#it took me like eight search variations to even find this sigh

[thret-rhett]

are there outfit breakdowns like this one for fleki for any of the other characters? it really helps me understand their outfits so i can draw them proper. and google isn’t being useful at all to find them

[fandomscombine]

TUA SERIES PART 4: Diego

The Hargreeves Kerfuffle Part 4:Diego

The Hargreeves siblings x Hargreeves!Reader (Familial Relationship)

BG: The Reader is Number Eight. It follows how you fit into the structure of Season 1 and the family dynamic of the siblings.  

This part follows y/n blowing off some steam with Diego being a supportive brother.

You don’t have to read every single part as each focuses on the reader’s relationship with each of her sibings.

But of course to get most of the story, read the whole thing. Besides why would you want to miss out on Hargreeves Siblings content?

A/n: sorry if this took long to update, I lost the master copy of the fic document- well technically, I was and am typing this on an auto-save document but it had glich somehow and when I searched and open the file it was only the first 2 parts. It took a while to find back the most updated document.

WC:1028

DISCLAIMER: I DON’T OWN THE TUA SERIES. THIS IS JUST BY A FAN WOULD REALLY ENJOYED THE SERIES AND WAS INSPIRED TO WRITE.

*ALSO NOT PROOFREAD

>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<

>>THE HARGREEVES KERFUFFLE SERIES MASTERLIST<<

READ: [PART 1]   [PART 2] [PART 3]

>>JOIN MY WRITING CHALLENGE!<<

Your blood was boiling.

How dare Luther, your own brother accuse you of killing your own father.

Sure, your childhood wasn’t exactly the healthiest and emotionally suitable for a child but in a weird way your father had shape and trained the 7 of you to be at least somewhat in control of your powers.

Raising superpowered children is no small task.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized how far from the academy you had walked.

You stared at the city Harborview, imaging how your life would be different if you hadn’t had these powers.

Peace. That’s what you think you would have. A sense of peace, living a normal daily life- get up, go to work, hang out with friends, sleep in a nice cosy apartment and repeat. No powers.

The final words of Sir Reginald replays in your mind.

‘The end is near, get the others ……and save…..the…..tttiiiimmm’

The end is near, get the others and save the tim- whatever or whoever tim is.

You assumed that it meant his time was up and had wanted the family back together. You had done just that but what had that got you? Indictment for one. A family reunion consisting of 5 emotionally incompetent adults and one trapped in a kid’s body.

Leaning across the railing you shouted. ‘Cosplaying as batman at aged 6 was cute but as a grown ass adult lurking in the shadows is definitely a red flag!’

A chuckle sounded from the corner. ‘Noted m’mam. Will not do it again’ said a deep voice.

To an untrained ear, no sounds of footsteps could be heard.

You, however can as do your siblings. All of who can also identify who is coming based on the sound- each ever have a slight variation, a unique touch.

Luther has the heaviest, loudest footsteps out of everyone.

Allison- quiet and delicate.

Diego has a sense of purpose in his walk- no doubt like the secret agent and superheroes he had always wanted to be.

Klaus is a bit unpredictable; it is either too fast and energetic or soft and slow pace.

Five. He cheats, mostly blipping in and out of places. But if need be, he usually takes leaps or huge steps, always ready to teleport out of any situation in midstep.

Ben. The master of stealth. He always manages to take the least steps, the most effective route between hiding points.

Vanya though without training is actually very good. At times you wouldn’t even notice her near as proven in her countless times secretly watching the rest of you training.

‘I doubt that.’ Turning to face the new arrival. ‘You are the literally embodiment of Vigilante Hero Complex.’

The city lights illuminating his face.

‘Ah! Case in point!’ You pointed at his outfit. ‘You’re even wearing a spandex suit, Diego!’

Diego shook his head, brushing off your teasing aside. He was happy to at least help bring a smile onto your face- even if it was at his expense.

‘How you feeling?’ Even though you all were the same age, Diego can’t deny that the numbering hadn’t had an older sibling protectiveness to come over him- especially when Luther was being a total dick. If only he was in charge, he thought.

‘Better… better now that you’re here.’ You admitted, bothering your brother never gets old. ‘Thanks by the way-for the cheer up.’

You both stayed in comfortable silence it was not until 20 mins later did Diego break it by apologising.

‘Sorry for what?’

He didn’t reply instead he lifted something out of his pocket. It shone against the deep blue waves.

You gasped. ‘Dad’s monocle.’

‘I know Luther believes you took it.’ He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve have confessed instead you took blame for me….’

Wrapping his fist around it he continued, voice getting harsher. ‘I …I just couldn’t you know? After all he did to us? How he treated us? We were just kids!’

He clutched it tighter shattering the glass. ‘He was gone. This was the most valuable things he had- never let it out of his sight….so I thought that this….that by taking this, it would be the closest thing in ever hurting him.’

‘Oh Diego…’ You didn’t know how to comfort someone who is going through the same scenario, a same situation that you yourself need help on.  ‘Dad is gone and…yes he wasn’t the most caring father. But the past is in the past, the only thing we can do now to move forward. Don’t let that define us. Strive to do better.’

‘We tried that once remember? And where did it get us?’ He countered.

‘Better than if we were to have stayed.’ You rebutted. ‘C’mon Diegs. Think about mom. Think about how she constantly reminds us to put our best foot forward, no matter what life throws at us..’

Diego’s face softens, he was always a momma’s boy.

Closing his eyes, he mutters an okay. Then he tosses the bloody cracked monocle into the water. ‘Now, why don’t we go stuff our faces full of donuts.’ You offered. ‘I can handle your typical brooding self but the 2 of us sulking? No can do, what we need is to eat our feelings.’

‘Giddy’s it is.’ Replied Diego, offering you his arm.

‘So I assume you parked 2 blocks from here?’

His eyes went wide. ‘How’d you-‘

‘PPPPlease!’ Rolling your eyes. ‘I might have subconsciously wander to this part of town, but I was conscious about a car not so subtly tailing me for 6 blocks.’

‘So you knew I was watching you from the very beginning.’

‘YUPPPP’ Popping the p. ‘At first I wasn’t sure who- nice car by the way, new?

‘A month ago.’

‘Anyway is wasn’t until you started following on foot til I knew.’

Elaborating when you saw his confused look. ‘You walk as if you’re the protagonist in an action film.’

‘I do not!’ He said defensively.

‘DO too!- Thanks.’ Settling down onto the passenger seat as Diego closed the door.

The debate lasted until you reach Giddy’s or so what was left of the store.

‘WHAT THE-‘

END OF PART 4

READ: [PART 1]   [PART 2] [PART 3]

Taglist [All]: @gruffle1

Taglist [TUA]:@herecomesthesun1969 @alabaster1223 @ultraviolet-m @winterierwriter @lordofthunderthr @grapesauze @xbarrjallenx @white-wolf-buckaroo @yoheyyosup @infinitystones2018 @94seun @buckynatlarry @thegirlwholikestomanythings @just-some-stars @97yrm @2cuteforyourlies @e-bendy @criminallyhamilton @aqarath @change-the-world-someday @sambucky8 @spankin-soda @big-galaxy-chaos @neenieweenie @okimreadynow @weird-pale-blonde-person @thebloodrobin @vicassa​@tkdcnlettuce @alexander-hamilhoe​

Feel free to tell me to you want to be tagged for the series or for all/any other of my fics.

Would love to hear your opinion on the series so far too!

 -Posting this a 2nd time, cause the 1st Tumblr error-ed out and deleted it.

also a bit of self plug here, i have a writing challenge going on and I’d love for you to join!

[eikhos]

[GIFT]  his colors.   [Laszlo Kreizler x Original Howard Character.]

[FOR MY DARLING WIFE @lovie-barnes xxx i love you. ]

Rating : K.

Fandom : The Alienist. 

Characters : Original Howard Character,   Laszlo Kreizler, Sara Howard,  John Moore,  brief appareance of Stevie and original character.

“The strings of her corset tightened sharply,, making the air from Alice's lungs get  brutally expelled, she clenched her teeth as her maid bent down to put the folds of her petticoat back in place. Red, bloody red that was married to black, her maid -Miyanda-, smiled at her and slowly slipped the pendant that formed a gold heart around her neck, Alice thanked her maid while checking that her hair was incapable. The youngest of the Howard family had spent several years in France, taking care to learn the language of the country while launching body and soul into her passion, painting. For many people it wasn’t a real job, but her sister, Sara, had always told her that she had a real gift. Already small, her parents found her asleep, paint staining her face and her clothes, making her mother sigh. She grabbed the pocket watch - which had belonged to her father before the accident -, and noticed that it was already seven fifty-five, Sara had given her an appointment at eight o'clock at the mysterious Doctor Kreizler’s  house even though he was not that mysterious, she had read the press, he was the Alienist, often hired as a consultant by the police to help them solve pretty sordid cases. She sighed, she had never met him and it twitched her stomach, was he going to search her soul to reveal her darkest secrets? Swallowing her saliva with difficulty, Alice stepped outside after slipping her arms into a light jacket, her coachman was waiting for her, the horses seemed slightly restless tonight.

The way to Doctor Kreizler's house was peaceful, Alice watched the childrens playing in the streets, collecting stones and taking care not to be pushed around by some men who seemed badly tipsy, Sara had advised her never to go out on her own at night, at least without a weapon. She shook her head before the coachman pulled on the reins of the horses which stopped protesting, the coachman growled under his beard before descending to help Alice down, she thanked him with a smile and approached the front of the house. Doctor Kreizler's house.

There was absolutely no doubt that the Alienist was definitely richer than half of New York. Cautiously going up the few steps to the door, Alice felt her heart leap, she knocked  lightly several times  on the heavy door, she heard voices, one of which seemed to belong,  to a young boy.

-Good evening ma'am! My name is Stevie. Are you here to see the doctor? the young boy asked with a jovial smile.

- Good evening, yes…. I -.... My sister, Sara, invited me over for the evening.  Maybe she has already arrived? Alice stammered hard, feeling her anxiety growing.

-For sure, ma'am! Miss Howard is already present as well as Mr. Moore. Oh, how stupid am i, it's not very hot and you're outside, the Doctor clearly wouldn’t  appreciate that sort of rudeness, please forgive me, the young man sighed as he let her in.

She smiled as she stepped inside, she looked around, inspecting the walls curiously, everything seemed perfectly cleaned and tidy although it would surprise her that someone like Doctor Kreizler did his daily housework himself. Young Stevie escorted her to the living room where the discussions were going well, Sara smiled and hugged her, Alice returned the hug awkwardly before smiling at John who did a bow in front of her,  making her blush. 

Leaning against the wall, a figure seemed to be absorbed in the darkness, it made her frown slightly before Sara rolled her eyes, looking vaguely annoyed, her sister glanced at John who shrugged as he grabbed a box made of wood which contained cigarettes. He lit one of the cigarettes, offered one to Alice who refused, not wishing to damage her lungs. She chatted for several minutes with her sister who asked her absolutely all the details of her trip to France, it had not been as exciting as expected but at least she had visited a country.  Alice jumped as the shadowy figure passed into the light, Doctor Laszlo Kreizler's piercing eyes fell on her, Alice bit the inside of her cheek.  His  hair was neatly groomed, his beard was trimmed to perfection, he  was wearing a very simple black suit and a waistcoat with dark gray arabesques and gold buttons. He walked over to her and gently grabbed her hand before placing a frail kiss on it.

-Laszlo, this is my sister, Alice Howard. My sister has an artistic streak, she is a painter, to the great regret of our father. -Miss Howard, a pleasure to finally meet you, Sara never ceases to brag about your talents as a painter. -The pleasure is entirely shared, Doctor Kreizler, Alice smiles softly. I have followed your work extensively over the years, I find your approach to the human mind absolutely fascinating. - Thank you, Miss Howard. Many do not share your opinion.

This made Alice smile slightly,  she nodded, continuing to observe the Alienist, she had often taken care to get all the papers that mentioned him. And now, she was in front of him, she thought as John poured four glasses of excellent scotch. She continued to nibble her lower lip mechanically, a twitch of nervousness. Alice jumped as the Alienist's fingers caught her lip gently to pull it out of her teeths. 

 -You are extremely nervous, Miss Howard. I assure you that your lower lip has nothing to do with it and biting it will not reduce your current anxiety in any way, the Alienist pointed out. Could I know what worries you so much? Would you happens to have social issues ? 

