#it is supposed to be very routine and simple but she has never had surgery before- at least not since she was fixed

[it-begins-with-rain]

Threaded, bound, and rooted three trees today...

Can you tell I was stressed?

[snoffyy]

Not me crawling back into fandom with more grumpy surgeon Zhao trash -

“… surgical management of this aortic aneurysm with… any ideas?”

Blank faces stared back at him. Zhao sighed.

“ANH. Which stands for…?”

A spark of realisation flickered in the face of one of the students up front. They tentatively raised their hand, calling out, “Autologous normovolemic haemodilution?”

Finally.

“Yes,” Zhao said, trying to not let his impatience leak into his voice. This group of students were… quiet, to say the least. “However, the patient’s blood tests revealed that their haemoglobin was not at the desired levels. Why would that be, judging from the biometric data on screen?”

He pointed at the projector screen, a table of values neatly collated (and hastily thrown together one afternoon in-between dictating reports).

Another hand.

“The patient is underweight, so their total blood volume and red cell mass would be below normative range?”

“Very good,” Zhao nodded, tapping the spacebar on his laptop to get to the next slide. “Therefore, I prescribed erythropoietin and an intravenous infusion of iron to increase their haemoglobin levels. I am happy to note that they responded well to treatment and was able to enter surgery as scheduled. A fairly standard procedure. They received postoperative erythropoietin and iron and was discharged. Any questions?”

Several hands flew up.

“Seeing that the patient was underweight, did that influence your decision on the procedure you used for extracorporeal circulation?”

“Not necessarily. I settled on retrograde autologous priming, RAP, as you know it, because it has been proven to be a safer and less invasive procedure for both adult and paediatric patients,” Zhao answered. “Patient safety, of course, is paramount, and I don’t see the benefit in taking unnecessary risks.”

Another question was echoed back at him, and he answered dutifully, mind helplessly wandering back to so many years ago, when he was the student sitting at the front, confusion swirling in his head as he tried to make sense of the case study, the surgeon sitting on the panel seemingly untouchable and intimidating beyond their years.

And now he was the surgeon, taking the place of that almost enigmatic professional with the perfect poker face and unerring air.

Sometimes, he wondered how he ended up here.

.

Closing hours was Zhao’s favourite time at the café. Only a scant few weeks ago, he’d hesitated to stay that long, but Yue had managed to convince him that she didn’t mind and that she enjoyed having someone to chat to while she closed shop. Trust her to insist sending her staff home earlier while she took on the last few tasks herself.

“So, why medicine?”

He jolted out of his chamomile daze (Yue had cut him off after his second cup of coffee, the nerve of her) to raise his head in the direction of her voice.

“Pardon?”

“Why medicine?” she repeated. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

Where to even begin? His reasons for entering study into medicine was a convoluted process, and a cause of strife for much of his life. At times it felt like he was putting up a front, unwilling to admit that medicine wasn’t his first love; an almost unspoken blasphemy he shouldn’t be divulging.

But something urged him to tell Yue. Something innate knew she wasn’t the type to judge or hold implicit bias against him. She was simply someone who, over the months he’d spent getting to know through simple interactions of buying coffee, had integrated herself into his routine without him noticing or minding.

“My parents wanted me to do medicine,” Zhao confessed. “They were the type who would drag me to tutoring sessions every day after school, made me study ahead of the school curriculum, and told everyone that I was going to study medicine in the future. They never did that for any of my siblings. I was the eldest, so I suppose they placed all their expectations on me. But for whatever reason, I did well enough academically and passed all the applications and interviews to land myself a spot in med school.”

Yue paused in the middle of cleaning to stare at him, surprised.

“But it wasn’t all on them. I met my roommate and eventually best friend in undergrad,” Zhao said, a fond smile beginning to involuntarily form. “His name was Lu Ten. Now he was the type of person you knew was going to get into med school when he told you he wanted to. He was… brilliant. We suffered through pre-med together, got through the applications together, and got our acceptance letters at the same time. He was an inspiration, and he inspired me to keep going. I wanted to make a difference in the world, not necessarily through healthcare, but in any way I could. It was his drive that drew me in, made me feel that I could be my own person. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him. But…” his smile dropped. “I found out soon enough.”

Yue planted a hand over his, squeezing briefly before she lifted away again, empathetic knowing shining in her eyes.

“What happened?” she still asked quietly.

“Freak accident,” Zhao whispered. “Walking home late at night, got caught between a gang war, and…” he mimed cocking a gun. “Only casualty. Innocent bystander with a brilliant future ahead of him, and he was gone. Just like that. I was at a practical that day and I’d lost my stethoscope, so he lent me his. I still have it.”

He always carried it around in his bag. Still shiny and clean, as new as it was the day Lu Ten had given it to him with a laugh and a tease that he’d better not lose this one or it was going to be counted towards his student debt.

He barely used the stethoscope. It had become something close to a good luck charm. And something told him he wouldn’t throw it away even if it fell into tatters.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Yue said, eyes brimming with empathy.

Zhao let out a slow breath. “Med school was… a chore. I went through the modules wondering if I should even be there. My parents paid my school fees. They were, uh, well-off, and I suppose it became a matter of pride that I didn’t just up and quit.”

“Something must’ve changed your mind,” Yue surveyed him sharply. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Zhao ducked his head to conceal a small grin. “I was actually looking up different degrees and jobs. I was tempted to join the navy when I was scheduled to visit a rural hospital in the middle of nowhere for an observation. And that visit changed everything. It’s funny, because I was supposed to be there for mainly ophthalmology, but then one of the cardiac surgeons offered for me to sit in on one of their appointments, and I thought, ‘What the hell? Sure.’”

“Your eureka moment,” Yue laughed. “I can relate. First time I steamed milk correctly, I knew I found my role.”

“Exactly like that,” Zhao curled his hands tighter around the mug. “The cardiovascular system made sense to me. It was the integration point for me to understand all the other systems. I loved it. And seeing it in practice, everything seemed to unravel and connect all at once.”

Yue leaned against the counter. “I’m glad you found your calling.”

“But at the same time, I hated that I loved it,” he admitted. “Something my parents had been pushing me towards my whole life, and the moment I observed my first cardiology appointment, I wanted it as badly as they did. I was at the point of wanting to drop out and go no contact, but then… something just clicked, as cliché as it is to say it. I eventually went no contact with my family anyway, but I walked away with something that I had come to love.”

“My dad didn’t like the idea of me starting my own business,” Yue glanced at one of the paintings hanging on the walls. “He came around eventually. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to walk away from your family, no matter how much you disagreed with them.”

“It was hard,” Zhao traced the patterns whorled around the mug’s rim. “And harder yet to admit that I came to enjoy the one thing they kept pushing me to do. But I loved medicine in my own way. Just like how you’ve crafted your café in your own way.”

She smiled, and it was in that moment, it felt like a barrier had broken down between them and Zhao was being seen in a way he hadn’t in a long, long time.

“I’m not a very good teacher,” he blurted out, not knowing why. “I go to the panels at local medical schools anyway, but I’m not Lu Ten. He’d have loved it. He wanted to go into paediatrics. I could never.”

“But you’re here now,” Yue said gently. “And you’re making a difference. You like it, don’t you?”

He thought for a long moment, Yue’s smile overlapping with his memories of Lu Ten’s. Any one of the patients he’d had could have been a Lu Ten to someone. Any one of them could have been a Yue. There were people out there worth saving, and then there were people that made saving worth it. Sometimes, there were those that were both.

He wondered how he’d almost forgotten that.

“Yes…” he said softly, watching Yue begin puttering around again with her spray bottle and rag. “I suppose I do.”

[junhorhee]

TASK002: POLICE INTERVIEW

TIME: 28.06.23, EARLY MORNING WHO: RHEE, JUNHO LOCATION: GRIGG'S GENERAL

Where were you last night, June 27th? Can anyone confirm this?

"I was in surgery. The nurses and anesthesiologist in the room can confirm." He'd been working when Azra was brought into the hospital, prompting his shift to last longer for the care of an important patient. Her family had the money to cover every possible test they wanted to be conducted, and Jun supposed it was better safe than sorry. It did however mean, that hours later, he'd only finished work, giving the police his statement before heading home.

How do you know Azra Nadir?

"I'm one of her doctors. She hit her head when she fell, so we want to take precautions to make sure she didn't sustain any serious brain or spinal injuries." It was routine for Jun, part of his job, and even if the younger was likely attacked by one of the killers, he couldn't say anything more for the sake of confidentiality. Not without her consent at the very least. "Beyond that, I don't know her well. She's friends with my younger cousin."

When and where did you last see her, or speak to her?

"I can't remember, I don't think I've ever directly spoken with her." He'd never exactly had a reason to, given that not only was she a decade or so younger than him, but they didn't have anything remotely similar in common.

Do you know anyone at all that she did not get along with?

Jun lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Seeing as you should be working an equally demanding job, you understand that I don't have time to invest myself in whatever problems a young girl has with people around town. I'm far more interested in seeing that she recovers well." He sets the file of Azra on the counter for a moment, growing angry, perhaps because he could smell the incompetence off of the questioning police officer, or maybe because he'd been working for 14 hours straight. "I'm doing my job, you should do yours too. You shouldn't be stupid enough to think this is something as simple as bad blood between two people." His words were said harshly, but genuine, picking up the file and walking off before he said anything more.

[pleaseinsertcreativenamehere]

Mha comfort headcannons

requested

i wasn’t too sure on the request so I’ve done it based on your scared for your jaw surgery but I’m defibarely gonna do more comfort stuff on mha

warning:none, kinda fluff and lots of cuddles (and bakugo being…well bakugo)

characters: deku, bakugo, shoto, kirishima

Deku:

-when deku hasn’t seen you all day, and its 01:00 o’clock in the afternoon, hes getting concerned

-when he’s finished his training he gets ready as quickly as possible and rushed around the dorms and school asking literally everyone he seen if they know where you are, or if they’ve seen you today

-so when he finds momo and she says she saw you this morning when she was checking in on you in your dorm, he immed rushes up to your dorm

-when he opens the door and sees you lay, curled up on your bed, cuddling a pillow in the dark, it breaks his little cinnamon roll heart

-he quietly shuts the door behind him as he walks in and walks over to your bad and sits on the edge of it, next to you

-he softly would say “hey puppy, what’s wrong, I haven’t seen you all day and I was getting worried?”

-when you tell him it’s your jaw surgery tomorrow and your worried and start crying again, he goes into a panic mode

-he has no clue what to do, yk since he cries all the time and no one ever really does anything

-but then he thinks about what his mother did when he was a child and found out he’s quirkless, and he wraps you in a big bear hug

-he offers to be there at the surgery so house can hold his hand and so that he can look after you the day after. When you need yes he’s very relieved and calms his nerves

-you two sit it bed for the day, binge watching Netflix all day and talking about heroes

Bakugo:

-bakugo has this daily routine of barging into your room and demanding that you spend time with him

-so when he does this one random day and sees you crying on your bed, he’s confused and concerned…on the inside

-butttttt on the outside he keeps and resting bitch face

-“he would walk over to your bed, standing right in front of you, kind of hovering over you and simply say “oi dumbass, the fuck you crying for?”

-when you say it’s that you have your surgery tomorrow and your terrified, he doesn’t see what so bad and just beginning to laugh his ass off. But when he sees that your genuinely upset and scared he softens up a bit and awkwardly sits on the edge of your bed

-there’s silence until he pipes up and apologises for being mean and laughing at you

-when you don’t reply he sees that as you wanting him to leave, he stands up to leave, but when you tug on his blazer sleev and ask him to stay, he can’t say no

-so he stays as long as you want him to, and you two eventually fall asleep and take a nap together

shoto:

-shoto is bad at expressing sympathy

-having never had anyone show much sympathy towards him, when he finds you crying he doesn’t know what to do.

-he walks over to you and stands in front of you kind of awkwardly

-there’s a silence that seems to lays forever, but he eventually breaks the silence by saying in a very monotone voice “what’s wrong?”. He doesn’t really know how to show that he’s concerned

-but our precious baby boy really wants to make sure his little snowflake is okay

-when you say you don’t wanna talk about it because it makes you feel childish, he respects that and ask if you want anything

-and he’ll give you whatever you want or need baby (after all he doesssssss have his fathers credit card at all times and is willing to use it for you

-he starts offering to buy you things (like he did when offering midoriya food that one time) but when you say you just want him to take a nap with you, he obliges to your request with a simple “okay” he walks around to the other side of the bed and lays down next to you and awkwardly puts his arm over your waist,unsure if that’s what he’s supposed to do

-he eventually loosens up and you two fall asleep together peacefully

kirishima

-god damn kiri would hype you up

-if he finds you crying or feeling upset he’ll run up to you to hug you straight away, which is exactly what he does when he finds you crying in your room

-he’ll cuddle you from behind, and ask what wrong

-when you tell him your scared for your surgery he hypes you up

-he’ll say things like “even the manl- womenliest women get nervous” and “even I’d be terrified and I’m super manly” and cuddle you

-randomly he would get up and run out the door, then two seconds later pop his head back in the tell you he would be back soon and he was getting you a surprise then immediately run back out again

-about 20 minutes later he comes back with 3 bags full of snacks and he’d pour them all out onto your bed

-“we’re going to try each of these new cool snacks today before your surgery since you won’t be able to while your healing”

-omfg he’s such an adorable sweetheart

-he would make sure you get the bigger half of all the chocolate bar type snacks and you would just do that for a while then he’d take you to go train with him

denki:

-he absolutely would get you to play video games with him all. Freaking. Day

-he would let you chose the games and game modes and what you did in the games

-he would somehow convince you to sit in his lap the whole time

-but when he first found you on your bed he would be freaking out internally. He’s such a sweetheart

-he probably came in your room for something dumb like a phone charger even though he doesn’t need it, or a pen because he fried his last one with his quirk

-he would cry when you cry too, it would be a natural reaction. But he’d pull himself together because “he’s the man and has to take care of you”

-and it would be so chaotic at first until you both calmed down and started playing video games

[imagines-r-s]

sticking it - j. farabee

prologue 

a/n: this prologue just has a lot of information needed to continue the series, but i hope you enjoy!! (also the gif is a visual of what the dismount mentioned is, in the gif it’s only a triple)

taglist: @butgilinsky @barbienoturbby @sunsetholland @lovenhlboys​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @hockey-racing-fubol​

warnings: mention and description of injury (very brief), sadness, pretty angsty ngl, but there’s happiness in here too 

sticking it masterlist

wc: 2.6k

(gif not mine)

From the first time you stepped into a gym at the age of 3 to now, standing in this arena, you knew this was the place you were intended to be. You quickly leveled up in the sport of gymnastics and quickly excelled in the sport. Although there were many hardships - both mentally and physically - along the way, you never wanted to stop. Your one and only love was this sport, always has been. Always will be. 

As you progressed in your gymnastics career, your first coach, Michelle Watson, saw great promise in you and wanted to help you move up to where she knew you could go. Her brother had an elite gym in Philadelphia and he was willing to train you, so you and Michelle moved to Philadelphia to get you the best training possible. Your family was close enough with Michelle to know that you were in good hands.

 Working with the duo of Michelle and Marcus proved to be one of the best decisions of your life as you quickly became one of the top athletes in your sport. Eventually, you moved up to elite, which meant that you were in the division that would go to the biggest types of competitions in this sport. The biggest competitions with the toughest competition.

With the Olympics fastly approaching, it was the only thing on people’s minds. Even with there still being 15 months until Trials actually started, every meet from now on counted. Having to get a certain all-around score to qualify for the next meet, every skill counted. Even the smallest of deductions could set you apart from the group that qualifies and the group that doesn’t. 

Your family supported all your decisions, but especially your cousin, Kevin. He was undeniably marked as your top supporter, he never once doubted that you would be able to make it to the Olympics one day and he knew that you would go through hell to get there if you needed to. When Kevin went to the Flyers, he happened to get an apartment in the same building that you did, which was also close to your gym and his rink. 

Kevin was able to support you and be there for you just when you needed someone. Whenever you had the time from the season, you were able to go watch some of his games and meet his teammates, who were just as supportive of you as he was. There were more times than none that you would end a showcase or meet and have at least five hockey players waiting for you with a bouquet of roses and a good job. 

Kevin was always there with a good job hug and your favorite kind of fruit snacks, TK and Karly with a simple bouquet of roses, and then Nolan with his pep and smack talk on the other girls competing. 

Your teammates were always there right beside you. You made some of the best friends from gymnastics (and some of the worst enemies), Nicole Carter was the teammate that you were closest with. Always making jokes about both of you would have an equal amount of silver and gold medals to add to your collection. 

Now here you were at the American Cup, which wasn’t the most important meet of the lineup to Tokyo, but you had to keep a watch out for competitors and make sure that you caught people’s eye when competing. During warm-up you did make sure to talk to some of the girls, not everyone was able to have a close teammate, so you wanted them to know that someone there was rooting for them. You were always a team player, even in such an individual sport like this, except for Kathryn Davis. 

Kathryn Davis had always been one of your closest competitors, you weren’t going to say you were the best out there - you weren’t - but at least you kept a good attitude about how well others were doing. Kathryn was not like that, if you were her competition in any way, she would drag you as quick as she could. Starting rumors, talking bad about you during interviews, or distracting you before your routines were her go-to ways of getting to you and there were many occasions where you had to calm down one of the other athletes because of something she did.

Today you weren’t letting anyone get in your way. Although it was a minor meet, there was still a lot on the line. The plan for your beam routine was to bring out a new skill that had never been landed in major competition, a wack plan? Maybe. But since it was a smaller meet if you didn’t land it, the score wouldn’t affect you as much. Your plan was to go through your routine and do a 3.5 twisting dismount, the highest competed had only been a triple twisting dismount, so if you did land it today the skill would be named after you. 

With the event lineup for the meet going vault, bars, beam, then floor, you were starting on floor and ending on beam. Going into auto-pilot for the first three events, you didn’t take note of your scores and you hardly even realized that you were getting ready to salute the judges on beam. Taking a deep breath before you mounted the beam, you started your routine. 

The core parts of a beam routine were flight series - where you got at least some air time in whatever skill you were doing, jumps, turns, dance, and the dismount. When all three of your flight series were landed and you finished your jumps and turns, you were ready for the dismount. 

Taking a few steps to do the round-off, you were now at the end of the beam and could do the twisting part of the dismount. Taking off you started twisting, keeping an eye out for the mat (even if it is a blind landing), you started opening up from the twist to make the landing. The only issue was it was obvious you didn’t get enough height, so the mat was closer than it had been whenever you had practiced many times before, and because of that you landed a triple twist while still turning. 

You knew immediately something was wrong, the popping noise that you weren’t supposed to hear was kind of a dead giveaway, but you turned and saluted the judges like usual, and as you took a step, all the pain from whatever you had just done came to your leg causing you to curl up into a ball holding your knee. 

You could hear Marcus and Michelle becoming louder, but the pain in your knee somehow drowned out everything around you. There was commotion all around you and you felt Marcus reach under your leg to carry you back down, away from the beam. Eventually medical got to you and you were ushered away in a wheelchair towards the ambulance. 

“y/n, look at me, okay? It’s going to be alright, we’re getting you to the hospital and then we’ll get everything figured out,” Michelle said, holding your hand as you were taken towards the Emergency Room. 

“I need you to call Kev, please,” you assumed Kevin had heard what had happened and you didn’t want to stress him even more since you knew he had been at a game and probably heard while he was there. 

“I will, hun, I will,” the doctors got you in a hospital room where they would do what they could right now. With the pain meds, you were able to ignore the pain for a while. Your mom had called you from back home to check in while you waited on Kevin to show up to the hospital. 

“Hey, short stack, you doing alright?” Kevin said as he walked into the hospital room, you took note of TK and Nolan behind him. 

“You only call me short stack because you’re literally a giant,” you giggled, “hey, Tiki Bar. Hi, Patti Lapone.”

“Can I get whatever she’s having?” Nolan interrupted. The three of them stayed in your room as you waited for the doctor to come back with more information about the scans and tests that they ran. The boys were mostly enjoying the fact that you were giggling the whole time, but they were just glad that you weren’t in pain about what was going on. When some of your giggling died down, they realized that eventually you would have to terms with what happened. Kevin knew that you might not come back from this one as easily as you hope to, he had seen so many peoples careers end this way. He didn’t want you to have to go through that. 

“y/n y/l/n, hi, I’m Dr. Brady and we needed to consult you about the results from the scans. Are you sure you want everyone in here when you hear?” Dr. Brady asked cautiously, knowing this was not easy news to break. 

“Yeah, they’re fine in here,” you nodded taking note of how Kevin had walked over to the side of your bed, anxiously waiting to see your reaction rather than whatever the results were. 

“Ok, well with the injury you got today, you will need surgery as soon as possible, which will be in about three weeks. From there it will be 6-9 months of recovery, which includes physical therapy and mobility work, the time will depend on what your physical therapist decides is best-”

“Wait, so I’ll be out for like 10 months?” you asked.

“Yes, could be more, could be less. It really depends.”

“So, when do you think I could consider going back to training?” the air in the room felt tense, you were the one out of the loop here. Everyone around you already knew what was going to happen and that you coming back might not be an option. 

“It would all depend on what your trainer thinks is best right now and there is no guarantee you will be back to your old self after the surgery,” the doctor said with a solemn look on his face, as he was the one who had to break the news. 

“Um, ok. Yeah. When would I be able to go home?” you quickly jumped to the next topic of discussion, which Kevin was shocked about, as were Nolan and Travis. 

“Well, we have to get you pain meds, crutches, and a brace, but once we do that we’ll be able to discharge you. Okay?” you simply nodded. The room went silent as you Dr. Brady walked out. 

“y/n/n? You okay, hun?” Michelle said quietly, getting more nervous when you simply nodded. 

“Yeah, I just want to go home.” 

Kevin, TK, and Nolan knew that you weren’t okay, so they all decided to take you home and make sure you got everything situated while having to deal with this. Finally making it to your apartment after being discharged, you decided to try and take a shower, which proved to be difficult, so you just left the issue for tomorrow. Changing out of your competition leo and into comfortable pajamas, you made your way back out to the kitchen where the guys were talking. 

