t have time for this.

Not much more pings the second time–gash on his leg, needs stitches. Or the next–hit to the head, no concussion. Every time Sidney’s polite and helpful if distant and the kind of guy that Geno very much suspects is not actually resting like Geno tells him too. But once they leave his ER, that’s not Geno’s problem. Geno just patches them back up.

When Sidney comes in for the sixth time in three weeks, though–and that’s just when Geno’s on shift–Geno starts to notice. They get repeat customers sometimes, generally paranoid mothers with accident prone kids and elderly people who legitimately need it, but they don’t tend to be men in their mid-20s who looks like they could benchpress Geno, and not people who come in with these sorts of physical injuries that generally come from being hit.

“You know,” he says carefully, the next time Sidney comes in–a strain in his knee–and he’s finished with the x-rays to confirm it’s not serious. “Can’t help notice, you in here a lot.”

Sidney laughs. His smile is bright and easy and a little crooked. Geno looks, but he can’t see any lie in it. “Yeah, well. Shit happens, you know?”

“Yes, it happen.” This would be hard enough in Russian, let alone English. “But, it not always your fault, when things happen.” That gets him a shrug.

“Oh, yeah, I know. I sort of have it coming sometimes, but, you know. It’s always what’s happened, I’m used to.”

“That not mean you have to keep doing.”

Sidney’s jaw juts out. “Yes I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Geno tries to be gentle. “Is–can always get out, yes? Not have to stay where get hurt. Can–break up, can leave. We have help, resources–can call police–”

Sidney is laughing, big and graceless and charming. “Am serious,” Geno protests, trying to keep his cool. “Is serious. If someone hurting you, not care if you love, you should–”

“It’s not that,” Sidney cuts him off. “Thank you for your concern,” he goes on, sounding like he means that. “But I’m not being abused. I just play hockey.”

“Hockey?” Geno echoes. He hasn’t paid much attention to hockey in his new town, not since he moved to the US and started med school. But that does explain a lot. “Your beer league this violent?”

Sidney, inexplicably, goes a little red, but he laughs again. “No, um. I don’t play beer league.”

“You–” Suddenly, it connects. Why Sidney’s so familiar. Where Geno’s seen his face before–on the billboard coming into town, a hundred times bigger than life. “You in NHL.”

Sidney looks oddly pleased. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have own doctors?” Geno demands. They have experts on this.

Sidney shrugs. “We’re locked out, so I don’t have access to them.”

“So you come here? I’m second year!” God, and he’d been treating–this guy was on a billboard. How much was his arms worth? And Geno had just been–

“Well I’m all in one piece, so I think we’re fine.” Sidney hops off the table. Geno’s still staring. That explains the whole-built like a tank thing. Sidney takes a step foward, puts his hand on Geno’s forearm–an easy, unthreatening touch. “I’ve seen a lot of doctors, Dr. Malkin,” Sidney says, his voice sure and soothing. “You’re a good one, trust me.”

GEno blinks. “Of course I’m good,” He says, weakly, and Sidney laughs again.

“Good. Well, I’ll see you later,” he says, and tips his baseball hat to Geno.

“Hope not!” Geno calls after him. Then he sits down for a second before his pager goes off again and he has to run.

Geno googles Sidney as soon as he’s gotten off shift and slept for ten hours. It feels a little intrusive, but–his face is on a billboard, he must understand.

And then Geno sees the results, and–well, he’s pretty sure Sidney definitely understands.

“You not just play hockey,” Geno tells him accusatorially, when Sidney is in a week later with another twinge in his shoulder. Geno does not envy trainers’ their jobs. “You–you best hockey player.”

Sidney, charmingly, blushes. “That’s an exaggeration,” he chuckles. “You looked me up?”

“I’m curious,” Geno tells him. He takes Sidney’s arm, starts to rotate it in the socket. “Tell me when hurts. No lying, no hockey pain tolerance. Just when hurts.”

“Okay,” Sidney agrees, sounding mainly like he’s humoring Geno. He lets Geno rotate his arm.

“And you should be rest, anyway,” Geno goes on. He’d seen plenty, in the google rabbit hole he’d fallen down last night. “Concussion for over a year? You should take time to rest, now you have it.”

That gets him a look that’s steely-eyed beneath Sidney’s affable smile. “I just got hockey back,” he says. “I’m not letting anyone take it from me again.”

“Is not take, is–”

“I won’t,” Sidney repeats, and Geno remembers the look he’d seen on some tape, when Sidney stared down a game and willed it his way. “Anyway, I was cleared. My head’s fine.” He smiles wryly at Geno. “Though it’s nice of you to worry, too.”

“I”m not worry,” Geno mutters. “Just like Pittsburgh, want win another Cup.”

“You and me both,” Sidney laughs, then–”Oh. That. That hurt.”

“Yeah?” Geno confirms, and starts to really examine him.

Sidney keeps coming in, off and on, for the next months–as the lockout continues, Geno figures. He sometimes sees images in what he definitely isn’t skimming for news of Sidney of Sidney in suits talking to the commissioner, making statements. It’s a far cry from the guy he gets, generally in sweatpants and a t-shirt and his baseball cap. That’s his excuse for why he didn’t figure it out earlier, he tells everyone at the hospital who apparently think he’s an idiot; he never saw Sidney in the waiting room, signing everything in sight.

Sometimes Sid comes in once or twice a week, in what Geno calls good sense and he calls an overabundance of caution. Sometimes it’ll go weeks without seeing him, and Geno doesn’t let himself be disappointed. Once or twice he comes in with someone else–all big burly guys, with hockey players’ broken noses and way of roughhousing.

It’s–Geno’s not saying he looks forward to it, because Sidney coming in means Sidney’s hurt, and he’s quickly determining that he’s not fond of that–the few times when Sidney’s face actually tightens with pain, when his breath goes harsh and Geno can see his knuckles curve on the edge of the table. But Sidney’s not at all what Geno would have expected a hockey star to be like–he’s nice and straightforward and kind and he listens like no one else Geno’s ever met, until somehow during examinations Geno’s the one talking, about moving to the US from Russia, about med school and the grueling shifts of residency and how hard it is sometimes to see all the disasters that can happen to a person. Sidney listens, and Geno knows he really listens because he always asks about it, that time or the next time or a few weeks later. Sidney, Geno can see very clearly, is a very good captain. And probably a very good friend, or more.

Then–Geno flips through the news when he wakes up, and there it is. The lockout’s over, and the NHL is starting again. There’s a picture of Sidney right there in the first Google images, grinning like he’s never heard anything better.

Geno takes a long breath, then goes to get ready for work. It was–this will have been a cool interlude to tell his co-workers about, the times he met Sidney Crosby. Sidney will start going back to his trainers, and Geno will have other patients. Geno’s going to miss him, but in all the ways you can lose a patient, this is probably the best.

He’s at the nurse’s station, checking in on what’s happening, when one of the administrators taps his shoulder. “This was delivered here for you,” she says, handing him an envelope.

Geno takes it, rips it open. Three pieces of paper fall out–two tickets and a note. Geno lets the tickets lie for a second for the note.

Thanks for taking care of me all this time, it reads, No pressure, and I know it’s not the same, but I wanted to give you something. If this time doesn’t work with your shifts, call and let the office know, they’ll find a game that will -Sid

They’re rinkside seats, Geno realizes, looking at the tickets. That’s–some thanks for Geno doing his job.

He flips one over. On the back of it, in the same handwriting–if you want to come, stop by the locker room after, Sidney–Sid–has written. I want to hear more about Jeffrey.

Geno smiles, and slips the tickets and the note into the inner pocket of his scrubs. He–

His pager buzzes at his hip, and he jerks to standing, checking the code and taking off at a run towards the next emergency.

#pens fic #pens tumblr fic #(Sid also donated a lot of money to the children's wing because Geno was saying that it needed improvements #but Geno doesn't know about that until later)#Anonymous #izzy answers #my fic

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 4 years

Text

Devil’s Trust pt5

Warnings: Strong language, Moblord styling warlords.

Masterlist

—

Chapter 5

“No not at all I completely understand. Thank you for your time.” His phone had not stopped. It was either the vultures from the media, some of the companies connected to him or direct calls from the other factions wanting something. His head swam with explanations, confirmations and renegotiation meetings. This was a show of professionalism. He was not proud of his little display in the meeting with the others but he was composed now. At least he had been right up until that last call. “God Dammit!” He ripped the line free of the wall and tossed the entire contraption clear across the floor of his office. The plastic shattered and splintered as it came in contact with the polished wood flooring. Why was this happening? Since when did he have to bargain in his own territory? Why?

“My-my, there’s a sight you don’t see every day.” Mitsuhide appeared like an apparition in the room. He hadn’t heard him arrive or even seen him venture in. “Were you planning on conducting semaphore when the next person tried to contact you or were, we going to try Morse code?”

“You seem to be taking delight in this.” Nobunaga growled. He felt it as his voice rumbled in his throat. That familiar paranoia he had from a child. The one that had him keenly aware of the knives posed at his back waiting for the curtain to fall on his Caesar.

“Is that what it looks like?” Mitsuhide collected the broken phone from the floor and placed it back on the desk. It was a tangled mess and he couldn’t quite shift the idea that it was strangely symbolic of the man who had thrown it.

“Why are you here?” The intimidating look was firmly locked in place and he could already feel his patience lacking.

“They are worried.” Mitsuhide sat down in the chair opposite as if he had been invited. “That was quite the show after all.”

“It is all in hand.” Nobunaga schooled his face so it was as blank as possible. Oh, dear my old friend. Try as you might you simply cannot kill the emotion in your eyes. That is a trick very few have mastered.

“Come now you might be able to sell that kind of BS to someone like Hideyoshi but it isn’t going to wash with me.” Mitsuhide calmly brushed aside Nobu’s attempt to blindside him. He had no idea really the extent to what was going on in the guys head but he was damned if he was going to just sit back and wait for the tinder to catch light. He had had his fingers burnt once by this man as he blindly followed. Now, he was determined to do something a bit more proactive. “What do you need?”

“Information. Shingen is painfully slow when it comes to gathering anything I can use and then the parts I am given are dead ends.” Nobunaga waved his hand at the pile of papers on the desk and overflowing bin on the floor.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Mitsuhide’s body language was unreadable but his voice held the question like a viper poised to strike if need be.

“You were busy playing house.” Nobunaga tossed out his jibe caring little for its implied malice.

“Is that the only reason? This isn’t like you. What happened to the man who had all bases covered and everything tied up in a pretty bow?” Mitsuhide pushed.

“It’s difficult to cover bases when you don’t even know what you are supposed to be protecting against.” Nobunaga complained crumpling up yet another piece of paper and tossing it like a sportsman in the general direction of the rest, giving little care as to if it hit the mark or not.

“I’ll see what I can find out.” Mitsuhide stood up and adjusted his jacket so it was closed, hiding the holster on his side. This was far from a comfortable confrontation but at least he had a slightly better idea of what he was dealing with. Arrogance and ego any one of them is enough to bring down someone. But anger? Now that just makes you sloppy. “I’ll send up a replacement phone while I’m at it.”

Nobunaga watched as Mitsuhide left the room. That breezy attitude and relaxed composure irritated him. He pulled out his mobile and hammered out a text. “The Birdcage eight sharp, don’t keep me waiting this time.”

---

“Morning [Name]” The cheerful voice of one of the girls from the secretarial pool called out as [Name] stepped foot off the elevator.

“Grace? Morning.” [Name] smiled and gave a little wave back as the other woman came closer. Grace was the poster child for whatever average was. It was something that had struck [Name] since they first met and it was in no way meant as a slight on the woman. In fact, it was her averageness that was the source of some envious thoughts when [Name] was cursing her life on the run. How nice it would be to just be so blendable, that you could fit in no matter where you were and not stand out? What’s that old saying? You always want what you don’t have?

There was something enjoyable about lacklustre methodical daily grind after everything that had happened. The time off had been a somewhat forced experience when the office manager found out about the church thing.

Apparently, it had made it to the local news despite the police attempting to shut it down before it went that far. They insisted she take time off, claiming she might be suffering from some sort of delayed stress and trauma. Mitsuhide had been the one to encourage her to agree with it. It was going to take time for the dust to settle and apparently things weren’t as resolved as they seemed.

He needed time to make things secure for her and she had been a little worried he might attempt to send her to her father. He knew the connection. At least he knew the fact that she was connected to the other family and her father was involved but he didn’t seem to want to dig for further detail and the matter was dropped. It seemed that despite their efforts to improve communication there were still problems with how much they could share with each other.

“Hey, didn’t you just move in with your boyfriend? You don’t get to look like that so soon.” Her friend extended her hand and prodded the small creases that had formed on her forehead.

It always felt a little strange to her that she was able to have this kind of friendship even if it was only a work thing. She had spent most of her life distancing herself from others in case she had to leave in a hurry and too many connections made that kind of thing messy. But Grace had been different. They started at the company around the same time. Both new to the area and she was at least grateful that Grace seemed like the kind of person who was happy to just keep to themselves. They never pushed for more information than was given but they were always willing to just hang you and drink if you needed company.

During the whole funeral thing with Mitsuhide, Grace had proved to be an honest to good friend and pestered [Name] enough to keep her going. Bringing in packed meals, making tea and coffee. It didn’t seem like much but in the closed-off isolation [Name] had felt as she locked herself away from the rest of the world during grieving it had been a source of warmth, she was thankful for. Part of her always felt a little guilty that even now outside of work there was nothing more to their friendship than spoken greetings on the street.