-I'm sorry, Doctor Kreizler. Since I was a child, being around other people has always been a huge source of anxiety for me. I still feel like some odd specimen put in the middle of a room full of people from other ranks, Alice sighed, gently scratching her right wrist. 

He nodded slightly, listening to it patiently before taking her right wrist in his hand, the alienist's fingers trace whitish lines that seemed encrusted in the skin, it didn't take a genius to understand the meaning of such traces. She bit her tongue delicately, Laszlo Kreizler's fingers browsing the whitish lines.

-You are an artist, Miss Howard and many think that art is a form of madness, but I do not share that opinion. You should be able to be comfortable with other people. I would love to be able to admire your works if possible, of course? Kreizler asked.

Alice's eyes had shone at that moment, she had seen the shadow of a smile on the Alienist's lips. Her heart was pounding in her chest, she almost felt like it was about to pierce her envelope of  her skin soon. There was something reassuring about the Alienist, she felt good, calm. The usual panic in her from being in the presence of mens wasn’t there. The evening went off without a hitch, Laszlo and John insisting that Alice taste the new liquors from a famous American distiller. She stopped after two glasses, she was caught by the Alienist when she almost fell, he clumsily supports her and reinstalled her in the armchair, kneeling down to check her reflexes, she had a sorry smile, Laszlo advised Sara to take her home.

Alice painfully opened her eyes the next morning, she rubbed her eyes with her hands and then yawned, vaguely remembering the events of the night before, a pair of chocolate eyes seeming to invade her thoughts. She washed and changed, walking to the kitchen where Miyanda had already made her usual breakfast, Alice glanced at the huge oak clock, it was ten in the morning. She quietly ate her buttered bread and her grilled bacon with two eggs whose yolks were still runny when cut.

- Miss Howard, a gentleman called, I dared not to wake you up. He said his name was Doctor Laszlo Kreizler, I remember reading about him in the papers. He would like to convey the message to you that a package will be waiting outside your door after nine-thirty, but I heard no one, Miyanda announced with a slight smile.

It took a while for Alice to register the information then she leaped like a beast from the chair she was sitting in, rushing to the door to open it and find a huge wooden box, she frowned and  lifted  it with difficulty, wincing before heading to the living room, setting the box down on her table before finally opening it carefully. She slid the thick wooden board that was on top of the box before her jaw almost dropped to the floor when she discovered the contents of the box: tubes of gouache from a prestigious brand, perfectly sharpened and aligned pencils. , chalks whose different variations of the same color made her hold her breath and there was also a little box with a beautiful silver  pen and black ink. She nodded before noticing that there was a folded note with her initials delicately written, she took the paper gently before unfolding it.

“Miss Howard,

Your sister whispered to me that you had lost a lot of your precious drawing materials that you had saved so much during your childhood. I could not bring myself not to offer you a material worthy of the name, from the best craftsmen in the country. I hope you will put it to good use, you have aroused my curiosity about your art, the praise of your sister confirms me in the idea that you are undoubtedly gifted with great talent. Would you agree to accompany me to the opera and then have dinner at Delmonico’s on Saturday night? My contact details are written on the back of this letter.

Cordially,

Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. “

[anakinthetrashking]

How’s the Heart?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871853/chapters/65565265

Somehow I made it and it is FINISHED!!!! This is my fic that I wrote for @batfam-big-bang​ !!!!

The biggest of shoutouts and THANK YOUUUUS to my incredible betas: Ace, Skye, and Em!!! @toomanyfandoms21​, @timmydrakewings​, and  @geekinthecorner​ !!!! I’ve never actually had a beta before, but for this i had 3??? You guys were so kind and patient with me and my last minute tendencies. Thank you for all your suggestions and edits!!! [heart eyes]

and then!! ARTISTS!! you guys really put your heart and soul into the pieces you made and i just,,,, want to cry,,,,THAMKKKKK YOUUU!!!! keep being awesome! im love u: Butter, Dean and Lucy!!!!!! @heybabybird​, @greenbean-riverdean​, and @houser-of-stories​ !!!!!

Its a Tim-centric 3+1 Three times Tim is helped or comforted by his family, and one time where he's doing pretty alright. (TW: Depression, Anxiety, Suicidal thoughts, etc! full tags on ao3)

1) Here I am to Share the Fear (Tim & Damian & Dick) Bruce is back and everything seems to be going well- so of course old fears pop up again. Damian notices his absence and tries is best in his own way to offer some comfort.

2) Fly Towards the Calm (Tim & Steph & Cass) Steph notices that Tim's failing at basic self care again, so she declares Movie Night. She and Cass try to remind Tim that he needs to take the time to care for himself and not just continue pouring himself out on behalf of others.

3) Night Will Come But Not to Stay (Tim & Bruce) Turns out catching the Clench and loosing his spleen have more lasting effects than they thought. Tim tries to ignore and push past his new found limitations, Bruce notices that something is off and is there for the inevitable breakdown.

+1) Fair Winds, Another Tale (Tim & Alfred) A rare event of relaxation, the Waynes have a picnic at the manor. Alfred worries about his family, but for now, it seems like everything is alright.

Read it under the read more or on AO3 !

Here I Am To Share The Fear

Too much. Everything was too much.

Bruce was finally back, and Tim was glad that everyone was so happy - despite them all being wrong.

Wrong.

WRONG.

He shook his head and put a light smile on his face, trying to focus on the conversation in front of him, but Dick was so loud. And there were far too many people in the mansion - in the same room - Tim swallowed and grit his teeth against the feeling of his organs crawling up his throat.

There were eleven people in the room.

Ten roses in the flowered centerpiece on the buffet table.

Nine cups scattered about the room.

Eight candle flame shaped light bulbs in the chandelier.

Seven white socks (why was Dick only wearing one?) 

Six voices in variating clarity.

Five… Five? Five fingers on each hand.

Four windows, none open.

Three lamps, all unlit.

Two doors.

One exit. Viable exit, at least.

Zero people looking at him. Perfect.

It was time for him to go, so he took his exit as quietly as possible, noticing the volume of the crowd drop as he walked out. No one stopped him. No one seemed to notice. Or maybe they just didn’t care. Good. That- that was something he could deal with.

As he fled to his room, he couldn’t help but notice how alive the manor was. So many lights were on, even in empty rooms. Little things littered the place as if people actually lived here. A book on the table here, ready to be picked up and read from where they left off. A suitcase full of clothes there, waiting to be unpacked. Doors open instead of closed and locked. Bed covers turned down, ready to welcome them home.

Tim reached his door and saw the life that had flooded there as well. Posters, pictures of family and friends covered large portions of his walls. Little trinkets given to him were lovingly placed around his desk. It was more than he could take, so he ran. He ran and ran through hallways and past open doors until the warmth of the occupied portion of the Manor turned to the chilly halls of the guest wing. Back in the furthest unused room is where he finally stopped, willing his heart rate to slow down.

The room looked like something out of a book, everything covered with sheets and layered with undisturbed dust, no signs of life. The evening light cast the room in cool tones of blues and greys, shadows soft and hazy. The attached bathroom was much the same, cold tiles sucking the heat from his feet.

Sitting down, he hugged his knees to his chest, letting the lines of the sink cabinet dig into his back. Tim stared for a while, trying not to think, and letting the clock tick a rhythm into his head.

The clock sounded so loud, and his breath seemed even louder. Nothing felt ok. Exhaustion pushed at the edges of his vision while panic seemed to well up inside of him and claw into his throat. Everything felt like it was closing in on him so he pushed back, laying on the floor and stretching his arms and legs as far as they could go. The cold seeped into him and he vaguely wondered if that’s what it felt like to die. To let your warmth bleed out into the universe. Death… was a calming thought. As humourless as that was, it forced a short laugh out of his throat.

Death would be preferable, he thought, to whatever feeling this is.

Bruce had been back for a month, and for a little while the triumph of bringing him home had been, well, satisfying. Relieving. Exhilarating.

But now, somehow, he was left feeling empty. Hollow. Carved out. His skin was pulled taut over his bones and there was nothing inside. Each day was an empty victory. A consolation prize. An uphill battle against an unseen enemy.

Eating, drinking, getting dressed, sleeping, showering, all done out of the necessity of existence. But most of the time he didn’t feel like he existed at all. Just a doll or a robot - there, but not really. Tossed aside until needed again. Some sort of empty, semi-existent thing. It felt too much like being five again and waiting by the phone for that occasional Sunday call from his parents.

A single tear slipped out, unbidden. It left a quickly cooling trail in its wake.

Everything is so stupid. Tim thought, frustrated by his own stagnancy, willing himself to just do something, instead of just lying there considering the logistics of several stupidly lethal ideas. He was working on kicking out the thoughts when he was distracted by the sound of light, purposeful footsteps. Damian. With footsteps like that it meant he was trying to be considerate. Creepy.

“What do you want?” Tim sighed.

“Drake.” Tim could feel rather than see the curt nod Damian gave him. “Pennyworth brought out those blueberry scones you seem to favor. However, you were not present. So I…” His self-assured tone faltered.

Tim turned to look at him for the first time. “You came looking for me?”

“I would hardly call it looking. You frequent a few spots and the conclusion was obvious by the number of people that are currently within the Manor.” Damian sat cross legged on the floor, pushing a scone into Tim’s hands.

“But why would you…?” Tim sat up, arching an eyebrow.

“It is only natural to know your enemy, Drake. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Damian sniffed and waited for Tim to take a bite. Then he continued. “Then you will best know how to poison them.” A (dare Tim say it) friendly smirk showed itself on Damian’s face.

Tim snorted, and for once they seemed to have gained a sort of mutual understanding.

They lapsed into silence again. Damian shifted, obviously wanting to say something but didn’t know how. The expression on his face looked so scrunched that Tim almost wanted to laugh.

Instead he asked, “Is it still unbearably loud out there?”

Damian clicked his tongue. “With Grayson in the room? Obviously.”

Somehow Damian seemed even more frustrated. There was a good chance that any moment now he would jump up and leave, but not before throwing out an insult to cover his wounded pride at having to retreat. In his own way, he was trying to offer an olive branch, and as tired as Tim was, something in him couldn’t let that opportunity pass. He could almost hear Dick’s voice in his head, telling him that if he would just talk with Damian, have a conversation, maybe they could find common ground.

For once, he could see the clumsy effort that the brat was making, and he knew deep down, more than anything they both yearned for warmth. Not the sort of warmth that contrasted the grounding feeling of the cold tile beneath him, but the warmth of human connection. The numbness that had been growing in him twisted at that thought and he decided to take a chance.

“It’s nice to have everyone around, but…” he glanced over to try to gauge a reaction, “I can’t seem to settle into it.”

A sort of recognition, reflection, sparked in Damian’s eyes at that, and some of the tension began to leave his body. Tim continued.

“I guess it’s just that there’s always been something. If I do well enough in school, maybe my parents will take an interest in me. If I become a better Robin, maybe Batman will go back to normal. If I bring Bruce back, maybe we can all be happy again… But it never works. It’s never enough, and now- now there’s just… nothing.”

A few moments passed, and Damian’s own internal battle ended as he found the words to reach out in return.

“I, too… Mother’s time was very limited. I trained and studied hard for any extra moment of time or nod of approval she could give… and after Father denied me, it was much the same, trying to rework standards and limits for his approval. Not having something specific to work towards does indeed seem… disconcerting.” Tim searched his face and found sincerity there, though his eyes seemed to be distant as he turned away.

Damian once again found himself at a loss for words, so he thought about what Grayson would do in such a situation. A hug was… out of the question, but- he lay his hand in-between the two of them, palm open. This, he supposed, he could do. Tim took it, surprising them both. Damian’s hand felt almost unbearably warm after the cold of the tile floor.

They sat again, together, in silence. It was more companionable, though still awkward and stilted in ways neither knew how to fix.

“There’s nothing more I can do for this family. There’s nothing I can think of.” The silence stretched before them, and Tim hesitated to put his fear into words.

Finally, he whispered, “ There’s no excuse for me to stay now.”

Damian’s face whipped around to face him. “As usual, you are wrong, Drake.” He scoffed, “Don’t you know you can’t choose who your family is?” pausing, he let go of Tim’s hand and stood up, turning to leave. “You’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.”

Quick but light footsteps sounded out in the hallway.

“Grayson!” Damian called, “Come fix Drake before Father requires his assistance again!” Nodding to Tim he left without another word.

Dick then came skidding around the corner into the bathroom, one socked foot sliding out against the tile. “Tim! Are you ok? What’s wrong? Why are you here of all places?”