“Kevin said he plans on staying here just in case you need anything, but if you want us all to stay we definitely can,” Travis said when he saw you walk into the room. 

“Oh, if you guys want to, it's cool with me, I’m fine either way. I just plan on going to bed right now. So goodnight, I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow,” giving them a soft smile before making your way back towards your room. 

Going into your bedroom was already bound to be a difficult task. Although the room was simple, a lot of the things that you had on your wall were from gymnastics, pictures from gymnastics meets, medals and trophies littered your room in a way that usually lifted your spirits up. But walking into your room using crutches and the knee brace keeping your knee secure made you hate everything in the room at that moment. 

Knocking over your crutches, you ripped down a poster that had your schedule for the next season leading up to Trials, the picture of you and your teammates was next, finally the goal board you made when you were 10 came tumbling down to the ground, the trophies that you had spent such a long time working for were in the process of being thrown across the room when a pair of arms quickly pulled you into their chest. 

You didn’t notice that the guys had rushed into your room or that your vision was now clouded from the tears, but everything hit you at once. As Kevin held you, you simply sobbed into his chest. The dreams that you had worked so hard for were now crumbling down. You realized that all the time and hard work you had invested would have nothing to show for it. 

Eventually Kevin realized you had stopped crying and he looked down to realize that you had fallen asleep. He gently picked you up and put you in your bed, leaving your crutches right by your bed, so if you needed them you could get them. 

“Do you guys mind helping me pick up everything? She’ll regret it if we don’t,” Kevin asked the two boys in front of him who were very happy to help. All of them were glad that they had the day off and planned on staying here and doing what they could to help you out later. 

You anxiously waited the few weeks before you had to get the surgery, you hardly left your room and when you did, you went right back to your room. Everyone wanted to give you time to grieve and accept the possibility that you might not have a comeback. But once you had your surgery, you actually had to go to physical therapy.

Physical therapy was awful the first month. You genuinely felt bad for Adrian, your PT, for having to deal with you. He obviously had to put up with a lot of negative energy and you just added it to it. “You know, I am aware that you were an athlete. I’m going to assume every doctor has said you won’t make a comeback?” he paused waiting for your response, and once you nodded he continued. “Ok, well I can’t promise anything, but once you actually start working, this won’t necessarily get easier, but you accept it. Now if you’re constantly dwelling on how ‘your dreams are crushed and you’ll never be the gymnast you once were’ then that is exactly what will happen.” 

“Yeah, but-”

“Nope, no buts. You got hurt. It happens. But you already accepting that as the loss of a sport you love so much will not cut it in my book. That energy is not needed, especially if you ever want to go back. Now either accept the worst and get this over with as soon as possible, or actually start working towards your dream again. Those doctors try not to give people false hope, but y/n, you have to realize I know you have it in you to go back there and prove them all wrong. And if you’re doing this just to spite them, then so be it. Let’s get to work now.”

And you did get back to work. 

You were able to start light conditioning about 5 months after and were able to start doing basics 2 months later. “Ok, y/n, I’m going to be straightforward with you, your knee is looking better. But don’t do anything too crazy to where that changes. So the plan now is to start easing back into training, no big skills, no big landings. But you can start working. And I know about a certain meet in March that will be your comeback meet, I’m telling you now.” 

[eleanorbloom]

When You’re Ready Ch. 22

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 7.1k (Sorry, my babies had a lot to say in this chapter 😅)

Warnings: Angst, anxiety, cussing, guilt,  dissociation, and mentions of child neglect (medical).   Rated M

Taglist @utterlyinevitable @binny1985 @shanzay44 @choicesficwriterscreations  @starrystarrytrouble @lahellacute @lucy-268  @cinnamonspongecake @romewritingshop @freckles-spangledvampire​@mercury84choices​  @curiousconch​ @thegreentwin​

________

Chapter 22: Like To Be You.

I don't know what it's like to be you

I don't know what it's like but I'm dying to

If I could put myself in your shoes

Then I know what it's like to be you

 Keiki was already awake when Bryce got out of his room. Eleanor's heart tore at the sight of him, as his eyes were reddened and his hair a bit disheveled, but she remained silent, observing how he sauntered towards the couch and took a seat beside Keiki.  The girl had her eyes fixated on the TV but was barely paying attention to the documentary in front of her. "Hey, Keiks," he greeted, waiting for her to face him.

After a few seconds of hesitation, she looked up at him, “Hey.”

“How are you?”

“Better,” she replied simply.

She was indeed better, she looked calmer, but everyone in the room knew her mind was very far from calm and good, especially considering that problem wouldn't be over in who knows how many more days.

He cleared his throat, shifting on the couch, uncomfortable, knowing that what he was about to ask would be very difficult for both of them, but it was for the better,  "I know you mustn't want to relive those things, but… I would really appreciate it if you could tell me what happened, from the start. Elle already told me, but I really, really need to listen to this from you, if you're okay with it."

After a few seconds of silence, Keiki nodded, “Yeah, I think you deserve to know this from me,” she agreed and turned off the TV, leaving the room in complete silence.

Keiki took a deep breath and after wrapping her arms around her legs, she started to talk, not keeping anything, but doing a huge effort to not break like the last time.

She started by telling him she had been thinking about running away from home for months, because she felt lost and alone, and the situation at school was more and more unbearable, and she thought he would support her and understand her because he lived the same. But the breaking point had been what happened at the end of June, when she got sick and almost died of peritonitis, all because of their parents’ neglect. What’s worse is that they didn’t even care about her after that. They went to visit her and then to pick her up when she was discharged, but her mother never stayed more than five minutes to make her company, and while she was resting at home, it was just the same routine. She just dropped by her room to say hi and check if she was alive, but no more than that.

At that moment, Keiki realized that they only cared about reputation, about appearance, to portray the perfect family, and that they would never care about her, no matter what. That’s why she ran away, because even if she barely spoke with Bryce, he had shown more interest than her parents ever did.

That broke him of course, more than he already was. A simple call. A simple birthday call was more than her parents had given her.

Nevertheless, that was just another reason to fight for her. To give her the best and do something he should’ve done ages ago. To stand up to his parents and let them face the consequences of their actions, of their selfishness, and not let them get away with anything again.

After Keiki told him how things had happened, the only thing Bryce was able to do was apologizing, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not being there for you Keiki. If I had been there, you wouldn't have lived this, your life wouldn't have been at risk the way it was."

Even if Eleanor, or Keiki, or just a million people tried to convince him otherwise, no one could change his mind. Part of the reason that that had happened to Keiki was his fault, and surprisingly, saying that out loud made him feel less guilty. Like facing his responsibility with her was taking a lot of weight off his shoulders somehow. A decade of weight.

Keiki got up from the couch and started wandering around the living room, thinking, looking for the right words. As if it was really difficult for her to deny that downright. That although she didn't want to hold any grudges on him, it was simply the truth or part of the truth. If he had cared more for her, probably that wouldn't have happened.

Finally, she sat in her bed in the corner of the room, across from the couch, and confessed “I can’t deny that I thought about it many times… but they are my parents, they were supposed to look after me, and they didn’t. This was not your responsibility, much less if you weren’t living there.”

“I should’ve known better that they would be just like how they were with me, but I always felt they… they were different with you.”

“Maybe they were at some point, my mom above all” She shrugged, frowning her lips, “but after dad went out of jail, things changed. Mom kept pressuring me to be better and have a low profile, but that was it, she was more invested in dad and the meetings with that scumbag Jennings than in me.”

Bryce’s eyebrows furrowed in disconcert, “Wait, did you say… Jennings? As in Stuart Jennings?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

Bryce shook his head, a glint of disappointment flashing his features.

“What?” Keiki insisted.

“When they were judging dad, the attorney accused Jennings of being his accomplice, but they could never prove anything, they said they weren’t friends, that they had no contact, so they dismissed the accusation. But I knew he was involved, I saw dad multiple times with him, at home and sneaking out in the Club. Now you’re telling me this dude has been frequenting the house?”

“Yes, mostly at night.”

“Did he go while dad was in jail?”

Keiki’s frowned, considering, “Maybe a couple of times, usually after mom went to see dad.”

Bryce shoved his hair in frustration, "I can't believe being in jail taught him anything, and keeps doing this bullshit!"

“But, if they were accomplices, why dad didn’t denounce him?” Keiki asked, after a few seconds, confused, “he wouldn't want to be the only one falling, would he?”

"Maybe, this is just a supposition, it was better if his source was free. Probably he knew he would be released soon, so after a few years he would still have him in the field to keep doing this crap."

“That makes sense, but… You really think they are into it?”

“Yes, that’s the only reason he would be in touch with him and so secretly,” Keiki nodded, “This is good information, Keiks. Maybe we can get something out of this.”

“You think so?”

“Yes,” he reassured, giving her a weak smile, “I don’t like to threaten people, but at this point, they’re giving me no option.”

After a long call to his lawyer, Bryce was convinced that his hunch about Jennings could be really helpful if he wanted to get that Agreement, so he called Rebecca to set a meeting that afternoon.

It was minutes before 7 PM when Bryce, Keiki, and Eleanor stood in front of a hotel suite in Boston Harbor, waiting for Rebecca to open the door.

At first, Eleanor wasn't sure she should be there, but both Keiki and Bryce asked her to go with them for moral support and because she'd witnessed both exchanges with Rebecca, and they didn't want to risk any chance to get involved in misunderstandings with the older woman's manipulations.

After a few seconds, Rebecca opened the door.

Bryce froze in place. More than ten years had passed since the last time he saw her. Ten years of holding grudges, anger, guilt, all because of her and his father. There was no easy way to face this.

Once he was able to regain composure, he looked up and down at his mother, from head to toes, taking in the visible passing of time. She was the same stunning woman he remembered, she even was using the same elegant perfume she used back then, and probably was slimmer than before, but she had aged. No matter the serums and surgeries, no matter the money, the passing of time was there, hidden behind that conceal and foundation.  Behind that expensive and loyal red lipstick. Behind the fake image of a perfect wife and perfect mother.

Rebecca did the same. She looked at him silently, giving an admired look at the features on his face, and the particular hairstyle that probably was completely the opposite of what he used to wear in high school, long and rebellious. "Hello, Bryce. You're just as handsome as when I met your father thirty years ago, son," she said, stroking his cheek with a melancholic glint in her eyes.

A cold glare settled in Bryce’s face, clearly annoyed with the comparison, “Hello mother, it’s been a while.”

“Not by my decision, of course,” she remarked, dryly. “Oh, I didn’t expect to see you here, Eleanor, are you coming as attestor again?” she added, as she noticed her presence behind Keiki.

“Good evening, Ms. Lahela” Eleanor replied, ignoring the provocation, while the three entered the elegant light blue living room and sat on a cream couch at the center of the room.  

Rebecca took a seat on a black leather sofa beside Bryce and gave him a smug smirk, "So? Are you going to leave that nonsense of yours in the past and send Keiki with me?"

Bryce didn’t hesitate a second before staring at her, serious and determined, “I’m gonna be clever and demand you to agree to what I’m asking you.”

“Why would I do that?”

"Because you're hurting your daughter. You're irresponsible and the only thing you care about is money, and status and keep helping dad with his bullshit."

Rebecca gave him a tense smile, and then arched a brow “What are you talking about, Bryce? Why would your dad keep doing what led him to jail? That’s absurd.”

“You tell me.”

“I’m not here to play games, Bryce, so let’s finish this straight away: I’m gonna take Keiki with me, like it or not.”

“To what? To keep pretending you’re the perfect mother? Can I ask why now? Why now that I called you, two months after she ran away, you suddenly care about her? I truly can’t understand it.”

“We were just waiting for her to get bored, so she doesn’t become more rebellious.”

Bryce and Keiki snorted at the same time, but this time Keiki spoke, “Oh, always taking the easy path instead of educating, yeah, very understandable.”

"Keiki, Bryce is working all day, you'd be alone all day, and above all that" Rebecca directed her eyes to Eleanor, "he has a girlfriend, and as doctors, I'm sure both of you want to make the best of the short time you have, there's no room for Keiki here."

Rebecca had done her homework during the afternoon.

Eleanor looked attentively as Bryce took a deep, deep breath before speaking. She was getting under his skin quicker than she thought.

“Don’t talk about my life as if you knew, you have no idea, mother. And you have no idea about giving quality time to your loved ones, you never did it with me and clearly you’re not doing it with Keiki.”

Rebecca opened her eyes, shocked, “What are you talking about, I always tried to give you the best.”

“The best schools, the best clothes, all the damn material things, but you never took the time to educate us, to raise is, to love us.”

“Oh, Lord, here we go again with your drama. You really haven’t changed a thing, have you?”

“Oh? So you’ve been a good mother who has always been there for your kids, right? So, tell me, How many times did you go to Keiki’s room to see how she was feeling with her stomach pain? Or if you stayed the night with her in the hospital when she had surgery?”

Rebecca snorted, not a bit affected by his implications, “You’re unbelievable, the most hypocrite person I’ve ever met,” she snapped. “You haven’t set a foot in Maui for ten years, you only reach out for holidays and birthdays, and you’re talking to me about being present, about caring about Keiki? You were the one who didn’t give a damn about her, and now because she’s been two months with you, suddenly you’re morally superior to me?”

Her words took Bryce and Keiki aback, making them freeze in place for a moment. “Are you really sure this is what you want? Put your career on hold, stop taking more surgeries, more shifts to succeed, because there’s a kid you have to care about, to give less time to your girlfriend?  Or are you just going to split the time and gave that responsibility to her too? Because that’s why she’s here too, right? Because you’re incapable of taking the responsibility on your own.”

Bryce stuttered. It really hurt him. Even if she was just pushing his buttons, it was hard to hear the ugly truth, even if there were parts that weren't accurate. He thought he was ready to face her, but after ten years she still had the ability to break him, to make his mind a mess, to distort everything for her own benefit.

"Two months is nothing, nothing if she's not going to school," she continued, taking advantage of his silence, "you'll have to make time to help her study, go to her performances, meetings with the principal if she's a troublema—"

“Shut up,” Bryce barked suddenly, his teeth gritting. His patience was dropping with every word he had to hear from her mouth.

Rebecca looked at him surprised, “Excuse me?”

“Shut up, mother,” he insisted, “You’re talking about raising Keiki like it was a burden, like she was a burden.  It may be a burden to you, but it’s not a burden to me. She will never be.”

“I’m not-”

"And don't talk to me like you know what it takes," he continued, ignoring her words, "as if you've done all those things with me when I was at school. You only cared about the public side of all, concerts, expositions, games… You were there just because there were photos, but you never sat beside me to ask for my homework, or grades, or to ask what I liked, how good I was at surfing. You only cared when you wanted me to become a lawyer, but nothing more than that. So don't talk to me like you know how to be a caring mother because you don't know!"

“That’s what you want to believe,” She said, giving her the most cynical smile he had seen in his life, “that’s what you want to remember, what better suits you.”

“If that attitude is what lets you sleep at night, go for it, mother, but you won’t make me feel guilty again.”

“And you’re not going to convince me about this stupid idea.”

“You really don’t care about what your daughter needs, uh? What only matters to you is winning, no matter the cost, no matter how hurt your daughter gets.”

“I know what she needs, she needs someone who takes care of her.”

Bryce couldn’t hold it anymore. There was just too much hypocrisy, too much manipulation, too much malice and he was reaching his limit. “And when the hell did you take care of her if she almost died because you ignored a stomach pain for a fucking week?!” he shouted, standing up from the couch, all remnants of patience gone by now.  “A fucking week, not two days when you can think is stomach flu, a fucking week, so don’t talk about giving a damn about your daughter!”

“That was a mistake and I said I was sorry.”

“Stop lying! Stop pretending! You’re not sorry, you never really cared about what happened, the only thing that mattered to you was the stupid meetings with Jennings!”

Rebecca paled at the mention of him.

Got you.

“Wh-What are you talking about?”

“Deny it, deny that Stuart Jennings has been in your house doing bullshit with my father.”

The silence was deafening for a couple of seconds. Rebecca's mind was working miles per minute trying to explain that situation, trying to get out of the dead-end Bryce had put her in. But that's what it was, a dead end. Bryce had her cornered. There was no escape from this.

“That’s what I thought,” Bryce said, smugly.

“It does not mean anything...”

"Oh, I'm sure. I'm sure the attorney back in Hawaii will find it totally normal that Stuart Jennings is spending evenings in the Lahela house after dad went out of jail when it was supposed that they don't meet each other, right?"

“Where did you get that? Keiki told you that?”

“What if she did?”

“She’s lying.”

“I’m not lying!” Keiki yelled, scowling at her.

“If she’s lying, why would Keiki be able to describe him if he’d never set a foot there? If when they were investigating dad she was five years old? Very curious, uh?”

“Where are you going with this?”

"Where I'm going with this, mother, is that if you don't sign the legal guardianship agreement I'm proposing, not only I'll sue you for child neglect, I'll inform the attorney that Stuart is dad's accomplice and that he keeps doing his bullshit, so he'll have to go to jail again."

Rebecca’s reaction was a divine gift. Bryce never thought he would be lucky enough to leave her mother like she was at that moment. Panicking, cornered, defeated.

"You wouldn't. He's... He's your father, Bryce."

And stuttering.

Bryce chuckled, amused with her desperate appeal to mercy based on blood ties, “You and he gave me and Keiki life, but you’re nothing more than that. And if I use the words, it’s just me trying to be polite, but I don’t actually feel it. Mom, dad? They’re just empty words.”

“Bryce, how can you say that? How can you be so cruel to send your own father to jail?”

"How can you be so cruel to ignore your daughter's well-being your whole life, ignore her to the point of almost letting her die because of your neglect, to the point of not giving a fuck about her when she ran away? That's what I can't fucking understand, woman! So don't come at me begging to behave like a son, when he has been anything but a father to me and Keiki, the same as you."

Bryce was out of line, letting all his anger go, but as the words went out of him, he was feeling lighter and lighter, and more and more hopeful. Eleanor and Keiki had never seen him like that, but both knew he was doing what he should’ve done years ago, that he was doing this for his and Keiki’s sake. That the hell he was giving Rebecca was minimum compared to what she and his father deserved.

Rebecca, instead, was shocked and kind of frightened of his reaction. She never expected he would react that way and that he would handle the situation so smoothly. She never considered that maybe, she would return home with empty hands.

"I mean it, mother. If you don't sign the agreement, I'll tell the attorney, and I'm willing to tell everything and do anything to destroy you at court and take Keiki with me. Dad is going to go to jail again and your stupid reputation is going to hell. Probably you're going to jail too."

“Bryce…Don’t threaten us, you have no chance…” It was her last trying before admitting defeat, but she had already lost.

“Don’t I? With what you did to Keiki? With the fact that you didn’t come after her? She’s fifteen, the court will take her opinion into consideration. Come on, this is just your pride, you cannot accept that Keiki prefers me, who was out of her life for ten years, over you.”

Rebecca stared at him and Keiki for a long time. Keiki was sitting on the couch, facing her, determination in her eyes. Nothing she had said had changed her mind.

“I’m going to talk to you father,” she said, and went to the next room.

In the meantime, Bryce sat back in his seat and looked at Eleanor with subtle hope. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he was sure their parents would agree. Keiki, on the other hand, didn't want to have her hopes high, so she just waited in silence, with her shoulders slumped and her hands fidgeting, the anxiety slowly consuming her.

After about thirty minutes later, Rebecca came back to the room with an unreadable expression on her face and stared silently at Bryce and Keiki for a moment before speaking. “Alright. Your father and I have agreed to let you stay here, Keiki.”

The girl released a long and deep breath, a breath that probably had been holding since she had entered the suite.

"And I spoke with our lawyer and he'll start with the legal guardianship process Bryce, including child support. No judge would approve something like that without providing for education, food, and housing, much less considering our situation. I'll let you know when all is settled so you can travel to Maui to sign the papers."

“My intention wasn’t getting any money from yo-” Bryce started, but soon was interrupted.

“That’s okay, Bryce,” Keiki said, making Bryce look at her, surprised, “it isn’t fair that you have to cover everything when our parents are loaded, it’s the least they can do for not being able to raise their child properly.”

“Watch out your tongue, Keiki. I’m still your mother.”

“How about no?” Keiki defied, getting up from the couch. “Anyway, I’m done with this, can we go?”

Bryce stared at Rebecca, wondering if she wanted to add something else. She simply shook her head, so both Keiki and Eleanor abandoned the room after giving Rebecca a nod as a goodbye.

“You better keep your word and this isn’t a scheme of yours,” Bryce warned, standing up at the same time as her, “And I mean it mother, one wrong move and I swear I’ll go to the police. Am I clear?”

Rebecca nodded, "Yes. In three weeks maximum, we should be able to ask for the judge's approval."

"Well, until then, mother," he said before going out of the suite and joining Eleanor and Keiki in the hallway.

When he reached Keiki, he gave him the most luminous smile he had given her, charged with pride and victory, “We made it, Keiks.”

Even if he feared the worst when he received that call and Eleanor told him what had happened, even when he thought what Rebecca had said would convince Keiki to go with her; against all odds, he made it, both made it. Keiki would stay with him.

He knew things wouldn’t be easy, that both would have to struggle a lot to make it work, but Bryce was determined to make up for his mistakes and give her everything their parents failed to give  Keiki.

“We really did it,” she said, lifting her hand to high-five him, “Thank you, bro.”

“Wanna eat something special to celebrate?” He asked, embracing her tightly.

"Mmm, maybe sushi."

“Let’s get that sushi, then, come on.”

As Keiki started walking towards the elevator, Bryce looked down at Eleanor, eyes sparkling with the smile she was giving him, “How are you feeling?”

“Great. Amazing. I can’t believe what just happened. And that I finally… Could tell her all that I had inside.”

“I’m so, so proud of you, my love,” She whispered, caressing his cheek with her knuckles, “and I admire you so much.”

“Well, this wouldn’t have been that easy if it wasn’t for your support.”

“I appreciate the acknowledgment, but this is all you.”

“I disagree, but I’m done with discussions for the day.”