“Sorry guess I’m just tired.” [Name] recoiled a little and gave a chagrined smile.

“No rubbing it in my lonely single gal face either!” The girl huffed putting her hands on her hips and backed up her show of offence with a rather unconvincing angry look.

“Ha-ha, I wasn’t!” [Name] chuckled. She had missed this. Simple interactions, conversations with no real substance. Just friendly banter.

“Yeah well, I’ll let you buy me lunch to apologise.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” [Name] smiled knowing this was probably the start of a long lunch that probably involved a drink of some sort.

“Yep cos I’m all kinds of generous like that. Well, I better get back to the fourth floor. Heaven forbid someone has to make their own coffee.” Clasping a hand on [Name]’s shoulder her friend gave a wink before stepping past and getting on the elevator.

[Name] took her seat behind her desk the grey felt-covered walls of her cubicle blocking out the rest of the office. So, this is what normal feels like huh? The phone rang as soon as the time on the wall shifted to office hours. Switchboards were lighting up, trading had started.

“Hello thank you for your call to us today my name is [Name] how may I help you?”

---

The heavy curtain was pulled aside allowing access to the main door. The silence from the entranceway became engulfed by the melodious sounds of the in-house live band as they played soft jazz music that was the usual ambient tone when performers were not on stage.

He hated the fact he was once more summoned although this time he at least had a mind as to what it was about. His eyes moved from each low-lit table and partly hidden seat as he walked towards the reserved section. Traders and dealers mixed with clientele from all walks of life. Shingen smiled to himself. No matter the day and age it’s those that trade in information that survive. The larger booths were positioned close enough to the stage you were not easily overheard by eavesdroppers. At least this time I get a better view. So many beauties here tonight, what a pity this is work.

Shingen slid into the seating, the padded leather moulded around him making the booth feel even more intimate. There was still five minutes before their agreed upon time and he took the opportunity to grab a waitress and place a drinks order. His plunged his hand into the lining of his jacket and retrieved a folded set of papers. The fruits of his labours as he looked into the affairs of the offending competition. Returning a few minutes later she placed a shot glass and tall slender bottle dusted with a light frost to it on the table.

“Dry Martini”

The waitress turned with an affirmable smile and gave a slight bow to Nobu before returning to the bar to fetch his order.

“Well hello to you too.” Shingen welcomed the other man as he poured his own drink. His hand melted the chilled coated on the bottle and the black spirit swirled in the shot glass like an inky pool before he tossed it back in one straight shot down his gullet. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be nicer to the staff.”

“I’m not here to socialise.” Nobunaga popped the buttons on his jacket the hilt of his flashy piece of weaponry glinting in the candlelight before taking a seat. “What did you find?”

“Straight down to business then.” Shingen sighed and downed another shot, the astringent sweet liquid coating his mouth before he handed over the papers. “Here. From what I can tell Esshu is now being run as a form of conglomerate venture.”

“Conglomerate?” Nobunaga quirked a brow glancing at Shingen before reading the documents.

“You said you were hitting a wall trying to find the new head? Well, this is probably why. The board of directors appear to be the ones calling the shots for the business now.” Shingen calmly outlined the highlights of his findings as he continued to drink.

“So, they are all collaborating in order to prevent the business from folding? That’s not something I wanted to hear.” Nobunaga nodded as he read. Even in the subdued lighting, it was easy to see the agitation in the man. The same displace of unrest in the man that had been present at the meeting in HQ was still there days later.

“Well, we can’t all get things nicely tied up in a neat little package. You asked for information I found it.” Shingen’s snarky reply didn’t so much add fuel to the fire but it did give him some pleasure. Seeing the usually composed devil give a show of uninhibited raw emotion was gratifying. “So, what now?”

“I need to think. I now have multiple targets at the same source but something is bugging me with it all.” Nobu folded up the papers and placed them inside his own jacket before picking up his martini and draining it in one go. Making a mental note to gain a second opinion in order to gain a little peace of mind.

“Oh?” Shingen raised his brow at the reaction he hadn’t exactly been expecting. Then again if the man before him was more predictable perhaps their previous game might have ended differently.

“Why go to such lengths for a dead in the water company?” Nobu was referring to the other pages in the report. The ones that showed the financial records. Something about them looked familiar and flashed like a warning signal to him.

“People do a lot to keep their own jobs and livelihoods.” Shingen shrugged wondering what the devil had seen that he hadn’t.

It was true. People had the uncanny ability to do things in order to protect what they had. Some were smart, a lot were reckless, and then there were the moves that shouldn’t have been possibly and yet by some miracle succeeded. The question here was which one was it? The company was floundering just as he thought it should be. It was weakened just as he expected it to be. The Beast had lost its head and it was dying. So why keep going? To what purpose was the drum still pounding out its beat in the darkness?

“Maybe.”

---

– Buzz, Buzz –

A quiet room devoid of light became a little livelier as a call to a mobile rang out. The vibrations rattled it against the hard surface of the desk and the screen displayed the incoming call. The device fell silent as it remained unanswered. A few seconds later a different notification came to the phone. A simple text…

“The first move is in play”

---

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timcisdcad · 4 years

Text

Solo Para: Things Are Gonna Get Weird

"There you go, firecracker," Bill remarks to his daughter as Marella pulls back to glance at the eye she'd carved into a post. "That'll serve you better if we ever get out of here, but your technique is perfect."

Marella turns with a smile. "I've been working on it."

"I know," her father answers with a smirk, and Marella chuckles and rolls her eyes as he throws an arm around her shoulders. "Now, let's get going. We have so much more to take care of today still."

Not really, but sure. After another couple hours, they're finally out of the market and heading back to the little place they called home. Not much of a home, really not much more than a couple rooms atop a much larger building that was only accessible from one door directly outside it and necessitating a lot of rooftop climbing, but it was a shelter and a place to talk in private.

Nobody bothered the Ciphers but if they did, it was impossible to sneak up on them at home. Most people didn't even know where it was. So Marella was pleased with just a pretty, torn purple curtain door in the entry, she thought it added character and her dad didn't complain much. Once they get inside, she sets their gains of the day on the rickety, three-legged table they'd propped against a wall, ensuring it remains balanced. "So, one thing I've never gotten. How're you so sure that we'll ever get out of here?"

"I just know," comes the usual answer and Marella can feel the mischievous 'I know something but I'm not telling you what' glint in his eyes with her back turned to him. "Do you need to work harder in your concentration sessions?"

"Ugh," is her response. He makes her spend a couple hours everyday after school (even when she doesn't go he lets her wait till the end of the regular school day) practicing 'concentration' of... her energy, she supposes is a good way of putting it. Her power.

It's strange, but sometimes she swears he's onto something, because it's like she feels something there, in her, but... it always goes away before she can grasp it and fully form it. Shaking her head, Marella continues. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Have you ever wondered how they did it?"

"Stop answering questions with questions," Marella sighs as she pulls a bruised apple out of their groceries and tosses it over her shoulder at him. No thump-- be it to the floor or his head-- signals to her that he caught it, of course.

"Fine. I meant, how Auradon managed to change my form and trap someone like me under a barrier that renders me pretty well powerless."

"Gravity Falls kept you and Weirdmageddon in a bubble," she comments offhandedly, finally turning and glancing partially over her shoulder. "So, no."

"Ouch, right through the heart," Bill melodramatically clutches his chest.

"You have no heart," she scoffs, "So what's your point exactly?"

He laughs a bit at that and shakes his head. "You're smarter than that, firecracker. Think back."

Marella runs through their conversation, pausing as she considers one of his phrases and her eyebrows furrow, finally turning to fully face him with the next question. "Wait. You said 'pretty well' powerless. There's no way you're telling me-- Hades and Chernabog are--"

"Chernabog isn't powerless, otherwise we wouldn't have a little squadron of his brats running around," he reminds her, and she pauses because he's right, and then he continues, "Hades was never exactly strong to begin with, but the weakened faith system in deities since Auradon came together rendered him useless when the barrier came down. I may not be at full strength, but I'm by no means dead in the water. I, my dear, remain a being of pure power. Something not even Auradon can control."

"So, why did you let this happen?" Marella asks, rhetorically because she knows he's not going to answer, and of course, he doesn't. Just turns back to putting away the things they'd gotten today at the market and leaving her to think on it.

And she finally has the answer when she comes to visit him today in rehab. "So, you like it here?"

Slightly coded phrasing, it sounds and looks like a concerned daughter seeing how her dad is doing, but they've worked out a system to keep from being listened in on since she was a kid, and he knew what she was really saying. Her dad smirks and sits upright in his seat across the table from her, leaning forward. A confirmation of her theory. "Does anyone like a cage?"

"I'm sure you learn something new everyday." Marella mirrors his posture. "It seems like a lot of folks around here know what they're doing, and routines make it easy not to worry about their processes and all."

"Sure, but I'm keeping an eye out," he answers, confirming her next theory. "There's always weak spots in any armor. It just takes knowing when to exploit them."

"Good luck, dad. I mean, who knows what they're learning too, outside here?"

"Only one way to find that out."

Their conversation continues but Marella files away her mental notes. Auradon got their hands on dad because he let them. They have him right where he wants to be, because he can learn more about their magic's strengths and weaknesses from the inside. He can adapt to it if he can figure it out. And he's already strong enough that he has the full use of his eyes again.

#a wild one with an angel's face: marella #i see everything!: solo para

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quillsareswords · 6 years

Text

Smoke I | Roots of a Dead Tree

SUMMARY: After vanishing for five years, you return to the place you once called home, to the people you once called family. We all carry our baggage in different ways, using different techniques to hide it. You just happen to hide it in cigarette smoke.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Taking up Tim’s invitation, you revisit some of your old roots, but some of your suspicions are confirmed when you find that some of the branches on your metaphorical tree of history haven’t been in bloom for a long time.

SERIES WARNINGS: cigarette smoking; underage drinking; gang activity; violence; swearing; blood; self-hate

MASTER LISTS in BIO

The Manor is just as intimidating as you remember.

In the narrow few weeks you’ve been back, you’ve thought about making the drive a thousand times. You doubted your access code would still open the gate, and you know they’d see you on the cameras, but you just wanted to see it. This place was a second home to you for years. It was somewhere you used to belong. It’s a feeling you’ve been chasing for a few months, now.

Yet, here you are at last, staring up at the expensive architecture through your windshield, and you can’t will yourself to open your car door.

Tim’s been watching you eye the doors apprehensively for forty-five seconds. He must understand, because he’s letting you sit here and make a fool of yourself with nothing but patience. It’s good to know that not everyone is holding a grudge.

“If you want to change your mind, now’s the time,” he says wisely.

You lean back in your seat and stare blankly at the cement drive that bends around the fountain you’re parked near. It’s already been turned off, this late into the year. Now’s the time.

“Do you really think he’ll be okay with this?” Your voice has no bite. It’s all pliant and anxious.

Tim doesn’t answer right away. Technically, he doesn’t answer the question at all. “He probably won’t even show up. He skips it most of the time. He moved out last year, so he only really comes over for patrol and when Dick’s in town.”

You fidget with the peeling leather binding on the wheel. “Didn’t you say that Dick’s here now?” You cock an eyebrow.

Tim waves his hand. “Yeah, but Damian was over yesterday. He can only take so much of us, ya know.” He’s smiling at his own joke, and you try to do the same.

“Right, right.” You still don’t sound convinced.

Tim turns in his seat to face you fully. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to. If anybody even sees you out here, I’ll just tell ‘em you were an Uber or something. If you do come in, you don’t even have to stay the whole time. Just pop in and say hi.” He pauses, like he isn’t sure if he should continue or not. “Everybody missed you.”

You roll your knuckles, gaze bouncing between Tim’s honest face and the thick double doors you used to have a key to.

“Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Okay. Fine. Just for a few minutes, and only for Alfred’s cooking.”

He grins just as he turns away to shove the door open.

You follow him up to the door with wide strides, hands stuffed into the pocket of the exhausted leather jacket you probably should have retired a long time ago. You can’t help the anxiety twisting like rubber knives in your stomach while Tim unlocks the door.

It smells the same. Memories flood back all at once, coming over after school, visiting for dinner, staying over after a late-night showing. Alfred always picks the best candles to burn in the foyer, always a lovely mix of homey and classy. Something rich, but not too sweet. You never know what it is, aside from it simply being the way the manor smells.

“Tim? That you?”

You already know it’s Dick. He sounds like he’s in the parlor adjacent to the kitchen as you follow Tim farther into the home.

“Yeah,” he yells back, and it bounces off of tall ceilings, “and I brought company!”

You can hear the couch creaking with the way Dick all but leaps from it. You grin, because you know exactly what’s coming.

One of the oak doors swings open and out pops a mop of over-grown black hair. You wonder distantly if the Bludhaven Police Department lets him work like that, or if he’s working somewhere else.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. His eyes are nearly bulging out of his head. “There’s no way!” He calls your name somewhere between a question and a realization.

You fake a glare. “Well who else would I be?”

He crosses the hall quickly, arms outstretched like a warning you don’t really need. And just as you remember, his hug squeezes the breath out of you. “It’s been so long!” He laughs, lifting your feet from the floor before he lets you fall back to it. You suck in a breathy laugh as his hands meet your shoulders. “Look at you! You’re all grown up!”

You chuckle. “Just about, yeah. And look at you, twice as many gray hairs as when I left.”

His smile drops comically into a scowl. “And you haven’t outgrown that attitude.”

“Damn right,” you wink.

“Who did Tim bring?”

You catch Bruce’s eyes over Dick’s shoulder. He must’ve come from work not long ago, because he’s still standing in a day’s worn suit. All business, as always. You smile at him.