Overly warm hands, distant eyes, honest feelings? Tim let out a deep sigh. “You should be more worried about the little gremlin. I think he’s got a fever.”

Dick tensed as if to sprint off again, and Tim held in a sigh of disappointment, knowing that Damian would be the priority, yet again. But instead of running off, Dick simply pulled out his phone and sent off a text, settling down into the spot on the floor that had been recently vacated.

“Bruce is on it.” He glanced out the doorway as if he could still see Damian storming past. “Did he-?” The question of his behavior went unsaid but not uncommunicated.

“No, we had a completely civil conversation. One might even call it a heart-to-heart, by our standards.”

“Therefore, he must be sick?”

“Other signs, too. But yeah.”

The buzz of an incoming message confirmed it, but Dick put his phone away instead of typing out a reply.

“A heart-to-heart, eh? I always knew you guys could get along if you just tried talking.”

“Don’t you dare say I told you so,” Tim shot a glare at Dick who was failing terribly at trying to look affronted at the very thought,  “but it does seem like we are a lot more alike than I realized.”

“Who would’ve known?” Dick teased.

“Never mind, just say I told you so next time.” Tim grumbled. “Anyway, it seemed like he was really trying, and that he wanted to help in some way. I guess I just couldn’t ignore that.”

“Yeah.” Dick had his proud big brother face on. “I'm glad you guys are finally getting along. What did you talk about?”

“Oh, you know, feeling worthless without having something to focus on, questioning our places in people's lives, the usual. “  

“That does seem to be a common theme in our family.”

“He called me family,” Tim murmured. “Or, well, he implied it. But for him, that’s basically saying it.”

“Tim, that’s…” Even Dick looked astounded.

“Unbelievable?”

“No, not unbelievable.” He chided. “But definitely surprising.”

“That’s one way to get me out of a bad mood, I guess. I was so surprised that it jarred me right out of my own downwards spiral.” Tim closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “Most everything still sucks, but that’s a bright spot, at least. My therapist keeps telling me to look for those. I guess I have another one to add to the list.” He turned his head to share a small smile before standing up to stretch. “That and Alfred’s blueberry scones. I sure hope there’s some left.”

Dick matched his smile with a blinding one of his own and reached over to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“You know, if you ever need to talk-“

“I know.” Tim bumped his shoulder into Dick’s. “Thanks, Dick.”

Fly Towards The Calm

“Think fast!” Stephanie’s entrance was about as subtle as a stampede.  She must have been hanging out with Jason lately. As the door behind her swung closed, she tossed a tightly, carefully wrapped package at his face. He caught it with one hand as he finished reading the last paragraph of the proposal he was looking over.

“Evidently I’m the Wayne family errand boy now,” she whined as she jumped up to sit on his desk. “I drove the brat home from school and got enlisted by Alfred to deliver food to your sorry butt.”

“You could have said no.” he muttered. Peeling back the folded wax paper revealed a tuna fish sandwich, exactly how he liked it, though a bit squished from being thrown across a room.

“Refused? Alfred? Are you joking?” she asked, over dramatically taken aback. “Besides, I was rewarded with my own delicious sandwich and not one but two cupcakes.”

“Two?” his eyebrow raised. 

“Well, he only gave me one, but generously allowed me to snatch a second. I didn’t eat yours because I’m nice.” She dropped the rest of his lunch on his now closed laptop.

“Indeed, I shall never be able to repay your kindness,” he said around his own mouthful of sandwich.

“You got that right. Anyway, Cass and I are gonna have a night on the town tonight, wanna come with?”

Tim hummed in agreement.

“Great! I’ll text her. You should probably get a nap first though. Come on, you can eat on the way.” She popped the last bite in her mouth and hopped off the desk.

Gathering his things, he glanced at her in amusement. “Alfred put you up to this, too?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you even have to ask?”

Looping her arm in his, they headed to the door. He noticed a slight hesitation in her steps and turned to find her looking at him funny. But she just shook her head and let whatever it was, be.

Until they got in the car, of course.

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as she sped down the road she asked, with a tone he couldn’t quite decipher , “Did you use my dry shampoo?”

His mind ground to a halt. Of all the questions he thought she’d ask, that was not one of them, and for the life of him, he couldn’t reason out why. They constantly borrowed each others’ things without issue, and for that matter, so did the rest of their mismatched clan. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he needed that nap after all.

 It had been a minute, maybe he should answer the question.

“Got my own bottle.” He said carefully, “Seemed useful.”

“Hmm.” God, now she sounded like Bruce. How many odd habits had she picked up from them? 

“Tim…” she sounded soft and hesitant, as if he were fragile. He hated when they did that. “When’s the last time you took a shower? Or ate a full meal?”

He contemplated it with a hum. “Patrol,” he said finally.

Stephanie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel for a moment. “Has it been bad lately?”

“What? …Oh.” Oh. “Not… really? It’s just been numb. Quiet. A bit like the way everything is muffled when you’re underwater.” A bit like drowning, he left unsaid.

She nodded and made a sudden U-turn. When he looked at her in askance, she shrugged. “We’ll patrol together another night. I’ll update Cass when we get to my apartment, but go ahead and text Alfred now. We’re going to have a self-care night with movies and facemasks and whatever other dumb indulgent Pinterest crap I can think of.”

Tim opened his mouth to argue but found he was too tired to care and yawned instead. “Nap first?”

“Shower first. Then nap.”

[BREAK]

He woke the moment she opened the door and turned his head to meet her gaze as she poked her head in with a grin.

“Ca-“ he broke off in a yawn, “Cass!”

With a quick glance behind her, she continued into the room, holding out a steaming mug. Tim sat up in bed, gleefully accepting it as she sat down next to him.

“Coffee,” he sighed in delight.

“Coffee.” She agreed with a solemn nod.

The silence was comforting as they sat there, leaning against each other, Tim soaking in the rare precious moments where he wasn’t rushed, or pulled this way and that. Reaching the bottom of the mug, he set it aside, wrapping his arms around his sister instead.

“You are a blessing upon humanity,” he said, “we don’t deserve you.”

She laughed and tightened the hug. The moment felt just like flying free above the streets of Gotham, and the thought of staying in for the night felt right. Cass pulled away just enough to look at him face to face, an amused twist to her lips.

“You smell like a Steph!” Squeezing him once more, she slipped away and was halfway out the door again when she turned as if she had just remembered something. “Oh!” her smile turned sly, “Decaf!”

“Hey!” He jumped out of the bed to catch up with her, but when he rounded the hall into the living room he was stopped in his tracks.

It seemed that somewhere in between dropping him off at her apartment to take a nap while she met up with Cass and “gathered necessary supplies”, and returning with said supplies, the original objective had been lost.

“It looks like you brought back half the manor’s supply of blankets and robbed a concession stand… and is that the old DVD case? I thought I got rid of that.”

“Yeah. Me and Dick saved it! Having everything digital may be convenient, but having a physical folder of DVDs just feels right!”

Tim suppressed the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and decided to leave the debate of Digital vs. Physical for another day.

“Anyway, you’re up just in time to help us set up the blanket fort!”

An hour later found the living room unrecognizable under the piles of pillows and draped sheets. Tim and Steph stood in the kitchen sorting snacks and discussing the night’s activities.

“-and then there’s this green tea and honey one that’s really great, very soothing-“

“Steph, you don’t have to explain them all to me, you know I’ll always let you test your facial concoctions out on me,” he cut in.

“Of course I know that. I’m not rambling about them for my benefit- I’m rambling about them for yours”

A head tilt was his only reply.

“Ok, let me try to explain this in a different way.” she put down her phone to look at him. “Tonight, Cass and I are going to attempt to teach you how to take care of yourself.”

“I know-” 

“Not in the way that you’ve done or that you know. Your version of taking care of yourself is to fool the cameras, the public, to fool Batman into thinking that you’re at your best.” she shoots him a look. “You’re not. You’re running on fumes and you can’t fool your family.”

“Taking care of yourself is NOT finding the lowest number of hours of sleep that you can ‘function’ on.” She makes quotes in the air with her fingers. “It is not replacing a meal with a power bar, even if the calories are the same! It’s not only taking showers when you have to leave the house, or shutting yourself in to do casework all the time!” her hands fly up in the air and she huffs. 

Taking his hands in hers she looks him square in the eyes before saying more softly, “Self-care is eating full, balanced, Alfred-cooked meals as often as you can. It’s doing your laundry every week and brushing your teeth twice a day. It’s taking naps even when you would literally rather be sorting through the 5-year backup of paperwork in R&D. Or better yet, getting a full 8-10 hours of sleep regularly! It’s looking in the mirror and saying to yourself, everyday, ‘I am good enough. I am worthy of and deserve all the love me friends and family try to give me.’ 

And tonight! Taking care of yourself is having a spa night with Cass and I while we watch anime movies and eat copious amounts of junk food, because we all know that patrol burns an extra 2,000 calories anyway! Plus, we can look at the Affirmations board I have on Pinterest! Cass likes practicing saying them while she beats up bad guys. Says the look on their faces is priceless.”

“Funniest one, I said, ‘I aspire to be a blessing and an inspiration to others.’” Cass recites popping her head out from the mass of blankets, “Guy completely stopped! Then I punched him.”

Night Will Come But Not To Stay

“I cant- I can’t do this anymore! I won’t do this anymore!”

“Promise?”

“…What?” his tears paused for the barest moment, before overflowing again. Bruce was crouched in front of him, tear tracks staining his face.

A moment ago Bruce had been standing with his back to him, untouched by Tim’s words, or perhaps instead, disgusted? 

But perhaps that conclusion was wrong. As Tim searched his face now, it looked more like he was the one in pain and exhausted beyond belief.

His lips were moving, and Tim struggled to catch up.

“What?” he repeated, softly and sniffly, a cord of self-disgust lashing out within him at the pathetic sound of it.

Not just tear tracks, it seemed. Bruce was still shedding tears as he repeated himself.

“Do you promise? That you won’t do this anymore?”

Tim’s mind felt like sludge as he tried to piece together how that request could possibly fit into the context of the last few minutes.

They had been training, not so long ago. Bruce had reached out to Tim first, this time. Offered to train together like they had in the past. Tim had jumped at the chance. He should have known better.

It had been going fine, at first. Great, even.

But his insomnia had been worse than usual this past week, and his other symptoms had been acting up, too. In response to the lack of sleep, maybe, or just the continued pattern he had observed, gradually worsening over time.

Honestly, it was probably a great big mix of things.

But he hadn’t been willing to cancel - not the first thing that he had actually been looking forward to in… too long to think about.

So, he’d shown up anyway, his body begging him to just rest.

They’d warmed up and started sparring.

Well.

It hadn’t even been fifteen minutes of sparring, and his body went from begging to outright rebellion.

He went down and couldn’t get back up.

And for some stupid reason, Bruce had decided to yell at him to get up.

So, he yelled back.

Yelled.

Screamed.

He’s not even sure what all he said, just that this last added bit of disappointment piled atop the ever-building terror of symptoms and lit the fuse that exploded within him and stole the earth from under his feet. It ripped through him and tore out his throat, multiplying as his view was constrained to the back of the man he respected most, seeming to be utterly unmoved by it all.

His obvious confusion and continued silence spurred Bruce to try to explain.

“Promise me that you’ll stop running yourself into the ground. Please.” He tilted his head to try and catch Tim’s eye. “I know you’ve been struggling, and not just lately. Alfred said you’ve seemed like you’ve been having an especially difficult time for quite a while. He said he had been meaning to bring it up to me before… and that he had tried to talk to you while I was gone, but that he couldn’t get you to stay in one place long enough to broach the subject. I know something’s going on. Tell me about it. Let me help.”

“Something’s going-? Help?” his laugh was incredulous and desperate as he dug his fingers into the mats beneath him before forcing them to relax. “No. You can’t- you can’t help me.” He scoffed. “Was this-“ he waved his hand around to try to indicate this situation that he couldn’t find words for, “this, supposed to be helpful?”

“Well,” Bruce looked a bit sheepish, “when you get stressed, I know you tend to internalize all of it. Direct it all at yourself. I thought if you had something outside yourself to direct it at instead… It had worked for-“ he cut himself off. “Well.” He said again, letting it rest a moment before continuing at a different angle. “What do you mean I can’t help you?”

“I mean, you can’t. I- I already researched it. There’s nothing- I mean, I sure had enough time. I had thought, with how tired I am, that maybe it’d help with my insomnia. You’d think so, right? But no. No. I’m still awake, but now I’m lying there, and I can’t do anything. Because I’m too tired! I’m so tired, Bruce. I thought- I thought I knew what tired was.”