Eleanor giggled, “Fair enough.”

As the elevator reached their floor, the three of them got in, ready to celebrate the first family victory of the Lahela siblings.

 *

The following days were unexpectedly weird and disconcerting. Keiki started avoiding Eleanor without motive.

She wasn't interested in talking or watching movies together, and when they had lunch, there was this uncomfortable and painful silence between them, a silence that had never been between them, not even the first day.

Eleanor didn’t know why. She tried to think about anything she could’ve said, if she overstepped with something, but there was nothing. She thought maybe it was just the natural aftermaths of such a traumatic experience as what had happened with Rebecca a few days ago. A recharging after a very emotional day.

Bryce had noticed too, but as he hated conflict more than anyone in the world, he just preferred to ask Eleanor instead of Keiki, and as she didn’t know, days kept passing by without knowing what was happening with her.

But then, after three excruciating days in which she convinced herself that things wouldn’t get better, Eleanor finally found the strength to ask Keiki, just as she finished putting the dishes in the cabinet after lunch. “Keiki, is there something wrong?”

“Why you ask?” She replied without looking up at her, eyes fixated on her cellphone.

“You’ve been very quiet these few days, you don’t want to talk or do anything together, and I’m wondering if something’s bothering you? Or maybe I did something wrong?”

Keiki looked up at her, serious, but didn’t say anything. Then she shook her head and murmured, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s leave it there.”

“Keiki, I want to help you, but I can’t do it if you don't tell me what’s wrong.”

Keiki scoffed, really annoyed with her insistence, “That’s exactly the problem, Eleanor. Why of all people is you who’s offering help.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t understand why, having already a family, a father, a mother, a brother, is you, someone who was a total stranger to me two months ago, the one who cares about me the most.”

“Keiki, what are you saying? Bryce cares about you more than anyone.”

“Oh, but I haven’t seen him asking what’s wrong with me, even if he knows perfectly well there’s something wrong.”

“You have to understand this is difficult for him...”

"Oh, as if this has been really easy for me! All I have been is being understanding, comprehensive, patient. Ten years waiting for him to visit me, ten years waiting for more than a fucking birthday call! And now I've been waiting two fucking months for him to show me some interest, but there's always something first, if it's not work, it's you, or your accident. Anything, but me!"

Eleanor couldn't say anything. Part of what she was saying was true, and part of the reason that this has turned this bad, was her fault, so she couldn't contradict her. Besides, she had the feeling that all this anger was motivated by what her mother had told her the other day. Rebecca's poison was working on her.

“I’m sorry Eleanor,” she added, after a few seconds, her voice shaking, “I know this is not your fault… that I shouldn't take it on you but it’s just... sometimes I can’t help but feel anger towards you because…” she sighed, ashamed, “because I see you and you have everything I’ve always wanted.”

Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat with guilt.

“You have a family that loves you, a brother that missed school just to be with you, parents that flew thousands of miles to see you. You have a mother who does your hair and never abandoned you while you were at the hospital, and… and  I want to hate you but I can’t! Because you’ve been nothing but nice to me, and sometimes I feel like you’re the person that cares about me the most.”

“Keiki… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…”

Keiki shook her head, stopping her mid-sentence, "This is not your fault, but I needed to let you know why I've been so… cold with you. I just can't stop thinking about it sometimes. Like, I feel envy, and I know it's wrong, but I just prefer to deal with it on my own."

Eleanor nodded, “I understand. It’s okay, Keiki, thank you for telling me.”

“I still like your parents, it’s just that this is too much for me sometimes.”

“Keiki…” She muttered a few minutes later, after pondering carefully her words. She told herself she wouldn't intervene, but she felt like she needed to do something anyway, to give Bryce a little push even if she was realizing it was time for him to fight his own battles. “I… I know that this is something that you have to talk about with Bryce but… But you have to know that Bryce cares about you, that you are his priority. Bryce has changed a lot of things in his life in order to spend time with you, to give you the time you deserve. You knew since the first moment that it would be complicated. The life of a doctor is hard, and even like that, he’s been giving you all his time. Please, don’t believe for a second what your mother told you. She has no idea.”

Keiki shook her head, a tear streaming down her face, “But she’s right, Elle. Sometimes I can’t help but feel like you care more about me than he does, because you always take the time to listen to me, and all Bryce does is trying to avoid conflict, just like my parents. Why can't Bryce be like you?”

Eleanor bit her lip. Keiki was overreacting, she was sure Bryce had taken the time to listen to her, but at that moment, the only thing that the teenager could think, is that her brother wasn’t giving her the attention she needed, the fifteen years of attention she needed, and Eleanor couldn’t argue with that.

“Keiks, not everyone has this… easiness with people’s emotions, as you’re suggesting I have. Bryce is not one of those people, he struggles a lot with his own, so it’s not that he doesn’t care about you, it’s just that this is really difficult for him to talk about it. Some topics still trigger a lot of things in him and he’s not ready to face them with you in front.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But I also understand where you’re going with this, that maybe he’s not trying hard enough in opening up to you, and I have to say that’s partly my fault.

“Your fault? Why?”

“Because I’ve meddled in your relationship with him trying to help you two, but that has only let him evade the responsibility he has with you. Don’t get me wrong, I like that you can count on me, but now you’ve made me see that Bryce should be able to talk to you about everything, especially now that you’re going to live officially with him.”

At that moment, Eleanor realized that situation would keep occurring as long as she was in the middle, always ready to save Bryce from a disastrous talk, or always providing advice about how to deal with him, almost depriving him of making mistakes, and that couldn't happen anymore.

She had to get out of the way.

"The good thing is there's one quick way to fix this. Well, not exactly fix it, but to push him to do better," She said after a few minutes considering her decision.

“Which is?”

“I’m going back home.”

"What, Eleanor, no! There's no need!" Her answer didn't have that usual determination that characterized her voice, it was weak and almost hesitant.

Eleanor shook her head, chuckling, “That’s okay, no need to pretend with me. I’m sure you’ll be alright by yourself, right? Considering that you’ll start school in a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, I think so, but what about you?”

"I'll be alright," She said, nonchalant, "I'm doing this for me too. I've stayed more than I planned here, besides, it's about damn time I start taking care of my own life, don't you think?"

After a couple of hours collecting her things and messaging her friends and Bryce that she would go back home, she said goodbye to Keiki, more determined than ever that this was the best decision. Not only for Keiki but for her too.

“Eleanor I… You don’t have to…”

“Keiki, you have every right to be upset, or mad, or just uncomfortable with me being here, so please don’t feel bad. We’re okay. And I really hope that this is the push your brother needs to react. I understand what you’re struggling with, okay?”

“Thank you, Ella.”

“Of course. I care about you Keiki. A lot. But not as much as you brother,” She winked at her, and Keiki couldn’t help but smile.

“Please let me know when you’re at home.”

“Sure.”

*

When Eleanor got home, the adrenaline of what had happened that day slowly started to drop,  until all that was left was her reality. Her naked and rough reality, without other people's problems, without a teenager who was pushing her to be better, without a boyfriend who could comfort her when everything was wrong.

No.

Now she was all by herself.

Just herself and her demons, the million demons that she'd been avoiding for days, weeks, months, even years, and that she'd swept under the carpet.

And it was huge.

The guilt after what happened at the hospital hadn’t receded, she’d just pushed it to the back, but was still there.

Bobby was dead. The family was still mourning his loss.

Raf and Danny were still at the hospital, and despite the fact that they were getting better, it would take them months to be back in their normal states.

And she? She was fine. She was alive, in good health, she was able to walk to anywhere she wanted, she could do whatever she wanted with her life, but instead of doing something good, she was just screwing the lives she had around.

She had been trying so hard to focus on Keiki but in the end, she only ended up ruining her. Her presence at Bryce's apartment had cracked her relationship with Keiki, and also Keiki's with Bryce.

Was there anything good she could do at this point or she'll just spend her entire life failing by default?

The following hours happened in an almost familiar blur trying to ignore the fact that she was alone and that the reason she was back at her room was because she was a complete failure that couldn't even help a fifteen-year-old girl.

She wasn’t really paying attention when her friends arrived and greeted her. She didn’t even know how she managed to talk about the past days and ask them how they were doing, how Kyra, Rafael, and Danny were, but she did. Somehow, the words came out of her mouth, somehow she understood the information her ears received.

And then, suddenly, Bryce was in front of her, talking, both sitting on her bed.

When he had arrived? Did she kiss him? What was he saying?

“Elle, babe?”

“Uh?”

“Are you okay?”

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I just wanna know why you didn’t tell me you were planning to come back.”

"Oh, that. Actually, it's not that I had it planned, I made the decision today after I spoke with Keiki."

“What Keiki has to do with this?”

“She…” No, she had to stop doing that. “I… I think it’s better if you ask her yourself.”

“But you know what was happening with her?”

“Yes, and after she told me, I thought the best I could do was get out of there and just try to do something with my life.”

“You had a fight with my sister, my teenage sister, and you just left?”

His voice was teasing but also kind of... recriminatory. What the fuck? Anger started to itch in her guts.

“Oh my god, you cannot be serious.”

“What?”

“I did what you should’ve done to help you, and you’re judging me?”

“No, I’m not saying that!”

"Well, it looks like. I did what you've been avoiding all this time and now I decided that I'm done with this situation, that's all."

“What are you talking about?”  

Eleanor rolled her eyes, slowly losing it, “Bryce, you’ve spent the last three days asking me what was happening with Keiki because you're incapable of facing conflict, and I'm simply done with that, I can't do it anymore. I realized that me meddling between you two was doing more harm than good."

“Do me harm? How can you say that? You’ve helped us a lot!”

“Well, ask your sister and she’ll tell you the contrary. She wasn’t comfortable with my presence there because you’re not giving her the attention she deserves,  and I honestly believe she’s right.”

“Elle, come on, she’s just overreacting, I don’t give her attention, ha! I give her all my attention.”

“You know that’s not true. And it’s not the only problem. You’re always relying on me when things are wrong with Keiki and that’s not fair.”

“Oh, I see. My mother’s words did their work on you too.”

“What? No! It’s just….”

“Just what?"

Eleanor released a sigh, her hands started trembling, her core blazing with anger. She couldn’t hold it anymore. This was not only about what had happened with Keiki. It was so, so much more than that. "I can’t take it anymore, Bryce I… just can't. I CAN’T!”

Bryce stared at her with eyes widened, surprised by her sudden outburst.

“Shit, I’m sorry… It’s just… I’m tired, Bryce. Of this situation with Keiki, the stupid accident, the mess I have in my head… I…”

“Babe…” He whispered, enveloping her in his arms before she broke in sobs.

"I'm doing everything wrong, Bryce. I...I wanted to help Keiki but I screwed it up instead. I wanted to save Senator Farrugia and instead, I killed an innocent man and two innocent lives were affected… I … Shit, I can't…"

“Oh, god, babe. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, “I’m the one who’s sorry, I promised you I’d be with you but I just can’t.”

“No, babe. This is my fault, I shouldn't have let this happen, not when you’re going through something so difficult, I’m sorry.”

They stayed in silence for a while, Eleanor letting the warm embrace soothe her like so many times before, but there was still so much anger bottled up. With herself, of course, but she was trying not to take it on Bryce.

“Don’t worry, baby, we’ll face this together,”

“No,” she said, pulling away from him.

“What do you mean no?”

"Bryce, don't you understand? You have to focus on Keiki, not on me, for god's sake!"

“But…”

“I need to do this on my own,” snapped, categorically.

Suddenly, Eleanor realized that coming back to her apartment wouldn’t be enough to set boundaries between her and Bryce, and to have the needed space to work on her issues, on the mess she had as life.

She had to get completely out of the way. Out of the city. Out of the state.

“I think I… I’m going to Cincinnati,” she announced a moment later.

“What?

“I need  some time and space to think, Bryce, I need to set some boundaries and I can’t have them if you’re close.”

“Boundaries? Why would you need to set boundaries with me?”

“I just need time to think, okay? Everything has happened so fast these past weeks, that we haven’t even had the chance to talk about us, about what happened with Ethan, about what’s next for us. Things have been just happening, things have been changing, and now I feel like I’m not ready for that.”

Eleanor could swear that Bryce paled at those words. God, there she was again, screwing it all up, but she needed to be honest with him.

“What do you mean you’re not ready?”

“I’m not ready to give that kind of compromise right now, Bryce. Our relationship at first was… casual or… I don’t know, without projecting too much, because nothing was settled between us, and now that we’re committed, there’s a lot of decisions to make, a lot of things to give to the relationship, and I really, really want to do it, I wanna make plans with you,  but I can’t do it, Bryce. I’m not okay, so I’m not in a position to give anything in our relationship, and that’s not fair to you.”

And now his eyes were glimmering with tears and widened in a mix of desperation and pain, “Are you breaking up with me?” he said in a breaking voice.

She hated herself for giving him that impression with her own words.

“What? No! Of course not!” She reassured instantly, “I’m just being completely honest about how I feel. Just take it as I told you, I’m not in a position to give anything at this moment so I’m just taking a time away to regain some stability and solve my issues, so I can come back to you… not healed, but at least ready and stable to give everything our relationship deserves.”

Bryce didn’t look so convinced.

“Love, you deserve the best, only the best, and at this moment I can’t give you anything. The only thing I have is problems and I don’t wanna give you that burden when you already have so much on your plate with Keiki. I’m doing this for me, but also for you, for us. I don’t wanna ruin what we have.”

After her words settled in him, he breathed deeply, “Okay.”

“Do you understand now why I’m doing this?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. I’m sorry for reacting that way.”

Eleanor shook her head, furrowing her lips, “I’m sorry for putting you in this position,” she said, cupping his cheeks with both hands. “And please, never, ever doubt about my feelings for you, okay? I would never give up so easily on us. You never did and neither I will.”

Bryce simply nodded, unable to say another word.

It was hard for him to accept it, but only with time he would realize she wasn't lying.

____

A/N: Hello! I know I promised no more +6k chapters, buuuuut... it just happend, there were a lot of things to discuss in this chapter, besides were getting closer to the end 🥺 Thank you so much for reading and giving me your support in all this journey! I big hug to each and every one of you, I hope you're doing well!!

[buckyodinson]

If you take request, can you do one with Whiskey? The reader is an agent that is the crush of Whiskey and he tries to ask her out, but she thinks that he is only a player so reject him every time. She end up hurt badly during a mission and he saves her and host her in his ranch for the recovery. He tries to confesshis feelings to her and so it is fluffy and smutty if u do it 🥺

Recovery

You sighed as you looked up from your computer and watched Whiskey approach your office, bracing yourself for the inevitable flurry of compliments and flirty comments that were about to be thrown your way. He was charming, you’d give him that. But you’d heard the rumours about Whiskey, and didn’t want your name involved with any of them.

He knocked on your open door and smiled when you gestured for him to come in, “Hey, sugar.” he drawled and you had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“What can I help you with, Jack?” you roll your chair back slightly as he rounds your desk and perches on the corner of it.

“How’s about we go for a drink tonight? Just you and me?” he winks and you sigh.

“Jack. You already know my answer.”

“You might wanna reconsider.” he smirks as he holds a file out to you.

You take it from him, and you see that you and Whiskey have been assigned to a recon mission tonight, in a bar. You inwardly cringe, knowing Jack will almost certainly play up the flirty behaviour while in the bar.

“I guess I’ll see you tonight then, Jack.”

“I’ll pick you up at 8, doll.” he winks at you once more and walks out of your office.

You groan and rub your eyes as you pore over the file in front of you, preparing for tonight.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. You were to go to the bar, which was a front for mob activity, and Whiskey was supposed to pick a fight with someone, to give you a small window of time to break into the back office and steal the data you needed from their system. It sounded easy enough on paper, but the whole mission was compromised within an hour of being in the bar. You were supposed to spend at least a good hour or two surveying the bar, working out your strategy before you initiated anything. You and Jack were sat in a booth, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, and he’d press his lips to your temple every so often as you chatted, so if anyone was watching, you just seemed like a regular couple out for a few drinks.

It all went downhill, however, when Jack went up to the bar to get another round, and a man came and sat himself down in Jack’s spot, “Why don’t you let me take you home and show you a real good time, instead of that hillbilly you came here with?” you laughed at him calling Jack a hillbilly, since this guy had a much stronger southern accent than Jack.

“No thank you.” you threw a smile at him and tried to shuffle away from him, but he grabbed your arm and tried to pull you towards him again.

“Get off of me, asshole!” you hissed and before you knew it, you’d slapped him across the face. He flinched back, shocked at your action, and you notice lots of people have turned to look at you. Shit. This could’ve blown the whole mission.

“You heard the lady. How’s about you fuck off and be on your way?” You were relieved to see Jack hovering by your table, drinks in hand, as he stared down the guy sat next to you, who’s face was growing redder by the second.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” the guy slurs as he stands up and plants himself in front of Jack, trying to act tough.

Jack takes a sip of his drink before putting the glasses down on the table and he turns to you briefly and winks, “Go out to the truck, baby. I’ll be out in a minute.”

You grab your bag and walk away as you hear the commotion behind you, and you give a quick glance around before slipping down the hallway to the office that you’d noticed when you went to the bathroom earlier. You opened the door and saw a man sat at the desk in the middle of the room, he glared at you and you squeaked out a slurred “I’m s-so sorry sir! I thought this was the ladies room!” before giggling and covering your mouth with your hands, subtly shifting your watch to face him.

He visibly relaxes and smiles, “That’s okay, darlin’. Head back a few doors and you’ll find what you’re looking for. Just close this door on your way out.”

“Of course! And sorry again!” you smile and press the button on your watch that activates it’s flash. You slam the door behind you and rush up to the desk, grabbing the dazed man and putting him in a chokehold as you grabbed a sedative from your bag and injected him with it. He thrashed for a few more seconds before going limp in your arms and falling into a pile on the floor.

You fished the thumb-drive out of your bag and made quick work of downloading everything from the computer. As you watch the files being downloaded, you look over at a screen that shows the CCTV from the bar, and you can see that the fight is still raging, and you can’t help but notice how attractive Jack looks using his lasso. While you have a spare minute, you go to the trouble of turning the recording off and deleting the footage that had already been recorded over the last few hours. You can still see what’s going on around the bar, but it’s no longer recording anything, so now they can’t watch this back and see you and Jack slip out.

You watch the thumb-drive percentage climb until it reaches 100% and you put it safely into your bag. On the CCTV screen, you notice a man approaching the hallway and coming towards you. You mess up your hair a little bit and smudge your lipstick before opening the door and closing it behind you, acting shocked when you bumped into the man in the corridor.

“Oh! You uh- you might wanna give him a minute, he’s uhh... he’s cleaning himself up.” you give him a suggestive look and realisation dawns on his face once he takes in your disheveled appearance. You slip past him, making your way back to the bar where the brawl had since calmed down, noticing Jack and the man had been thrown outside to deal with their problems, along with a few other men who’d joined in the fight. You walked out of the bar to go flag Jack down, but as you approached the crowd of men, you were shoved to the ground from behind. You quickly made to stand again when the man behind you pulled out a gun and shot you in the knee.

You went down immediately and the noise drew the attention of Jack and the other men. While the men were all fighting one another moments ago, there was an unspoken agreement to chase after this guy and teach him a lesson. Jack rushed over to you and picked you up, carrying you to his truck. He laid you in the back and quickly jumped in front and high-tailed it back to headquarters, calling to get a medical team ready for your arrival.

He paced the hallways of the medical wing the entire time your knee was being operated on. He couldn’t get the image of you in the backseat of his truck, bleeding profusely, out of his mind. Champ had come down to check on you, and he attempted to calm Jack’s nerves, but he couldn’t stop worrying.

Champ eventually got Jack to stop pacing for a few minutes, and gestured for him to sit down next to him in the chairs of the waiting room, “She’s gonna be signed off of field work for the meantime, until her knee is fully healed. She’ll be on bed-rest for at least the next two weeks.”

“Good.”

“Usually that’d mean you’d step up and assume some of her responsibilities. However, seeing the state this has put you in, I’m gonna be very generous and sign you off for this week too. You’re only gonna get yourself into shit out in the field if you’re too busy thinking about her.” he gave Jack a knowing look, and Jack sighed, letting Champ continue.

“So once she’s out of surgery and cleared to go home, you’re gonna go with her and keep her company.” Jack’s raised his eyebrows in shock, and he felt a little more relaxed than a few minutes prior. “By next week, we’ll see how things are looking here, and that’ll determine whether we need you back straight away or not.” Champ stands up and holds his hand out.

“Thank you, Champ.” Jack shakes Champ’s hand before standing up and pulling the older man into an embrace.

“Take good care of her.”

“I will, sir.” Jack gives a curt nod as Champ leaves.

The prospect of spending the week keeping you company had reduced his stress a little, and he stayed in the waiting room instead of pacing the hallways. His knee bounced as he waited, and he sprung up from his seat when a doctor poked her head into the room and told him you were out of surgery.

He spent the evening sat in the chair next to your bed, and you were initially hesitant about him staying with you for the week, but you soon came round to the idea when you saw how worried he was about you. He eventually went home that night to get ready for the week ahead, and came back to see you the next morning.

You figured he’d come round to your apartment each morning and keep you company throughout the day, but when you were discharged and he walked you to his truck, you were confused when he drove in the opposite direction of your apartment.

“Where are we going, Jack?” you piped up from the back seat where you had your leg propped up on the seats.

“My ranch. I can take better care of you there, compared to your apartment.” he smiled warmly at you in the rear-view mirror and you felt your heart flutter in your chest.

The first few days were a little weird but you slowly got used to the routine of Jack taking care of you. He cooked for you, and pretty much never left your side, constantly checking on you. He slept on the sofa, even though you insisted he should be sleeping in his own bed, but he claimed he was a restless sleeper and might accidentally jostle your knee in his sleep.

Showers were a tad awkward though. You couldn’t get the cast around your knee wet, so he had to help cover it before you could get into the shower. You also couldn’t support yourself without crutches, so he brought one of his patio chairs into the shower so you could sit while you were in there. Once you were done and called for him, he’d bring you a towel and help you out of the chair and into his bedroom. He was a complete gentleman about all of it, which took you a little by surprise. You figured he’d make suggestive comments, but he tried to give you as much privacy as possible, and when he helped you get dressed, he averted his eyes where possible. You couldn’t help but notice the way his cheeks would flush when he was in such close proximity sometimes.