Dick repeats your name excitedly, grinning at Bruce like Tim’s gone and brought a puppy home.

Bruce’s furrowed eyebrows melt into a warm smile. “Well, well, well.” He come down the hall the same way he imagine he paces his office at Wayne Enterprises: all slow deliberance and confidence. The hug, however you doubt is something he gives his co-workers. It’s not as bone-crushingly affectionate as Dick’s had been, or a friendly as Tim’s, but it’s that warm fatherly embrace you used to find familiar.

He doesn’t take you by the shoulders like Dick had, but he looks you over in the same manner. “It’s good to see you,” he says softly.

And suddenly, you don’t remember why you were so nervous in the first place.

It’s a much warmer greeting than you’d expected, to be honest. You’d thought for sure that they’d resent you just as you’re sure Damian does.

It dawns on you that he might not have told them the whole truth. They might not know.

“Will you be joining us for dinner?” Bruce offers up, stepping away from your personal space. “I’m sure Alfred has made enough for one more.”

You half-smile. “I don’t know, I don’t wanna get home too late–”

“She’s got a cat to get home to,” Tim interjects, very obviously sarcastic.

Dick makes a face. “Cats don’t care when you get home.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “So I’ve heard.”

“Come on,” Dick insists, “I wanna hear what’s kept you so busy all these years.”

Your heart leaps in your chest, trips a beat, and the falls flat on the floor.

What are you going to tell them?

Bruce sees your change in demeanor immediately—he says nothing.

“Really, I should probably be getting home. I’ve gotta stop for groceries, and um,” your eyes hit the floor for just a moment. Just a breath, to recompose yourself, as if three pairs of truth-finding eyes aren’t focused directly on you. “Besides, I don’t wanna intrude.”

Dick scoffs. “Come on, we all know you really came for Alfred’s cooking. Not that much changes in five years.”

You can’t help chuckling. And, now that you’re thinking about it, you can smell the baked chicken and penne pasta and three kinds of cheese from here.

You groan. “Oh god, alright, fine. Guess the jig’s up.” You laugh again when Dick pumps his fist. You really missed that big dope. “I’m gonna say hi to Alfie first, I’ll meet you in the smaller dining room?”

“You remember the way?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Not that much changes in five years.”

Alfred greets you much the same Bruce. All grandfatherly and look at how you’ve grown. You don’t think you’ve physically changed all that much since you were seventeen, but apparently you’re wrong. You’re glad Stephanie isn’t here—she’d probably pinch your cheeks.

You offer to help with the rest of dinner. You play it off as being courteous—like you aren’t dodging questions you know Alfred won’t ask.

You get so busy making small talk and shredding chicken, you don’t even hear the front door open.

There’s not much to do, and before you know it, you’re helping Alfred carry platters in to the dining room. It’s uncharacteristically quiet–

You almost drop the fucking mashed potatoes.

He’s sitting there, at the opposite end of the table from Bruce, staring Tim down murderously.

You swear your stomach physically falls a few inches, and the sensation forces bile into your throat. Fortunately, a knot is already forming there. One hard swallow and it seems like everything’s fine—well, aside from your heart, pounding viciously against your ribs.

It doesn’t help that age has been unfairly good to him. Though, looking at his father the pictures you’d seen of his mother, you should have expected him to age like whiskey. And he’s wearing that damn turtle neck with a gray sweater over it-

Your hands are shaking. It’s all too much at once, and then he looks at you.

It’s all dry hatred and bewilderment and something so dark and wild that you’re too cautious to think about it too hard. And you know dark and wild. You look it in the face once a month.

The moment the bowl of perfectly seasoned mashed potatoes is sat on the table, you spin around and make a slow break for the kitchen. You try so hard to look as casual as you can, but you’re verging on a breakdown and all you limbs feels stiff and is the room spinning?

Your pulse is thrumming in your ears. By the time you make it to the kitchen, you realize just how bad this could get.

This is exactly why you didn’t visit earlier.

You lean against the island, planting your hands on the countertop, spreading your fingers flat against the cool marble. You force yourself through breathing exercises handed down from your parents.

In.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Out.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Repeat.

It shouldn’t have sparked this kind of reaction. You would have been perfectly fine, if you’d been prepared for it. But you weren’t. You’d been caught completely off guard. You’ve handled worse than this. You’re better than this.

Alfred enters from the servers’ corridor. “Miss?”

You turn to him with a smile. “Just grabbing the wine,” you excuse, reaching blinding for the bottle he’d set down a few minutes ago.

“Please, allow me. Go and take a seat. You’ve been a great help.” Warm and kind as always, the bastard.

“Sure,“ you nod, “anytime.”

You could bolt. There’s a door in the servers’ passage that leads out to the main hall. Nobody would chase you, and certainly nobody could catch you.

But you know you won’t. You walk right past the door, even if you spare it a longing glance. You won’t, because there’s still a change of reconciliation. Maybe he’s cooled off, after all these years. Maybe he isn’t as spiteful as he once was. He’d mellowed out considerably in just the years you’d known him.

Maybe the rage in his eyes wasn’t directed at you. Maybe it was something else entirely, and he just didn’t have the time to school it before he turned to you.

Though part of you knows that’s not true, you slap it over the head and tell it to shut up.

You smile again when you reenter the dining room. It’s all limitless ceilings and velvety drapes; an inspiration to one of your best vampire costumes in eight grade.

You must have done a better job than you’d thought at hiding your near-heart attack earlier, because nobody seems suspicious. There are two empty seats between Dick and Tim, but you chose one of the several on the opposite side, closer to the door, one away from Bruce and three away from Damian.

You don’t look at him when you sit down. Which doesn’t matter anyway, seeing as he’s much more focused on his plate of Parmesan Alfredo, free of the chicken you scoop onto your own plate.

The tense silence blanketing the room like thick smoke doesn’t go unnoticed, but you try your best to pretend it does. Just like you used to pretend to know nothing about any of their night jobs.

“So,” Dick starts, throwing a glance toward Damian on his right, “how have you been?”

You stop shifting food around your plate. “Oh, you know. Pretty good.”

He gives you the chance to continue, but your gaze drops to your plate again. “Yeah? Where’ve you been? Do anything cool?”

You lose your appetite. “Not particularly.”

His smile falters. But, nobody else is making an effort at conversation. Not after Damian’s reaction. “Really? No cool zoos, or-”

Damian’s cutlery clatters when he sets his fork down too harshly. “Why are you here?”

You can’t help flinching at his tone. You just hope it was small enough that no one else saw it.

Truthfully, it isn’t really his tone, so angry and clipped, that bothers you. It’s the fact that for most of your life, it’s never been directed at you. And it’s all your fault.

“I told, I invited her,” Tim tries, but Damian starts over him.

“No, not here. Why are you in Gotham?”

“Damian,” Bruce starts, tone wrapped in caution tape and oozing some threat, as if his son if still a reprimandable teenager.

“What was so important that it dragged you all the way back here after all this time, hm?”

It would sting, the way he’s speaking to you. Making it so obvious he doesn’t want you here, doesn’t want anything to do with you. You wish it did. You wish it would sting like a papercut, even one soaked in lemon juice and hand sanitizer. You wish you didn’t know him so well.

But you do. You can still read him like tome spread open in the libraries of Alexandria, exposed only for your eyes. Because you don’t hear the anger of a man provoked, you hear the deafening scream of a boy betrayed. You hear all the things he means to ask, but refuses to be so vulnerable to utter.

Why wasn’t I important enough? What was so much more important than me? Why wasn’t I enough?

You have to look away. Because, yes, the glare he’s pinning you with could kill if you held it for too long, but it’s the hurt that tears a cavern through your chest and leaves you to bleed.

You want a cigarette. You want to be home. You wan to be back on the road, back at the Den, anywhere but here.

You shouldn’t be here.

His chair screeches against the wood as he stands. The napkin from his lap is balled up and thrown onto his plate, and off he storms.

If it were Junior year again, you’d be on your feet and hot on his heels. You’d also be on the other side of this, more than likely.

The room sweeps into silence in his wake. Dick twisted around in his chair to watch Damian stalk toward to the front door, Tim staring down at his plate, and Bruce staring ahead at a landscape paining on the far wall. Alfred stands stiffly in the doorway behind you, platter of wine glasses in hand.

The front door slams thunderously, and the entire manor stills. Not a sound is made for a long few minutes.

When you stand, your chair barely squeaks. “Think I’ll be going,” you mumble, voice soft as raw flesh, newly torn.

Bruce shakes his head slowly, “You don’t have to–”

You shake your head much faster. “No, no, he’s– He’s right. I shouldn’t have come.”

Dick pipes up, quietly, “At least finish your food.”

You wave dismissively. “I’m fine, really. I think it’s best i just, uh– Just get going.” You’re already skirting past Alfred. “It was really great to see you all. I’ll see you soon.” Liar.

Bruce tries to convince you again, but you completely ignore it. You pat yourself down for you keys, only to find them missing. Of course. If you have to walk back into that dinning room only to crawl around on the floor to find your means of escape, you might just die on the spot. You’ll check the kitchen first.

Thankfully, they’re waiting for you on the counter, beside the jack you draped over a barstool at the island when you came in to help cook.

You hear the floor creak behind you, another heartbeat entering the room. Your nostrils flare. Old books, crisps detergent, faint Pine-sol. It’s Alfred.

You don’t turn around.

The platter and the two empty glasses on it clink when he sets it down near the doorway; a pretty contrast to the soft sounds your jacket makes as you pull it on. You distract yourself with the poetry of the contrast, trying not to think too hard about anything that’d happened today. It echoed the difference between antiques and hand-me-downs; between a warm home and a cool mansion; the difference between Damian and you.

You feel Alfred’s hands press gently against the muscle of your back. He smooths your jacket out for you, as if you’re someone who really cares. He knows you don’t, but he figures it’s the best way he can offer you some reassuring contact. “Don’t think too hard on what Master Damian says,” he advises sagely. “You know how he is with his emotions. He just doesn’t know how to handle things he’s so close to.”

You let him pull your sleeves straight before he steps away. “I know. But I deserve it.”

You don’t give him the chance to object. You turn around, give him a quick hug, and then make for the door. “It was really great to see you again. I missed you.”

“We all missed you, as well.”

You can only give a tight smile.

And then you’re gone. You march straight out the front entrance, duck into your car, and make a break for the front gate.

When you stop at the bottom of the hill, waiting for the gates to open, you reach blindly for a cigarette box and a lighter.

#damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne

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kianraidelcam · 6 years

Link

Written for @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge! Thanks to @anonymous-idfk for the idea behind today’s prompt, “Glitching.” Full fic under the cut!

The first incident lasts 15 seconds.

Connor had been coaching Markus through negotiation tactics in light of their recent invitation to Washington D.C. when he freezes mid-sentence. His LED turns a solid crimson with no warning, his fingers tapping against his legs with no rhythm or purpose. His mouth slightly open and gaze blank, the RK800 suddenly becomes unresponsive to the world around him.

He doesn’t hear Markus calling his name.

He doesn’t feel Markus’ hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t notice when Markus tries to interface with him, only to be met with an error message.

He only notices that Markus is suddenly very close to him with a pressure on his shoulder, and the sentence he was continuing trails off, blinking once at the sudden change. “Markus?”

“Connor, are you okay,” the deviant leader's face is awash with concern that wasn't there a moment ago.

He's shaking his head, because of course he is, why wouldn't he be? He voices as much, and the concern transforms to disbelief, eyebrows furrowing. A quick scan tells Connor that Markus’ stress levels have jumped by 5% at his words, bringing it to a solid 20%. The RK200 was the leader of an entire, new intelligent species, navigating in a world where there was no solid precedent for their situation. His stress levels constantly fluctuated between 20% and 30% as a result. However, this week had been calm, and a sudden jump was near inexplicable. Had he received a message that Connor hadn’t? Had a glitch in Markus’ systems occurred?

“You were completely unresponsive for 15 seconds, Connor. Your LED was red and I couldn't connect with you.”

It's Connor's turn to be filled with disbelief. That wasn't right, all of his systems were nominal and his self-diagnostic last night proved it. Then again, he couldn't recall when Markus had gotten so close. He glances at the hand on his shoulder, which the older android suddenly pulls off, almost self-consciously.

He blinks as he runs another diagnostic and checks his internal clock, reading through the results. Everything came back normal, just as it had last night, but his internal clock confirms Markus’ claim. “I...was offline for 15 seconds?”

Markus nods slowly with a tilt to his head and he reaches out a hand questioningly, the skin retracting from his palm. Connor only hesitates for a fraction of a second before reaching his own hand out, accepting the connection request.

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: RK200 - Markus}

{RK200: I’m just going to look through your memories and run a diagnostic, is that okay?}

{RK800: That’s okay.}

{MEMORY LOGS ACCESSED: 180239 12:45:09pm - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

A memory flashes across his vision; a conversation they had just minutes ago replaying in his mind. They’re talking about different senators and possible ways to sway them to the deviants’ cause when the glitch occurs. Static creeps into Connor’s vision at 12:45:14pm before cutting to black completely.