“Tim, you’re not making sense. What’s going on? Why are you so tired?” he shifted to sit down and lifted his arms to give Tim a hug but stopped short, holding there, offering.

Tim fell into his arms and Bruce gathered his son as best he could.

“Turns out The Clench has permanent effects that the cure couldn’t reverse. They’re only just beginning to research it, but I’ve been tracking symptoms. Chronic fatigue and pain, nerve damage, migraines- other things they aren’t sure are connected. There isn’t a cure, and it’s gradually been getting worse. I’ve tried the suggestions though it's hardly any change: diet, exercise, rest, the basics. But it’s all just maintenance, and I can’t-“  he went limp as his eyes filled with tears again. “I can’t do the things I used to be able to. I’m barely making patrol- the rest of the day I’m in bed. I can’t do classes. I had intended- I was going to finish High School, or maybe get my GED. But I have to lay down after taking a shower. I can hardly think anymore. I have to drag myself out of bed to go to the bathroom. I used to be able to do everything, and now I can’t do anything! I can’t help you anymore! And you can’t help me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bruce pulled him closer to his chest and rested his cheek on his head, rocking them back and forth. “It’ll be ok. We’ll figure it out.”

“No, it won’t! It’ll never be ok again! Can’t you see? I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t think! I can’t think, Dad! What use am I now?” his voice broke and Bruce felt his heart break with it.

“Tim,” he gathered Tim’s hands in his own from where they were clutching his shirt, and planted a kiss on his knuckles, smoothing over them with his thumb. “Son, listen to me. You were not born into this world to be useful.” He stopped him before he could interrupt. “I know you like being useful. I like being useful, too. But I need you to listen to me. You are more precious to me than all the stars in the sky. Nothing will change that. When I say, “We’ll figure it out”, I’m not talking about a cure, or some way to make sure you are, quote unquote, “useful”. I mean that we’ll figure out a way for you to live a happy life. A successful life in whatever capacity that it may mean for you. When I say “it’ll be ok”, I don’t mean that I have a fix, I just mean that no matter what, the others and I will be here for you, however you need us. I mean that no matter what happens, you have a place here. You are my son. I love you.” Bruce cradled Tim close again, and their tears mingled where their cheeks pressed together.

“It’s ok. I’m here”

(+1) Fair Winds, Another Tale

Despite still being in the middle of setting things up, the picnic mood was already in full swing. Large blankets were being weighed down by pillows and baskets of assorted snacks. Tables were being laid out to hold the main meal, soon to be a large potluck. No matter how much Alfred insisted on being the one to cook it all, each attendee persisted in bringing something to share. He faintly wondered if they would run out of table space again this time ‘round.

With the majority of the tasks already accomplished, and the remaining tasks hijacked by the ever-enthusiastic young people, Alfred found himself with nothing pressing to do. He made his way over to where Tim sat, transferring water bottles and pop cans from cartons to coolers.

“As much as I appreciate the help, I do so wish they’d stop flinging cutlery across the lawn.”

Tim looked up to watch Steph and Duke and Jason for a moment, trying to suppress his own smirk at the sight of them gleefully tossing said cutlery to each other.

“I mean, it's just plastic, right?”

Alfred sighed as he sat in a camping chair set up next to the coolers. “Yes, but that’s not quite the point. The job is getting done, though, I suppose.”

They sat a moment in pleasant silence, watching as their family milled about, more relaxed than Alfred had seen in years. He hated to break the quiet, but with the entire family around lately and as busy as ever, he had hardly had a decent conversation with any of them. He worried about all of them, of course, and their shared inability to ask for help, but Timothy was an especially quiet lad, when it came to facing problems.

“How are things?”

“Well, all the drinks are already chilled, and we have plenty of ice.”

He shrugged a little at Alfred’s pointed look. “I think they’re ok.” He fiddled a bit with the boxes and tied a fresh garbage bag to the back of a cooler. “Not great, but ok. The weight, the fog… It’s lessened, somehow?”

“Your medication is helping?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a big part of it. But more than that, the way that I think about things now, it’s- I mean, obviously, it’s taken months, and ‘better’ isn’t a word that I’d use- but there’s been progress. And for once? It’s like I can let that progress just, be? I’m not sure how to explain it, really.” He leaned back to stare at the sky. “ I’m still working on things, and putting effort into it, but I guess I’m not expecting things to be fixed completely and immediately.”

Alfred hummed in response encouraging him to continue.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s still frustrating to no end. Trying to ‘let go’ of perfectionism and the control issues… Sometimes I feel more like I’m chopping off parts of myself with the issues rather than just ‘letting them go’. But I’ve been finding new ways to define myself, and it’s been more manageable lately. I can work with manageable. And when it’s not, I have people who make it bearable.” He looked off to where Bruce was welcoming their first guests. “That’s more than enough for me.”

“Master Timothy,” Alfred waited until Tim met his sincere gaze, “I am so proud of you.”

The small smile Tim shot at him reminded him so much of the shy grins that were common when young Timothy had first entered their lives. Alfred’s heart ached for the many children whose smiles he had seen stolen over the years. The moment was cut short as Jason stormed over demanding,

“Tim, Steph is insisting that the 2005 Pride and Prejudice is better than the 1995 version. You have to tell her she’s wrong.”

Steph came bounding over with Duke. “What's wrong with you? Do you hate Kiera Knightley or something?”

Jason took a dramatic step back with his hand on his heart. “You should know better than to ask that question! But the 1995 version is still the better version. It's more faithful to the books! The delivery is stunning! The banter is unsurpassable! And it has Colin. Firth.”

Duke breaks in, “I mean, he’s got a point. They took the time necessary to keep as many details as possible from the book. Elizabeth’s take down of Darcy is unparalleled. When it comes to banter that’s definitely the one to watch. Also, the 2005 Mr. Bennet is kinda creepy, not gonna lie.”

“See? Duke here is a man of taste.”

“But the aesthetic!”  Stephanie cried, “The finger twitch! Darcy looking like a sad puppy in the rain! Elizabeth kissing Darcy’s hand!!! 2005 is a masterpiece! Tim, you tell them!”

“Don’t look at me, I think they’re both great. Besides, I like Jane Eyre better.” Tim says.

The other three stop and stare.

“You know, that makes sense.” Duke said with an assessing look. “Personally, my favorite is the Count of Monte Cristo.”

Jason threw up his hands in defeat. “You guys aren’t even talking about Jane Austen anymore!” They all turned as another car came up the drive. “Oh thank god, Babs is here! She’ll take my side.”

Their conversation faded into the distance as they paraded back across the lawn, dragging Tim into their argument as they went.

Bruce  watched them fondly out of the corner of his eye as he approached in turn.

“The Kent’s are here, save Clark. Lois says he tried a new recipe and wanted to run it past Martha first. Diana’s running a bit late, but for the most part it seems that everyone else will be here in an hour or so. How are things coming along?”

Alfred knew he was asking about more than just picnic preparations. “All is well, Master Bruce. For once, all is well.”

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Magic of Las Vegas

Day 9 of 2020′s 31 Days of Ficmas.  Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!

Prompt: Snowflake

Rating: T for sexual situations; nothing explicit

Pairing: 11xRose AU

Summary: A snowstorm in the US Midwest delays eastbound flights just before Christmas, leaving rival children’s novelists stranded in Las Vegas for the night.  A single, shared drink leads to far more than the intended one-night stand.

2020 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist

AO3

---

Standing in the ladies restroom at McCarran International Airport, Rose blinked rapidly as she waited for the eyedrops to take effect.  She’d had a full day in Las Vegas, and not the kind that made for good telly.  The last stop on her book tour, she’d soon be on her way towards home and Christmas - provided her flight could stop getting delayed.  The tree was up, presents wrapped neatly beneath it, and if the loved one waiting anxiously by the door was her mother rather than a boyfriend… so be it.  If nothing else, Jackie made the eggnog strong.

Gathering her things she returned to the gate, hopes falling - it was even emptier than it had been five minutes before, and in fact, only one potential passenger remained, arguing with one of the attendants at the counter.  I must have missed an announcement.  Shit.  Hurrying up to the check-in desk herself, she gave the unoccupied woman her best, kindest smile.  “Hi, sorry, is there any update?”

“Cancelled.”  The woman, Madison according to her nametag, didn’t look up, typing away at her computer.  “The storm in the Midwest is just getting worse, so they’ve decided to try again tomorrow.”

She tried not to groan.  Fucking snow.  All she wanted was to sleep in her own bed.  “Ohkay…  Can I get a seat on that flight?  Or the next one to London, really.  I’m not picky.”

“Boarding pass.”

Rose handed it over, trying not to be irritated; the woman was just trying to do her job, and while her customer service could use some work, it was after one in the morning.  Everyone was exhausted.

“Oh!” Madison let out, scanning Rose’s boarding pass.  “I’m sorry Miss Tyler, let me find you the next available flight.”  Attitude doing a one-eighty, she gave Rose a smile.  “My niece is a huge fan of your books. I’m actually the one who introduced her to them.”

Rose merely gave a polite smile in reply; while such a sentiment usually warmed her heart, she’d heard some variation of it from nearly everyone she’d met over her fifteen-day book tour throughout the States.  Now, though, she just wanted to go home.  I should be halfway to New York by now.

“All set, same seat, leaves at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon with a layover in LA.”

“LA?”  Her brow furrowed, trying to picture a map of the country.  “Isn’t that the wrong direction?”

Madison nodded, already printing off the new boarding pass.  “Yeah, but it’s that with a one-hour layover or Miami, with an eight-hour layover and a plane change.  It’ll be fine, and actually does save you time.”

It only took another minute to finalize the transaction, and soon enough Rose was headed for the airport exit, lugging her carry-on with her and so, so glad she’d taken her mother’s advice to keep a set of clothes with her and not check it all.  She hadn’t liked the idea of keeping the small rolling suitcase with her when she checked in, wanting to be less bogged down, but now, she was glad to have resisted the urge.  Thanks, Mum.

Footsteps behind her caught her attention, and a moment later, the man who’d been talking to the agent next to her pulled astride.  “Terribly unlucky, aren’t we?” he lamented in a slightly posher version of her own accent. “Best case is home for Christmas Eve.”

“The storm should be over tomorrow, so it’ll be fine,” she replied politely, taking him in out of the corner of her eye.  Roughly her age, he nonetheless had the distinct look of a sixty-something maths professor, complete with tweed jacket and elbow patches.  But his eyes were kind, and he was attractive in that tall, lanky sort of way, with floppy brown hair and a bowtie.

“Hope so.  I promised my niece I’d be there.”  He seemed to deflate slightly, before rallying.  “Listen, this may be terribly forward of me, but- would you like to get a drink?  I realize it’s ‘Las Vegas’, but the idea of drinking alone at Christmas just seems… sad.”

They reached the escalator then, and Rose took the opportunity of the ride down to consider the idea.  And the likely outcome.  He was reasonably handsome, if in a dorky way, and certainly seemed kind enough.  She could use the release of an anonymous shag – if nothing else, it would probably make for a good story once home.

“Sure.  Why not?”

-

Beep. Beep.  Beep.

The bleating of the alarm startled Rose awake, her head feeling as though it had been split open, her mouth dry and fuzzy.  A lucky swat silenced the alarm, none too soon.  “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, sinking back into the mattress and squeezing her eyes shut against the brightness.  “Ow.”

A pitiful sound of agreement came from her right, reminding her of how she’d gotten into such a sorry state.  As she’d predicted, one drink had turned to two, then three, then…  Damn. I actually take the chance on a one-night stand, and don’t remember the actual sex?  Just my luck.

“Why is it making that noise,” her bedpartner mumbled, sheets rustling as he shuffled around; a moment later, the heavy weight of his head settled on the dip in her bare back.  “Wanna sleep.”

“Flight home.  Miss it, and won’t be home ‘til Christmas.”  She took another chance at opening her eyes, managing to keep them that way this time despite having to squint.  “Better get ready.”

He grunted in reply, instead pressing kisses to her lower back.  “I can think of much more enjoyable things we could be doing.”

Rose merely swatted him away, rolling out of bed and managing to land on her feet, if somewhat shaky.  I hope I remember his name soon.  This might get awkward.  “Lovely as that sounds, ‘m not missing Christmas for it.”  She stretched her arms overhead, pleased at the lingering ache in certain muscles as her body started to wake up.  She might not remember their escapades, but it appeared she’d more than enjoyed them.  “Shower.”