During your time with Jack, you began to realise he wasn’t the man you made him out to be, and you were glad he was the one looking after you. Your feelings for him bloomed as time went on.

He went out for groceries one morning, and in his absence, you hobbled your way to use the bathroom, but one of your crutches slipped once it hit the tile, and you toppled over. You managed not to hit your bad knee on the ground, but pain shot up your leg at the sudden pressure you put on it trying to stay stood up. You cried out in pain and tried to sit up, hissing at the ache that had settled through your body from the fall. There was no way you were going to be able to get up from your spot on the floor without help. Shit. You were just gonna have to wait for Jack to get back.

Thankfully, he returned after only about 20 minutes of you being sat on the floor, and you sighed in relief when you heard the familiar rumble of his truck as he parked outside.

“I’m back!” he called and you heard him shuffling about in the kitchen before you heard the steady thump of his boots as he came into his bedroom.

“I’m in here, Jack.” he heard your dejected voice, and he went into panic mode when he caught sight of your legs sticking out from the bathroom doorway.

“What happened, doll?” his voice was laced with concern, but he had an angry look on his face as he helped pull you to stand, supporting the weight of your leg as he walked you over to the bed.

“I needed the bathroom, and one of my crutches gave out from under me.”

He sighed, “What have I told you?”

“Well I’m sorry I needed to pee, Jack.” you spoke sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood.

“You can’t be doing stuff like that, doll. There’s a reason you’re staying here with me. I’m here to help you.” his tone was serious as he glared at you.

“I’m a grown woman, I can go the bathroom by myself.” you countered.

“I know, but in this state, you can’t. It’s too much stress on your knee.” his voice raised just slightly.

“Why do you care so much? Give it another week and I’ll be back in my apartment and you’ll be free from all my shit again.”

“Because I love you! And it kills me to see you in pain like this!” he didn’t even register what he’d let slip until he saw your shocked expression.

“... you...you love me?”

He just nods solemnly and looks at his feet, wishing the ground underneath him would open up and swallow him.

“Jack, look at me.”

He winces as he looks up at you, and his heart falters at the soft smile on your face, “I love you too, Jack.”

The dumbfounded look on his face pulls a giggle from your throat, and he drops to his knees in front of you, wincing slightly from the impact but shuffling closer to you all the same, “Really?”

“Yeah.” you whisper as you reach for his face and pull him towards you, smiling as he presses his lips to yours. He pulls away, speechless.

“I guess getting shot in the knee worked out pretty well for me.” you snicker at the scowl that overtakes his features, pulling him to you to kiss him again.

[whump-town]

Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

Chapter Seven; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the whole fic on my pinned post 

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.” --Lord Byron

Recovery is, by no means, linear.

His body is healing. It’s a slow progression of drainage tubes, surgical staples, and gauze. Every hour of the night, a nurse comes to check in on him. There is pain management and physical therapy. Some guy in jeans and a dress shirt, dressed more like a teacher than someone from the psych department (he would know), comes to ask some roundabout questions.

It’s not that hard to lie, he knows exactly what needs to be said to get out of here.

So while his body carries on, he’s fighting to keep wanting to heal.

He’s not sleeping enough and off the morphine and sedatives, he’s dealing with the aggravation of a tremble in his left hand. The physical therapist is more worried about his chest, getting back to physical health, and establishing routines that will keep his heart healthy. He’s preoccupied with the fact that he can’t even raise his arm to his mouth or hold a cup of water without spilling it.

It’s going to make a wicked scar though. One of many that’s he’s acquired in such a short amount of time. There’s the scar from the central line which pales considerably to the three bullet wounds on his chest. Now, he’s got a ghastly cut that runs diagonally with his ribs. Not that he can see it, he’s still not currently able to raise his arms much more than to bend his elbows.

The hospital’s “cure-all” is routine.

Everything has a routine. Food. Walks. Visits. Therapy. Nurse rotations. All of which would be nice, if he had any semblance of control. That’s what this surgery was about, no? Getting back to a point where he wouldn’t need constant aide and, yet, he struggles to sit up by himself.

It’s mentally draining.

“Physical therapy,” Dave says with a smirk. He’s pointing to the board the nurses keep updated with what he’s doing every day. It bothered him that they come in every morning to rewrite it. It’s the same routine every day. “Oh, I bet they love you down there.” They do not, in fact, love him down there or here. He’s an impatient bastard who wants to go back to work and is so very tired of being touched constantly by so many strangers.

He’s an impatient bastard… who is just so very tired.

He chooses not to comment, keeping his gaze down to stare at the floor. To be honest, he needs to go home. His mental health is slipping like water in his desperately cupped hands. He’s moody and stiff and… he just wants to go home (and if he dares to say a word about the fact that he keeps thinking about how he should have never let them convince him to take the adrenaline, to accept treatment they’d keep him here even longer. He’d become a whole new kind of threat).

Dave notices the not to casual drop of conversation on Aaron’s part. His eyes just cast aside and shoulder slumped. “Alright,” Dave caves.  “Let’s go.” That’s plenty of torture for one day and he’s not done yet. “How about you I go on a walk?”

Aaron frowns, looking over at Dave with a strange, tense feeling of embarrassment. As if he’s said something he isn’t supposed to. “Why?”

He’s been withdrawn. Everyone’s noticed. It’s not that Dave thinks Aaron should be more grateful. The boy just got a heart transplant and that’s fantastic but that doesn’t erase everything else that’s happened. The hospital visits. Stress. And now, at the top of it all, his visitor’s list has essentially dwindled down to just him-- just Dave.

“You’re just looking a little down,” Dave says, bending down to retrieve one of his three duffel bags.

Watching Dave unfold a flannel Hotch can’t help but groan. “I don’t want to go to the garden, Dave.” It’s not until after the words leave his mouth that he realizes how pathetic and whiny it sounds.

Dave just shoots him a simple glance out of the corner of his eyes but doesn’t comment on his tone. “We’re not going to the garden,” Dave informs him. He brings the flannel to Hotch, offering him it with a nod. He refrains from smiling when Hotch sighs but puts on the flannel. “I’m taking you to see Jack.”

Hotch’s head jerks up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh,” he says, so happy that he doesn’t even put up a protest when Dave starts to pull the flannel secure around his shoulders. Smoothing out the worn fabric. “Is he--” he swallows thickly around this strange tightness in his throat. It makes no sense to be unnerved at the thought of seeing his son.

“He’s thrilled,” Dave says. “Penelope told him about our little plan yesterday and the poor kid barely slept at all last night he was so excited.” That gets Dave the softest little laugh. “I don’t think he’s gonna last very long,” Dave mumbles. Jack had really been squirming about when he’s left them just a moment ago. Anxious and annoyed with the adults for taking so long, Jack was acting up just a little. “He’ll probably crawl right into your lap and be out like a light.”

Hotch smiles at the thought but he knows what he really wants more than anything-- to just hold his son close to his chest. To feel his tiny little ribcage press into his own. The soft, trusting way Jack presses his face into his neck and links his arms behind Hotch’s head.

“Ready?”

Hotch nods.

Walking is getting easier. The strain that pulls along his ribcage is still there. The muscles are healing very slowly but at least he can hold himself upright now. His shoulders pulled back and there’s some life to his gate. No longer looking like a broken marionette held up by his strings.

“Look, Jack!”

He’s still making his steady but slow progression down the hall when Penelope spots them. Hotch mirrors the excited look on his son’s face. Stopping and leaning against the wall as Jack is placed on his feet.

Reid snags the toddler by his waist, whispering their constant reminder that Jack has to be careful. With a nod that is so very grown-up and serious for someone of his little stature or age, Jack is released back onto the floor. Reid pushes his butt and sends him on.

“Daddy!” Jack comes flying at them as fast as he can. All along the way, his little shoes light up the dark hallway. Sketchers. Something Penelope or Reid bought him, no doubt. They spoil him.

Hotch can’t crouch which really puts a damper on the reunion hug Jack is coming for. 6’2 vs. 3’0 is a big gap. “Hey, buddy.” Hotch chuckles as Jack wraps his little arms around his legs, burying his face in Hotch’s sweatpants. He can reach from here to run his hands through the boy’s hair.

Dave crouches down and Jack turns and happily goes into his arms. “Let’s let Daddy sit down, okay?” Dave offers. “Then you can sit with him.”

Jack nods, eagerly.

They’ve taken three small steps when Jack starts to squirm in Dave’s arms. He sets the boy down on his feet and smiles fondly when Jack goes right to Hotch’s side grabs a fistful of his pants, and “helps”.

Hotch smiles sadly down at his son. He wants to be better. Someone needs to be here for Jack. Needs to do all the things that he just keeps failing at. He’s a bad father.

“Up we go--” Hotch blinks and he’s in the chair, opening his arms to accept a very happy Jack into his arms. Jack curls straight into his chest. Tucking his little head up under Hotch’s chin. Wrapping both his arms around them, Hotch sighs and shakes his head. Things are going to be okay.

They have to be.

*****************

She’s supposed to be on desk duty for the next to foreseeable future. That’s not her fault. There were nor ever have been any mistakes made by her to deserve this banishment. Aside from the fact that her partner is dead… and if management knew she spent 95% of her time thinking about the hot teacher she’d met that day they’d be even more worried.

But Derek Morgan isn’t worried. He thinks she’s doing okay. Great, really, considering. Mostly, though, he’s okay with everything because he knows the teacher is keeping her together in ways that he couldn’t. Does that make him a little jealous? Yeah, they’ve been friends for years. But she’s smiling again.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

The fallacy in moving her between the desk and the field is that she has field knowledge. Valuable knowledge that Derek doesn’t have time to teach a rookie. Not when mistakes can be made.

Emily rolls her eyes, “I’m not broken, Derek. I remember what to do.” The gun in her hand fits like a glove but as her fingers curl around the handle… it’s not her glove anymore. It feels like she’s not supposed to have it. Sure, she’s had it. She’s been carrying it around but having it out and needing to use it versus just having it as a second limb attacked to her belt is…

“I don’t want to drag you into something you’re not ready for,” Morgan defends. Rightfully so. He’s sticking his units neck out right now asking for her help. He needs her help, there’s no mistake there, but he doesn’t want her to get hurt. Not if he can help it.

He stops her, hand on her bicep and voice low-- making a point so that no one else will hear. “There’s no pressure,” he whispers. “Just… you don’t have to do this.”

She swallows thickly as she considers what he means. There are things she can loose. Another lesson she’s learned recently… brushes with death are not as fun as everyone fortells them to be. Death is on her mind constantly, espcially after almost loosing Aaron.

“I known,” she decides. She has to do this. She has to prove to herself. Besides, this will all be fun in a few days. A cool story to tell Aaron.

It’ll be fine.

*****************

Jack leaves after lunch.

He’s cranky and cries when Reid picks him up out of Hotch’s lap. There’s nearly nothing Hotch wants more than to keep the little boy here. To hold him through his nap. Especially when Jack cries out for him, rubbing his eyes with his fists and burying his face in Reid’s shirt.

“We’ll come back later,” Reid soothes the boy.

Hotch watches with an intense jealousy.

“See ya’ Hotch,” Reid mumbles ducking away with the crying boy. Rubbing his hand up and down his back.

Hotch just… watches numbly.

Numbly as they leave.

Numbly as he sits alone.

“You tired,” Dave asks after they’ve left. The room has settled. It’s silent. That silence is heavy.

Hotch shakes his head but the answer is yes.

Dave already knows this. “We can--” Dave stops what he’s saying to look down at his phone. He frowns, “ugh, give me a second.” He steps to the side, and accepts the call. “Hello?”

Emily Prentiss is sitting three floors down from them right now. Her mission didn’t go as smoothly as planned but it’s nothing a few weeks of physical therapy and desk work won’t fix. So, what she’s been dealing with for months now. She’s calling to informs Dave that she will, in fact, not be making it up to see Hotch this afternoon.

“We’ll be down in a second.”

Bad idea.

Sitting, three floors down, Derek Morgan is waiting to visit her too. He’s got his hands on his head, elbows on his knees. He looks up when the door opens, expecting a doctor to sept in but instead he finds the Mr. Teacher Man. Aaron.

Hotch’s chest aches at the sight of Derek. He doesn’t know much at all about the man. He’s Emily’s friend, an old friend whom she trusts. “Is that--” his knees feel weak. A familiar feeling of light headedness and tight pain in his chest nearly taking his off his feet. “Is that her blood?”

Morgan looks down at his arms. It is her blood. All of it. It’s covering his arms up to his elbows. “It’s not that bad,” the man stutters. “There was so much blood--” his eyes widen as he realizes that was the wrong thing to say. The look on Aaron’s face says it all. The fear struck the way that Morgan feels. “There was a lot of blood but she’s fine now,” he stammers. “Really. It just looks bad!” He’s shaking, just a little. His cool is gone, his demeanor on the mend. “I promise,” he manages. “I promise, okay? Please just-- she’s okay.”

Fuck, if he kills this guy-- this guy that Emily is in love with-- she’ll kill him. She’ll hate him.

“Have you--” Hotch is marginally aware of Dave’s tight grip on his arm. Of the shake in his knees. “Have you seen her?”

Morgan shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “She’s okay though, really man. Just needs a few stitches.” A graze more than anything. The problem had been when she passed out. He’d had her in his arms, reminding her to stay with him. To keep fighting. There had just been so much blood.  

It takes an hour for anyone to come get them.

There’s no debating, just a silent step back as they enter the room. All three of them want to see her. To really make sure she’s okay. Dave steps closer, wrapping his body around Hotch’s thinner one. Keeping him upright until he can be eased into the visitor’s chair. Morgan watches froma a few feet behind. Eyes trained on Emily.

“I’m okay,” Hotch grunts. “I’m okay.”

Morgan clears his throat, “I’m going to get some coffee.” He throws a thumb in the direction of the door, “you guys want anything?”

Dave runs his hand across Hotch’s back, shaking his head his stubborn ass kid. “Yeah,” Dave sighs. “I’ll come with you. I need a cup of something but I could use something stronger than this hospitals shitty coffee.”

Morgan agrees.

Hotch waits for them to leave before taking her hand. Emily never stops talking and she’s always moving. It’s scary to see her like this. So still. He takes her hand. Rough calluses circle her much smaller hand. He squeezes her fingers, rubbing his thumb along her thin knuckles.

She makes a soft, inhaling sound as she wakes up. Immediately groaning when the lights and the pain hit her.

“Hey,” he greets.

She clears her throat, feeling the heavy affects of the drugs in her system. “Hey, yourself.” It makes her stomach do a strange little flip with the way he’s holding her hand. “Were you worried about me, Hotchner,” she asks. She smiles at him, toothy and happy despite the blood on Morgan’s clothes and the IV’s in snaking into her body.

“Just a little,” he admits, shaking his head. He looks down, away from her. Embarrassed at just how terrified he really was at the thought of losing her. Even when Derek swore she was, by most standards, okay. “I just…” he realizes there’s an almost confession trying to worm it’s way off his lips. He clears it away with a rough cough. Pulling in a shaky breath he amends, “I just got this heart, Emily.”

She looks over at him and feels deep shame in the affect her actions have caused.

“I’m just… it’s a new heart, you know? I can’t have you going around trying to stop it.”

She’s not sure if that makes her want to cry or to hug him. Voice thick and eyes swelling with emotion she nods, “I’ll try not to go doing that anymore. We wouldn’t want to ruin your new heart.”

He smirks and nods his head. The day is cathing up with him, though, and he catches himself yawning.

Emily squeezes his hand, “you’re tired.” She narrows her gaze, tone turned serious. “You shoul go get some sleep.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not. Really, I’m fine.” Besides it’s the middle of the afternoon. No time for a nap.

“You are,” she says. “Go,” she nods. “Get some rests. You’re still healing. You can’t heal sitting here next to me.”

Hotch nods his head but stays, ultimately. His face is a light blush as he admits, “I just… It can be scary, staying here by yourself. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Fuck. If he isn’t the sweetest man. God, why can’t he be a dick? Why does he have to be so easy going and caring? “Aaron,” she chokes on his name. Her chest tight as she bites her lip to keep from crying.

He squeezes her hand, “until you fall asleep? Okay? And then I’ll go. I promise.”

She wants to say no. She wants to remind him that sitting here isn’t good for his body and that he rally, really needs to think about his recovery but… He’s pleading and worried and having him here is relaxing. She likes the way he’s holding her hand. And she doesn’t want to be alone. So if he wants to stay then she can’t ask him to leave. Not when she wants him here too. “Okay,” she caves. “Until I fall asleep and no later.”

It makes him smile and that makes it 100% it all alone. “Okay,” he agrees. “Yes, ma’am.”

(this is for you @clockedstar)

[sarahjtrash]

Confusing Connections

Jurdan, 2.1K, Rated T

Summary: “You had to get surgery,” Vivi explains while putting the straw in my mouth. “The doctor said you might experience some mild amnesia afterwards.”

A/N: This has sat on my computer for probably a month. I can no longer bear to look at it, so I posting it. There are some mild QoN Spoilers at the end. Enjoy!

-o-0-o-

“You’re finally awake.”

The voice rattles through my head. Opening my eyes feels like dragging them through molasses, but I am too vulnerable with them closed. Beside me is a ceaseless beep that makes my ears pound. As I spin my too heavy head towards the voice, my vision slowly comes into focus, and I find Vivi in the bedside chair. 

“Why do I hurt so much?” I groan with a surprisingly croaky voice.

Vivi stands, presses a button, grabs a glass of what looks like water, and sticks the straw towards me. 

“You had to get surgery,” Vivi explains while putting the straw in my mouth. “The doctor said you might experience some mild amnesia afterwards.”

I try to blink through the mind fog and move my dense limbs as Vivi sets the water back on the little side table. All of Vivi’s words slip past me, expect “Doctor?”

“The surgery was one that the faerie healers felt uncomfortable trying, so you and Cardan decided that it would be best for you to come to the human realm since it is a more routine procedure here.”

The name sounds familiar, but I can’t remember why. I open my mouth to ask just who Cardan is when the door opens and the most beautiful man I’d ever seen enters the room. He wears simple jeans and a flannel, with a little Styrofoam cup emitting steam in his hand. 

Vivi lights up at his presence. 

“Good news! Jude woke up"—the man whips around to look at me—“she’s going through some amnesia like the Doctor said.”

With him looking at me full on, I attempt to swallow but find my throat to be thicker than the water Vivi gave me. His cheekbones and jaw line are sharp, and his eyes pierce into mine. My cheeks heat the longer we look at one another. I know my life is in faerie and could identify that the boy is fae with his pointed ears and ethereal beauty, but I am certain I have never met him before. For a moment, I wonder if he knows about the electricity coursing through my veins. It flickers between us for a moment, and I swear he feels it too. 

That is, until he hands the cup to Vivi. 

Of course. 

This man is clearly not of this world. He is not mine to have. He is, in fact, Vivi’s. I wish it weren’t true, and I desperately hope to communicate that.

Instead, all I say, very quietly, is, “Hi.”

Still, he has the audacity to give me a small smile and reply very gently, “Hello, Jude.”

His voice is like a soft purr. This beautiful stranger is too much for me, and I lament the universe for even putting him in my presence. 

I must have been mooning over him too much because he turns to Vivi and asks, “Why is she so loopy?”

“It’s the drugs, I think,” Vivi says. “I paged for a nurse when she first woke up, but they’re not here yet. I’m going to go see if I can flag someone down.”

As Vivi stands, she and the man share a look before the man sits and Vivi starts to walk towards the door. 

She looks directly at me as she says, “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

I have no clue what that could even mean with my heavy limbs and this stranger, but I do note that when the door closes, the air in the room shifts. The man pulls the chair closer towards the bed, and we both cringe at the squeak it makes against the linoleum. 

“How’s my feisty wife doing?” He asks.

Vivi and this man are married. I try to repress my shock, but there’s no denying his words. I thought that Vivi preferred, if not was only attracted to, women. This drugged stupor was clouding my senses too much if I am to forget something like that.

“I don’t know,” I say because I can’t make adequate judgments about Vivi when she isn’t here, and I’m doped up.

The man frowns “How was the surgery?”

“I mean I was asleep, so I don’t know. If you want to talk about it, I would ask Viv.”

“Vivi and I waited together for hours while you got surgery. I already know how she feels. I want to know how you feel Jude.”

With that, he reaches for my hand. Despite the drugs that course through my veins, I whip my hand out of his. 

“What are you doing,” I hiss. 

He looks stricken and oddly defeated. “We’ve been over this, Jude—”

“Been over what? You can’t be touching me and being emotionally close when you’re married to my sister! I think you know that I find you somewhat striking, but I will never help you be unfaithful.”

The man’s mouth opens and closes a few times. His brow furrows, and his head tilts to the side as if he is trying to solve some complex puzzle. “Jude. Do you know who I am?”

I look him over as he speaks, really look at him. Beyond the uncanny attractiveness, he seems drastically insignificant to me.

“No,” I say. “And honestly, I’m very confused because Vivi definitely preferred women from what I remember. Am I supposed to know you?”

He looks like I’ve shot him, and he reaches to grab my hand before thinking better of it. 

“My name is Cardan Greenbriar.”

I gasp. Cardan Greenbriar. This Cardan was not just any Cardan. “Vivi married a prince of Elfhame? Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be in Hollow Hall doing princely things?”

Cardan releases a choking noise. “I’m not married to Vivi.”

“Then who are you married to? Because you asked about your wife.”

Cardan seems like he is trying not to laugh. “Jude. My full name is Cardan Duarte Greenbriar. We are married. You are my wife, and I am your husband.”

I throw my head back. “I’m married? To you?”

“Yes. And you married quite well.”

I roll my eyes as bits and pieces of Cardan��s misbehavior coming back to me. “That’s rich. I apparently married to the sixth to throne prince who is well-versed in debauchery.”