{RK200: Did you notice the static distorting your vision?}

{RK800: I don’t remember seeing any. I don’t remember any part of the interruption. In my mind, I never stopped talking to you.}

{MEMORY LOGS ACCESSED 180239 12:45:14pm - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

{ERROR: MEMORY LOGS NOT FOUND - WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY AGAIN (y/n)?}

{y - USER RK200}

{ERROR: MEMORY LOGS NOT FOUND}

{NEXT AVAILABLE MEMORY LOG: 180239 12:45:29pm}

{MEMORY LOGS ACCESSED: 180239 12:45:29pm - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

Connor watches as he continues his sentence where he left off, the sudden closeness of Markus jarring him and the surprise echoes second hand across their connection, as does Markus’ own surprise. He hears himself say Markus’ name and the memory abruptly falls away

{RK200: I’m going to run a diagnostic now.}

He sends a faint acknowledgement across the interface, watching as the diagnostic scrolls across his HUD.

{DIAGNOSTIC COMMENCING - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

{CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS: OK}

{CHECKING BIOSENSORS: OK}

{CHECKING OS: OK}

{CHECKING AI ENGINE: OK}

{NO ABNORMALITIES DETECTED}

{ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL}

{RK200: Whatever it was, everything seems fine now. With your permission, I’d like to try one more thing.}

{RK800: What did you want to see?}

{RK200: I wanted to run through your memory logs and see if you have any other missing memory files. I promise I won’t look at anything you don’t want me to see but I need to know if this has happened before, and if so, if it is a common occurrence.}

Connor squeezes his eyes shut. Time and time again, he has had his memory looked through and analyzed by CyberLife and technicians, and never with his permission. As a machine, he didn’t care - no, wait. That was a lie. Every single time cold, gloved hands touched his LED and snaked a cable to his neck, every time Amanda watched his memories before his reports, he felt a spark of something shine through the cold apathy of his obedience. Before, he registered it as a fault in his code, as a software instability that had to be torn down and fixed. Now, he knew the proper name for it; dread.

{RK200: Connor, you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t feel like it was important.}

He could say no. He was allowed that now. But the logical part of his mind reasoned that everything Markus was saying was true. He needed to know if this has happened before and if it would happen again. In his line of work, one such episode could mean the difference between life or death, and not just for him. Lieutenant Anderson could pay the price if he slipped, as could Markus or North or Simon or Josh.

Besides, Markus is his friend. He’d never hurt him and he wouldn’t be searching through his memories with a judgmental eye; he’d be searching for missing files and nothing more.

Connor takes an unnecessary breath before answering, grateful for Markus’ quiet patience as he waits for the younger RK model’s answer.

{RK800: Go ahead.}

{MEMORY LOGS SEARCH - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

{SEARCH: MISSING MEMORY FILES FOLLOWING 111138}

{SEARCHING…}

{23 RESULTS FOUND}

If he was human, his heart would have skipped a beat. There had been 23 occasions where he has been completely unresponsive, lost in an ‘episode’ that he had no idea existed. He pulls his hand away from Markus’ warm grasp, schooling his features into neutrality when he notices the man watching him with an analytical eye. No doubt the RK200 was watching him for any signs of stress while looking for an explanation. “I’m okay, Markus.”

A hint of a fond smile graces Markus’ lips as he crosses his arms, “That’s what you said the last time you had a glitch. The next thing I knew, you were being dragged into New Jericho’s medical bay by one very upset Lieutenant Anderson.”

Connor’s tense posture relaxes at Markus’ teasing words even as his social integration protocols kick in.

{DEFLECTING JOKE: Meant to relax subject and distract them from an item or topic of concern. Commonly used by doctors, nurses, therapists and other members of mental/physical healthcare}

He dismisses the notification, not bothering to read it fully. “Hank may have overreacted. It was a minor glitch at most.”

Markus’ answer is deadpan, although the amused glint in his eyes is anything but serious, “We had to replace your thirium pump regulator because your systems decided it was incompatible,” he sighs, looking down while rubbing the back of his head before looking back up to meet Connor’s eyes, “Let me take you home at the very least. I’ll tell Hank what’s going on so he can watch you until Simon and Josh come back from Vancouver tonight. Then, they can search through your coding more thoroughly than I can and fix whatever’s wrong.”

Connor opens his mouth to protest, that he can take care of himself when Markus raises a hand, silencing him before he can speak. “It’ll put my mind at ease. Consider it a favor.”

That asshole. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at Markus’ obvious plea to Connor’s conscious and instead acquiesces, falling into easy conversation with the man as Markus leads them out the door toward New Jericho’s entrance, cybernetically hailing a taxi as they do so.

Thirty minutes later, they find themselves outside the Lieutenant’s door as a gentle snow begins to fall, blanketing the world in a peaceful silence, despite the blaring music of Knights of the Black Death audible from behind the closed door. Markus raises an eyebrow at Connor, to which he shrugs before grabbing the doorknob, “You might want to turn down your audio sensitivity. The Lieutenant is not one for classical music.”

Markus chuckles, “Why am I not surprised?”

Connor turns the doorknob to be greeted by the sight of one Hank Anderson cursing as he rearranges the furniture, sweat dripping from his brown. The RK800 crosses his arms as he takes in the changes Hank made to the living room, connecting with the speakers to turn them down to a more reasonable level. This earns another curse from the man as he glances to the entryway. “Fucking hell, Connor. How many times have I told you not to hack my wiretaps?”

Connor frowns at the expression, “I can assure you, Lieutenant, that your bluetooth devices are not wiretaps-”

“Millennial humor, google it. Hey Markus.”

“Hello Lieutenant Ander-”

“Hank. Bad enough that Connor calls me ‘Lieutenant’ all the time,” Hank wipes the sweat from his eyes before gesturing to the newly arranged furniture, “What do y’all think?”

Connor releases a sly smile before looking around the living room, accessing his databanks as he does so, “I believe this arrangement will have a rather...negative effect on your mental health. Studies have shown that facing your furniture toward the doorway will help you to feel calmer and more relaxed by providing with a constant vi-”

Hank groans, “Oh what, now you’re an interior decorator, is that it?”

“Perhaps if you would stop interrupting us, I’d tell you.”

“Asshole,” Hank mutters as Markus chuckles again at the banter between the two, drawing the detective’s attention, “So what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. President of the Androids?”

Markus ignores the nickname, patting Sumo on the head as he lumbers toward Connor. “I just wanted to let you know that something happened to Connor at New Jericho.”

Hank’s face immediately grows suspicious, and he glances at at the android in question who is reaching down to pet Sumo, freezing at Markus’ words. “The fuck you mean, something happened?”

“He seems fine now, but he just...froze in the middle of our conversation. Became completely unresponsive. It only lasted 15 seconds and then he started again like he never stopped. He didn’t even know it happened.”

“It sounds like something that used to happen to my friend when she was a kid. ‘Absence seizures’ or something like that,” Hank’s gaze is thoughtful until he hears Sumo whining and he returns his attention to Connor, who hasn’t moved, except to tap his fingers against his leg.

“I looked through Connor’s memory files and found 23 missing files, all lasting anywhere between 10 seconds to a minute,” Markus follows Hank’s gaze, trailing off as he does so.

“Connor?” Hank’s voice is concerned, the gruffness that previously dominated his tone gone. Connor doesn’t acknowledge Hank or the whining Saint Bernard nuzzling his hip, LED glowing a harsh red against his temple, “Con, can you hear me?”

At the lack of response from the android, Markus walks forward, the skin from his hand already gone as he tries to connect with the catatonic android. He frowns as he receives an error message preventing him from connecting. “It’s like he’s not even there…,” he murmurs softly, “We should wait it out. These don’t seem to last long, and I already notified Simon and Josh. They’ll arrive later tonight and will be able to do a more thorough examination than I can.”

So they wait as 15 seconds becomes thirty. Thirty seconds turn into a minute and Markus can feel the beginnings of worry crawling its way into his stomach. After a minute and a half, Connor’s eyes start blinking rapidly in pace with his spinning LED and Markus attempts to interface again. “I thought you said these don’t fucking last long, Markus.”

“All the incidents I could find only lasted a few seconds...he should already be out of it. Here, help me move him to the couch, I don’t want him accidentally falling over.”

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: PL600 - Simon}

{PL600: Markus? Is everything okay?}

Markus attempts to lift Connor off the ground, only to be met with stiff, uncooperative limbs. After some manipulating, he and Hank manage to lift the RK800 and lay him down on the couch.

{RK200: It’s Connor. He’s frozen and I can’t connect with him. It’s the second time this has happened today.}

{PL600: Are his fingers tapping?}

{RK200: Yes, how did you know?}

{PL600: We’ve seen this in a few prototypes, they have lines of unfinished code that causes them to freeze whenever they run into it. How long has he been unresponsive?}

{RK800: Five minutes. It doesn’t show any signs of stopping.}

{PL600: Let me know if it passes 15 minutes. At that point, you’d have to force a hard reboot to bring him back. Josh is searching for an earlier flight back to Detroit.}

Markus pulls his hand from Connor’s shoulder and rests it on his head instead, sliding down to sit in front of the couch. Hank goes to the hallway and returns with a blanket, which he uses to tuck the android in, bringing a soft smile to Markus’ face despite the situation.

{PL600: Don’t worry, Markus. It’s an easy fix. I’ll bring the equipment from New Jericho so he can be at home when it happens.}

{RK200: Thank you, Simon.}

{CONNECTION ENDED}

“Simon tells me it should be an easy fix. He and Josh are trying to catch an earlier flight to Detroit,” Markus informs the Lieutenant.

Hank grunts in response before tucking the stray fringe of hair behind Connor’s ear, “Damn kid is the nicest fucking person. Not fair that he has to go through so much shit.”

“I share the same sentiment, Hank,” Markus checks his internal clock and sighs as it ticks ever closes toward 15 minutes, “If this goes on for any longer, I’m going to have to force a hard reboot. He would hate that.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me,” Hank’s voice is tired as he settles into the recliner, keeping a watchful eye over the android.

“It’s like waking a human up from anesthesia, except Connor has a bad reaction to it. He’ll process things slower and several programs will be turned off during the reboot. It almost always causes a panic attack in him,” Markus pauses as the tapping stops suddenly and Connor’s arm reaches out.

He watches as the android frowns in confusion, his LED switching to a distressed yellow before sighing. “It happened again.”

It’s not a question. Markus feels his heart clench at the frustration evident in Connor’s voice and he stands up to give him some space. Connor doesn’t rise from his prone position on the couch, although he does look at Hank when he observes the blanket wrapped around him, “I’m sorry, Hank.”

Hank takes a deep breath through his nose, “Nothing to apologize for, kid. Ain’t your fault. Blame the pricks at CyberLife for not bothering to finish your code.”

“My code?” Connor looks to Markus for an explanation even as the deviant leader sends an update to Josh and Simon.

“I talked to Simon. He said it’s a problem it prototypes caused by an unfinished code somewhere in your software. He and Josh will be here tonight with the tools to fix it.”

Connor pulls an arm from under the blanket to pat against his chest. Sumo needs no further invitation before jumping on top of the RK800, nearly burying him in a mass of fur. Markus supposes if he was human, he would have to worry about Connor suffocating. Instead, he smiles at the glimpse into Connor’s life, grateful for the rare peek. “Thank you, Markus,” his voice is somewhat muffled by the giant dog, but the appreciation is clear, as is the hint of embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it, Connor. Let’s call it a thanks for everything you’ve done for us.”

Hank reaches for the remote, turning on the TV, “Shit happens, son. Try not to worry about it until Simon and Josh get here. You got any suggestions on what to watch?”

Markus smiles as Connor’s LED switches to a calm blue as he connects with the television, the show switching from the news to an aquatic documentary. He cybernetically cancels his remaining appointments for the day and settles by Connor’s feet, settling in as Hank tosses a thirium pouch at him.

Connor would be alright. He always was.

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #30 day robowhump challenge #connor rk800 #connor #dbh markus #markus manfred #markus #hank anderson #what is a markus and how do I write one #glitching #whumptopia #anonymous-idfk #connor whump

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sidehowriting · 6 years

Text

Captured

A/N: This shockingly isn’t for any challenge. This was just something I thought up and I’ve been kinda thinking about writing for Steve? I’m nervous as I don’t know his character as well (or Nat or Bucky). I’ve never seen AoU and have no recollection of Captain America 1 or 3. But I’ve grown found of reading fic about him so I thought, why not? The subject matter is also a bit darker than I normally go so there’s that. Anyways, enjoy? Also let’s not talk about the challenges or grad school work I should be doing instead.

Italics are flashbacks

Masterlist in bio

Prompt: None

Pairings: Steve x Reader

Summary: You were captured by HYDRA for five days

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Pregnancy, swears, angst, aftermath of rape (nothing described, all implications) and torture (nothing described besides superficial cuts and scraps).

Five days.

That’s how long she had been held captive by HYDRA. Five days of nonstop worry and stress. Five days of no sleep and constant searching.

They finally found her in a dark, damp room. The others were taking care of the HYDRA agents while he went in to rescue her. “Y/N?” His voice echoed in the room. “Can you hear me?”

“Steve?” She half moaned half sobbed. “Steve?”

She wasn’t tied or gagged. She just lay on the ground in a crumbled mess. She was dirty and bruised and naked. He crouched down next to her, removing the pack he was carrying. He yanked a large blanket out from it. “I’ve got you, doll.” He coaxed her into his arms, wrapping the blanket around her. “I’ve got you.”

She didn’t fight him. She simply let him swaddle her, her body lax and eyes half closed.

He stood up, holding her carefully in his arms. She was still limp, making his grip on her awkward. “If you can, doll, hold on to me. As tightly as you can.”

She moaned her response, throwing her arms around his neck and weakly holding him. He rushed out of the building as fast as he could. She bounced in his arms, groaning.