He didn’t try to join her, which she was equally happy and disappointed with; she needed some time to let the warm water bring her back to vaguely-human levels of processing ability, but a quickie sounded good too.

This sent her mind down a warm and steamy path, and by the time she’d toweled off and donned a dressing gown, she was very much interested in a morning shag, strolling out to the bedroom to tell John- his name had come to her in the shower, thankfully- about her change of opinion, only to find him standing naked at the desk, hands on his hips.

Taking a moment to let her eyes linger on his generous assets, she didn’t immediately recognize his tense posture. “Something wrong?”

He jumped, turning to face her, eyes going wide and one hand scrambling to cover his package.  “NO!”  His gaze darted down to the desktop, expression growing a bit more fearful. “Well…”

“What?”  Concerned now, Rose stepped up to his side, distracted at first by how good he smelled.  How’s that possible, after a night of sex and drinking and hours spent at the airport?  Then she looked down, and her heart stopped.  “Please tell me that marriage license doesn’t belong to us.”

“Uh…  I dunno about you, but, yeah… that’s me.”

Rose read it over again, unable to comprehend what her eyes were telling her.  Certificate of Marriage… 22nd of December… Rose Marion Tyler…  John Matthew Smith…  “I don’t believe it,” she said faintly, looking up at him. “This isn’t- I don’t do this sort of thing.”

“Neither do I!” John protested. “Erm, is that- are you- the Rose Tyler, of the Bad Wolf books?”

Hesitantly, she nodded.

“Ah.”  He shifted uncomfortably.  “I didn’t know.  It’s just- well- I’m…” He took a deep breath, anxiety clawing at Rose’s stomach as she waited.  “I’m J.M. Smith.  I write the ‘The Doctor’ series.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck me.”  Rose closed her eyes, groaning.  Of all the people in the world, I hook up with my closest competitor.  They’d spent the last three years dueling on the bestseller’s lists, fighting for first in children’s fiction.  It was infuriating, and now here they were, post-coital, and married.  This cannot be real.  “How?”  Then, realizing what she said, her eyes snapped open.  “Don’t answer that.”

He nodded.  “What… do you want to do?”

“You’re on the same flight I am, right?”

Another nod.

“Let’s just… get ready and go back to the airport.  I can’t even begin to think about dealing with this yet.”

-

Upon arrival at the airport Rose was able to slip away from him, pulling a beanie on and parking herself at the next gate over; close enough to hear the announcements, but hopefully harder to spot.  When he rolled up to the gate several minutes after her, obviously looking around, she just sank lower in her chair; thankfully he seemed to overlook her, choosing a seat that put his back to her, and she relaxed marginally.

Pulling out her mobile she connected to the airport wifi, a quick search confirming that marriages in Las Vegas were legal, and worse, were recognized by the British government.  Shit.  An annulment appeared to be reasonably possible, thankfully not requiring Nevada residency.

Right.  So.  Once we get home, file for annulment, and if we’re lucky, no one ever needs to know. Including Mum.

-

Still stowing her carryon bag under the seat in front of her, Rose paid no attention to the person who plopped into the seat beside her, resettling herself before turning to look at who it was – and sighing heavily.

“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me.”

John arched a paper-thin eyebrow in response.  “I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

“Oh, gee, what gave you that idea?” Huffing, she turned away from him, lifting the window shade to peer out the window.  There wasn’t much to see other than the plane at the next gate and blue skies, but she’d spend every second of the flight staring out if it meant avoiding her seatmate.  Husband.

Thankfully, he left her alone until take-off, but the reprieve was short-lived.  As she pulled out her laptop to keep working on the next draft of her story, John made a noise beside her.

“Don’t you think we should talk?”

“No.”  With more force than necessary, she pecked out her password one-handed, using the other to hide the keys.  “What’s to talk about?  We go home, we file for annulment, and with any luck, by New Year’s this will be a distant memory, and someday, perhaps even a funny story.  But today- today, this is nothing.”

Opening her manuscript, she glanced over to find him staring at her, and angled her body- and the screen- away from him. “Now you’re being creepy.”

“But aren’t you curious?”

“About what?”

“What happened?  And why?”

Rose looked at him blankly.  “We got drunk.  In Las Vegas.  And apparently have watched too many movies with that very premise.  End of story.”

“I don’t believe that,” John shook his head, fringe falling across his brow.  “What if there’s more?  What if it was fate bringing us together?”

“God, do you hear yourself? It was a terrible coincidence.  We’re competitors.  End of story.”  She glared at the screen.  “It was nothing, it meant nothing, and it will be nothing once we’re home and able to call a lawyer.  Now piss off, I have a deadline due.”  Shoving earbuds into her ears and cranking some music, she did what she could to drown him – and herself- out.

Focus on work. That’s all that matters right now.

-

The flight to LA was short, and given that she didn’t need to change planes, she didn’t have to move, though she was given the option to deplane.  Out of the corner of her eye she noticed John leave, which relaxed her somewhat; by the time passengers started boarding she’d put the earbuds away and was sitting back with her eyes closed.

A small voice chattering away caught her attention, particularly at the words “and that’s why I like the Bad Wolf books more!  Sorry.” Opening one eye to see, she found to her amusement the child, a girl around eleven, was talking to John, settling herself across the aisle from him as he reclaimed his seat.

Her eyes snapped shut, and she kept her breathing deep and even, curious as to his response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Rose squinted, and was positioned in such a way she could see the girl nod.

“I like the Bad Wolf books too.”

“You do?”  For being a pre-teen, the girl had skepticism down pat, and Rose had to hold in giggles.

“Oh, very much so,” John said seriously. “There are lots of books out there like mine for boys- though I try to write so anyone would enjoy- but the Bad Wolf books are special.  I think it’s so cool to see a character like that – when I was your age, pretty much all the books of the genre were about boys.  But the Bad Wolf books… anyone can connect with Thorn, and see themselves in her- she’s so real.  She’s not perfect, and she doesn’t always get it right, but who does?  In Book 3- did you read Book 3?  Good, I don’t want to spoil it- but at the end… I had almost the same thing happen to me, only it was both of my parents, and Thorn reacted exactly as I did.  And above all – never apologize for liking something more than something else.  Your opinion is exactly that – so as long as you’re not trying to hurt someone, then don’t be ashamed of what you like. Okay?”

The girl nodded, staring at John in fascination.  “You really like the books then, huh?”

“I really do.”

“What’s your favorite part?”

John inhaled through his teeth. “Ooh, that’s a difficult one.  I think- the one scene I keep coming back to is when Thorn realizes she’s grown apart from her childhood friends.  It’s really sad, yeah?  But that’s life- nearly everyone experiences that at some point, everyone drifts away from people they loved.  I’ve never read of another series or character that makes that moment so visceral.  But what about you?  What’s your favorite part?”

Turning over so her back was to them, Rose half-listened to the conversation as her mind raced.  The scene he’d referenced was fairly small, and by its nature, would only be known by someone who had read the book.

Does John Smith read my books?

-

Once they were underway and the conversation between her seatmate and the girl had long since stopped, Rose started moving around as if just waking up, complete with yawning and stretching.

��Hi.”

“Oh!”  His yelp drew her gaze; he’d been reading, the book snapping shut and quickly tucked out of view, but not before she recognized her own artwork for her most recent release; in fact, the very book she’d been crossing the country to promote.  “Hello.”

“Hi,” she repeated, sitting up and looking at him curiously.  “Were you reading my book?”

His cheeks flushed, and after a moment, he returned the book to the tray table; based on the bookmark, he’d started it before they’d met, as he hadn’t done much (or any) reading since.  “Erm, yeah.”  He gave her a sheepish smile.  “You’re a fantastic writer.”

“Thank you.”  She’d had time to think, about what he’d said about her books, how willing he’d been to discuss them- and not his own- with the young girl who appeared to be flying solo.  It had softened her approach towards him- somewhat.  “I think there’s a chance we got off on the wrong foot.”

“I agree.”

When he just stared at her, she knew she’d have to make the first move.  I was kind of a bitch to him, wasn’t I?  “Hi, I’m Rose.”

“John.”

They shook hands, Rose’s skin tingling where they touched.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

He arched a skeptical eyebrow.  “I thought you didn’t care, that we’ll just pretend none of this happened.  Harder to do knowing things about the other.”

Rose bit her lip, eyes darting down to her lap.  “Like Thorn, my dad died, only when I was a baby.  Mum always said to hold on to precious moments.  And… I don’t trust easy, so clearly, something about you made me give you the benefit of the doubt.” Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze again.  “You’ve got until we land in London to convince me to- to extend that faith.  If you want to.  We’ll see from there.  What do you say?”

Green eyes searched hers, and she kept her expression soft, nervous despite her words.  They would both be interviewing the other for position of spouse, and suddenly, it was one she wanted to pass with flying colors.

“All right,” he agreed slowly. “Let’s see what happens.”

-

The next book in each series was a cross-over, where secret agent Thorn, codenamed Bad Wolf, is rescued by an unlikely hero, The Doctor, and his strange-looking timeship, and it is only through a combination of their unique skillsets they’re able to save the day. With cover-art by Rose Tyler and a foreword from John Smith, the book was an overachieving best-seller, outdoing the previous books in each series and earning an armful of awards.

The picture on the back featured the authors with their arms around each other, he in a suit, and she in a white dress.

Both bios, at the end of the book, ended with the same phrase.

And they lived happily ever after.

[meteora-writes]

We Could Be Perfect One Last Night ch.8

Fandom: Hannibal Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham Warnings: Angst, Revenge Plotting, Discussion of Cannibalism Chapter: 8. This Riddle Of Revenge Description: Jack receives a call from Alana. Will and Hannibal discuss what they intend to do with Bedelia and Jack when they get their hands on them. Authors Notes: So this took me way longer than I’d like to finish. The muses buggered off on me for a bit. But I’m back in time to get this posted before my birthday =D Yay!  Read on AO3

~~~~~ Read Ch.1.Ch.2.Ch.3.Ch.4.Ch.5.Ch.6 Ch.7~~~~~ 

Eight Days Post Fall

“Did you get the video?”

“Yes, Jack, I got the video,” Alana confirms with a sigh over the phone. She watched it three times before calling.

“And?” Jack asks expectantly.

“You want my professional opinion?” she asks, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. She only reached out to Jack via email earlier in the day to see if he had any information not shared in the news regarding Will and Hannibal being declared dead. She figured he would email her back with something other than a video of Will and Hannibal killing Francis Dolarhyde then falling off a cliff.

“That’s exactly what I want. I want to know what you think happened. You know Will better than I do. Do you think it’s possible he pushed them over the edge, or do you think that they fell? And do you think it’s possible they’re still alive.” It’s all he’s been able to think about for the last week. Did Will push them, or did he fall with Hannibal in some sort of staged plan to escape? Whatever the answer he won’t be satisfied until he has some kind of solid evidence. Which he, unfortunately, found none of while searching the area around the bluffs.

Half of the homeowners in the area refused to allow their vacation homes to be searched. Some stated that they had already been down to check the homes themselves and found nothing out of place. Others just ignored them or said they could search them if Jack got a warrant. With no evidence leading anyone to believe Will and Hannibal made it out of the ocean, no judge would issue one.

“I think that given the frame of mind Will had been in while helping you track down Francis Dolarhyde, he probably came to some kind of truce with Hannibal despite his feelings towards him to take the psychopath down. As for how things went with Hannibal in the end, Will knows how ruthless Hannibal can be, he probably saw no other way of dealing with him and pushed him over the edge the only way he could. The way they turned before falling would seem to support that.” Alana manages to sound professional as she gives Jack her assessment of things. Honestly, she has some very small doubts. But she isn’t going to voice them. Jack is wound tight enough as it is, she doesn’t want to agitate him when it’s likely pointless.

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Jack confesses with a sigh. He remembers the three of them deciding they needed to kill Hannibal after Hannibal helps him kill Dolarhyde, but he never meant for it to go down like this. “Molly Graham is speaking at my suspension hearing next week. She wouldn’t return any of my calls after we initially spoke the day Will disappeared. I don’t think I’ll have my job for much longer…”

“Well, you did want to retire soon,” Alana notes, trying to lighten the mood of the call even just a little. She hasn’t met Molly, but knowing the kind of people Will is attracted to, she can imagine what she must be like.

“I had been hoping it would be at least a few more years away. When I was completely grey and too tired to hold a gun,” Jack says woefully. “Is everything alright with you? How are Margot and Morgan holding up?”

“We’re all just fine, Jack. Margot is busy teaching Morgan how to swim right now. I tried to tell her he’s a little young for that, but they’re having a good time so I won’t spoil their fun,” Alana tells him with a small smile to herself. She can see her wife and son out swimming through the window of her office. The estate they’re staying on is big. Not as big as the one in Virginia. But it’s substantial. And it has a pool. Which works in their favor since it’s summer in the southern hemisphere. 

“Must be nice. It’s still cold here,” Jack tells her with a chuckle. It’s warmed up a little since the storm that made the search for Will and Hannibal difficult, but it’s still only in the forties out most days.

“It is… Listen, Jack, I don’t honestly know if Will and Hannibal could have survived that fall or not. But I think if they had we would have had some sort of sign by now. Will would reach out to Molly or you if he could. Hannibal can bide his time when he wants something, but if he’s got Will with him I’m not so sure he would hold back for long.”

“It’s a waiting game. One that might never end…” Jack says as he turns in his chair to look out his office window. It’s a nice enough day out. Warming up enough to allow more snow to melt. 

“I need to go. I promised Margot I wouldn’t be too long. Email if you need to get in contact with me again. You’ll forgive me for not giving you another way to contact me, but we can’t be too careful,” Alana says, feeling just a little bad. She knows she can trust Jack. But wants to protect her family, and that means not trusting anyone despite what her gut tells her.

“I will. Thank you, Alana. Take care.”

“Take care, Jack.”