Instead of scoffing or showing any sign of be being perturbed about what I said, Cardan leans back in his chair and smiles. It overcomes his whole face, and while it is partially alarming, I can not ignore the butterflies that stir at that expression. 

“There you are,” he murmurs quietly, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it all.

I don’t think asking him to explain would really be beneficial to either of us, so I let his words hang. This left me to stare at him appreciatively and in doing so, my heart started to thump harder. The beeping of the heart monitor accelerated too.

Closing my eyes and licking my lips, I try to prevent the word from my mouth, but I just blurt, “I guess if we’re married, it’s appropriate for me to tell you that I think you’re distressingly beautiful.”

He looks stricken at my words, and before either of them us could respond, Vivi stormed in with what was probably my nurse in tow.

“I think she’s having more than slight amnesia,” Vivi explains.

The man hums at Vivi’s words and precedes to ask me questions about the date, my surgery, my relationship with people in the room. He seems fine with whatever my answers satisfactory as he begins to share my dispatch procedures. My head is still fuzzy, and I am grateful for Cardan and Vivi’s presence as well as the large packet the nurse hands me. They can remember the protocol on my prescriptions. As he talks, a few more nurses come in and help pull out my IV and sit me up. 

When I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, a powerful wave of vertigo sweeps through my body, and Cardan immediately moves to help support me. He gently leads me to sit in the wheel chair the nurse had brought. Apparently the unsteadiness triggered something in my husband because he grips my hand in his as he wheeled me towards the car. 

I want to tell him that the whole thing was really unnecessary, but his hand feels too nice in mine to let go. I also couldn’t find it in myself to complain when he lifts me up and puts me in the car. Although, when he reaches for my seatbelt, I wave him away. I may be loopy, but I am not incapable. 

Cardan closes my door and goes to return the wheelchair to the hospital.

“Hey Viv,” I whisper loudly. 

My sister turns around in the driver’s seat. “What’s up, Jude?”

“Am I really married to Cardan Greenbriar?”

Viv releases one sharp, loud laugh. “It only took you three years for you to question that decision?”

Before I could answer, Cardan climbs in the backseat next to me. “What is Jude questioning?”

“Her decision to marry you.”

He looks over at me and smiles. “I maneuvered our union so that it seemed to be that of political importance, but we both had been repressing emotions that supported a more loving marriage. It worked out in the end.”

I nod as if what he’s saying make any sense. 

Vivi and Cardan begin chatting about various courts and human related drama as Vivi puts the car in reverse. Some of the people they mention sound familiar as my memory starts to come back in slow blurs. It still feels like I’m wading through mud. So it serves as no surprise that when Vivi merges onto the highway, and their conversation becomes too difficult to follow, I drift off. 

-o-0-o-

I awake because broad daylight punctures the blinds, which is odd given that we don’t have those in the royal suite. A spring digs into my back as well, despite the bed being made of feathers. A small trill of panic courses through me, and as I attempt to sit, the arm wrapped around my waist pins me. 

  My head is nestled against a hard chest and an arm wrapped around my back. Though I cannot be sure of who I am lying with, I have a fairly decent guess. A quick glance around shows that we’re on Vivi’s pullout which eases my stress. I look up at my companion to find him looking back at me. 

I clear my throat. “How long have I been asleep?”

Cardan tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “Just a few hours. The doctor said that you may experience headaches though as the anesthetic wears off.”

I agree with his assessment, so he reaches for the side table and grabs a few prescription bottles. With his arms over both of us, he scans all the details for probably thirty seconds longer than any human would need to before he selects a few pills for me.

“I don’t know if I want to take that,” I say, unsure of his hesitancy. 

“You are the one who used to poison herself for fun,” he retorts. 

I do not have an adequate response to that and choose to swallow the three pills he hands me without argument. When he takes the glass of water from me, I burrow into Cardan’s chest. He tenses slightly at my movements. Though I knows the doctor, nurses, and Vivi probably told him about anesthesia, I would not be surprised if Cardan didn’t really believe them. If he thought that he lost me forever.

“Cuddling with you is a lot better when you aren’t a snake,” I mumble, trying to conjure something from our history. 

He inhales sharply. “Has your memory returned?”

I nod into his chest.

“So you remember all of it? Am I more to your liking in this form?”

“Yes,” I smile.

With a gentleness I am constantly surprised he possesses, he rolls us so I am properly on top of him. For a while, we just lay there, our breathing matching each others. My hands draw little swirls on his chest, and I catalogue the pain in my ankle where I probably had surgery. 

I mean to ask him, before he says, “Do you really find me ‘distressingly beautiful’?”

I roll my eyes at my drugged statement, but I still concede, “Perhaps, but it’s not as if the feeling isn’t mutual.”

With the reminder of my surgery, I can feel the exhaustion drag through my body again. Cardan’s hands rub up and down my back, and the movement feels supremely soothing. It’s pulling me down into a sweet abyss. Though right before it drowns me completely, Cardan kisses the crown of my head. 

“It’s a lovely world that makes me find you equally distressing, my sweet nemesis.”

-o-0-o-

Masterlist

[crystaljins]

When the ice melts | Drabble

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 3.1K

Synopsis:  At Jimin’s insistence, you have waited until you bring home that gold medal to tell him how you feel.

Can you finally say it?

Sequel drabble to When the Ice melts

Notes: I left this fic as an open ending originally because I wanted my readers to imagine how things worked out for Jimin and reader, but since you guys have been so sweet and showered my fic with so much love, I figured there was no harm in a tiny, mini sequel. It’s very half-assed and written quite carelessly but hopefull it gives you the closure you are all searching for, haha. 

Warnings: Jungkook calling people idiots. Kissing. Silly people lol.

The entire nation is holding its breath.

Every camera in the arena is trained on you. Your face is being broadcast across every major channel your country has to offer. You’re out of breath and some of your hair has dislodged slightly from its careful styling. But nothing can dim the brightness in your eyes as you beam, breath caught in your throat and heart on the verge of taking flight. Surely you will be taking home the Olympic gold medal after a performance like that.

Though technically the results won’t be announced until later, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind who the recipient of the gold medal should be. You didn’t just skate on that ice- you soared. You glided- you danced. One of the judges even raises his handkerchief to dab gently at his eyes, a movement he thinks is subtle enough to go undetected but is actually being caught by a lucky reporter. It will be broadcast as a viral video when the news over the next few days.

But you are oblivious to that, oblivious to way that you glow like something ethereal as you step off the ice. You catch the eye of your choreographer and she winks at you, proud of how you made her choreography come alive. In a few days, her phone will be ringing off the hook as people who are desperate to capture the magic of your performance want to hire the creative mastermind behind it. She will merely smile and accept the offers though she knows the truth- that while her choreography is good, only you can bring the soul and joy to it that will win you the gold medal.

So, if you are oblivious to the way your stunning performance will and has changed so many lives in that exact moment, what is it that you are thinking after having delivered a routine that will go down in the history books of the figure skating sport? You’ve always been a one-track mind kind of girl. It’s how you were able to focus solely on ice skating and nothing else throughout your youth, and no clearer does this personality trait show as in this moment: Your eyes scan the crowd and they go impossibly brighter when they find the target of their desperate search.

Jimin leans awkwardly against the wall in the kiss-and-cry area, obviously waiting for his athlete to wave off the crowd of people congratulating her and make her way towards him. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his hip is cocked- often he rests weight on only one leg, to take the pressure off his bad leg. Large amounts of reconstructive surgery means that he can walk normally, but sometimes in cold weather he still feels the ache. Though you are exhausted and sore after such a challenging and passionate performance, your body feels light, like you are floating on a cloud as you draw nearer. He’s always handsome but in this moment he is ethereal- light catches his cheek bones and you can’t help but admire the fine set of his figure. Though he is no longer a figure skater, he carries himself with grace even off the ice, even after so many years of retirement.

His eyes flicker up as he hears your approach. Perhaps he is aware of the many cameras trained on you, of the people still reeling from your performance, but for you, all you can see is him. His face, his smile, his eyes, the way his hair falls against his brow. You love him. You love him so much- he’s been your coach for over a year now and every moment has been precious. Even though he’s grumpy and bad at expressing himself, even though the only thing he can ever think about is figure-skating… You love him. And you can finally say it. You know that he’s been pushing you away for months now, afraid of interfering with your budding career, today is the day he will finally let you say the words.

“Jimin!” You call, and his smile is warm as you rush up to him, still in your skates. He doesn’t even hesitate as you throw your arms around him, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.

“That triple lutz landing was messy.” He mutters into the crook of your shoulder and you laugh. He pulls away and glares at you with a slight frown. “Is that a joke to you? We’ll be training twice as hard from now on! No more messy landings.”

“That’s fine.” You say, with a coy smile. “That just means more time with you, right?”

Jimin tries to look stern but he can’t keep the smile off his face despite his best efforts. What comes out is a strained but fond smile as he shakes his head.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” He says and despite the harshness of his words, there is no denying the adoration in his words. Because Jimin loves you too- not only has he said it before, but he’s shown it. In the way he buys you dinner after practice, or the way that he pulls you in close for a hug when the exhaustion and fatigue of training sets in. In the way that his eyes shine with love as he watches you skate across the ice or the way that he’ll rearrange everything for something as simple as taking you to a movie. And despite his insistence that the two of you have to wait until you win your first gold medal, he does not have the strength to stay away, and now he won’t have to.

“I know.” You say gleefully. He grins.

“Let’s go get that gold medal.” He tells you softly, taking your hand gently in his. He’s always affectionate with you- he likes to hold your hand and sit close enough so that your legs press together, and yet your heart still flutters at the warm sensation of his fingers interlaced with yours.

“Wait. First I want to say it. I lo-“ You begin eagerly. The words are always on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst forth but you’ve held them in at his insistence. You can’t wait any longer.

“Just a little longer.” He cuts you off. “I want to see that gold medal around your neck first. And then tomorrow we can go for dinner and we can talk, ok?”

You frown.

“Tomorrow is so far away.” You complain and he smiles and the look he gives you is tortured.

“Believe me, (Y/N), I know.” He says with a laugh. “Now let’s go get that medal.”

You sigh and follow obediently. They’re announcing the result in a couple of hours and you suppose if you’ve waited an entire year to be able to say those three words to Jimin, you can wait a little longer.

++

The press has a field day. The Olympics are sacred- the thought that there could be corruption amidst the judges is an outrageous claim and yet not a single person can deny that you deserved the gold medal. The only proof, however, is that the person who took home the gold came from the country where the Olympics were being hosted and the videos of your dazzling performance. Despite the petition that goes up to launch an audit into the score, the authorities come away with nothing. Perhaps you were marked harder than strictly necessary- highly specific technicalities that no one has brought up for years were subtracted from your final score, but they were all rules in the book. You even get a phone call from the distraught gold medallist, promising that she would never cheat and the results were as unexpected to her as they were to you. You reassure her with a smile on your face and you respond in all the interviews with that same easy smile. People can see the difference though- they had seen the way your smile normally reaches all the way to your eyes and how in interviews after the announcement they just seem dead.

You go back home with a silver medal.

A silver medal isn’t bad. In the past, you would have been thrilled with such a result. To even have the opportunity to skate in the Olympics is so beyond your wildest dreams and to do it with Jimin, your former idol-turned-coach is even more unbelievable. The experience was thrilling and when you rewatch videos your heart still races. A silver medal is a wonderful thing to receive.

The only problem is Jimin. His eyes had gone dark and foggy at the announcement of the results, like someone had flipped a switch. All the colour had drained from his face and he had actually had to leave the room. He hasn’t contacted you since and all your texts in the week that has passed have gone unread.

You know Jimin loves you, but you also know he loves you because he fell for your skating. And with his radio silence, you can’t help but feel the doubts start to creep him. Has he decided you aren’t good enough from him, because you were unable to take home the gold medal like he expected you too? Perhaps his refusal to allow you to confess your love hadn’t been a desire to wait. Maybe he wanted to see if you could prove yourself worthy of him and you failed the trial? Perhaps he never even loved you in the first place- maybe it was only the opportunity to go back to the Olympics that he loved.

All these thoughts swirl around until your heart is heavy and dark. You can’t even bear to go to the ice rink your father owns. Instead you linger around at home, sulking in your bed, refusing to see friends or go out. If it were just the silver medal, or it were just Jimin ignoring you, you would have been able to cope. But the two combined leaves you devastated until you can’t even bear to leave your room.

It’s Jungkook who finally drags you outside. Your parents let him in and he barges upstairs and storms into your room without knocking. He doesn’t even give you the chance to change out of your pyjamas- he just grabs your wrist and drags you. You aren’t weak- you’re an Olympic athlete, after all, but you find yourself powerful against Jungkook’s muscles and you are dragged pathetically after him like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” You complain, still in your cow-themed pyjamas and with unwashed hair.

“Out.” Jungkook snaps. He turns to glare at you. “You haven’t even washed your hair!” He notices with irritation. “The both of you are such a handful.”

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s your father’s ice rink he pulls up at. He turns to you after parking and frowns.

“Now, this party was supposed to be a surprise to celebrate you winning your silver medal. Jin even baked you an entire cake. But you’ve ignored all my messages all week where I was trying to get you here for the surprise and Jimin has dropped off the frickin’ radar, so here’s what we are gonna do: You’re gonna go in there and have the time of your life. I don’t care that you’re in your pyjamas and that your hair isn’t washed. You are going to have fun. And then you’re gonna go home and speak to Jimin. I won’t be at the party because I’m going to find him and beat his ass and then drag him back to yours. Now go have fun. Jin will drop you home.” And with that, Jungkook is shoving you out of his car, still in your pyjamas, and speeding off, out of the car parking lot.

You blink a few times- the sunlight is bright and no doubt you look shabby in your ratty pyjamas and uncombed hair. But the sentiment is sweet, and you feel bad for dropping off the radar as you did. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. Jungkook is right- winning a silver medal at the Olympics is something to be celebrated and you can’t keep acting like the world has ended. Plastering a genuine smile on your face, you square your shoulders and step into the building.

What greets you first is the familiar, clear and misty smell of the ice. You only get a whiff of the familiar smell before it’s replaced with the smell of smoke- dozens of party poppers go off and confetti fires into the air as the few close friends you have managed to keep with your busy schedule leap out from hiding spots to scream congratulations. Someone has strung a huge banner across the far wall of the rink and someone else has turn on the disco lights.

“Nice outfit.” Jin snickers, and you gaze around at all the people who love you enough to throw such an event and you tear up.

The party ends up being a hit. There aren’t a huge number of people and the people who are there are the kind who don’t care that you’re in your pyjamas. They’re happy if your happy and it warms your heart.

You’re having such a good time that you don’t even notice when he steps into the building, dragged along by Jungkook. You’re laughing with some old school friends with a smile brighter than the sun and Jimin’s heart aches at the sight of you. It’s been a week and yet he feels like it’s been a year. He’s such an idiot.

Jungkook shares the sentiment.

“You’re such an idiot.” He admits with a shake of his head. “I’ve literally never seen someone so whipped in my life. Go talk to her, dummy.”

It takes a rough shove from Jungkook and a moment to gather his courage, but Jimin stumbles towards you like he’s gone a week in the desert and you’re a glass of ice water.

When you spot him, the cup in your hand slips to the ground and liquid spills everywhere.

“Oh!” You cry, and another friend rushes to try and help you mop up the mess. Jimin follows, crouching down to help you, but he just ends up bumping heads with you. You cry out in pain, stumbling back and rubbing the tender spot on your scalp.

“Are you ok?” He cries, diving forward and placing his hand on either side of your face, tilting your head around at different angles to examine the area he bumped. Your hands come up to grab his wrists and gently tug them away.

“I’m fine.” You say softly. And Jimin would honestly give his soul to make sure you never look at him like that again- with equal parts heart break and distance. He’s such a fool. And Jungkook obviously beat that knowledge into him, but he’s spent the past week knowing that to be true. He’s a coward who ran away because he couldn’t handle the fact that he had failed you.

Because for you to take home a silver medal means that he’s failed as your coach. And he knows you deserve the gold and that the judges got away with it by being sneaky, and he’s so frustrated that there’s nothing he can do. And it means he’s wasted the past year not showering you with love and affection because he wanted to wait until you took home the gold medal. So he ran away because he couldn’t handle the crippling guilt and misery, and as always, you pay the price for his own emotional incompetence. And the worst part is, despite the fact that you are probably devastated at being denied a gold medal that is rightfully yours, all he can think about is he can’t bear to weight another four years to properly date you and kiss you and hold you. He doesn’t even know how he’s lasted a year. Why did he decide you taking home a gold medal had to be the starting point of your relationship? He can’t wait that long.

“Can… can we talk?” He asks softly. The friend who is helping you clean up seem to sense the tension in the air and is quick to clear out. You bite your lip before nodding.

“I… Yeah. Yes we can.” You say softly, ducking your head shyly and he can’t help the warm smile that slides onto his face at the sight of you. He missed you so much in just the short space of a week.

It isn’t hard to find a private corner, but the second you do, the words spill out before he can help them.

“I love you.” He cries. You blink a few times in surprise. “I love you so much it hurts and I’m sorry for avoiding you. I was just ashamed and couldn’t bear to talk to you because I’d let you down. And I know that probably made everything worse and Jungkook told me that you probably think I hate you, but I don’t. I hate myself because I couldn’t give you what you deserve. But I can’t hold it back or push you away any longer. I love you.”

You’re silent for a few moment, staring at him incredulously and to his immense surprise you burst out in laughter.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” You cry in between peals of laughter. “Jungkook is right. We’re both idiots.” You say. Jimin blinks in half offence and confusion. Why are you laughing at his apology? “I’m sorry for only taking home the silver medal, but I’m not going to wait another four years to say it back.” You snap, and then before he can say anything, you’ve grabbed him by the collar and have pressed your lips firmly against his.

It’s like fireworks go off behind his eyes. Like he’s leapt into ice cold water. It’s everything he’s ever wanted and more- more thrilling than performing at the Olympics and more precious than the weight of the gold medal in his hands. And he’ll never win another gold medal in his life but he thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life happy if he can keep kissing you.

“I love you!” You cry, when you finally pull away. “And I can’t believe you made me wait that long to say it, but I won’t wait any longer.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, dumbstruck, but then a warm smile spreads widely across his face.

“Silver suits you better anyway.” He says, stepping forward to gently run his finger across the silver cat pendant resting against your collar bone. The one that you still wear even now, a year later that symbolises so much between you and him. “It matches this.” You shake your head with a laugh that is quickly cut off from him.

You’ll take home the gold medal next time. For now, the two of you have won something far better.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 3

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Malcolm didn’t get a second of sleep that night.  After more than an hour tossing and turning in bed, mind racing, he reluctantly reached for his tablet and glasses, turning on the bedside lamp.

A simple Google search turned up hundreds of thousands of articles on inheritance, but none seemed to offer any solutions to receiving the inheritance without meeting the stipulations of the will.  He was an old man, perhaps he was going senile?  Why would he do this?

He shot off an email to the will executor and solicitor, asking Is it possible he was not in sound mind?  Is there a previous version of the will that doesn’t include this marriage requirement?

It was likely a vain hope, but he had to try.  Resolving to forget about the marriage idea for the moment, he turned his attention to finding a job posting board.  After a few false starts he tried charity administrator openings London, and with a sigh, began reading through the first posting.

No matter what happens, this is going to suck.  Thanks a lot, Uncle Wally.

-

Friday

By the time his alarm went off he was dressed and ready to go, texting Graham to cancel his morning pickup and deciding to take the Underground instead.  Pausing just outside the gate and staring up at the townhouse, he realized with a jolt, Everything I have is tied up in the Estate.  If I lose this inheritance, I lose everything.

At twenty-seven he’d fled Glasgow before the ink on his divorce papers was dry, bringing Clara to London for a fresh start.  His uncle had been kind enough to give him a job working for The Thistle Foundation in the mailroom, and he spent most of the next decade working his way up and earning his keep until Wallace decided to retire, leaving Malcolm in charge.  The townhouse went with the Estate, having been owned by the family since shortly after it was built, and he didn’t so much draw a salary from the Foundation as receive a stipend from his uncle.

I’m fifty years old and have almost nothing to my name.

It had always been a given that he would inherit; Wallace had never had children, his only sibling Malcolm’s father, and Malcolm was in effect an only child, his brother having died decades ago.  He’d never had to worry about assets, had few personal expenses.  To lose the Estate would cost him everything.

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed his stop, barely making it through the doors onto the platform before they closed.  Coming up to street-level he looked around, catching sight of the little shop Rose usually got their morning coffees from, only recognizing it by the familiar logo.

Stepping inside, it wasn’t until he was facing the cashier he realized he had no idea what Rose usually ordered.  “Erm, hi.  I don’t do this, my assistant is usually in here – pretty, blonde, big smile, name of Rose?  D’you-”

“Oh, you must be Malcolm!” the girl, Amy, gushed, eyes lighting up.  “Of course we know Rose, she’s in here everyday!  Oi, Mel, Rose’s regular order, stat!”  She turned back to him, finding him blinking at her in surprise.  “Always nice to meet a fellow Scot.  Rose is great, isn’t she?”

“The absolute best,” he agreed proudly, unsurprised but touched by the impression she obviously left everywhere she went.  That’s my gi- that’s Rose.  “I’d be hopelessly lost without her.”

“Too right.  Anyway, here we are, that’s ten quid,” she passed over two large takeaway cups of coffee and a pastry bag.

Right.  Feeling like a moron, entirely out of sorts after first the previous day’s bombshell and then no sleep, he dug out a twenty-pound note and thrust it across the space.  “Keep the change.  Thanks.”

Picking up the order he made his way to the door, more focused on the drinks than where he was walking, elbowing open the door and slamming right into someone entering.  “Shit!”  He barely managed to keep hold of everything, coffee sloshing dangerously but only spilling a little, and he looked up to give the person a piece of his mind only to stop dead in surprise.  “Oh, fuck me.”

Rose arched one eyebrow in response, a smile flickering over her lips.  “I’d rather not get banned from here, if it’s all the same to you, ta.” She plucked one of the cups from his hand, lifting it to her nose before taking a large gulp.  “What’re you doing here?”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk they started down the street towards their building, falling naturally into sync.