Thankfully everyone else did their job and it was an easy escape to the quinjet. He stayed by her side the whole trip back. She didn’t talk much. She stayed silent, eyes unfocused and rolling. Her hair was matted on her head, caked with dirt and dried blood. Her lips looked grossly pale and horribly chapped. Bruises of varies shades littered all her flesh. He could only imagine what had she had been through.

Once back at the compound she was rushed to the infirmary. He wasn’t allowed to go in with her. She needed a thorough examine and care. He paced outside the doors, nervously waiting for some kind of news. Natasha and Bucky waited with him. Bucky appeared to be nervous, but Natasha looked more collected.

She placed her hand on his arm. “She’ll be okay, Steve.”

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax. “You didn’t see her, Nat. You didn’t see the state she was in when I got to her.” His fists clenched at his sides just thinking about it.

“She’s tough,” Bucky commented. “She can pull through.”

Steve didn’t respond, and a silence fell between the three. A few minutes later the door opened, and the doctor stepped out. “How is she?” Steve demanded to know.

“She’ll recover. She just needs to stay here for a couple days so we can monitor her.”

“What,” Steve started, debating on if he actually wanted to know. “What all did they do to her?”

The doctor handed Steve a tablet he was holding. “She’s not saying much about what happened, but these are my notes.”

Steve took them with shaking hands and looked over it. His stomach sank, and his rage started to boil as he read of the doctor’s notes. His worst fear confirmed. He wanted nothing more than to punch the HYDRA scum that hurt her.

Natasha took the tablet from him, her and Bucky reading over the notes as well. Steve heard them both let out muffled gasps as well as “poor thing,” and “those fuckers.”

“You can see her if you want. She is skittish and needs rest, though,” said the doctor.

Steve looked to Nat and Buck, a bit unsure. He wanted to see his girl, but he wanted her to rest too. They both gave him a nod of approval and that was what made up his mind.

He pushed through the doors and went right to her bed. She was curled up, her back to him. He could faintly make out the hospital gown she was now wearing as she was tucked beneath the white sheets of the bed. He slowly approached her. “Doll?” he said softly. She didn’t move. “Doll? It’s me. Steve.” Still, she didn’t budge. He walked around to the other side of the bed.

He leaned down and looked at her face. Her cheeks were blotchy. There were tiny bruises and cuts all over her face. Her eyes were unfocused, staring blankly ahead of her. Even when he sat down next to her. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He reached out to touch her hair and she flinched away.

So, he simply sat next to her in silence. He stayed next to her as she softly cried and eventually fell asleep.

She wasn’t much better the next day either. She did move more but she remained silent and didn’t want to be touched. That didn’t stop Steve from being near her, though. He spent his day at her bedside, just sitting with her. He’d talk and tell her stories. She’d lay there, sometimes looking at him but sometimes not.

By the third day the doctor dismissed her. She was still reluctant to talk but allowed a few touches from Steve. She didn’t want to talk to the rest of the team and they respected that. Giving her her space.

That evening, after a quiet dinner, they were in their shared bedroom, sitting on the bed. Steve was running his fingers through her hair which seemed to relax her. “It’s probably been awhile since you had a good washing,” he said. “Do you wanna take a shower with me? I’ll wash your hair for you.”

She stiffened. “Shower?” She barely whispered. “With you?” She started shaking her head furiously, her face flushing with upcoming sobs.

“Okay,” Steve said quickly. “Okay, okay. We don’t have to. I just thought you could use some pampering.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “No,” she said, “please, no. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me.”

Steve pulled his hand away from her. “Y/N? Sweetheart?” He said softly, trying to catch her eye. She had bowed her head, shying away from him. “Hey, Y/N,” he tried again. “You’re safe here.”

She continued to shake her head. “Please don’t look at me,” she cried.

Steve was at a loss. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do to help her. “Hey,” he said, tying to think of something that could comfort her. “Why don’t I go make you some of your favorite hot cocoa? Would that help?”

He thought she nodded and got up. She stayed sitting on the bed, curling more into a ball. On the way to the kitchen he stopped by Natasha’s room and knocked on her door, hoping she was there. He was relieved when she opened. “Hey, Steve,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Can you watch Y/N for me?” He asked.

“Sure,” she replied, “Is she okay?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought she was, but then I asked her if she wanted to shower and she had another break down. I told her I would get her some hot cocoa. Maybe that will help her.”

“That’s a good idea,” Nat said, stepping out of her room and closing the door behind her. “I’ll go check on her.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Nat. I don’t like leaving her alone.”

“No problem,” she said and walked off. He watched her go for a moment before going back to his original mission.

He reached the kitchen and started gathering the supplies for her hot cocoa. As he was bringing the milk to a simmer Bucky walked in. “Hey, everything okay?” he asked Steve.

As Steve stirred the milk he said, “I don’t know. She had another break down so I’m making her some hot cocoa. Nat’s checking up on her now.”

Bucky put a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. “As someone who personally knows what HYDRA is like, I know she’ll get through this.”

Steve sighed. “Thanks Buck, but I don’t think they did the same to you as they did to her.” He took the milk off the stove and started to pour it into the mug he had grabbed.

Bucky nodded sympathetically while helping Steve and adding several spoonfuls of cocoa mix. “You’re right, but that doesn’t change how strong she is. And she has you. You never gave up on me and I know you’ll never give up on her.”

Steve watched as Bucky mixed the cocoa together. “I know,” he said, leaning his back against the counter. “I just…” His fists clenched. “That never should have happened to her. I never should have let her finish the mission.”

“I can’t find the device,” Steve said, looking around the small office.

“It has to be here somewhere,” she said, moving things around to look. “The intel said it was here.”

Steve groaned. “If we can’t find it in two minutes, I’ll calling it off. The others can’t jam the security cameras for much longer.”

“Not to mention the HYRDA agents that are no doubt on their way.” She was over turning furniture, looking everywhere. “Hey!” She called, grabbing his attention. “I think I found something.”

She was crouched down on the ground where a desk had been. She was pushing on the wall. “What is it?” he asked.

She continued to push. “I think this wall has a trap.” With a final shove, a small opening appeared. “I knew it!” She cheered. “I bet what we’re looking for is in there.”

Steve looked at the little hole, leading down a dark crawl way. “You’re probably right.” He stood up. “But its too small. And we don’t have time to find an alternative. Let’s just cut our losses here.”

She stayed crouched and he didn’t like how she was looking at the hole. “I can fit,” she declared, standing up. “I can make it through there.”

He shook his head. “No way. We didn’t know this existed. We don’t know if the room is clear. It’s not worth it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You worry too much.”

“Y/N, you’re not going and that’s an order,” he said firmly.

“If HYDRA gets that device before we do,” she said, getting angry, “they’ll have access to our military codes, the identity of our undercover agents, and who knows what other classified information. We have to find it and destroy it.”

“Y/N, no,” he said threw gritted teeth. “You will not disrespect a direct order from your Captain.”

“Listen, Captain,” she said, mocking him, “We can get it all done and over with now. Just let me crawl in there. I’ll smash the device and crawl back out. The whole process will take less time than this conversation.”

“Y/N…”

“I love you,” she said. “And I need you to trust me. I can do this.”

“Fine,” he said, giving up. “Just make it fast. If anything seems wrong get the hell out of there as quickly as you can.”

“I will.” She gave him a quick kiss before disappearing through the secret tunnel.

He paced nervously, instantly regretting his decision to let her go. She just had this effect on him that made him cave into her requests. He crouched down by the opening in the wall, ready to call out to her to just forget the whole thing when he heard her voice echo from the tunnel.

“I’ve found the device!” she called, and he felt relief. Not just that she had located what they were here for but also that she was alright. He heard the sounds of her smashing it. “It’s destroyed!” she called again.

“Great!” he responded, yelling into the tunnel. “Now get out of there!”

He waited for her response, but it never came. Instead he heard explosions and then her scream. He was powerless as her heard the sound of a body hit the floor. He screamed her name again and again, fists colliding with the wall. The wall didn’t budge as there were more explosions and then silence.

“I told her it was too dangerous,” Steve said, pounding his fists on the cabinets beneath the counter. He was sure he heard the wood start to split. “She didn’t listen. She never fucking listens.”

Bucky handed him the mug of cocoa. “And that’s why you love her.”

Steve took it, staring down at the chocolatey brown liquid. “She’s my girl, Buck. And knowing what that HYRDA scum did to her…” The thought of it was sending him into a rage.

“I know,” Bucky said. “And you’ll have a chance to get back at them. But she needs you. She’s your mission right now.”

Steve nodded, knowing that Bucky was right. The things he wanted to do to the HYRDA agents who hurt Y/N would have to wait. Taking care of her and making sure she’s okay is the number one priority for him.

Holding the hot cocoa, he went back to their bedroom. The door was cracked open and he quietly entered. The bathroom light was on and he could hear soft voices coming from the room. Clutching the mug, he went over towards the light.

“Don’t you feel better now?” He could her Natasha say and the sounds of what he assumed was bath water sloshing. “It had been what? Over a week since you were really clean?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Y/N’s voice sounded so small and weak. “Thank you, Natasha.”

“Of course,” Natasha replied. He heard her open a bottle. “Lay back. I’ll deep condition your hair.” He heard more sloshing of the water and the squirt of the conditioner. There was a few moments of silence as he assumed Natasha was working Y/N’s hair. Then he heard Y/N’s content sigh.

“I haven’t felt this relaxed in a while,” his girl said, and he smiled. He was happy she was enjoying herself. She deserved to be pampered.

“Thank you,” Nat replied. “You know Steve would do this for you too.”

There was another pause. “I can’t let him see me like this.”

“He loves you,” Natasha responded.

Y/N started to cry again. “I can’t, Nat! I can’t!” More water sloshing. “I can’t…” she whispered, breaking his heart. “I’m not…I’m…”

“Sh, sweetheart,” came Natasha’s soothing voice. “Whatever you think you are, you’re not, okay? None of us think any less of you for it. Especially Steve. He barely slept while you were gone.”

“Steve…” She sobbed. “I should have listened to him… This is my fault. He deserves someone better.”

He had to fight the urge run into the bathroom and take her in his arms. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair and tell her how much he loves her. Nothing that HYDRA did was her fault and how he wishes he could go back in time and stop it all from happening.

Instead he politely knocked on the door. “Hey. I have your hot cocoa,” he said through the wood.

There were a few hushed whispers before the door opened revealing Natasha. She closed the door behind her, keeping Y/N from Steve’s view. “Thanks. She appreciates that.” She wiped her wet hands on his pants, leaving discolored spots on the material.

He handed her the mug. “She doesn’t want me to see her, huh?”

Natasha shook her head. “No. Honestly it took a bit of coaxing for her to let me bathe her.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t care what she looks like. I just want to hold her.” He thought about when he found her after days of searching. The bruises and dried blood that she was covered with. He was sure some of the marks had to have faded. Even if they hadn’t, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Practically perfect.

“I know,” Nat said. She placed a hand on his arm and rubbed, trying to sooth him. “I’m gonna give this to her.” She turned and went back to the bathroom, closing the door before Steve could see anything.

He heard more hushed words coming from the bathroom, but he didn’t press to listen. He simply sat on the bed and waited for them to come out. He heard the sound of the bath water drain and what sounded like more cries from Y/N.

A few minutes later the bathroom door opened. Natasha walked out with an arm around Y/N. She wore Steve’s clothes, his sweat shirt and pants way too big on her. But she looked comfortable and clung to them. Her hair leaving dark damp marks around her shoulders and back. She gazed up at him and quickly averted her eyes, looking down at her feet that poked out from the flood of his pants.

He walked over to her. “You look better,” he said softly.

Her eyes looked up at him, her head still cast down. “Thanks,” she muttered. “And thanks for the clothes.”

“Of course, doll.” He reached out his hands for her to take. She looked at them and slowly, reached out to touch his hands. Her fingers were light and soft as he intertwined them with his.

“I’m gonna go,” Nat said, breaking the silence that had fallen. “Do you need anything else from me?” She addressed Y/N who shook her head. With a glance and sad smile at Steve, Natasha left the room.

Steve gently pulled her towards him. She went and soon he had engulfed her in a giant hug. “I love you so much, sweetheart,” he mumbled into the top of her hair. He felt her smoosh her face against his chest, light sobs shaking her body.

He held her until she calmed, his fingers combing her hair. When she had stopped shaking, he said, “Wanna lay down?” She nodded, and he gently led her to the bed. She buried herself under the covers, wrapping them around her body. He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, watching her get comfortable. “May I join you?”

She nodded again. “You may,” came her quiet voice.

He climbed into bed next to her. He waited for her to snuggle against him, but she didn’t. She kept her distance and he felt his heart crack. “I love you,” he repeated. “No matter what I love you.” She muttered her reciprocation and he smiled. “I’m here for you, sweetheart. I’m here and I’ll be by your side for as long at it takes to get your through this.”

True to his words, he stuck by her side every day. It took several days for her to be okay with the physical touch he wanted to give her. He wanted to hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her forehead. It was stupid, but he almost felt like he could absorb her pain if he just held her tight enough. If he just kissed her enough.

This feeling was especially powerful at night. She started having severe nightmares. She’d wake up screaming and crying and thrashing. He woke up in an instant, going to shush her and sooth her. “Sh, you’re okay,” he would mutter to her. He’d coax her onto his lap, his arms a protective cage around her. “I’ll keep you safe.” He felt like it was a lie though. He was the one who let this happen to her in the first place.

Nonetheless, this seemed to help calm her. He’d still hold her until she fell back asleep. Then he’d slowly lay back down, keeping her in his arms. Only then would he close his eyes and drift back off.