~~~~~

Twelve Days Post Fall

“You’re certain you’re ready to move forward with things?” Will asks as he removes the last stitch from the healed gunshot wound in Hannibal’s back. Hannibal removed the ones in the front on his own, but he needed Will’s help with the ones in his back just as he had in getting the wound stitches properly closed a day after receiving it. 

“Absolutely,” Hannibal answers with a glance over his shoulder at Will. He’s seated in one of the wooden chairs at the table, Will kneeling behind him. He would have liked to take the stitches out a little sooner, but Will had taken one look at them after nine days and said he needed more time to heal. He finds that hard to believe, but he went with Will’s judgment in this case. He suspects it was something more along the lines of Will not feeling ready to remove them for him as he still felt off-kilter from dealing with his own.

“Then we should go for Bedelia first. She more than likely went off on her own again rather than going into FBI protective custody. And even if she had that would have ended shortly after we were declared dead,” Will notes as he moves to help Hannibal put his shirt back on. Not that he needs the help, he just doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. He feels cooped up. And he misses his dogs.

“Tracking her down won’t be difficult. She let slip one night that she used to summer in Connecticut. I believe her family still owns a home there that we can locate easily enough.” She had made the comment at a party they attended when first arriving in Italy. She didn’t think he was within earshot at the time, or she never would have said it. Everything she told the people they met was either a half-truth or some other variation thereof. He could always tell when she was lying. And she knew it. So, she didn’t bother lying beyond the deception of their true identities. “Tell me, do you intend to help me deal with her, or do you simply wish to watch?”

Will steps around the chair Hannibal sits in to stand in front of him, watching as he carefully buttons his shirt while he thinks on his answer. A small part of him almost likes Bedelia. But knowing she got away with the lengths she went to lie and cover her own skin after willingly leaving the country with Hannibal bothers him on some level. She was honest with Will in private. He can appreciate that. But she’s used her experience with Hannibal to make a name for herself and gain a level of professional esteem that she never would have achieved otherwise. It’s almost as irritating as what Chilton did with his damn book.

“What exactly is it that you plan on doing with her?” Will asks leu of answering right away. He knows Hannibal intends to eat her. The question is, does he plan to kill her and then eat her, or keep her alive like he did with Miriam Lass so he can toy with her first?

“I was thinking I might like to give her a similar treatment to that of the one I gave Dr. Gideon,” Hannibal explains as he finishes buttoning his shirt and moves to stand so that he and Will are eye to eye.

“The forensic report said his limbs had been amputated,” Will recalls with a tilt of his head. He didn’t ever get a look at the body in person, just read the paperwork and look at photos later on. “Taken one by one over the course of roughly two weeks. His stomach had his own partially digested remains inside.”

The smile on Hannibal’s face is one of his rare genuine ones. “He made for a most fascinating dinner guest. It was almost a shame to kill him. He ate everything I prepared and served him. Even when he was down to a single arm and had very little appetite left,” Hannibal recalls. The man was absolutely insufferable on some levels, but he took his fate in stride and could keep up a conversation. He can respect that at least.

“I don’t know if I’m more impressed or disturbed by that,” Will says with a shake of his head. He’s joking, just a little.

“I seriously doubt that you find anything I’m capable of to be truly disturbing at this point,” Hannibal speculates. “If the idea of my keeping Bedelia alive bothers you, you don’t have to participate. I’m more than capable of taking care of her on my own.”

Will considers the offer. Thinks about what it would be like to sit at the table with her and Hannibal as he serves up some piece of her like a fine holiday meal. See the look of defeat in her eyes as she accepts her plate. A small, fading part of him still screams somewhere deep down that it’s wrong. But he doesn’t honestly feel bothered by the idea. Especially given the fact that he knows he’s eaten people before… Unwittingly as it was at the time. “It doesn’t bother me,”  he finally admits as he turns away to look out the window.

“You’re certain?” Hannibal questions carefully. They’ve not really talked about this yet. Killing Jack together was a given. But Bedelia is Hannibal’s own personal vendetta. He knows Will accepts that Hannibal intends to eat them both. But he hasn’t said if he intends to join him or not. Which Hannibal won’t push. He won’t force him to do something he isn’t interested to in this case.

“I don’t feel any desire to eat her, but I would like to see the look on Bedelia’s face when you serve up a piece of her up for dinner,” Will admits as he glances back to Hannibal. He doesn’t miss the way his words affect the other man. Something in his eyes becoming almost primal. It sends a shiver down his spine as it reminds him of the look in Hannibal’s eyes when he ripped out Francis Dolarhyde’s throat with his teeth. “Do you intend to do the same to Jack when we go after him?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, but I leave that decision up to you. After all, you are the one who was most wronged by him. He treated you like an animal, Will. And an ill cared for one, at that. I think it’s only fair you should be the one to decide what’s to be done with him in the end,” Hannibal says as he turns to grab his notebook from where he left it beside the bed. He doesn’t doubt that whatever Will decides upon will be in some way satisfying for him also. He remembers quite well how vivid the other incredibly man’s imagination is. “You should take your time deciding. Nothing has to be settled upon until after we’ve finished with Bedelia.”

“I already know what I want to do with Jack,” Will says plainly as he watches Hannibal walk over to take his usual seat on the far end of the couch. He always lets Will take the side closest to the window so that he can sit and look outside if he likes. It also means he’s facing Hannibal if he does so. And he’s not blind to the fact that he’s been the subject of more than one of Hannibal’s sketches in that situations.

“Oh?” Hannibal doesn’t look up, just turns the pages of the notebook until he finds the latest sketch he’d been working on.

“I was thinking about how he and I first met,” Will begins as he takes his seat opposite Hannibal on the couch, body turned towards him with one leg pulled up onto the space between them at an angle. His posture is wide open. One arm resting on the back of the couch while the other rests so his hand is in his lap.

That gets a curious look from Hannibal, who pauses in the shading he’d begun to work on. “The museum opening?”

Nodding, Will scratches at his jaw and looks out the window once again. There are still patches of snow on the ground. Early March weather changing the landscape to a muddy semi-frozen mess. “I have some ideas on how we might contribute our own exhibit to it.” 

The smile that creeps on to Will’s face is enough to give Hannibal an idea of what the other man is thinking, and it sends a thrill through him at the thought of Will having thought this through already in detail. “He did seem quite invested the one time we spoke of the museum.”

Will huffs a laugh, because that is a serious understatement. “Jack was intimately involved in creating and establishing that museum. He helped track down half of the items on display personally. He was like a proud parent come to watch their child graduate when it finally opened.” He remembers their argument over the name that night well. And he remembers thinking Jack was a fool that would probably end up part of a display in his own creation someday. It only seems fitting that he and Hannibal be the ones to put him there. “He was almost as invested in the forming of that museum as he was in finding the Chesapeake Ripper,” he notes. “How do you feel about making him into an exhibit in his own museum? I was thinking something along the lines of the Chesapeake Ripper’s greatest hits?”

“A mosaic forged from the elements of my previous kills?” Hannibal finds himself imagining Jack strung up like a mannequin, body cut open, various pieces missing or artistically arranged along with him. Posed in a way that lets everyone who lays their eyes upon him see the scope of their work at a glimpse. It gives him an idea of what to do with the rest of Bedelia when he’s finished with her as well. “Beautiful.”

“I thought you might like that idea,” Will says almost fondly with a shake of his head before looking outside once again. The sunlight makes his eyes sparkle with an almost ethereal glow. 

It makes Hannibal want to flip the page and draw him yet again… “What about your own contribution? This would be your work of art as well as my own,” Hannibal reminds him. He honestly loves Will’s idea, but he wants him to contribute his own elements to this creation.

“I have my own twist to put on things,” Will says vaguely as he turns his head and glances towards the tacklebox where it rests by the table. “Don’t worry, Hannibal, I intend to leave my mark alongside yours when the time comes.”

“I look forward to it,” Hannibal confesses with a small smile. He’s watched Will for almost two weeks now. Making his fishing lures and daydreaming. He wishes he could see the things that come to that fascinating mind when it drifts. He knows Will likes to go to his stream when he has nothing else to do, but he also lets himself wander to darker places from time to time now that he only dared go when Hannibal asked. Because of that, it’s easy to spot when he does. His eyes take on a more feral sharpness that isn’t there other than when he’s ready to kill. It never fails to bring a similar desire out in Hannibal when he sees it.

“When do you want to leave?” Will asks with a tilt of his head after a moment silence passes between them. His gaze has drifted to the sketch in Hannibal’s hands. It’s of his old office. The furniture and fireplace are what give it away at a glance. Will still sees the room in his mind regularly enough to recognize the half-drawn shapes.

“I’ll give Chiyoh a call tomorrow and ask her to bring us to my house in New York. She can get us a temporary vehicle and more supplies while we get the house ready for guests.” He hasn’t been there in over four years. Having last gone some time before ever meeting Will. He’ll need to get new medical supplies and restock the pantry before they make their move to retrieve Bedelia.

“How far away is this place, anyway?”

Humming, Hannibal thinks a moment. “About four hours or so. It’s in the lower mountains, close to a town called Rhinebeck.”

“Great,” Will mutters with a slight look of discomfort flashing across his face. He doesn’t know how to feel about being in a car with Chiyoh for that long. He’s still a little bitter about their last interaction on the train. Her visit to bring them supplies was awkward enough for him as it was. He can only imagine what a road trip with her would be like. Especially with Hannibal and his ability to read people most of the time.

“You worry too much, Will. Chiyoh holds no feelings of ill will towards you. She is aware of how important you are to me. That makes you important to her as well. You’re family, and she would never do anything to hurt family,” Hannibal does his best to assure. He had spoken with her in private outside before she left the other day. She could tell from one look at the two of them together that something had shifted in their dynamic. He didn’t need to explain and she didn’t ask. Only promised to help the two of them finish what they needed here so they could find a quiet life together when all is said and done.

Will shifts almost uncomfortably in his seat, hand going to that torn bit of leather on the couch back to fidget with. “Did she tell you that or are you just making assumptions based on interactions?”

“She gave me her word,” Hannibal says in way of clarification. “She promised me to assist us in getting our affairs in order so that we may leave together after things have been taken care of.”

Will raises his eyes from Hannibal’s drawing and once again meets Hannibal’s gaze, uncertain blue meeting confident whiskey-brown. He relaxes after a beat and nods. “Alright,” is all he says before averting his gaze again and letting his thoughts drift. It’s good to know she’s willing to help them in some way. That she made that promise to Hannibal. 

His thoughts find their way to images of them confronting Jack. Going through various scenarios of how they might surprise him to get the upper hand in a fight against the well-trained agent. What things they might do with his body after to leave their farewell masterpiece. 

The only thing that draws his mind away is the realization that Hannibal is watching him from mere feet away with a smile on his face. It makes him look younger. And draws Will’s gaze to his lips more than once. He tries to hold back the thoughts that come with looking at them. He’s not quite ready for them. At least not yet.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Dear Soulmate AU (E.D.)