“I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d come in early.  I saw the place, and…” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder.  “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she echoed, rolling her eyes.  “Clara stopped by, talked my ear off until half two.  Decided to just get a move on.”

The silence was awkward, which only served to annoy him; they had always had a good rapport, after the first six or so months once she had settled into her role.  Now, eight years later he considered their partnership to be a well-oiled machine, two halves of a whole despite the on-paper power imbalance.

He held the door for her as they entered their building, nodding to the security guards as they buzzed through.  Rose hit the button on the lift for their floor, and they rode up alone.

Malcolm followed her to her desk, watching as she flicked on the lights and shrugged off her coat, vaguely curious to her routine; she typically arrived only a few minutes before him- long enough to be settled and ready to face the day, but recent enough that his coffee was always hot and fresh.

“Oh!” she yelped, turning around to see him leaning on the corner of her desk, watching her.  “D’you need something?  My computer’s still booting up.”

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, before he sighed, shoulders slumping.  “No, I’m good.  Just- oh, you know what you’re doing.  I’ll be in my office.”  Extracting his muffin from the pastry bag he slunk into his office, falling into his desk chair and turning to gaze listlessly out the window.

What am I supposed to do?

-

It was, quite frankly, the worst day of Rose’s professional career.  Things got done, most of her duties able to be completed on autopilot after so long, but she could muster no spark to put into any of it.  No banter. None of her signature Rose Tyler charm.

Her computer dinged and she glanced up from where she was poking at her salad halfheartedly to groan.  “Oh, you’ve got to be motherfucking shitting me.”

“Rose Tyler!”  Malcolm’s delighted voice made her jump and yelp, “I’m so proud of you.  That was almost a proper swear.”

“Missy’s on her way up,” she didn’t even look at him, clicking on the IM box from Mickey, the building’s security guard and one of her oldest friends.  It was just an emoji, two wide eyes, but it was their code.  “What do you want me to do?”

He sighed heavily.  “Fine, I’ll see her.  I swear, she must have my office bugged or something.”

The lift dinged, and she raised her eyes to glance at him.  He looks like he’s having as rough a day as I am.  He’d said he hadn’t slept; had it been for the same reason she hadn’t?  No, he was probably thinking about the gala.  Of course it was about that, dingbat.  “I’ll send her in.”

“Thanks.”

He disappeared back into his office as Missy walked in, and Rose had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing or rolling her eyes.  What did he ever see in her?  Missy Tucker was without comparison the most extravagant, eccentric person she’d ever met, and that included all of her mother’s rich society ‘friends’.

“Good afternoon, welcome to The Thistle Foundation, do you have an appointment?” Rose asked sweetly, as the older woman approached her desk.

“I’d like to see my husband, please.”  Missy’s smile was just as fake-sweet as Rose’s, as they went through the whole song-and-dance.  One of the very first things Rose had been taught on her first day, by both Malcolm and her predecessor Jo, was to stall Missy as long as possible, making enough trouble that she didn’t find it worth it to visit the office.

This is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, Rose lectured herself, pretending to stare intently at her screen for a moment.  “I can give you a few minutes, but he has a call at one that he can’t miss.”

“Thank you.”  And she swept past Rose into Malcolm’s office.

Once the door shut behind her, Rose let loose an undignified snort.  Taking a subtle picture with her mobile, she texted it to Clara with the caption Your mum’s here.

Missy Tucker was the subject of ongoing amusement amongst the three; every time she appeared after months of no contact she had an entirely different style, often with a slight tweak to her features suggesting she was a fan of cosmetic surgery.  Today her chosen look was that of evil Mary Poppins, complete with a plum-colored ankle-length skirt and matching dress coat, a white dress shirt buttoned to the neck with an elaborate bow, black heeled boots, a delicate hat, and an umbrella Rose would swear was an actual prop from the movie.

She looked ridiculous, and like she would be right at home as the evil orphanage matron in a Victorian version of Annie!

Are you fucking kidding me? Clara pinged back almost immediately.  I love my Dad, but God I wish I was adopted.  Please tell me I didn’t inherit her fashion sense!

Snickering, Rose shook her head and returned to her work polishing up her resume.  At precisely one o’clock she buzzed in on the intercom, using what Clara called her flight attendant voice.  “Malcolm, I have that potential donor on line two.”

“Thank you, Miss Tyler.”

A moment later the door opened and Missy stalked out, a murderous expression on her face.  “I’ll talk to you soon,” she threatened her ex over her shoulder, ignoring Rose as she stormed towards the lift.

Rose waited until the lift doors closed before rising and entering Malcolm’s office.  “So?”

He was lying on his couch with his head back against the cushions, a crystal cut glass of scotch hanging loosely from his hand.  “She wants to reconcile, says she’s changed, wants to go back to what we once were.”

“What did you say?”  She settled gingerly on the end of the glass coffee table by his head, watching as he opened tired eyes to stare at her.

“That who we were went up in a flaming pile of shit twenty-three years ago when I caught her high in bed with the babysitter on our fifth wedding anniversary.  That who we were was a childhood friendship that went too far.  That who we were died many, many years ago.”

He looked so sad, Rose’s heart went out to him.

“It’s far, far too late now.  A part of me will always miss that, always wonder, but…  It’s ancient history.  Never mind that this is all because of Wallace’s death and the inheritance.  She didn’t say it, but I know her.  Anything that even sniffs of money or power and she’s first in line, plotting how to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose offered, giving him a kind smile.  “You deserve better than her.”

Sighing, he struggled upright, turning to plant his feet on the ground and set the untouched glass of scotch on the coffee table next to her.  “Thanks.”

Their eyes met, and for once, she didn’t blush and look away.  Clara’s question from the previous night circled back through her mind, and she let herself actually see him.  Ice blue eyes capable of such a coldness shined back, warm and open, something only a privileged few were allowed to see.  His strong features could be severe, Clara had once called them attack eyebrows, but when he smiled… his entire face would light up, almost like he was a different person.

She'd always found him attractive, may have had the occasional fantasy involving them, a bottle of wine, and a hot tub, but love?

Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she automatically licked her own.  She would be lying if she said she’d never wondered – didn’t everyone, at some point?  He drew closer, and she realized that she was leaning in; they were both leaning in.  Is this really happening?

Rose’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart pounding, and she could feel his breath against her lips when-

“Dad?”

[mrneighbourlove]

Fall of a Dynasty: Ch 3. Signing the Fine Print

"I've stopped the bleeding," Doctor Boo-Boo yawned. He was sleeping in his private quarters in the castle after completing surgery on Tulilaid's foot. The captain of the guard had fallen from his horse during a routine scouting drill when his saddle slipped off due to the buckle breaking. It was an accident, but broke a few bones in his foot. Unfortunately, it needed surgical repair, so he was off duty for a few weeks. Still, with Kelly fussing over him, he would be back in tiptop shape in no time. "The Emperor will be fine. She just needs rest now."

"Thank you, my brother said he'd be along shortly, he had to uh... put on more presentable attire." Ralnor worded his sentence delicately. "Not come in his night robe."

"You don't have to sugarcoat it, prince, I know how much the king and queen fuck."

"... very well then, he had to change out of a pair of leather pants."

"Nice. Anyway, I'll come back and check on her in an hour. I need check on Tulilad now, make sure he wasn't quoting that obnoxious poetry since the drugs make him loopy."

"Thank you." Ralnor waited until Dr. Boveir exited the medical wing and turned his attention to Zannah. "We are... quite surprised. At this kind of visit, I mean."

Zannah was incredibly tired, but the moment she locked eyes with Leere, she was being kept up by spite. No way she’d fall asleep around that woman. Ralnor was rumoured to be quite the snake himself as well. “That tends to happen when people try to assassinate you.”

"Tell us what is happening." Ralnor told Zannah. "We cannot help you unless we know the full story."

“My Empire is in the middle a civil war Ralnor.”

Rinku tilted her head, her wrinkles frowning at the thought. “We haven’t heard about that.”

“Because it’s been very small, and I’ve kept a tight lid on it until now.”

"Civil war?" Ralnor sounded... uneasy. If there was unrest in the Kikai Empire, it would not be long until it spread elsewhere. He would not risk having it spread here. "I'm assuming someone is trying to take your throne."

“Worse. They’re trying to tear down the fabric of my Empire for a democracy. But yes, I imagine they want the seat of authority once all is said and done.”

Leere shrugged dismissively at the Emperor. “I’m guessing you came to Hyrule to discuss that very issue. Until of course you were attacked.”

“That is correct as well.”

"I'm here, I apologize for the wait, my queen had need of me." Covarog did change clothes but forgot to wipe the lipstick off of his cheek. "Doctor Boveir filled me in on what happened. What's this nonsense about a fight on our doorstep?"

"Evidently, brother, there is a civil war in the Empire." Ralnor informed Covarog. "They want a democracy now."

"That's... more fighting, more deaths, it could threaten to spread here if it is not contained."

"Exactly."

"We have to get this issue resolved at once." Covarog asked Zannah. "Who is the perpetrator behind this?"

Zannah scowled, hiding her disdain with a half-hearted chuckle. “What? Not even a hello?”

We'll have time for pleasantries later, for now, we need information." Covarog was concerned about the Empire once again getting too haughty and trying to attack Hyrule. The last thing he wanted was another war. The kingdom had just recovered from Vul'kar. "Who is behind this?"

Zannah sighed, breathing softly. “A man by the name of Jaster Fett. He had enough influence to lead my Theron to betray me.”

"Is this someone you know or someone new?" Ralnor inquired. "If it is an enemy of the past, we could handle this with an advantage by predicting his next move."

"I've never heard of this man." Covarog thought for a moment. "The only person I ever knew to so open about his method of attack like this was your brother."

“I’ve never heard of this man until recently.” Zannah’s eyes gleamed malice at Covarog, the mention of her brothers from the likes of him infuriating her. “You’ll have to be more specific. My twin who was decapitated in front of me, or my eldest brother?”

"The bastard that kidnapped our sister, is that clear enough for you?" Covarog said dryly. "He's the cruelest son of a bitch that I ever knew."

Ralnor agreed with a nod. "Bastard for sure, though at least he's dead."

“I kidnapped your sister. Along with my Android.” Zannah didn’t know if he was playing a joke on her, but she’d keep her pride damn it.

Leere narrowed her eyes at the Emperor. “You seem almost proud of that.”

“Of course. It was one of my greatest military achievements.”

“Even if Rinku captured you and hog tied you.”

That quieted Zannah up good on the subject. “My brothers are long dead Covarog.”

"The only reason you're in our good graces is due to my wife, let's not forget that." Covarog glared at Zannah. "For some reason, she thought you worth sparring even after what you did to Kanisa, not to mention my wife's sister."

"Brother, let's stay on point." Ralnor had to be the voice of reason here. Even though he did not care for Zannah either, he thought there was definitely something to gain from this. "I suppose I should get right to the point. We negotiated a treaty, saying that we would not declare war on the Empire and the Empire would extend us the same courtesy. We would help each other in trade and provide supplies if there were to be a disaster. Yet, we never had lines of declaration about aiding during a civil war."

“Excuse me? You’re my ally? What do you think will happen to Hyrule if I’m not leading the Empire?”

"Simple." Ralnor spoke without batting an eye. "We crush it like we wanted to years ago. If you can't control your own people, and they become a threat to us, then we will use our forces to contain this mess you allowed to spiral out of control."

“And how many dead will that leave in Hyrule? Thousands. Can you have those deaths on your head King Covarog?”

"You honestly think that we will lose? You know my wife's capabilities. You've seen her army of dragons and elemental sorcerers." Covarog did not look too worried. "We have one of the best armies and a giant naval fleet thanks to Admiral Corsaire. My father's relationship with the local monsters would definitely help. Besides, I have it in good word there are many who would love to take a swing at the Empire. Yet, I do think there could be a way around this."

"I agree, brother, though it depends on whether or not she would take the offer and swallow her pride." Ralnor knew he and his brother had the same idea. "We could introduce you to someone who would solve this problem very easily."

“I’m asking if you can accept the dead on your side.”

“Zannah. Don’t you think the casualties of war can be avoided? At least mitigated?” Rinku rocked back and forth slowly on her chair. “You have children of your own. You don’t want them being caught up in a skirmish.”

“My children? My children are both safe in Danjur and already on deaths door. They often wondered why they weren’t outright killed due to the magnitude of their injuries. Don’t speak of my children.” Zannah groaned as her leg injury pulled her aches. “What possible friend can help me? That sounds like another debt.”

Leere looked to the two brothers. When she figured out who they were talking about, she shook her head. “No. I’m not having him interact with her black hearted soul.”

"You don't dictate who he can and cannot interact with." Ralnor reminded Leere. "He decides whether he wants to or not one we propose the idea to him. Besides, you know he has a love of conflict."

"Not to mention, he is probably the only one who could put her in her place." Covarog snorted in amusement. "I know he did with me."

"He does that to everyone he meets, the bastard." Ralnor groaned. "The question is, what would he want in return?"

"I suppose that's for him to know and her to find out."

Leere threw her hands in the air. She was ready to go to bed and deal with this lost fiery reptile in the morning. “Fine. She gets a cell, right?”

"Unfortunately, no." Ralnor mused. "She is, after all, still part of our treaty and a visiting diplomatic guest."

Covarog yawned, tired as well. "How do we get him here?"

"Oh don't worry." Ralnor looked up at the ceiling. He knew Bonegrinder always heard the voices in the castle. "He knows to come."

~

"Good goddesses, why did he insist that we meet down here of all places?" Covarog hated the cold and the tunnels were dark, dank, and just that. Freezing.

"I would have been happy to meet him in the library like last time!"

"He likes to make an entrance and I told you to wear an extra layer." Ralnor responded to his brother's complaining like an annoyed parent. "And he likes to play on his own turf."

"Not to mention, we have cripple here stuck in a wheelchair."

"She couldn't walk down here."

"Not like she's going to be able to run from him if she gets scared either."

Leere was glad they could all get a fresh morning after a night’s rest. Zannah didn’t seem to think that 6 hours was a proper sleep though. “My son has a better wheel chair then what you provided Covarog. I’m freezing my ass on this thing.”

"Well, I'm sorry that we don't have one with memory foam cushioning for your pompous ass like Annuciata does for your son." Covarog held out his hand in a gesture. "Do you want to postpone this meeting so your ass will be more comfortable while I order you a perfect chair?"

"Brother..."

"Fine. She's being testy."

"I agree. But we're here to negotiate."

"Where is the big guy anyway?"

"Oh, he's here." Ralnor assured them. "He's just watching for a moment. You know how he like to observe."

"Pretty prince, what did you bring old Bonegrinder?" The snake was on the ceiling, hidden by shadows. He chose not to reveal himself just yet. He wanted to know more firstly before getting involved with another royal leader. "A green lady to add to his precious collection of children? Blue and White will be intrigued."

"No, Bonegrinder, she is actually here because we told her that you could help her."

"Hmm, and help the green lady with... what?"

Leere jabbed Zannah’s back, poking hard with her finger. “Well Zannah. Do you want to tell the lovely man what you’d like?”

Zannah hissed at both Covarog and Leere. “I loath you both. And what man? I don’t see anyone because you have strapped to this chair and we are in a dank catacomb.”

"Hehehe, what makes you think that Bonegrinder is a 'man' as you put it?" The snake was amused. "That he is even human? Is your worldview so limited, green lady?"

"Oh, you made him laugh, that means he likes you." Covarog informed Zannah with a grin.

"Just wait until she has had a day full of his antics." Ralnor rolled his eyes. "Then she'll get why I can't stand him."

"Oh, pretty prince, you love old Bonegrinder, you just won't admit it."

“Enough of this. I came here to ask assistance for my Empire. Show yourself, or do you waste my time with false friends Covarog?”

"False friends? Now, now, green lady, do you mistake Bonegrinder for a ghost?" The Anagari slowly slithered downward from the ceiling. Over the years, he had grown from giant to enormous. Now, he was wider in girth and longer in length. Yet, he still held the daunting face of insanity displayed across his features. "He assures you, green lady," His tail coiled around her wheelchair, bringing her closer to his face for her to see him truly up close. "He is not a spirit nor a specter, he is very much alive."

"See? Told you. He loves an entrance."

“You’re a giant chimera!” Zannah was openly shocked by how huge the snake man was.

"HAHAHAHA!" Bonegrinder actually laughed, deeply, at her stunned face. "Green lady, Bonegrinder is an Anagari, an Echidnan, a child of Mother, and one of many in her legion."

"If you think he's big, Mother is three times his size."

"And Mother is many."

"Very much so."

"Tell him, green lady, tell him what you wish of him." Bonegrinder's tail tilted her chin upward to keep her gaze upon him. "Do you wish for knowledge? Do you wish for strength? Or perhaps do you wish to surrender to the fate the deities have dealt upon you, knowing there is no winning against a divinity."

“I wish for my Empire I so carefully built up from near annihilation to not fall to the hands of filthy traitors. It survived Ganondorf, and it must survive now. I have citizens to look after. The Hasai people will grow weak with time if left to a democracy.” Zannah coughed, the cold getting to her lungs.

"Hrm, so you wish for your people to survive," Bonegrinder slithered around Zannah, circling her as he spoke. "But what are you willing to sacrifice? His magic, Echidnan magic, has its price... even the two pretty brothers know this."

Zannah gripped her chair handles tightly. If Zizi was here, she’d be with every human that hated her guts. Part of her wondered if the three siblings brought her here to be become a snack. “You’re all friends, and you all represent Hyrule’s interest. What do you want from me?”

"He already knows of the little problem back in your home," Bonegrinder informed Zannah. "A civil war with someone trying to take your throne. However, you have lost the faith of your people. If you were placed back on the throne, then this would eventually happen again."

"Thus, where my suggestion took place." Manaco suddenly appeared aside of Bonegrinder. "And he listened. The question is, will you?"

"Your people admire strength and dedication to the betterment of the whole... yet, he can give them one thing you've failed to do." Ralnor placed his hand on Manaco's shoulder. "Loyalty."

Leere and the others spent an extra hour and two discussing without Zannah how they could deal with her little predicament. It her who took Manaco down to Bonegrinder to discuss their plan with the giant shaman.

"And to keep the Empire under wraps, and to ensure that no future betrayal or lack of control happens again in the future at your hands, we decided to select our nomination to the throne." Covarog declared. "Your daughter, Athena. While she was not originally our first choice, Manaco here then had a splendid idea."

"I'm the nephew of Queen Zarazu, the child of her younger sister and a well-respected Waku back home." Manaco then laid out his proposal. "I will marry Athena and help her govern the Kikai Empire...”

"Hehehe, see, green lady?" Bonegrinder chuckled. "They have thought this plan well... however, where Bonegrinder comes into play is his magic to ensure this runs smoothly. Are you ready to hear his price?"

Zannah crossed her arms, her eyes staring down Manaco’s soul. To marry his daughter and take the throne was a serious step to take. “When did you want to marry my daughter boy?”

"Pffffttt..." Covarog tried to contain a snicker. "Good goddesses, you're blind, woman."

"Seriously?" Manaco looked miffed. "I've liked her since I first laid eyes on her. She just wouldn't have anything to do with a 'little kid' when she was a 'cool teenager'. You know how that goes." He shook his head. "Besides, I am a man now. I have my own house, my own land, I have bested others in combat, and by Hasai law, that means I have entered into adulthood. I may not be direct royalty, but I'm the best chance you have at regaining the respect of your people. They already adore my mother and my father, and I have won their trust in the past."

“Hmmm. Perhaps I should have groomed you, instead of producing all your half siblings.” Zannah didn’t hold snark, but real hindsight in her voice. “In her condition, however, I don’t think she’s mentally strong enough to marry anyone.”

"And that is where this old snake comes in," Bonegrinder simply waved his hand over Zannah's leg and the wound... was gone. No pain. No scar. No indication there ever was a hurt. "See, green lady? There is more to this snake than meets the eye."

Zannah stood from the chair, kicking it back towards Covarog. She had no words at first, but when she found them, she knew exactly what she would say. “Tell me your price once more. Heal both my children, and I will pay it.”

Leere crossed her arms. She supposed mother hood could make even the hardest killers soft.

"Not only will you agree to this plan, but in the future, Bonegrinder will have use of you," The Anagari informed Zannah. "No matter how much you deny the deities or curse them, they do have a handle in your fate. One day, Balance will be challenged by Chaos. The world will be at stake; not just your survival, your kingdom's survival, but everyone's." He used his magic to depict a feminine figure with eight wings fighting against a blob of shredded teeth which threatened to swallow her whole. "Queen Luimaya will play a vital role years from now. We will all have to fight and stand with Balance. His condition is you, your kin, your people, will be faithful not only to Luimaya but to the deities as well. Only then, will they possibly not consider your soul damned for daring to achieve what a mortal should never dream of."

“Then perhaps your deity should have a chat with my own. Exodrum is a god of fire and war. His blood is in me. I don’t know about a war in the future you speak of, but he’d choose the side that can bring the most challenge.” Zannah was still confused. “I’m already Hyrule’s ally. If a nation threatens them, we attack. Nothing changes there.”

"You think your puny god of fire can disobey the mother of the heavens if he doesn't want to do what she says?" Bonegrinder asked Zannah with a very disturbing smile. "You seek power, green lady... you have never experienced true power before. Yet, the question remains... do you agree?" He held out his hand.

"This snake is told that this is a gesture human do to show the agreement is complete. Once you take his hand, there is no going back on your word. He will heal your children, and help save your nation, but the prices are yours alone to pay."

“I agree. Heal my children and make sure that the bastard known as Jaster Fett perishes.” Zannah looked to Covarog, tilting her head. “There’s nothing you want as King?”

"Loyalty is good enough for me, as well as the previous arrangements in the treaty. Besides," Covarog admitted with a chuckle. "Gloating is good enough for me."

"That and once again, the queen spoke on your behalf." Ralnor reminded Zannah.

"The Empire, under Manaco's and Athena's rule, will report directly to Hyrule. It will become an extension of our country."

"And there's that."