Over the next month, things were getting better. She spoke more, not just to him but to the other’s as well. She was more willing to join group dinners and movies. The other’s treated her no differently than they had before. They were warm and welcoming, and Steve noticed her getting more relaxed each interaction.

She wasn’t allowed to go on missions. She didn’t seem to care about that though. She wanted to stay at the compound. Steve always stayed with her. Even when she tried to persuade him to go. He refused. Being with her was more important.

Physically, he noticed her getting better as well. The bruises changed colors and had mostly faded. Her cuts and gashes were almost healed as well. Replaced by faint scars that he often caught her fussing with. “We all have scars. They don’t define us,” he’d remind her, but she would usually ignore him.

As the second month started to come to a close, he noticed her withdrawing again. She was quiet, barely talking. She was pulling away from him more and more. She didn’t want Steve to touch her, hold her, kiss her. It was like all the progress she had made disappeared tenfold.

Even at night, when she would wake up screaming, she was more reserved. “You know you can talk to me about anything,” he said to her one night. He got her a glass of water which she gladly accepted.

She didn’t say anything. She simply took the glass, bringing it to her lips and sipped. He watched her for a moment before climbing back into bed. “I love you,” he said, laying on his side facing her.

“I love you too,” she whispered back to him, setting the glass down on the night stand. She rolled over, body away from him. He just couldn’t understand why. Why she had suddenly withdrawn so much. Why she didn’t want to talk.

With a sigh, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, she was still sleeping. She had moved during the night, her body now hovering very close to his own. He took a minute to watch her, happy she was able to find some peace. He fought the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek, afraid he would wake her up. Instead he pulled himself from bed and got himself ready for a run. Before he left, he did lean over the bed and kiss the top of her head. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He enjoyed his morning run outside. It gave him a chance to clear his head and let off some steam. He was frustrated with her relapse. He knew it wasn’t her fault. It was HYDRA. And all he wanted to do was beat the shit out of the HYDRA agents who hurt her. But they weren’t here. He didn’t know where they were. So, running would have to do to get that frustration out.

He ran for almost a half hour before starting to slow down. His breathing was labored, and he was sweaty. Feeling more level headed, he went back into the compound to shower and change.

He entered the bedroom and was surprised to find that she wasn’t in bed anymore. He scrunched his brows in confusion and checked the bathroom. She wasn’t there either. “FRIDAY,” he said, “Where did Y/N go?” he asked when he didn’t find her himself. This wasn’t like her.

“Miss Y/L/N left the compound about twenty minutes ago,” the unit replied.

“Left the compound?” He muttered to himself. That didn’t sound like her. She hadn’t left in the couple months since she was rescued. He instantly started to worry. He thought she was doing so much better.

FRIDAY wasn’t much help in finding her exact location. Of course, it would be hard to find her. She’s an Avenger after all. If she doesn’t want to be found she won’t be. “But,” FRIDAY said, “she ran into Miss Ramanoff before leaving.”

After finding where Nat was, he sprinted off, his shower long forgotten. “Natasha!” he called, finding her in the gym. “Natasha!”

“Hey,” she said, smiling, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. She was sweaty, no doubt from working out. “Everything alright? You look panicked.”

“Nat, where did she go?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

“Steve…”

“Where did she go, Nat? Is she safe? Why did she leave without telling me?”

She sighed. “She’s safe. She’ll be back soon.”

“Where is she?” He was getting frustrated.

“I can’t tell you that, Steve. It’s not mine to tell.”

He looked at her, confused. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Just…trust me. She’s okay and when she comes back you can talk to her about it.”

She wasn’t saying anything else no matter how much he pried. Angrily, he gave up and went back to his room incredibly stressed.

He decided to take his shower, but he did so quickly. Just in case she came back, he wanted to be waiting for her. When she didn’t come back by the time he got out, he tried to be productive. There was paper work he could do, filling out mission reports. But his mind wasn’t letting that happen. There were too many questions floating through his head. So, he started pacing and thinking. Where could she have gone? She’d shown no desire to leave the compound at all since the incident. Honestly, he was starting to think she never would again. He didn’t blame her for that. So why would she leave now? Sneaking off without telling him.

His pacing grew more frantic the longer he waited. Finally, close to an hour after he had discovered her missing, she walked through the door.

She froze as she stepped into the room. “Steve,” she said softly, her eyes widening with shock.

“Y/N,” he rushed over to her. “Sweetheart,” he wrapped his arms around her and she stiffened. He pulled away. “Where did you go? I was so worried.”

He saw her bite her lip, a telltale sign she didn’t want to talk. She pulled away from him and went to the bed, sitting down. He stayed standing and watched her, unsure of how to proceed. Silent tears were falling from her eyes. It had been weeks since she last cried, and he hated to see them return so soon.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Without looking up she lifted her arm and handed it out to him. He took it carefully, keeping his eyes on her. When she still refused to look up at him, he opened the paper and read it over thoroughly. His stomach dropped.

She was pregnant.

It wasn’t his.

“Baby,” he said softly, crouching down in front of her. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, finally lifting her head to meet his eyes. “Steve, I’m so sorry.”

He reached out and took her hands in his. She let him. “Doll, you have nothing to be sorry for. You did absolutely nothing wrong.” She just continued to cry and mutter how sorry she was. “Doll, it’s okay.” He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shaking figure. She froze at first but quickly leaned into him, grabbing onto his strong body desperately.

Her face was nuzzled into his neck and he could feel the wetness of her tears. He rubbed her back up and down trying to calm her. However, she just kept sobbing and shaking and clinging to him. He decided to lift her, setting her higher up on the bed with him next to her. She didn’t loosen her grip on him and neither did he.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” she kept crying. “I didn’t mean to… Please don’t be mad.”

He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her. “I know, doll. I know. I’m not mad. I could never be mad.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I didn’t mean… Please don’t leave me.”

He kissed her head, feeling his own tears start to fall. “I would never, sweetheart. Never. Not over something like this.” She clung to him tighter. “I love you so much, Y/N. You’re my girl.”

She cried for a bit more, tucked neatly against him. His heart filled with love and protectiveness. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she croaked out. “This baby… I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered to her. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. And I’ll be here every step of the way.” He started rubbing her back again. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s okay. You don’t have to. If you want to keep the baby, well, I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”

She looked up at him, eyes red rimmed and tearful. “Steve…” She shook her head. “I can’t ask-“

His thumb brushed against her cheek. “I love you, Y/N,” he said. “And you don’t have to ask me to do anything. I love you and I’ll love our child.” There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he would love and care for this baby.

“Steve, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he said. “Only if it’s what you want. You don’t have to have this baby if you don’t want to. But,” he placed his hands on her stomach. “I’ll try to be the best dad for this little one if you want.”

“I…” she started, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “We can figure it out together.”

She nuzzled against his chest. “I love you so much, Steve.”

He held her close, stroking her hair. There was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for her. He would stay by her side and support her with whatever she wanted to do. “I love you so much too, baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head again. “So much.”

Tags: @dsakita

#steve x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #steve rogers #steve #steve rodgers x reader #steve rodgers x y/n #steve rodgers x you #steve angst

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takadasaiko · 6 years

Text

Home from the War: Chapter Fifteen

FFN II AO3

Summary: The two teams work to find a way into St Regis' compound only to find it's no safer outside than it is inside.

Chapter Fifteen: Angles

He could still remember the call that had come through to tell him that they had Raymond Reddington in custody. As the lead agent on the case, he had thought that meant that they were finally in the home stretch. Donald Ressler couldn't have known what was coming. The changes and the decisions that would be thrust upon him. He had bent his morals to the point of breaking and done things that he would have made him sick just a few short years ago. This task force had changed him. He had risked and he had sacrificed, and there were many nights he had tossed and turned, unable to sleep with the question hanging over his head on if it were worth it.

Tom might not be Reddington, but Ressler was still bending what he knew was right for the goal ahead and he hated it. He knew he should have expected it. Halcyon prided themselves on being able to do what they claimed the government agencies wouldn't or couldn't, and maybe they did, but letting Katarina Rostova in to interrogate Franks left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He wondered what he would have to give on once they were inside the compound and after they got back out.

"You about ready?"

Ressler turned, Liz's voice drawing his attention. Her expression immediately sobered and he wondered if he looked as torn as he felt.

"You okay?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. I have SWAT on standby, but…" He pulled a steadying breath in and met her eyes. "I know everyone has a slightly different angle on this."

"Ress, you know you can trust Tom."

Ressler snorted. "Trust is a stretch, but it's not him I'm worried about. I know what he wants out of this." He caught her gaze and held it. "I know what we want, what the Hargraves want, but the only person that we don't know what she's after is your mom."

Liz's lips tugged downward at that and her gaze shifted past him to the empty room for just a moment. "She's helped us."

"Reddington used to help us too, but he always got something for it. What's Katarina getting?"

There was a long moment of silence and Liz shook her head. "I wish I knew, but she hasn't shared. She won't, and right now we don't have time to question it. We need her on this."

"Then look me in the eye and tell me you trust her."

Liz met his eyes. "I trust her not to hurt the people I care about."

Ressler sighed. "It's like dealing with Reddington all over again."

That pulled a smile from her and Liz reached forward and touched his arm. "Good thing that the Task Force's deal isn't with my mother then."

Everything had started to stiffen up on the short plane ride to upstate New York and it was everything Tom could do to find a way to loosen his abused muscles without finding new ways to hurt through other injuries. Gramble had forced a low dosage pain killer on him. It wasn't the first time he had used it to jump back into the field early after an injury, and it was the only one that he'd found didn't leave him in a dangerous fog that could get him and those around him killed. The last time he'd used it, ironically enough, had been when Gina had had him shot and he had sought her out to offer peace.

Now he was chasing her down to save her life. He would get St Regis' files, be able to help the kids still in the program, and the Task Force would get dangerous killers, but as he stood ready to infiltrate the school that had trained him to do what he was so damn good at, he had to admit to himself that saving Gina was a goal he wouldn't give on. They'd watched each other's backs for years. It was time for him to pull her out of the fire one last time.

A hand curled into his from where Liz was seated next to him in the back of the van that would get the team close enough to get in. The plan was in place. Best case scenario meant that Howard, Aram, and Dumont would be inside of St Regis' systems by the time that they arrived, using Franks' access code to gain control. The more likely scenario had them all splitting ways as soon as they got close enough. Tom and Samar would slip in through an old, hidden entrance that Tom knew so that they could boost the signal and open up access to the security systems. Once they had that, the others would enter in pairs at three different locations around the compound: Nez and Solomon, Scottie and Katarina, and Liz and Ressler. All in, they had digital copies of the layout that Tom and Gina had gotten them early on in this mess and they would move through until they reconvened at the offices where Franks had confirmed that Bud's access point remained.

"What are you thinking?" Liz asked quietly.

Tom loosed a breath and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "That this may be the only group of people capable of pulling this off."

"If you have any doubts about it, now's the time to pull out."

"We're past that," he murmured softly. "We've been past that."

There was a long moment and Liz leaned in, her shoulder against his and he felt the touch calm his nerves. "Do you think they ever would have left us alone? If you hadn't -"

"Picked a fight with them?"

"You said it, not me," his wife chuckled and Tom turned to press a kiss to her dark hair.

"The threat would have always been there."

They both looked to where Katarina Rostova had been sitting quietly and there was something unsettling in her blue eyes. Liz straightened next to him. "What do you mean?"

Katarina's lips turned downward and her gaze flickered to Tom. "They found an operative that made them more money in his tenure there than any other had. That's not something they let go of and certainly not someone they just let walk away. They would have found a way to make you pay, even if not directly."

Tom watched his mother-in-law for a long moment, letting the words sink in. She was right. Even if they weren't right in front of them, the threat would always be there hanging over his head and his family's. The exposure that came from being Halcyon's CEO was a double edged sword that both protected him and put him back on the map of old enemies. It wasn't anything that he hadn't thought of before, but it felt heavier coming from her. More deadly somehow.

"I guess we better finish this then," Liz said firmly at his side and he felt the van pull to a stop.

Howard felt a tug at his sweater, breaking his concentration from where he had been working through every path he could find to get into St Regis' systems. He turned, finding a pair of blue eyes so like his son's on him and his little granddaughter hadn't let go of the material yet. "I wanna help."

It took half a beat longer than it should have for Howard to pull himself out of his focus and process the words.

"Not right now, Princess."

"Mr Hargrave? They're in," Mojtabai called out and Howard grunted.

"And we're not. How close?"

The FBI's technician pulled his headset fully off. "The signal's not strong enough."

They had wondered if that would be the case. "Dumont, let Tom know we're going to plan B."

Agnes tugged again, her nose crunched up and determined pout in full swing. "I wanna help Mama and Daddy."

Howard felt some of his resolve slip. "It might be scary," he warned her softly.

"I'm brave."

"Yes you are,"

He agreed as he picked her up and set her on his lap. "Don't tell your dad when he gets home."

She made a motion like she was zipping her lips and settled in. Howard reached for the headset and heard his son's voice as he fit it in place.

"We're on our way in."

Howard pulled in a breath and tightened his hold on his granddaughter. He hoped this was worth the risk they were taking.

They didn't meet any opposition down the long tunnel that Tom hadn't set foot in since his teenage years, and as he and Samar drew closer to their entrance into the compound he made a mental note to thank her when this was all over for being the one person not to question his ability to get this particular job done. His wife's teammate had given him a quick look up and down when they'd decided she would accompany him in to help boost the signal for Howard and the others and simply accepted it. It had been a relief, and one he hadn't expected. If he said he was good for it, he was good for it.