Summary: Frustrated by the pain connection she shares with her soulmate, Y/N makes a video in hopes of finding her other half.

Warnings: slight angst, cursing

Word count: 1700

Dear Soulmate - Series Masterlist

Soulmates are real...at least it's something I've been told my entire life. When we're born, each of us get a special mark that will lead us to our other half. Some people get unique tattoos in different places, other get an actual clock that shows them the exact time when they'll meet them. There are those who see the world in black and white until they meet the one and their world comes to life and there are those who are deaf until they hear their loved ones voice.

There are many variations to this whole soulmate thing, most of which are visible right after birth and those lucky bastards get their mark put in the system and if there's someone with the same one they'll be notified. Other people, such as myself, are born without a mark. It can mean one of three things: you don't have a soulmate, your soulmate died before you were born or you have an emotional/pain connection to the other person. I seemed to be lucky enough to have the latter. It's hard to actually find your other half when you can only feel their pain or sometimes their emotions, but that usually comes after meeting them as a sign of a profound connection.

It's very rare to have a pain connection and only a few thousand cases have been documented in the world since the beginning. The real problem with pain connections is the ability to distinguish their pain from your own. That's why these people rarely find each other, because who would connect a stomach ache to menstrual cramps of their soulmates.

The first time I've felt it was around midnight when I was five, it's one of my earliest memories. I woke up screaming in pain, tears streaming down my face. My parents ran in and saw me clutching my left hand, pulling it to my chest. They rushed me to the ER but there was nothing physically wrong with me. The doctors noted that I didn't have a visible soulmate mark and connected it to a soulmate phantom pain and officially wrote me in the system as a pain connection type of soulmate...no matches came up. That pain stayed with me for about a month..seemed like my soulmate broke his arm.

The second time I remembered feeling the pain was sometime around my eight birthday. I felt a strong headache come on and I fainted. Doctors checked me out and contributed it all to the soulmate connection as well.

These kinds of occurrences became more frequent as I grew and there were times where I couldn't sleep from the pain that radiated in different parts of my body. At first I was worried about whoever it was, but then I became angry at the world, the soulmate connection and most of all this soulmate of mine that had taken clumsiness to a whole new level.

At sixteen, I started feeling like I was on cloud nine. There was this constant rush of adrenaline and happiness running through me which made me pretty happy. My spirits were lifted and I enjoyed life for the first time in years.

I was in class, perfectly content, no pain, no worries, just a normal teenager for once, when I felt a sudden onset of depression that came over me in waves. It was strong and I could barely breathe from the intensity. Something was wrong, very wrong. I ran out and went straight home, curled up in a ball and thought about him. Or her. Soulmates weren't picky about genders and I didn't really mind.

Sometime during the night, an idea came to me. I could try and find this person over the internet. I got up and opened my laptop. I wrote a short letter and decided to film myself reading it. I thought about the right site for this video and decided to go with YouTube.

Dear soulmate

Hello everyone, but mostly, hello to YOU...if You are watching this. My name is (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) and I have a weird request. You see, I have a pain connection to my soulmate and it's getting rather annoying since it seems my soulmate, whoever it is, keeps getting hurt. I feel like I'm in pain all the time and I need to find this person and teach them coordination or something, because if I wake up in the middle of the night screaming in pain again, I'll go crazy. I wanted to rant about this unknown person, but right now, I'm more worried than angry, so, in all seriousness, if you know someone without a soulmate mark or with a pain connection to their soulmate, please tell them to contact me. All my contact information will be listed down below, so I really hope you see this...whoever you are.

I logged off and took a deep breath. I hope this works.

Two years later...

My video went viral, but I wasn't any closer to finding my soulmate. Over the years, I decided to continue my videos in hopes of them being seen by the right person. Every time I'd feel pain, even the slightest tingle that I was sure didn't come from me, I'd post about it: the exact date and time, location and type of pain.

I do get a lot of people contacting me, claiming they're the ones, but they never passed my tests. I'd Skype each person and secretly pinch myself as hard as I could to see if they'd feel anything. It never happened.

So here I was, doing a live on Instagram, telling people about my day, since there was a fan base for me and my clumsy stranger, when right in the middle of it I felt a sharp pain in my right arm, shoulder and rib cage.

„OW! WHAT THE HECK?!“ I screamed.

„I just felt a sharp pain in my right side: arms, ribs, ugh!“ I let out a frustrated sigh.

„Do you guys see what I have to live with? Why can’t you be more careful, asshole!“ I yell looking up.

„I've had it. I'm against self harm guys, but seriously, if I have to take their pain, they'll have to take mine too!“ I state and slowly back away from the camera. Using my left fist I punched my left thigh as hard as I could and pinched my right arm. Wincing in pain I start mumbling a string of curses under my breath. I sit down and turn to the camera.

„Well, this was dumb...don't do it at home kids.“ I say faking a smile and look to see their comments. Wow, the comments were going like crazy and they all kept mentioning some Ethan and Dolan kid.

„What are guys trying to tell me?“ I question, fishing out my laptop to google them. I look to my phone and see a few comments fly by, but all I could catch were words your soulmate!

Little did I know that somewhere, half a world away, my soulmate was doing a live on Instragram too.

Ethan's POV

I was just trying to get this skateboarding trick right, but unfortunately I lost my balance and ended up wiping out LIVE. Grayson's loud laugh filled the warehouse when he saw I was still alive and breathing. This is going to hurt like a bitch in the morning.

Out of nowhere I felt a strong pain in my left thigh and a sharp pain in my right arm. I flinch grabbing at the painful spots and Grayson looks at me like I'm crazy.

„What are you doing?“ He asks lowering the camera.

„I just felt this weird pain in my leg and arm! I have no idea where it came from!“ I shout.

I was confused. Everyone I know always speculated I might have a pain connection to my soulmate because I had no visible marks. I, on the other hand, thought I didn't have one..I mean Grayson has an actual timer on his wrist that ticks down till the moment they meet! He has three years left of waiting, while I had no hopes of ever meeting my other half.

„Come over here so we can answer a few questions from the fans before we end the live“ Grayson orders and I shake my head lightly before walking towards him, still holding my left arm as there was still a slight burning sensation.

„Hey guys! Ask us some questions!“ Gray exclaims, but I could feel something weird bubbling inside my chest. I wanted to turn off the camera and just get a moment to breathe..to really think. Was I really a pain type of soulmates? Was there someone out there for me? Really? I kind of lost hope after the tour. I had hoped I’d meet that someone during our tour because we traveled around the world and if that didn’t help faith pull us to one another, I didn’t know what would. I remember feeling sad about it and add that to dad’s diagnosis, I couldn’t handle a double dosage of pain, so I shut down all thoughts about soulmates and gave up.

„E. Are you seeing this?“ Grayson pulls me out of my thoughts and I look at him with a raised eyebrow.

„What?“ I ask and he gives me the phone.

„Look at the comments section!“ Grayson urges.

„Y/N Y/L/N is your soulmate“ I read out loud without even realizing what was coming out of my mouth. As those words finally reach my brain I turn to Grayson with wide eyes. How would they know? I have to see who this girl is!

„I'm sorry guys, but we have to cut this LIVE short and ugh, peacee!“ I spit out as fast as I can and open Google right away typing her name in the search bar.

„Gray..“ I start and he comes over and pulls me into a side hug.

„I'm with you. Hit the search button.“ Grayson says gently, almost as if he's afraid I'll break.

The first thing that comes up is a YouTube video titled Dear soulmate.

I turn to Grayson and he reassures me with a smile and nudges me to play it.

Okay....here we go..

[ifishouldvanish]

The Boston Hour (10/?)

In which Belle is an Antiques Roadshow super-fan and Gold is her favorite appraiser.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Rumford basks in the after-glow of his date with Belle. Back in Storybrooke, Belle has lunch with her father, who's curious to know how her trip to Boston went. RATING: T WORDS: 6,858 A/N: Kind of a stitch chapter, so not much plot to speak of. Just got back from vacation in Vienna and wanted to get something posted since it’s been forever. TMI’s here - [x].

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Read on AO3]

Ruby hit send and glanced up from her phone's screen once she noticed Belle and Rumford step outside of the hotel. He was resting his hand on her lower back as they walked, and the two of them were too busy gazing and smiling at each other to pay the world around them any mind. Someone bumped Rumford's shoulder, and he didn't seem to notice. A second later, someone else bumped into Belle and she only stumbled closer to him. She blushed, and he smiled, and she smiled, and he smiled even more. He then pointed out the small steps that lead to the sidewalk and took her hand, carefully guiding her down each one like a god damned boy scout helping an old lady cross the street– only he couldn't take his eyes off of her and wound up stumbling a little himself.

“Jesus Christ.” Ruby muttered to herself as she watched the whole thing. “That’s fucking adorable.”

Rumford looked up, eyes panning the street as he searched for the car, and Belle pointed happily in Ruby's direction where she sat in the loudly idling Mustang. He made a surprised face, and Belle nodded, and he smiled. Again.

Ruby was pretty sure she'd never seen two people smile so damned much.

He opened the door for her and helped her into the passenger seat, but not without Belle hesitating and pressing a kiss to his cheek first– which made him blush profusely, of course. They exchanged about two dozen variations of 'thank you’, ‘I had a lovely time’ and ‘ have a safe trip ’ before Ruby had to cut them off and pull out into the road already.

Belle's head turned as they drove off– her gaze fixed on Rumford's rear as he turned back and headed for his rental car. Ruby felt a little bad, but there was no way in hell she was going to get suck in Boston traffic on the way home, and the window for the optimal departure time was closing fast.

“So… that looked like one hell of a kiss.” Ruby teased. “Didn't think you kids had it in you.”

“Oh.” Belle coughed and tore her eyes off of his arse, opting instead to stare blankly at the windshield. “Well, he was um. H-he's a good kisser?” she stammered.

Ruby watched the blush rise to her cheeks and grinned with amusement. “...Uh-huh.”

“W-we shared ice cream.” Belle said.

“Right…” She noticed the shopping bag at Belle's feet and pointed at the red rose poking out of it. “So, whatcha got there?”

Belle blinked out of her trance and gasped. “Oh! Ruby, you're not going to believe this!” The plastic bag rustled as Belle dug through it and pulled out three notebooks. They looked to be falling apart, and Ruby knit her brows as she watched her hastily flip through the pages of one of them. “We think whoever these journals belonged to, they must have been the same person who illustrated Her Handsome Hero!” Belle said. “Look!”

Ruby pulled up to a red light and took a moment to look at the drawing Belle had opened the journal up to. She might not have been a connoisseur of the arts by any stretch, but the resemblance was certainly undeniable. “Holy shit, that is cool.”

“I'm gonna translate these and see if they say anything useful, and share my findings with Rumford!” she bubbled excitedly, the smile on her face the widest Ruby had ever seen.

“My precious little nerd...” Ruby smiled. “I was actually talking about that though,” she said, pointing at the rose.

“Oh!” Belle giggled and put the journals away, plucking the rose out of the bag instead. She held it up to her nose and closed her eyes, giving it a long, indulgent sniff. “...It's from Rumford.” she sighed wistfully.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Ruby snorted. “But I mean, how'd he go about it? Set the scene for me, Belles. Take me there.”

Belle gasped and pressed her lips together as if struggling to keep a secret, then glanced over her shoulder and leaned in closely as if to share one. “After we found those books, I had to pee.” she said. “And when I got back from the bathroom, he was waiting for me with it? And I was like, ‘is that for me?’ and he was like–” she paused and lidded her eyes, deepening her voice. “...If you'll have it. ”

“Nice!” Ruby nodded and hiked her brows. It was kind of a miracle either of them could stand within ten feet of each other without exploding, after all.

“So of course I accepted it! And I said thank you, and I kissed his cheek… and just...” Belle trailed off and looked down at the rose, rolling its stem between her fingers. “...He's perfect.”

Ruby scoffed.

Belle snapped up and turned to face her again. “I mean I knew he was perfect, but he's even more perfect than I thought which shouldn't even be possible? But he just– he raised the bar for the standard of perfection. ...Like, you know how the ancient Greeks believed man was the measure of all things?”

The light turned green and Ruby pulled forward. “Not really, but go on.”

“Well, Rumford is the standard by which all other men in my life are measured.”

“...Gotcha.” she said. “You know, us lay folk call 'em life ruiners.”

Belle pouted her lips and tilted her head, weighing the term. “But he’s not ruining my life. He's…” she threw her head back and sighed, “...bringing magic into it.”