"So, green lady," Bonegrinder asked her once more, offering his hand, swirling with magic to seal the binding. "Do you agree?"

“What?” Zannah couldn’t believe that her territory would become a state of Hylian law. It was moment she found hard to breathe.

Leere, however, took a deep breath of satisfaction. When she heard what Zannah did to Zizi, she thought back to how she should have killed her long ago. This was suitable payback. “That’s right. The Empire becomes part of the Kingdom to Hyrule. What’s the matter Zannah, you look a little green in the gills there.”

“So I’m to exit the throne immediately?”

"Yes." Covarog was not giving Zannah a chance to argue. "My kingdom has been burned by your flames one too many times, Zannah. We're not allowing it to happen again."

"The only reason that we're not taking this opportunity to simply crush your nation is due to the queen's insistence that an overflow of allies is better than not enough." Ralnor explained to Zannah. "Simply put, you are a pawn on our chessboard now, that will be moved as we see fit. We took one out of your books, Zannah. Figured you'd at least have an inkling this was coming."

"Worry not, green lady, Bonegrinder will ensure your little girl is healthy enough to take over and provide an heir." The Anagari flicked his tail. "Your bloodline will continue... but the throne is now out of your reach."

“I’m a Queen in a game of chess. Don’t insult me you tiny Gerudo.” Zannah internally thought about this choice. What would T0-D say? What would Annuciata say? What should she say? She had an idea all three would agree. Turning to Bonegrinder, she shook his hand. “Do what you can to help my people. That goes for the rest of you worms as well.”

"Queen? Of nothing now, Zannah."

Once the Emperor took the hand of Bonegrinder, there was magic working there. A seal formed around Zannah's wrist. It was not large, only small scribble of elegant writing. This would hold Zannah to her word. The Gerudo brothers had expressed to the Anagari that they held concern of her trying to find a loophole or break her bond.

"Now, green, little, lady... tell this old snake. Where are your children?"

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/614055858328977408/fall-of-a-dynasty-ch-2-friends-in-high-places

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/614060759069130752/fall-of-a-dynasty-ch-4-a-family-made-whole

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse. Story arc revolving the Hasai.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, ALEXEI! You’ve been accepted for the role of BENEDICK. Admin Rosey: Alexei, you have no idea how happy we have to have another beloved Montague, Benedick, join our ranks! It’s a difficult thing, capturing the nuances of a character within a single application -- laying out their past, present and future in a way that gives each of us a glimpse into your plans for them without revealing it all. But you managed to do it, and very successfuly too. We are so very excited that you have captured Benedick so well and we cannot wait for him to bless our dashes! I, personally, can’t wait to see what type of trouble him and tragedy you have planned for him. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Alexei/Sasha

Age | 23

Pronouns | They/Them

Activity Level | I’m not really sure how to rate it on a scale of 1-10, but I’m confident that I can do 4+ replies a week and be reasonably active in a group chat. My active hours would probably be sporadically in a group chat from about 9am-2pm, and then I could be working on replies nights from 8-11pm EST. My job/general schedule has pretty steady hours.

Timezone | EST (GMT-5)

How did you find the rp?  | I told Victoria I was still indie roleplaying and she showed me this ring.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Sorry!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Battiasta Tahan - Benedick

What drew you to this character? | In Much Ado About Nothing, Benedick is written as a sarcastic actor-type, always performing to keep the crowd (and his closest friends) guessing, never showing his true face. According to Battista’s bio, he’s mostly like that in his early life, but I thought it would be interesting to explore how this kind of behavior bleeds into the more serious, quiet attitude that seems to come with more experience, more hardship, and more trauma. Is the “new” him the real one, or is it just another mask worn to ingratiate himself with those around him? I find myself drawn to him because I love to look underneath the underneath, to seek out the bare bones motivations behind people’s actions and let them spin their stories as they will.

Battista is a man that’s made many mistakes and has a lot of regrets — though maybe less than we’d think. His story is compelling, and I look forward to doing the deep dive, turning over the rocks to find the soft damp dirt beneath. I want him to have some satisfaction, and I want him to grow into someone capable of being a good friend, if not a good person.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?  |          Team Making or Team Breaking—

    Battista knows how important it is to trust your team. Just like in the military, knowing that they have your back can be the difference between holding back just a second too long and ending up with a bullet to the skull, and trusting them to watch over you enough to do what you need to do. But how is a trio composed of a control freak, a wild card, and a walking dead woman supposed to function?    It’s not an area suited for his silver tongue— these people need a solid leader, dependable and strong, not someone that charms them and runs when he gets what he wants. He doesn’t want to give up, but bad blood and hard feelings pin him on one side, and a completely unreadable mystery on the other. Is it possible that he can win them over, or will his white-knuckled grip on the reins just end up bloodying all of their mouths?

        Explosive Personality—  

    It’s nothing personal, except when it is. Whether Battista dislikes him on principle, or out of jealousy, something about Everett Craven drives him up a wall. It would take a push for him to resort to outright premeditated murder, and he wouldn’t do it to an emissary without permission, keeping in mind the delicate position it could put the already at war families in. But, well. He certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.    As for the murder weapon— what better way to win a war than with guerilla tactics? Battista isn’t an explosives expert by any means, but he knows his way around something so simple as a booby trap car bomb. With a car as well-loved as Everett’s, it’s a no-brainer to use something ignition-based as a method of assassination, as it’s almost guaranteed that he’ll be the only one caught in the blast. Almost.

         Be It Spark, Inferno, Or Nothing But Ash—

    No man is an island, no matter how much Battista would like to pretend that’s the case for him. With every bullet in the bodies he drops, every hit he takes, he can’t help but wonder just what it was that Genevieve Zhang saw in him the fateful night he prostrated himself before the Montague leadership that made her speak for him. He doesn’t feel it’s his place to outright ask, not yet anyway. He’s unsure if he even wants to know the truth of it.

    Her opinion shouldn’t matter to him. He tells himself it doesn’t, that he’s a grown man, confident in his abilities and his place in the world. Still, the possibilities keep him up at night.

        You Killed My Father, Prepare To Die—

    It seems a distant dream, with all that’s happened. Nearly fifteen years since the cold December night his mother called him, incomprehensible and weeping. Since he had to go down to the morgue with her and try to identify the bloated, dirty corpse the police had pulled from the river. Someone had murdered him, cut him up so badly they could only confirm it was him by the distinctive tattoo on his left shoulder, and the scar from his ACL surgery.

    They’d known it was the Capulets, sure. That’s what got him into this goddamn mess in the first place, though it helped that he knew they were hypocrites, ‘men of the people’ his shapely ass. But he knows it had to be one person to shred his face to ribbons, to strike the final blow. And he knows someone had to okay the kill order. He’s kept an ear to the ground, but it’s hard to hear anything about a nobody that was killed over a decade ago. Still, there’s the tiniest spark of hope. Some day, someone will slip. If they’re still alive, they’ll brag about killing Battista Tahan’s father, and when they do…

    They won’t make it to hell in one piece.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Well, Yeah. Empty Revenge isn’t a whole lot to live for.  

IN DEPTH

What is your favorite place in Verona?

    An odd sort of smile lingered at the corners of his lips in the aftermath of such a question, like he was unsure of whether it was allowed. He shrugged just the left shoulder, palm raised to the sky dismissively like you had asked him how his day was going, how his mother was— how was it ever, yeah? What did it matter, where his favorite place was? It couldn’t hurt to share, but still the answer seemed ripped from him. “The Arena.” One corner of his mouth turned further, expression shifting into something akin to bemusement, and his hand turned down to mime writing. “I like to sit in the shadow of it during the heat of the day, and try to draw.” A grimace, and then a laugh to follow. “Emphasis on ‘try’. But it’s loud, full of people going about their business. Good to people watch.” It was a far sight better than sitting on his thumbs in his empty, silent apartment, anyway. It was nice to pretend that someday he’d be able to draw more than a single line, or write more than a sparse sentence.

What does your typical day look like?

    “Still can’t help but wake up at six,” the comment came off-hand, a huffed laugh out of a wide mouth quirked into something like a chagrined smile. “Drink coffee, work out. Usually sleep for another hour or so after that, if I can.” He rubbed the back of his neck, tough fingers cold against his own skin — a grounding gesture. “Outside of that, I don’t have much of a routine.” Routines make you complacent, after all. A dangerous thing to be, especially when you’re predictable as well. “I try to show my face at the usual haunts, let people know I’m alive and well. Check in on the ducklings, see what they’re up to. Do odd jobs for my landlady— she thinks I’m some fucked-up vet, guess she’s not far off.” He laughed outright at that, something biting creeping into the single bark. Silence reigned.  “I try to keep my head down, unless asked otherwise. But I do like to party.” A last wry twist of his lips. “My only vice.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

    His throat clicked in protest against the single dry swallow he managed — his only reply for a while. The question didn’t make him flinch, which he considered a victory. Shoulders remained straight, the line of them loose and his fingers very deliberately uncurled. Look upon him and see how unbothered he was. “Leaving my mother when I did—” Battista’s eyebrows furrowed, and he cut himself off. Softly, he continued, “no. It’s not even that, she would have wasted away with or without me there to watch.” Funny thing, that. He was glad he didn’t have to watch. “I guess it was… when I was young, I was never around. It wouldn’t have changed anything, but at least I would have known them. I was so caught up in my own. Shit, in my own faux-glamorous life, that they didn’t know me and I didn’t know them, at the end.” He shook his head, a soft huff of humorless laughter escaping. “They were the only family I ever had, no aunts or uncles or grandparents. And I don’t know a damn thing about either of them— I don’t even know if they loved each other.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

    “I’m good at everything.” The response was immediate, dismissive— he didn’t even lift his eyes from the phone in his hand. In the silence that followed, his brows furrowed, as he pretended to think about it further. “Well, except baking. Not very patient, you see.” The mask is near perfect, but the truth of it is this— it seems like nothing is ever easy, anymore.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

    Battista blinked, surprised to be asked such a question. “How do I feel about any endless war? It’s pointless and painful, and it’s getting good people killed.” The answer seemed so simple, said aloud like that. It made him grimace. “Reductive, sure. Do I wish death on every hypocritical man-of-the-people Capulet? No. Maybe more than a few, but not all. I know the Montagues aren’t saints either, singularly or as a whole.” A sardonic laugh. “And I know if it had been me that was murdered, or if it had been Daly or Rosso, King, Ivarsson — we wouldn’t have gone to war over something so destructive as pride.” His gaze grew distant for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip. The remainder of his little speech is little more than a murmur: “but I follow orders, and I keep my mouth shut, and these are the things that matter.”

In-Character Para Sample: TW; descriptive injury, death, gore

    The firefight started at 0243 in the streets of a decrepit, abandoned town with crumbling buildings and dusty roads. They were on patrol with some locals— him, Rossi, the snipers they called Rana and Rospo, and a few others scattered among the buildings. Rossi was pink-cheeked and bright, sighing out great clouds of crystalline breath in the cold moonlight from the cloudless sky, making bad jokes about being a dragon. Their lack of quality couldn’t keep the small grin from Tahan’s face, something half-cocked and tucked into his collar. Rospo had asked if he’d ever seen snow with something close to incredulity in his tone, about as much expression as they’d ever seen from the man, and Rossi’s wide-eyed reply was punched out of him before he’d even had a chance to get the first word out, a fine red mist splattering onto Tahan’s face.

    Then they heard the shot.

    It spurred their loose formation into action as they leaped to cover and following the trajectory of the bullet to its source. The night erupted into sound, the sharp rapport of an AK-47 in a window off to the left. Their squad returned fire, and Tahan fell into a crouch and darted the two feet separating him from Rossi, gripped the straps of his gear, and dragged him into a doorway behind a grim Rana and one of the trainees, Allaiwal. He crouched over the man and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat when he saw the damage — glassy brown eyes, no breath, an entry wound an inch under his jaw and an exit wound gaping where his brain stem should have been. He’d seen worse. He had to tell himself that to get his lungs to pull in some air, and when he licked his lips to try and wet his mouth, he could taste blood. He nearly gagged on it, but he still had a job to do.

    The firefight was over before it really began. A half dozen men firing on a lone window could only miss so many times in five seconds, and when the night quieted Tahan let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He carefully ran his hand over Rossi’s eyes to close them, a smear of blood left behind over a slack face. Grit his teeth, gripped his rifle. The night rang with shouted commands, suggestions, curses, and his voice cut through it all in short, barked out commands. Fan out, check for any more surprises— Rana, call for a CASEVAC, Allaiwal, you’re with me. The slighter man shadowed him with a silent nod, and everyone else jumped to their assignments.

    Tahan led them to the squat building with his rifle ready, grip steady. Focused. The initial screech of the hinges on the door made him cringe, but as they stepped over the threshold and into the dark, the house remained silent. Blood was smeared on the windowsill, on the ground. Bullet holes riddled the wall behind them, and the room smelled like gunsmoke, like unwashed bodies lying in wait, like death.

    But there was no body.

    They exchanged glances, Tahan’s flat, Allaiwal’s a little nervous. They didn’t speak, but as he stalked back into the night after the scattered blood trail, Allaiwal followed. Their footsteps made no sound in the streets, two hunters on the prowl under the pale moonlight, and the sounds of their team clearing the buildings behind them faded into the distance. They were breaking protocol. Nobody called them back.

    The specks of blood led them out of town. His body was steady, his eyes focused, even as his head felt fizzy and light, pulse pounding somewhere high in his throat and his heart stuttering away somewhere in his chest. The wind picked up away from the shelter of the cluster of solid buildings, cutting against the skin of his cheeks, his nose, his neck. The blood led them on, great globs of clotting and widespread speckling among the scattered stones and dry dirt. The gore on his face, the bits of Rossi that still clung to his skin were drying into flakes, gumming his eyelashes and glueing his mouth shut. He breathed through his nose, though for the first time in his life the smell of copper was making his stomach roll. The trail led on, into the dark. It dried up, and he circled to look for the trail, as Allaiwal kept eyes on the ridges, looking for movement, for an ambush. Something howled in the distance. He picked up the trail fifty meters from the last spot, just as he was starting to lose something he didn’t dare call hope. They pressed on.

    They found the man half by accident when Tahan nearly tumbled into the ravine that had put an end to him. Allaiwal gripped his sleeve and saved his life, roughly jerking him back and putting his feet on solid ground. The near-miss set his heart pounding once more, choking him. He stared down at the corpse as they clutched each other’s shoulders, unable to tear his eyes away from the twisted form, the broken bones, and the gaping wound in the nameless stranger’s shoulder that would have put an end to him sooner rather than later, if the fall hadn’t. He swallowed hard, and tried to feel something. Satisfaction, disgust. He couldn’t.    Allaiwal must have seen something on his face, because he stuttered something out. Tahan couldn’t understand him for a moment, blinked uselessly, realised— he was speaking english.

    “ — Sorry?”

    “I said —” he swallowed hard, as the whites of his eyes seemingly took up all of his face. “Do not worry, someone will come to bury him. We should go.”

    The percussive sound of a chopper echoed faintly through the valley, and he turned his gaze up to the ridge above them. There, on the edge: a lone rider on horseback, a black shape silhouetted by the moon. He raised his hand in greeting, and Allaiwal made a nervous sound behind him. The rider raised their hand back, and then turned and disappeared from view, and silence reigned, and so he thought about Rossi, being sent home to his mother in a heavy box. He thought about standing on her doorstep in Taranto with an apology on his lips and heaviness in his weary heart. It pressed on his chest, and he turned his gaze back to the corpse in the ravine, bile in his throat at the futility of a single man shooting at a six man cell, of dying alone. What was the fucking point of it all?

    Worry? I wouldn’t say worried.

    It was the first clear thought he had since dragging a corpse into a cold, empty house an hour ago, and so Tahan didn’t say anything. He shrugged one shoulder, turned his back on the cooling body, and followed a similarly silent Allaiwal back to the remains of their squad in that tiny, forgotten town.

EXTRAS

Sample blog |  https://cuorepietoso.tumblr.com/

Some headcanons | He has kept a journal since he was small, scribbled words about his thoughts, messy sketches of the things he’s seen—used to love spending hours drawing people, animals, plants, items that caught his eye, and writing. Since he’s come back to Verona, he can’t seem to put a pen to paper anymore. Perhaps he should try photography? \ He’s a Capricorn sun, Scorpio moon and ascending, so at the surface he seems fundamentally responsible, serious, efficient, and rational, but deep down he’s repressed, dramatic, and cunning as hell. \ His role in the Col Moschin was Incursor-specialized Combat Medic, meaning he was good at getting into places and good at keeping things inside people where they belong. \ He’s nearing six feet and a buck seventy.

Pinterest board | https://pin.it/3vvntdclvgej3i

Spotify playlist | https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5vJ07jCsvhHWU5NtsxxSLE

Preliminary notes/research | https://docs.google.com/document/d/1l4m0F-m0FdHLUNBlWTnw-hugOSu4GbC1uZbPg9VFV6c/edit?usp=sharing

[takingcourage]

A Sixth Sense

Pairing: Liam x MC

Word Count: 2,650 

Summary: In spite of the title, there’s nothing menacing about this tale. Just a bit of fluff for my favorite royal family to help atone for what I put them through in Five O’Clock Shadow.

Author Note: I’m ashamed to say that this has been sitting half-finished in my drafts since October. Thanks for all of your patience, Liam stans. 

This story follows Three Questions, 4:00 AM, and Five O’Clock Shadow. All stories can be accessed via my masterlist. 

Eliza wrung her hair, watching as the excess water streamed beneath her before swirling its way down the drain. The bathroom was full of steam -- mirrors clouded beneath the vapours that her long shower had produced. Fastening a towel around her chest, she wondered how it was possible that a simple thing like a shower was all it took to make her feel human again.

Liam had insisted that she needed the time to herself, especially since he’d be resuming his regular work schedule later that day. She’d known that the rhythm they’d adopted in the past few weeks couldn’t last, but that didn’t mean that adjusting out of it would be an easy task. Life with a newborn had been stressful, even with Liam there for much of the day. There were always people she could pass the baby off to, of course, but she knew that other engagements would force her away from her son enough. She couldn’t bear the thought of choosing to leave him.

Still, she predicted that this transition would be harder on Liam than it would on her. Aside from attending a handful of meetings, she was released from royal duties until after the christening -- still several weeks away. Liam was not so fortunate. 

He’d been given a great deal of flexibility in his schedule recently, especially in light of the unusual circumstances surrounding the prince’s birth. His assistant had managed to relax his list of obligations, making sure that, if duties called him away, it was for only a portion of the day. Their friends had helped to carry the slack as well: Olivia stepping in to complete a round of negotiations, Drake and Hana filling in for many of his weekly meetings, and Maxwell attending the opening of the tourism center in his stead. They had managed capably, but they couldn’t take his place indefinitely. The time had come.

Eliza opened the door to the bedroom, releasing the pent-up heat and moisture as she finished toweling off. Once dry, she examined the horizontal scar on her abdomen, wondering how long it would take for the redness to fade away. Her breath caught in her teeth as she massaged a layer of arnica along the incision line. Even in the residual heat of the shower, the coolness of the gel provoked a rash of goose pimples.

The scar was the most tangible reminder of just how much the birth had overthrown her expectations. Compared to the hopes she’d had for an easy delivery and recovery, she felt like the accident and resulting surgery had forced her to step into motherhood very much on the back foot. She’d spent the better part of their first week at home just reconciling herself to what had happened and trying not to let every tiny failure disappoint her. Motherhood was hard. Recovering from major surgery had only made it harder.

But it was worth it. So worth it.

Eliza knew postpartum hormones bore their fair share of the blame, but for every disappointment she’d experienced, there had been a dozen moments that she’d been overcome by happy tears, unable to keep her eyes from misting over at the thought of how fortunate she was.

Gregory was a happy, healthy baby and Liam was every bit as wonderful with him as she’d imagined. He was precisely the kind of father Eliza had dreamed of having as she tried to fill the void left behind from her own father’s death. No matter how much time Liam spent with his son, it was never enough. On a handful of occasions, she’d found him sitting in the darkened nursery, composing emails as the baby napped peacefully by his side. 

With a reflective smile, she tugged on a pair of thick leggings and a nursing tunic. A quick glance toward the clock told her that Liam was running out of time before he was expected for a conference call scheduled later that morning. Knowing exactly where to find her boys, she gathered her wet hair into a haphazard bun and ventured toward the nursery.

The lilt of Liam's voice rounded the bend before her feet had carried her past the corner, and she shook her head as she grew closer, trying to discern the tale of the day. He was always telling stories. 

“And so, Queen Kenna and her allies traveled to the land of the Technocrats, where they encountered various trials which required both skill and courage…”

Liam continued speaking after Eliza had appeared in the nursery doorway, but she lost track of his words in her desire to drink in the sight before her. Her husband was seated in the nursing chair, their month-old son nestled into the crook of his arm as he read from the book on his lap. From Eliza’s perspective, the baby didn’t seem to be gleaning much from the tale, but she had to appreciate her husband’s efforts. She leaned against the doorjamb, heart thrumming with the deepest love that she had ever known.  

This was one of those memories -- the ones she would cherish until the end of her days. They had made so many of them over the past four years, but somehow these last few weeks had produced the sweetest ones of all.

As unsettling as the birth had been, waking to find her husband beside her in the hospital room, resting skin-to-skin with their son had been enough to remove any frustration she had at being poked and prodded from sleep for the routine check of her vital signs. Under his watchful gaze, she’d hardly been aware of the nurses or the plastic monitor clipped to her finger. His presence assured her that all would be well.

She had once foolishly believed that her love for this man would reach a cap -- that it couldn’t expand forever -- but seeing him take on the role of father so naturally gave rise to an intensity of emotion she would have thought impossible.

“I think that’s where we’ll end Kenna’s story for today.”

The dull thump of the volume closing pulled Eliza out of her memories and back to the present.

“Have you been spying on us, my queen?” His voice changed from serious to teasing as he set the book back on its shelf beside the chair.

A sly smile crossed her lips and she met his sparkling eyes. She loved his banter -- especially when he used that enticing tone that she’d never been able to resist. Tempted as she was to offer a coy response, she knew that such pursuits would only end in frustration -- at least for the next two weeks. After that, she’d be free to tease him back with everything she had.