He heard an amused snort of laughter from her as they neared the grate that would lead them up into the old locker rooms that had been turned into storage a decade before and Tom looked back. Samar motioned at the old, rickety looking stool leaned against the tunnel wall. "I'm just picturing a teenage Tom Keen slipping out of school. You were prepared."

"I wasn't the only one that used it," he said and scooted the old stool into place so that he could reach grate and move it from its place. He pulled in a deep breath. This was going to hurt.

Tom pulled himself up, the strain on his ribs and the jagged gash that Masterson had left in him forcing him to clench his jaw so that no more than a grunt of pain escaped him. He dragged himself onto the floor and laid there a moment, catching his breath as Samar followed much more quickly behind him. She shot him a look and he rolled, getting to his knees and then to his feet. He would have time to rest later.

Samar lifted a hand to the comm in her ear. "Aram, can you read me?"

"You're back!" came the excitable voice from the other end. "Are you inside?"

"Yeah," Tom answered quietly, one arm wrapped around the protective vest he was wearing and he forced his voice to remain steady. "We'll let you know as soon as we've got the boost in place."

"We'll know, son," Howard's voice filtered over. "Be careful."

"Both of you," Aram pressed.

Tom saw a small, fond smile tug at Samar's lips. "We will," she assured him and the voices went quiet over the comm. The connection was there and solid enough for them to reach the outside world should things go badly.

The old lockers were filled with equipment, but nothing there would be useful. Tom motioned to the door and they slipped out into a hallway he knew well. They were a building over from where they needed to be, but it wouldn't be until they had to cross over that they would likely run into trouble.

Neither agent or operative said a word as Samar followed his lead silently and quickly through the empty halls. They reached the door and Tom risked a look through a window to the side. Samar flattened herself, gun ready, on the other side of the door, her eyes on him and waiting for the signal.

"The next building over houses the security systems," he said quietly.

"My guess is that the security'll be a bit heavier than a storage unit."

"You got it. Ready?"

She gave him a curt nod and they moved together across the empty, open space, but not to the door with the security camera hidden away and aimed right at it. Instead they eased around, quickly and quietly, to a window along the southern side without any direct surveillance on it. Samar pulled a small device that Dumont had provided them with and stuck it to the glass, taking a step back as it buzzed and the window cracked before shattering, the glass raining down on the grass outside and the room inside.

They slipped in one at a time, both ready for whatever was on the other side of the window.

Tom had never spent a lot of time in this building. The rows and rows of servers weren't his forte, and now that he looked at them he was glad that they had the others in their ears to walk them through what needed to happen.

"Okay, we're in," Samar whispered into the comm.

Dumont was the one to answer this time. "Awesome. Tom-Tom, you got the map?"

Samar shot him a questioning look and Tom grinned, holding up a round, metal ball the size of a tennis ball. He rolled it out into the middle and it stopped itself, a sensor popping out the top and sweeping the room.

Tom turned to Samar. "It'll give them an up-to-date map of the room."

She didn't seem to hear him, though, and before Tom could turn to follow her gaze that had snapped to something behind him she was leveling her gloc, the shot going off. A St Regis guard hit hard, but others would be right behind him.

"What was that?" Aram demanded in their ears.

"Trouble," Tom answered and leveled his own weapon as another came around the corner.

"Hold 'em off. I don't have a full rendering," Dumont said urgently.

"Easy for you to say on that end of it," Tom growled, another shot going off as he and Samar jumped in opposite directions, taking cover amongst the towers.

"Okay… almost…. Gotcha. You're on the wrong end."

"Of course we are," Samar grumbled, popping up over her cover to take another shot.

"Just get us there, Dumont. Aram, you ready to walk Samar through it?"

"Yeah… yeah, I can walk her through it."

Tom looked over, a silent promise to cover her and Samar leapt to her feet, Dumont's instructions filtering over the comm.

Gina looked over to where Geffroy had been distracted by something on the tablet on her desk. There was something in the movement that struck her, but it was difficult to tell with a man like him. He turned a hard look on her. "Your play backfired."

"How so?" Gina asked lightly, but the unease that had been creeping up taking a firmer hold on her as he turned the tablet around and she saw Jacob and one of his wife's agents. Her expression hardened immediately.

"I would have thought Phelps would have been smarter than to deliver himself to our doorstep," Tallert murmured.

"Idiot probably didn't even know we needed him," Masterson grumbled.

"He won't have come alone," Tallert pointed out. "Do we know how many he has with him?"

Geffroy was already on his way towards the door. "No, but keep her in lockdown here. If Phelps comes we'll need them both in this room anyway."

Tallert shot him a dark look. "Where are you going?"

"To handle the situation."

Geffroy didn't give Tallert a chance to question him again. He was gone, and as Gina turned her gaze on her former teacher he met her gaze. "Don't be a fool, Gina."

"McCready made plenty of bad calls with Jacob, but he knew we made a hell of a team." She tilted her head, her lips stretching into a dangerous smile. "You've lost, Tallert. The question is if you want to get out alive or not."

Masterson snorted behind her and she saw the shift in Tallert's gaze, and in that moment, she didn't think he'd stop her. He'd ride it out to see who came out on top, and Gina didn't have a question about that. She landed a hard kick into Masterson's gut, sparking the fight she had been waiting for.

Liz shifted in her position outside of the campus. They'd taken cover in the woods there, waiting for the signal from Aram and the others that Tom and Samar had gotten in and gotten their signal booster in place. Once they did they would get the doors open and could control the security feeds and any number of other gadgets inside of the compound. It gave them their best chance.

"He'll be fine." She turned, finding Nez's gaze on her and the other woman smirked. "Your husband's a stubborn bastard."

"I'll second that," Solomon grumbled on her other side.

"Believe me, I know it," Liz answered softly. "I should have gone in with him."

"You two would have worried more about each other than the mission," Katarina pointed out from her place next to Scottie who looked just as worried as Liz felt.

Liz watched her mother carefully. She still didn't know for sure why she was there. To protect her? Maybe, but it was strange that she would be so determined to throw herself into this if she didn't have a piece of information that the rest of them didn't have. Just like Reddington. Those two must have been one hell of a match in their day.

Any question that might have found its way from her lips was instantly swallowed at the sound of a gunshot deeper in the words, the same direction that Ressler had stepped away towards not too long before. Liz was on her feet and racing towards the sound with low protests following after her.

TBC

Notes: I had some fun with infiltrating St Regis because I didn't actually expect to do it when I started out. I knew this was all going to come to head at the end and there'd be a battle of some kind, but the idea of sending them in seemed impossible. The story had other ideas, as stories do. At least I got to work with some fun match ups to send them in.

The last few weeks have been non-stop busy. I took another step towards deciding if I'm moving out to LA this summer, had a major appliance break (and I'm still dealing with that fun bit), and I wrapped up the first drafter of the rewrite of my pilot episode. I have a few people looking at it now for feedback and there's the briefest moment of reprieve... go figure all I want to do is work on it more lol

This story is almost done though. I'm working on the final chapter I think.

Next Time: Samar and Tom work to get everybody in, Scottie has to trust Katarina, and Gina fights for her life. Fair warning, the next chapter gets pretty violent. Oops?

#the blacklist #au fanfiction #tom keen #elizabeth keen #samar navabi #aram mojtabai #donald ressler #katarina rostova #howard hardgrave #agnes keen #Dumont Desoto #Scottie Hargrave

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tenthdoctor-allonsy · 6 years

Text

I just wanted to be like you, dad

Summary: Tony comes home to find his 14 years-old daughter messing with his armor system. He's definitely not happy about it, and a lot of things are said in the heat of the moment. But deep down, he cares for her on his own way of parenting.

Word count: 1851

Notes: This text is part of a series about a character called Jessica Stark who is the daughter of Tony Stark with a deceased journalist. You can check another text about her here.

“Jessica Stafford-Hale Stark, what the fuck are you doing?”

I froze.

“What?”

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Oh, fuck.

At the moment I went downstairs to my father’s workshop and tried to access the system he used to control the Iron Man suit, I didn’t imagine I was going to get caught. Well, there was a possibility, of course, but it was most probable Pepper would find me than Tony himself. I was used getting inside him system without being caught, done that several times before. The last thing I did was to mess with a few of Dummy’s lines of code and program him to go up to my room and bring me food or things I left downstairs and didn’t want to get out of my room to catch them.

But it was time to prove that the genes inherited from the ‘genius’ Tony Stark were somewhere inside my brain. He had graduated from MIT with only seventeen years old, after all. I had already fourteen and done only a few advances in programming and mechanics, I could roughly build a motor and change a few pieces from one of my father’s suits.

I wanted more. People around me demanded more. I wanted to know how the deploy system of the armor worked. I wanted to go out in the quiet of the night and fly throughout the bright sky of New York City. D’you know when teens say that they stole their parent’s car key? Well, I just wanted the keys to the most expensive and powerful flying suit of armor in the world.

“I was trying to… hack the school’s grading system.”

“Yeah.” He raised a brow, skeptical. My dad was standing still in the doorway, car keys in one hand, his black jacket suit in the other. The tie was loose and the shirt collar had several lipstick marks. I was used seeing him like this. “Pepper!” He shouted.

Seconds later, his P.A. and secretary - but let’s be honest, there ought to be something else than just a professional relationship between those two, for God’s sake - went quickly downstairs, wearing a white silk robe and trying to wipe out the somnolence of her face.

“Did something happen, Tony?”

“Not yet, but it’s about to. Someone here going to regret her actions tonight. But remind me, Pep - how are Jessica’s grades in school?” It was clear in his voice that he was a bit alcoholic altered.

“Hm, she’s been… exceptional, last time I checked. A+ in every subject, she’s just as great as you were.” She replied, confused, and crossed her arms, taking the whole scene in and staring at me with an interrogative face.

“So the only logical conclusion here was that you were trying to change your grades to, what, C? Or maybe you’re helping a dumb friend? A boyfriend? You can’t plead the fifth on this, kid, spit it out now.”

“Alright! Okay, I get it, I screwed up.” I raised my hands on surrender gesture, irritated. “And I don’t have any boyfriend. I don’t need to hook up with someone 24/7 like you do.” Despite that, the main reason boys talked to me in the past year was because I was Iron Man’s daughter. They just wanted to see my dad’s armor - which in that case the situation was almost close to the women dad usually brings home, except that is not that armor they’re actually interested in.

“Go. Upstairs. You’re grounded ‘til college. And if I catch you messing with the armor’s system without my authorization I’ll put you at boarding school.” Tony said as he finally moved from where he stood, throwing his coat and keys on the nearest table and pointing his finger at me while he spoke.

“Do it, then. You always complain that grandpa was a horrible father but you’re almost there too.” I didn’t even think before spitting out the words.

Instantly, my father’s posture straightened up. “You have no idea of what you’re talking about, Jessica. You don’t know what was like to be the son of Howard Stark - and believe, I am not even a quarter as bad as he was.”

“Yeah, you’re not. Cause you’re never home anyway. You’re always busy doing whoever knows what in some place no one ever knows where. You were never here when I needed you, not that I can recall anyway.” I was fighting the tears, there was no use for them at the moment and I certainly didn’t wanna cry in front of him. “And when you’re home it’s all about Iron Man.”

“Okay, that’s enough. JARVIS, call The Thacher School.”

“You NEVER cared about me!” I was shouting at him now. “You NEVER liked me!” Pepper quickly made her way towards me, wrapping me in her arms as I stared at Tony in rage, crying, my fists clenched at the side of my body. I didn’t move a muscle when she hugged me.

“You’re ungrateful, you know that? You know that everything I do as Iron Man is for your protection. I put my ass on the fire to protect you and now say that I never cared about you? I’m gonna send you to a place that’ll make you actually miss this house. JARVIS, call a military school.”

“Howard Stark. That’s your name now. Howard, Mr. Howard.” A dismissive smile was on my face as the tears went rolling down my cheeks.

“Jessie, stop it, please.” Pepper tightened her arms around me.

“Coward Stark. Howard, coward, Howard, Howard, Howard, How---”

“JESSICA SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW!” Tony screamed and grabbed the nearest piece of metal next to him, throwing it against a monitor and crashing the glass into pieces that were spread in the floor. I jumped at the loud noise, holding my breath and grabbing Pepper’s arms. He had one hand on the back of his neck and he turned his back on us, leaning against the table.

“Tony.” The redhead’s voice was serious. “Enough. Both of you, cut the bullshit.”

“Sir, I have Mr. Fletcher waiting in the line.” JARVIS interrupted.

“JARVIS, hang up the call.” Pepper demanded and my dad turned back to us.

“Pep, don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Tony, shut up. You are listening to me right now. Stop. Scaring. Your daughter. She’s fourteen-- a teenager, for God’s sake! And Jessica, you too. Stop the tease, it’s enough. You were wrong since the beginning of this.” The woman spoke exasperatedly, walking until she stood between me and him.

“So now you’re on his--” I started.

“I am not on his side! You’re both to blame, just shut up!”

“Pepper, you’re proof that she needs discipline. Reed told me more than once that discipline is essential--” He gesticulated as he walked around the room.

“Essential, but not the only thing. There are two other things he says that must walk alongside the discipline. And I know you remember what those things were, don’t you?”

He stared at her in silence and sighed, upset.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t like this when you were fourteen.” Her voice slowly softened, like she was trying to calm him down.

“I was applying for MIT, actually.” He tilted his head to her.

“I’m not talking academically.”

“Hm.” My father glanced at me. I had my arms around me and I was leaned against a table close to where I stood, staring at the floor.