Eliza forced her wayward mind back to the present, striding purposefully into the room. “I’d prefer to think of it as admiring.”

Her son’s head turned in search of her voice, and she couldn’t stop her grin at the inquisitive face that peered out from Liam’s arms. She held out her hands to take the child, and Liam passed him to her gently.  “How long before he knows more Cordonian history than I do?”

“Perhaps I’ve been a little over-eager,” Liam admitted, standing to join his wife and child. “But it’s a rich history. I want him to take pride in what our people have done.”

Eliza settled into a sway as she rocked Gregory in her arms. “I’m sure he’ll take your lessons to heart in time, even if he sleeps through most of them now.”

As if on cue, the baby’s face contorted into a yawn. This growth spurt had been taking it out of him -- but to her great relief, he was steadily surpassing his birth weight. His checkup the day before had confirmed what she already suspected -- the prince was perfectly healthy.

“Is that a sleepy yawn or just a yawn?” she questioned, a smile in her voice as she searched her child’s expressive face. She ran a finger along his cheek, satisfied by the predictable rooting that her touch produced. The perfect bow of his mouth contracted as he pursed his lips. “It looks like this one is a hungry yawn.” She sat in the rocking chair and pulled aside the excess layer of her shirt. The child latched on eagerly.

Noting Liam’s silence, she tore her attention away from the baby. Her husband had taken her place by the door, but his eyes were trained on her. At the pensive expression on his face, Eliza was grateful that she’d resisted the urge to tease him for copying her. 

“I’m going to miss all of these quiet moments,” he divulged quietly. “I’ve not left the house for more than a few hours at a time over the past month, and I’m ashamed how easy it’s been to just forget the outside world.” He ran one hand along his jaw, stopping to rub one particularly rough spot at the edge.

“We’ve gotten pretty spoiled, haven’t we? I’ve hardly thought about Cordonia at all.” She mulled over the situation, mouth quirking at her son’s increasingly sleepy gaze. “Part of me wishes we could stay like this forever.”

“Part of me does too. Most of me, actually.”

“We'll find a new normal soon.”

“I just don't want to miss anything.” Liam crossed the room, stretching out a hand to caress the crown of Gregory's head.

Eliza pursed her lips sympathetically. “You won't. We'll come to your office for lots of visits, and we'll be here waiting for you every night." Still, she knew it wouldn't be quite the same.

“We’ll make this work, Eliza.”

“We are making this work.”

He smiled his assent, dipping his head to meet her lips in a kiss. “I love you. I have a meeting with Douglas over lunch, but I’ll be back this evening.”

“We’ll be here. I love you.” Her heart clenched again as she watched him disappear through the open doorway. For his sake, evening couldn't come soon enough.  

Shortly after midnight, Eliza woke to silence. Even though she was a deep sleeper, it wasn’t unusual for her to wake in anticipation of her son’s cries. She supposed it was a sort of intuition unique to parents. Pulling her feet to the edge of the bed, she started at the realization that the mattress was empty beside her.

When Liam returned that night, she hadn't realized just how worn he looked until she saw how he revived the moment Gregory woke from his nap. In spite of the paperwork he had to finish up, the two of them had been practically inseparable until the child went to bed. It came as little surprise to her that Liam would seek more time with him now. There had been a handful of nights in the past weeks that she would wake to feed Gregory, only to find him already drowsing in Liam’s arms, bottle empty. She suspected that might be the case tonight as well.

When she entered the nursery, however, the two of them were nowhere to be found.

She conducted a quick search of their quarters, accidentally rousing Henry in his kennel as she wandered into the kitchen. The dog whimpered quietly, but settled back onto his side when he realized she was only passing through and not beginning her morning routine. “Good boy, Henry,” she affirmed, flicking off the lights with a slender finger.

Finding their home empty, she ventured back to the bedroom for her slippers and her long black robe. As close as they were to the beginning of spring, the palace outside of their apartment was still quite drafty. And, unlikely as it was that she would encounter any palace staff at this time in the morning, she much preferred for them to see her in something more than just her thin pajamas.

Eliza slipped through their front door with ease, compelled by curiosity rather than fear. Almost of their own volition, her feet travelled the lengths of hallway, leading her to the grand ballroom. Moonlight streamed through the stately windows, its gleams bouncing off the ornate golden handles of the doors. Intuition told her that this was where Liam had taken their son, but to what purpose? 

Reaching out for a handle, she paused for the briefest of moments. Her mind filtered through a catalogue of memories in that place -- some joyous, but so many full of pain. Tightening her grip on the metal, she entered determined, but wary.

Eliza made out Liam’s form in the dim light of the sconces on the walls. She liked the room far better like this, calm and without the oppressive brightness bearing down from the chandeliers. Hearing her enter, her husband traveled the length of the room, chattering quietly to the good-natured, very alert infant in his arms.

“We decided to go for a stroll,” he offered by way of explanation, coming to meet her in the middle of the dance floor.  In spite of her concerns, it was clear from her husband’s demeanor that all was well.

“So I see. Telling him stories again?” 

His smile provided the answer to her question. “I was telling him about the Masquerade Ball. I’d just gotten to the part where I was relieved and overjoyed to see you in Cordonia.”

“I’m sure he’s very impressed,” she teased, inclining her face to kiss her husband’s cheek.  

“He will be one day. By the time he’s able to talk, he’ll probably be sick of hearing our story -- I intend to tell it many times.”

“And someday I’ll tell him the story of how I found the two of you in here, talking up a storm when you ought to be in bed,” she ribbed, pressing her cheek into the taut muscles of his shoulder. She gave her son an exaggerated smile and he grinned in return -- mere reflex, probably, but it warmed her all the same.

“We’ll make it back eventually.”

“I’m surprised he’s still awake. Usually a bottle is all it takes for him to be out like a light.”

Liam’s lips tugged sheepishly. “He wasn’t crying for a bottle, actually. I woke up and couldn’t help going in to check on him. When I got there, he was wide awake. I thought a walk would do us both good.”

“So you brought him to the ballroom?” 

He chuckled softly, but then grew quiet at her question. Eliza was on the verge of speaking further when Liam broke the silence. 

“I missed him today. Very much. And I spent a lot of time thinking about the kinds of things I wish my father had told me when I was a child -- not that Gregory’s going to remember this conversation--” he mused. “But I don’t want the palace to always feel like something that’s filled with pageantry to the point of being unreal. And sooner or later, he’s going to hear the stories of all of the bad that’s happened in this place. I don’t want him to grow up thinking it’s impossible for good things to happen too.”

Pesky tears clouded Eliza’s visions as she read the sincerity in her husband’s face. “With you around, there’s no danger of him thinking that.”

“Eliza...”

“I’m serious, Liam. I know I don’t have much to compare it to, but you’re doing a pretty amazing job of fatherhood so far. Somehow, I have a hard time imagining many of your ancestors sneaking away with their children at midnight to tell them stories.”

“You give me entirely too much credit.” His protest fell on deaf ears. “And I won’t sneak away with him every night -- only sometimes.”

She hid her smile against his clothed shoulder, slipping her hand under his elbow as they walked back home together. 

[ransomedbard]

WIP: Peacekeeper

Category: Gen Rating: Teen

At the age of 39, Quatre has grown the Winner Corporation into one of the Earth Sphere’s most powerful businesses.  His life is entirely centered - some would say consumed - by his work, until an unexpected request from Dorothy shatters his routine.

The unexpected events of the past week had begun with a deceptively simple message from Dorothy Catalonia’s assistant: “It will not be long now.  D has asked for you.”

Quatre lingered over the scant dozen words, scanning them again and again for clues to help him understand this unprecedented request, but he found none.

It would be hard to classify his relationship with Dorothy. He found it difficult to use the word “friends”, because to him that evoked the deep and lasting bonds he had formed with those who were near to his heart. But surely he and Dorothy were more than mere “associates”. They moved in many of the same circles, and spoke at least several times a month.  Though in scale the company she headed was a fraction the size of his own, it was a major player in several key industries, and they found themselves bumping shoulders at charity galas and trade group conferences alike. More than that, they ended up having lunch or tea together fairly often; she instigated most of these, inviting him to meet so that she could relish informing him personally of some coup she had pulled off.

“Rivals” didn’t really fit either.  It took two to compete and while she was quite serious about scoring wins against him professionally and personally, he didn’t reciprocate. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect her; he simply didn’t see business as a zero-sum game, of winners and losers.

Over the years they had settled into a certain détente, a neutral metaphorical ground they could occupy without Dorothy sniping at him, one where she turned her considerable skill at exposing hypocrisy and flaws on their peers. He found that when he wasn’t the target of her roasting, he rather enjoyed it; could even see the underlying goad that drove her: frustration with the unfairness, ineptitude, and dumb cruelty of the world. She was a person of lofty ideals expressed via crude means.

To be challenged and held to account for his mistakes, to joust verbally on any and all topics, to enjoy the guilty pleasures of snark and the darker pull of schadenfreude - that was his relationship with Dorothy.

But that was the limit of the bond. Not once had she been candid, or shared her needs or her fears.  

And now - to ask for him, invite him into her presence when she was at her most vulnerable - never in all the years he had known her had she done that.  

So he had canceled everything on his schedule and raced to Earth, to the hospital where she would very soon be giving birth to her second child, a son. From the prenatal scans the doctors knew that he had a congenital deformity and would require immediate and drastic surgery, with no guarantee of success. Even with Quatre’s ability to leverage his corporation's resources to make the best possible speed, it took him the better part of a day and a half to arrive, and he came into port not knowing if he would be joining them in celebration or mourning.

Her assistant met him at the entrance to the hospital wing and efficiently brought him up to speed as they navigated the winding corridors. The baby had been born alive six hours before, and whisked directly into surgery, which had lasted four hours. He was now in the neonatal ICU; the next few days were critical. Dorothy was in her recovery room with her husband, David, and the situation was - well, he didn’t need a briefing for that, as the yelling was quite audible.

Quatre paused at the entrance to her private suite to straighten out his suit jacket and run a hand over his hair; then he swung the door open and stepped in.

David was sitting on a chair by her bedside, his face flush with anger. He looked up at the intrusion and upon recognizing Quatre looked entirely baffled for a moment, but recovered with a speed that did him credit - he was a diplomat by trade. He rose and strode towards Quatre, blocking the way. “Mr. Winner? My wife is indisposed at the moment—“

“Ms. Catalonia requested him,” supplied the assistant, who had followed him into the lion’s den (bless her.)  To this second assault on his expectations David did not rally; he was staggered, and turned back to Dorothy with trepidation. “My dear,” he began lamely, “do you want, ah, to see Mr.—“

“Of course I do, David,” she cut him off with relish. “He has come all this way.”

“Of- of course,” David mechanically replied. Quatre took pity on him and gestured back towards the door. “If I might impose on you, perhaps you could bring me up to speed?”  David nodded and let Quatre lead him out by the arm; the man was so exhausted that leaned on him heavily.

Quatre listened attentively as David explained what he already knew; the surgeons had done their best, but the newborn was still gravely ill. As he spoke, sympathy flooded Quatre’s heart - he did not know her husband well, but it was clear he was in despair and almost overwhelmed with grief.  When David was done, Quatre deftly turned the conversation to how it was a matter of waiting at this point, and assured him that he had done all that he could for now. “Your daughter is at the hotel? If you want to go back to her, I’ll sit up with Dorothy as long as she wants me to.  I’ll make sure that word will be sent to you the moment anything changes.”  Dorothy’s assistant chimed in that she needed to catch a few hours of sleep herself, and the two of them went off together.

With that sorted, Quatre turned and gave a rap with the back of his hand to the partially open suite door, through which he did not doubt Dorothy had heard everything. “May I come in?” He took her sound of irritation as a yes.

As soon as he sat down in the chair David had vacated Dorothy turned on him. It was a relief in a way; he hadn’t been able to guess what had possessed her to summon him, but now he thought he knew: she wanted a distraction. Thankfully it was a role he knew well, and he was willing to provide it - all the more so because he knew intimately how the frenetic struggle between hope and despair could bring out the worst in a person.

“Winner. I suppose you heard the fight on your way in and purposely interrupted it? How very like you to spoil a perfectly good argument,” she began, looking him levelly in the eye; hers were red and tear streaked, but he gave no indication of noticing.

“You can’t understand what we’re going through - but that’s your own fault. You’re nearly 40. Why aren’t you married with children yet?” At that he raised his eyebrows, genuinely caught off guard; she saw it and pressed. “Surely it’s not a lack of ambition; you’ve grown your damn company into a behemoth by acquisition. And you’re already an uncle to a brood of dozens, adding a few more of your own would hardly be noticeable.”

Quatre took a second to uncover the meaning behind the words. Why am I safe from the position you find yourself in, helpless to do more to protect your son, livid at the cruelty of fate? Ah, Dorothy, if you only knew. But that doesn’t matter now.

He reached out his hand near her own, offering; after a second she took it, squeezing hard.  He squeezed back.

“You’ve hit the nail on the head,” he said gamely. “The Winner name is rather stretched thin already, don’t you think? Between my sisters who didn’t marry or kept their last name, and all their offspring, there’s a good fifty at least. There are limits beyond which we cannot decently transgress - think of the poor genealogists.”

She warmed a bit to the faux argument. “Then follow their example and buck tradition. You can take your spouse’s name, or even better hyphenate - and then rename the company!” She managed a weak smirk. “Just think how much joy you would bring to sign-makers and stationers across the entire Sphere who would be put to work replacing every instance of ‘Winner Corporation’, from the tallest building to the humblest business card. I dare say you’d boost the economy.”

He grimaced in mock horror at the thought. “Why, it would take years—”

Down the corridor, a door suddenly slammed and an instant later Dorothy burst into tears. In that unguarded moment he caught the pulse of her fear; that any minute someone might come down that hallway to tell her that her child was dead.

She withdrew her hand from his and curled it into a fist as she struggled internally, but it seemed that the spell had been broken and she could no longer maintain the façade. Unable to stop, she let him see her cry, and he did not look away, because he sensed she would have hated that more.

When he thought she could speak again, he offered her his handkerchief and dared to ask a real question. “What will you name him?”

She took a hissing breath. “Damnit, Winner.”  But there was no real reproach in her voice.

“I rather thought you might...”

“Yes,” she said, and for once, they understood each other perfectly.  “Chilias. After my father.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Mutilated Mannequin (Part 4)

The room has an unpleasant chill, Azula wraps her arms around herself. Dr. Guhira has stepped out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She supposes that it isn’t too late to back out. Everything in her mind and soul screams at her to do so. But she knows that her father is sitting in the waiting room with around three hours worth of paperwork to occupy his time. She knows just as well that he will be pissed to find her exiting the operating room two hours and fifty minutes early. 

She clutches the edge of the operating table and tries to keep her breathing in check. It is only one thing, she tells herself, one simple procedure to test the waters. A courtesy move, really; Guhira had sensed her anxiety. How could he not have? It has been and still is radiating from her potently. For it he had offered to take it one procedure at a time rather than two or three at once. Apparently it is routine to do a rhinoplasty and a mentoplasty at the same time. 

Azula feels terribly sick, a few more minutes and she won’t need the anesthesia to knock her out. She tires, again, to convince herself that things will be fine. It will all be okay. Afterall, father had made Zuzu get it too and that went perfectly well. It is as if he’d never been scarred at all.  

If Zuzu can make it out without issue, then she should be able to manage. 

The door opens and Azula goes tense. 

“Alright.” Dr. Guhira slips into the room with a small gaggle of his coworkers. “All of the prep work is complete, we are ready to begin the operation if you are.” 

Azula takes a deep breath and grips the edge of the surgical table harder still. Regardless, she nods, a reluctant indicator of readiness. Though she isn’t ready at all. 

“Please lay back.” 

She feels as though she may throw up as she lowers herself onto the surgical bed. Her breathing is subtly ragged. She stares up at the dim lights above the operation table, their electrical hum seems to grow louder in her ears. 

“Before we start, I’d like to warn you that you will wake up groggy, so we will keep you for an extra hour after the procedure. Once you become alert again, we will go over the aftercare procedures.”

Azula nods half heartedly. 

He gives a final and firm affirmative nod. “Try to relax and don’t fight against the sleepiness.” He instructs as he slips the mask over her nose and mouth. She hears a soft hiss as the gas begins to flow. 

“Not that high, Dr. Yuma.” Guhira says. “She’s new.” The man remarks. “For now she will just be observing and helping with simple tasks. Nothing to worry about.”

Still, Azula’s anxiety reaches a new peak. The anesthesia doesn’t leave her the time to dwell on it, which she supposes is a mercy.

.oOo.

“Where’s your sister?” Sokka asks. 

Zuko shrugs. “Somewhere where she won’t catch me talking to you and pitch a fit over it, hopefully.” Heaven knows that he doesn’t need a new reason to bicker with her. It is bad enough to have to listen to her brag about her pristine grades and her collection of track medallions. “Please, please, for the sake of my dignity, win the class elections.” He certainly isn’t looking forward to her one-upping him again with a class president title. He can already hear Ozai berating him for being so entirely average. 

He thinks of his collection of B’s and C’s and compares them to his sister’s straight A’s.

“I plan on it.” Sokka gives a thumbs up. “You have a date to homecoming.”

Zuko crinkles his nose. “Mai decided to leave me for that exchange student.” He pauses and with a heavy accent mutters, “hello everyone, I’m Kei Lo and I’m not from this country, which makes me utterly irresistible!” 

Sokka bursts out laughing, “that does sound like him!”

“Who are you taking?” Zuko asks. 

“Suki, of course! I haven’t figured out how to ask her yet and Toph is not making things easy.”

“Sounds like Toph.” Zuko replies. He tries to keep in good spirits, but it is hard knowing that Mai is on a date with Kei Lo at the very moment. He decides that he should really stop eavesdropping on conversations between she and Azula, he always comes out hearing details of the relationship that he doesn’t care to know. “Homecoming is a shitshow anyways.”

.oOo.

Azula wakes up as disoriented as promised. She bites her lip and tries to sit up. Her head spins and she gives the effort up. “Father,” she calls weakly instead. 

She hears the rustle of papers and the close of a folder. “Yes?”

“How does it look?” 

“Swollen.” He says bluntly.

She swallows. 

At her wide-eyed expression he rolls his eyes. “It will go down after the splint is removed.”

“The splint?” She wishes that she would have asked or that someone would have explained prior to the surgery. 

“I’ll leave the explanations to your doctor.” 

“When is he going to give me them?” Azula asks, her voice sounds strange against the swelling. Her heart flutters; how is she supposed to go through with her first debate sounding like this? She swallows, her eyes beginning to water. She wipes at her eyes, father is too close for her to get all emotional. 

Some twenty minutes pass of Ozai ruffling through his paperwork (with an occasional comment on how the magazines were disgustingly misinterpreting his grandfather’s  astronomical theories) and Azula counting ceiling tiles. She wishes that her father would have let her bring a book or her phone. 

Dr. Guhira enters the room with a cheerful hello and a carton of apple juice. 

Azula takes the drink and has a few sips before setting it aside. 

“Everything looks good.” Dr. Guhira states. “But we will be having a few follow ups between now and your next procedure to make sure that everything stays that way.” 

Azula nods, she decides that it is a little reassuring, the man seems to know what he’s doing. “How long have you been doing this for?”

“Almost thirty years now.” The man replies pridefully. “I’ve done work on various celebrities, you’re in good hands, I promise.” 

Azula nods and he continues.

“We’re going to check on you every half an hour, once we think that you are ready, we’ll discharge you. But there are a couple of things I’d like to talk about before that happens.”

“Like the swelling?” 

Dr. Guhira nods. “That is one of the things, yes. I suppose that we can start there.” He pauses. “Obviously, like any surgery, there is going to be some bruising and swelling. This can last anywhere between three to four weeks. So it should be clear before homecoming.” 

She sighs softly in relief. 

“Do to the nature of the surgery, we will be treating this sort of like a broken bone--because that is essentially what this is--you will have to wear a splint and some bandages. This will both protect your nose and retain the new shape of it.”

She nods her understanding. 

“One of your follow up appointments will include the removal of these.” He pauses. “We also have something called packing material and nasal drip pads in place. These will reduce bleeding. We will see you on monday before you go to school to remove these.” He pushes his rolling chair back and retrieves a box. “These are more nasal drip pads, I will teach you how to properly change them on monday.”

Azula takes another drink. 

“So that there are no surprises, you might also see bruising around your eyes. But that should clear up by monday. Your nose will probably feel numb for a while and you might have some difficulty breathing through it. This is normal. Some pain and discomfort is also normal as feeling returns.

“Can I go back to school? I have class elections.”

“Rest as needed. If you need to take a day off, I highly recommend it, but you should be fine as long as you don’t push yourself.” He grabs a sheet of paper. “So a few more do’s and don'ts. Of course no swimming or strenuous activities. We don’t recommend driving either…”

“I can’t drive yet.”

He chuckles. “I suppose that, that makes things easier. But it might be harder to resist blowing your nose, which is also not recommended during recovery. I do recommend that you go for light walks and sleep with your head elevated. I recommend using an ice pack on your nose for about ten minutes every hour until the swelling goes down. And of course, rest, rest, rest. Like any surgery, you’ll need plenty of it.”

Once more Azula nods in understanding. 

He hands her the sheet. “This is a list of everything we have just covered. I am going to write you a prescription for painkillers, just in case.”

“Thank you.” Azula replies. She decides that Ozai hadn’t really started small at all, she thinks that she should have gotten the lip injections first. That would have been a simpler start. But it is too late for that now. She guesses that it is better to just get it over with. 

She is thankful that she will have the weekend to recover. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ozai asks when they are in the car. 

She begs to differ, she feels quite horrible; out of it and stuffy and still dizzy with nerves. She also feels no more attractive than she had prior, she might even feel less so; she can’t imagine that swelling and bandages are at all alluring. More pressingly, one wrong move or miscare can make a mess of her nose. All of these thoughts wreak havoc in her mind. Even so she replies, “you’re right, father.”