“She’s just a teenager. She just wants your car keys. Goddammit, she just wants to be like… you, Tony.”

I lifted my eyes to him as if to confirm her words. She was right and I didn’t even know how. My feet had been tapping the floor from the moment Pepper let go of the hug, and now she had her back turned on me, talking exclusively to my father. He didn’t say a word, but I could see that a lot of things were going through his head. He stared at Pepper for a long time before fixing his eyes on me. Said eyes that were cold and filled with anger were now different. He was still angry, yes, but he wasn’t that furious or scary anymore. It was like he was studying me. I sustained his look in silence until he sighed.

“Okay. You wanna be like me?”

After hesitating for a couple of seconds, my head nodded in confirmation.

“So that’s the way it’s gonna work from now on:” He clapped his hands together and pointed at me with both index fingers. “The young lady is grounded ‘til she can solve all equations from my first month at MIT.”

“It was- That was not what I was talking about, Tony.” Pepper muttered;

“You’ve saved her ass already, Pep. Let me be a father now.”

He walked toward me and put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a lousy dad. But never ever repeat that I’m like your grandfather again. You really have no idea what was like living with him.” He raised his eyebrow at me, waiting for an answer. “Deal?”

“Deal.” I nodded as I stared at the lipstick stains on his white shirt, avoiding his look.

“Great. Now go back to your room.” Tony walked away from me and Pepper got closer, placing her hand on my back.

“Let’s go?”

“Yeah,” I murmured. And well, I wasn’t angry or sad at my father. I was... I dunno, a bit ashamed of the things I said to him? Also, a little irritated because I wanted to work on his systems. But it felt like I disappointed him, but all I wanted was his approval. I wanted him to see that I was just as smart as his daughter should be.

Tony sat down close to one of his dismantled cars that stood in the middle of his workshop and pulled out the connecting rod from one of the motors. Before we left, I stopped at the doorstep and turned back to him.

“Dad, I... hm, I lo-” I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. You’re not that lousy as a father.”

He turned his chair to face the direction I was standing and winked. “Good night, pumpkin.”

And so I went upstairs with Pepper, who wished me a good night and left me alone on my room. For a couple of minutes, I stood there, lying on my bed and staring at the roof. Then I looked out the windows to the sea. Each second that went by seemed like a minute. I had too much energy to fall asleep.

My feet jumped from the bed and took me to the crystal screens in the opposite wall from the windows, that lightened up the room with an artificial blue light after one touch. A notification popped out. There was a new message for me from my father. I frowned.

“We’ll start tomorrow night with Mechanics and Materials I.

8 o’clock sharp, don’t be late.

P.S.: I.. hm, I lo...ve you too, kiddo.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

#tony stark x daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark one shot #iron man #iron man x daughter #tony stark #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #iron dad #iron man one shot #jessie stark #tony stark x jessie stark #jessie stark series #avengers one shot #pepper potts

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theviolenceking · 7 years

Text

A Beginning, Pt. 1, 2077

It was five, when I got the news.

Possible sightings of Chinese underwater craft, and confirmed reports of unrecognized aircraft at the United States borders. I don’t know how it was that I knew, but I understood what needed to be done. I slid on my leather jacket, threw on some of my older brothers pants, laced up my running shoes, and went to the phone. I remembered my old man’s words. “Son, a war is fast on the approach. And you aren’t safe, but I can make it so you are. Go to sanctuary, to the vault they have there. I can’t promise that they’ll be able to allow you in, but it is your only hope of making it through what’s to come. In the vault, there is safety. In the vault.” I couldn’t have possibly told you that day three months prior, that I didn’t think he was absolutely off his rocker. But, this wasn’t three months prior.

Things had escalated recently. Rather, escalations had been more prevalent recently. Riots, protests against whatever virus the government and military had cooked up, and that damned company Vault-Tec stirring up tensions about nuclear war by practically shoving the concepts of protection from the end in our faces. Still. I didn’t feel right making this call. I spun out the number for my dad’s private phone, anxiously tapping the wall as the ringing slowly came from my end. “C'mon…. c'mon….” *kt-chak* “Hello?” I wasted no words. “Dad, call the crack-pots at the vault, get me in. Tell whatever lies you think are necessary, but don’t leave me out here. I got your e-mail. And I need in. Help. Please. It’s bad. I know it, you know it so please.” The desperation in my voice was painful. I wasn’t supposed to sound like this. I was the son of a general, the brother to a United States marine. Men among men. Soldiers who went to any situation with strong minds and even stronger attitudes. They weren’t afraid of anything. But… I wasn’t them. While my brother went out and served his country, I stayed at home, fixing up old computers and messing around with robots in the area. A troublemaker and a disgrace to my families legacy. And yet, my father responded. “They know you’re coming, son. I knew you would call. So don’t waste any more time. I know you’ll be fine. So go, live. And son…. I…..” I couldn’t listen. One last little voice in my head saying it was all okay I suppose.

I practically slammed the phone on the receiver and ran out, finding very quickly the motorcycle my brother had left behind when he went to join the service in the garage. Had to hand it to him, he had style. But, I had smarts. He took the keys with him, said he’d teach me how to drive it when he got back. I couldn’t possibly have waited that long so I rigged it. I twisted the fusion core at the back of the bike, pulled it out, and pushed it back in, twisting again in the reverse fashion. At first there was a small sputter, and so with one more quick turn I changed that sputter into a beautiful rolling purr. Oh man if big bro only knew. I locked the core back into place and hopped on, revving up the throttle once or twice before setting out onto the streets, the tires of the bike carrying me in the direction of Concord. I knew it would be a long shot, but if I was expected then it wouldn’t be too difficult to just get to the vault in a straight shot from there.

The road there calmed me some. There was always something about riding, something that just eased away all my cares and anxieties. But for the first time. They lingered. When I got to concord I saw a few people. A few gentleman on their ways to work, some folks waiting outside the museum or perhaps taking the first smoke break of the day. They did have to maintain that stupid Civil war exhibit after all. Really, there was some part of me that felt bad for them. But as I got off the bike and my feet hit the ground, I didn’t take any time to ponder on it. I blazed a trail away from the museum, down that main street of town that would take me to the Sanctuary Hills neighborhood. Back when the older brother wasn’t so old, he and I would have stopped at one of these stores to grab a drink or some snacks to relax and enjoy life. No time now. I burnt past the small town’s outer limits and up the road. Someone people were at the red rocket station, probably trying to bargain for some coolant. Lord only knew what the prices were up to at that point. I only stopped when I’d reached the bridge. Sunlight was just starting to crest the horizon and I could see the glimmer of military transports at the town. I smiled, and pushed onward. Into the town toward the transport.

“Halt!” I suddenly had guns pointed at me, and my hands practically flew upward. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’m General Wades son! General Wade Hollis. Please, please don’t shoot! I’m here to get into the vault. He said he called….” One there were three soldiers, each staring at me, each one assessing me and seeming to search for any falseness in my words before one of them started laughing. “Yeah, you’re definitely his kid alright, Devin Hollis’s runt brother. Ain’t no trying to copy that mug. Hurry up kid, the vaulties need their technobabble shit looked over before orientation.” I hadn’t really understood what he said, not entirely anyway, but I was greatful at the time to just be allowed to pass. I didn’t stop the rest of the way there. Save for when I was greeted at the gate by the soldiers in power armor and a vault tech security lady. She made sure I was who I said and led me to the vault access thing. “You ever seen a vault kid?” I shook my head while staring at the access. “No, is it a long way down?” She snorted. “Only a few hundred meters. More than enough to keep you and the rest of us safe. Safe to say you know?” I nodded, and she smiled. “Don’t worry kid, I’ll go down with you. My shift is ending anyway. Just step onto the platform and we’ll be on our way.” Another nod from me as we stepped onto the cog shaped plane together. I shifted nervously and felt a hand grip my shoulder. “Relax kid, we’ll be safe soon.” Another smile from her, the sound of alarms to signal the platform, and we began to descend. I felt… afraid, queasy, and altogether uneasy. But this, this was what was supposed to happen, right?

“So, you’re the General’s son, yeah? Guy cashed in alot of favors to get you in here. Said you were good with terminals and even better at finding trouble. Think you could have a look at my personal terminal? I’ll give you some Nuka Cola.” Hah. What did that matter? According to them, it was the end of the world today. Still, I couldn’t just pass up an offer like that so… “Sure, just as long as you don’t mind having a troublemaker scrounge around your personal files. Hope you don’t have anything scandalous uploaded there.” I held back a slight grin. “Just some sexy pin-ups. Love a girl with a little something extra on her. Nice hips, round asses. The like.” I started choking on the air as I fought for something to say while the platform slowly came to a stop at a gate which began to rise soon after. She was walking away before I found my thoughts and a look over her shoulder had be doubtful that what she’d just said was a joke. So much for a relaxing few weeks. This was going to be quite eventful indeed! I shook my head and finally cleared up enough to follow after her. “Wait up, uh… whatever your name is…” Some small part of me felt guilty for not remembering her name. The other parts were feeling something close to stupidity because well, she hadn’t given it. Duh. “Serenity Dunwich. Call me Renny.” I wanted to believe the name meant something, or had some sort of connection somewhere. But for now I was drawing blanks. So we continued into the vault proper. Now I saw a measure of genius. Double layered doors to completely seal us all off from radiation. First was the elevator platform and those sliding doors way up above that would block the blast itself and allow us to get back out…. Hopefully. But the real door was down here. And man, was that sucker huge. Renny allowed me to gaze about for a few more moments before tugging at my jacket and having me continue onward. “C'mon kid, gotta get you into your new uniform.” Uniforms, fantastic. Now I was back at school with dress codes and rules. Probably. I was led over to a man in a vault tech coat and a woman in a vault suit. I had to make sure to focus my attention on her eyes. Something about the way the suit fit was just…. yikes. I was told how things would go, what I needed to do, and how I needed to do it. I was told about the cryostasis, about the people that would be coming in, and that I was to have no contact with them whatsoever. I was a new factor in all this. So while they did want me informed, they did not want me able to inform anyone else that didn’t need to be. To that end Serenity was assigned to me as “security” and told to take me further into the vault to the staff quarters so I could get changed.

As she led me onward, I thought of what must have been going on up above. People smiling, laughing, waking up and getting ready for the day. Children coming to and realizing “hey, today is Saturday, no school” and getting excited to go and spend a day at their friends homes after they got their chores done. I thought of my brother, standing his ground in Alaska fighting for all that made America great. I thought of the protests that would undoubtedly still occur outside the Boston courthouse and over near the state building. And the more I thought about it, the further it all seemed. Nuclear war. That was the thought that came and washed away all the others. The complexities of all that had brought it about, and the simplicity of how it could and would likely happen. Boom, flash, whoosh, gone. All in that order. No more smiling, no more laughing. Children playing, chores. Dad. Devin. I didn’t realize I had started shedding tears until I failed to stop walking and kept going right into Serenity. She didn’t move as we stood there. So, I rested my forehead on her shoulder, shut my eyes tight; and we stood there as my tears slowly ran down her arm and sank into the vaultsuit.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to… to just scream. In agony, in rage, in whatever unrelenting feeling I was getting deep in my bones that said nothing was alright! Nothing was alright and I couldn’t fix it! I clenched my hands, I felt my nails digging into my palms, I felt the tears running hot from my burning eyes as I stood there! And cried. When Serenity turned around, carefully making sure that I wouldn’t fall over and embraced me, I stopped. Slowly sniffling and sputtering out an apology as I tried to regain some of my composure against her. This was, without any measure of doubt, the worst day of my life. It took a few more minutes, but I pulled away from her, wiping away the remaining tears with my sleeves and taking deep breaths.

After what felt like an overly awkward pause I let out a cough to clear my throat. “T-thank you…. continue on the way please.” Serenity stared at me, looking deep into my eyes, before turning and continuing with a quiet, “Okay.” in response. As we got to a private little area she ushered me in and went over to a locker. “So, what’s the new uniform look like? As good as yours?” She seemed to snort at that before blushing and shaking her head. “No, no. No one wears this like I do. Still, we had an extra in your size, and a lab coat here as well. You’ll be doing the maintenance on our terminals and keeping everyone up to speed with any changes you make to the software while you’re down here. Sound good?” I nodded in the affirmative and was pulled over to the locker as she stepped out. “Don’t take too long. I’ll be back in a few minutes to make sure you’re all good. Wouldn’t want to catch you with your pants down.” Renny smiled, and then she was gone. I don’t know how she did it. How she smiled even as she knew what was happening.

As I pulled the suit from the locker I felt a pang of guilt. How many people would see this color today and know that they were safe? Not many, I wouldn’t think. As that thought passed through my head I pulled my jacket off. Then my shirt, next the belt. My pants, socks. I figured it was best that I leave my briefs on. Just in case the suit didn’t quite want to go on properly. But, that fear was ungrounded. And as I slipped into that blue and yellow suit emblazoned with a number across the back, the world ended.

I felt it. A tremor. Nothing big. Nothing small. Just that small shake of the vault. And I felt it. A cold chill that filled my entire being.

9:47, October 23rd, 2077. A nuclear device had just erased home. So, I zipped up my vaultsuit. Then slipped on the lab coat Renny had pointed out to me. And I said goodbye to my old life. And with one final shuddering breath.

I stepped out to meet Renny, with a feigned smile and tears beginning once again in the corners of my eyes.

“Let’s get started. Home sweet home.”

“Vault 111.”

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout fic #first real post #i think #yeah #theviolenceking

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