“Well, I'm glad,” Ruby laughed, then slammed on the brakes as someone cut her off. “Asshole!” she muttered, flipping them the bird.

“Anyway, enough about me!” Belle said. “Tell me about Dorothy– Miss I-Spent-The-Night-In-Her-Hotel-Room…” she teased, wiggling her brows.

The scowl on Ruby's face curled into a smile. “Oh, it wasn't a big deal, really…” she mumbled despite the warmth she was already feeling in her cheeks. “I told you– She got kinda drunk, so I drove her back to her hotel… walked up to the room with her... I kept her company for a bit, and then we put some cheesy sci-fi movie on on Netflix and made fun of it.”

She and Dorothy had each other in stitches last night, providing their own silly commentary on how quickly and predictably the heroine fell for the cliche macho protagonist, the deus ex machina that was introduced at the last minute to save the day, and how much better the whole thing would have been if they’d just made the heroine gay– because there was no other explanation for the way she looked at the brunette scientist who was introduced in the second act.

“Mhmm…” Belle smiled, nodding along as she listened.

“Anyway.” Ruby shook her head. “There might have been some light cuddling… and then we passed out.”

There was a stretch of silence before Belle finally asked, “...And?”

Ruby paused to check her mirrors before switching lanes, glad to have the excuse of driving so she could avoid eye contact. She didn't get smiley and goofy after the first date. That was for dorks, and she was cooler than that. “And what?”

“That's it?”

“Hmm…yeah, pretty much.” she shrugged.

“Pretty much?”

“...Yup.” Ruby nodded and cleared her throat. It wasn't untrue. That really was all that had happened last night. But what no one needed to know was how much she enjoyed the cuddling, and that there actually had been a kiss this morning.

Belle was already onto her, though.

“Actually, at one point, she did start showing me pictures of her dog.” Ruby said, changing the subject.

Belle's expression melted in an instant. “Aww! What kind!?”

Ruby huffed out a relieved little laugh. “Rough Collie?”

“Oh my God!” Belle gasped. “Those are so floofy!”

“Yeah, the dog has nicer hair than I do.”

“What's his name? Please tell me it's Toto or Lassie!”

“Those were my first guesses too!” Ruby said. “But her name is Marlene.”

Belle frowned. “That's an unusual name for a dog.”

“She’s named after the late great Marlene Dietrich, who was like, super gay.” Ruby chuckled.

Belle sputtered a laugh and shook her head. “Okay, but like, did you guys… you know...”

Ruby glanced over her shoulder and moved over another lane. “Did we what?”

“Oh come on, Ruby! You know what I mean!”

“Nope. No idea.”

“Fine.” Belle huffed and rolled her eyes. “...Was there a kiss?”

“A kiss?” she asked, her nonchalant tone betrayed by the smirk on her face. “Oh, yeah. Kiss, yeah.”

Belle groaned in frustration and she laughed.

“We kissed this morning before I left. It was… nice.”

“Nice?”

“Well, what do you want me to say!?” Ruby snapped. “Wasn't anything like your steamy, semi-public make out– it was just a nice, simple, first date kiss!” she said, cringing at how fast and high-pitched her voice had suddenly become.

“So there's gonna be a second date, you think?”

“I don't know!” she cried and threw a hand up on the air. That all depended on how Dorothy would respond to the text she'd just sent, but Ruby was feeling pretty good about it. Mostly. “...Maybe?”

Belle drew a deep gasp. “Oh, you like her...”

“Well, duh. ” Ruby huffed and tried to stay focused on the road. “I wouldn't have asked her out if I wasn’t interested, you nut.”

“Yeah, but–” Belle giggled, “you really like her.”

“So?” She said, staring a hole into the car in front of them.

“Nothing. I just think you guys were cute last night.”

Ruby slouched in her seat, making herself small. “Yeah well– you and Rumford should just like... Shut up and get married already, because that's how stupid and cute you are.” she shot back bitterly, as if it were an insult.

“Aw…” Belle smiled. “You think we're stupid and cute?”

“Ugh. Yeah. It's gross.” Ruby muttered, trying to keep a straight face. “Just watching him walk you the car, I almost lost my lunch.”

There was a sudden buzzing sound from the dashboard, and Belle beat Ruby to her phone.

“No texting while driving, Rubes.” she teased, holding it out of her reach. “Good thing you have your best friend in the whole world here to check your messages for you though, right?”

Ruby huffed and rolled her eyes. “Okay. Fine. What does it say?”

“It's from Dorothy…” she sing-songed and wiggled her brows. “She says, ‘sounds good. See you there.’ With a popcorn emoji, the um… upside-down smiley face... and sparkles!”

A smile crept across Ruby's face. Dorothy lived in Portland, and so there was no reason they couldn't see each other again. And again. And well– actually date.

“You're gonna see a movie together!?” Belle asked. “What movie!?”

“I dunno… one of the theaters in Portland does screenings of classic movies on Thursdays or something.”

“Aw… She's a movie buff, isn't she?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ruby mumbled.

But oh, she was. She totally was. Ruby left the hotel this morning with a list of movie recommendations a mile long. Dorothy had been pretty reserved while they were at the bar, but once they'd started scrolling through Netflix, she was chattering away about her favorite actors, her favorite directors, how amazing the script for one film was, and how incredible the cinematography was in another. She'd called about a dozen films “her favorite movie of all time” and if it were possible, Ruby would have gladly stayed in that hotel room for two weeks straight, cuddled up next to Dorothy while they watched and rewatched every single one of them.

“Okay,” Ruby said. “Text her back… ‘Can't wait,’ with um…”

“A winky face?”

“No… the one that's like, smirking?”

Belle clicked her tongue. “Got it.”

“And sparkles.”

“Sparkles.”

*****

Neal tilted his head and squinted as they finished the trek across the airport parking lot, and Rumford couldn't tell if he was staring at him or if the sun was just in his eyes.

“You seem… different.”

Ah. Staring, then.

“Well, I suppose I do feel different.” Rumford said.

That was an understatement. Two days ago, he'd kissed Belle French– he practically felt like a new man. A better man. He still put his trousers on one leg at a time, of course– but he stood a little taller, chose his tie with a little more pride in the morning, preened in the mirror a little longer. The fact that he was at the airport for the second time in two days? Couldn't bring himself to mind.

“You're… I don't know. More relaxed. Loose in the joints. You got like… a swagger to ya.” Neal said, hoisting up his luggage and hauling it in the trunk of the Cadillac. He drew a sudden breath and spun around, clasping his hand over his mouth. “Oh my God– You totally got laid.”

Rumford waited for him to step aside so he could close the trunk with a satisfying click. “Got what, now?”

“You did the do with that lady!” Neal laughed, walking over to the passenger door. “Oh my God, that's gross, Pop! I mean, I'm happy for you– but gross.”

A smile crept across Rumford's face as he headed for the driver's side. “If by 'did the do’ you mean, ‘spent a lovely afternoon antiquing together’ then yes. I'm afraid we did it all day long, son.”

Neal narrowed his eyes at him for a moment and climbed into the car with a sigh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What?” Rumford asked, following suit.

Neal fastened his seatbelt and turned to face him. “You still at least kissed her though, right?”

“Yes. We ah... kissed. On the lips.”

“Like a kiss, or a kiss?”

Rumford stopped fastening his seatbelt and froze. “Ah…”

Was there an appropriate way to say, we started to make out in the hotel lobby and almost knocked the décor over amidst the heat of our passion?

“It was… thorough.” he said, starting the car and cranking up the air conditioning. Took a moment to loosen his tie. Tug his collar.

“...Thorough?” Neal scowled and turned all the air vents away from him, wrapping his arms around himself. “Let's pretend I didn't ask and you didn't just say that.”

Rumford coughed and gripped his hands on the wheel. Yes. They would pretend he never said that. His boy always did have a good head on his shoulders.

“So, like… is she your girlfriend now?” he asked.

“I– I don't know.”

“What do you mean, you don't know?”

“I mean I don't know! We didn't… discuss that.”

“You are really bad at this.” Neal said. “Like, astoundingly bad.”

Rumford huffed and let that roll off his shoulders. Things with Belle had felt so easy, so natural– Once he got past his rampant anxiety and self-doubt, at least. And even when he had been reduced to a stammering, blundering mess, she still smiled and invited him out. For all his worry, they'd had a wonderful time together. He'd made her blush and laugh, and she'd said he was cute and called him her favorite. Twice.

They'd see each other again. Belle sounded quite sure of that, and in retrospect, he was starting to feel it too.

“Well, I think this woman might beg to differ.” Rumford said, a smug little grin tugging his lips. “You know, perhaps your father isn't as hopeless as you think.”

Neal gave him a sidelong look.

“All I'm saying– and will say– is that she gave me every indication that she enjoyed herself and would like for us to see each other again sometime. Sooner rather than later.”

“...Uh-huh.” Neal slumped in his seat and fished his phone out of his pocket. “Well, you better not screw this up, 'cause I want a chance to meet this woman,” he laughed. “I mean, she's gotta be like, the biggest nerd to see you talking about musty old books and fancy vases and think, ‘Look at that fine hunk o’ man right there... Mm! I wouldn't mind gettin’ myself a piece of that.’”

Rumford scoffed, and he raised his chin a little at the realization that that had been what happened– more or less. Belle could have easily charmed any one of the dozens of appraisers on the show. But she'd chosen him. Looked at him and thought, 'Yes, I want that one.’

The notion made him feel downright giddy, and the tingle he'd felt in his chest after their appraisal, after their chat when she'd invited him out, after their walk together, all bubbled inside him anew. Yes, yes. He very much felt like a new man indeed.

“You know–” Rumford stretched his arm behind the passenger seat and looked over his shoulder as he began backing out of the parking spot. “A good verbal appraisal can be... an incredibly erotic experience, Neal.”

Neal stopped swiping on his phone and looked up at his father in mortification. “...What?”

“I'm talking about someone showing you something that's terribly personal to them, and for you to understand it better than they do,” Rumford explained coolly, putting the car back in gear and squaring his shoulders. “To teach a perfect stranger something about themselves and their past through their possessions… To inform them that something of theirs is priceless. Valuable. ...Desirable . You can tell a great deal about someone by the things they hold onto, you know? When you appraise these things, it can be… not unlike a seduction. You bare one's soul to them, and well– if the conditions are right– reveal your own in the process.”

Neal wrinkled his nose and scowled at him. “Pop, what the hell are you talking about?”

A good question, Rumford thought. What the hell was he talking about?

Ah, yes.

The sultry look in Belle's eyes while he told her about the trends in book cover design during the late nineteenth century. The look of open lust they shared as he described the defining characteristics of the illustrations in her book. For, surely, that had been the dizzying sensation he felt– the magnetic pull of animal attraction between two strangers. So visceral, so raw. At the time, he'd trembled in the face of it all– a meek, innocent bairn. But now? After that kiss? He was a man experienced in all the ways of desire. Touched by the hedonistic thrill of completely losing oneself in another without any intention of ever being found.

“...Pop?”

Rumford shook his head and cleared his throat, finally meeting his son's baffled gaze. “You’ll understand when you're older, son. Now get my wallet out so I can pay for the parking.”

Neal blinked. “O-kay…”

The rest of the ride home consisted of an account of all the things Rumford had bought for the shop while he was at the market with Belle, several impersonations of the other passengers on Neal's flight, and the customary stilted conversation about Milah and her latest beau. In the time it took to get home, Rumford only had to remind his son to watch his language twice, which was... progress, and he didn't even have to remind him to wipe his shoes on the mat before stepping inside the house.

“Dude. It's clean in here.” Neal observed as he stepped into the foyer.

Rumford struggled to pull the keys out of the lock for a moment. “Oh.”

Yes, that.

The second he'd gotten home Sunday evening, he’d turned his study upside-down, gathering all of his sources on Les Reines des Ténèbres, making copies, and stuffing them into an envelope addressed to the Storybrooke Public Library– though not without adding a few personal touches like a handwritten note, of course.

But once that was ready for the post, Rumford found himself in a mood . Or perhaps more accurately, a panic. He didn't know how soon to expect a call to arrange a visit from Belle, but the mere thought of her seeing the sorry state he lived in was enough for him to start cleaning. The bar for what qualified all his trinkets as “worth holding onto” had raised enough that in an hour, he had three boxes full of junk to throw out– or rather, three boxes full of possible inventory to put in the capable care of Miss Halloran. She'd packed the van up with glee late last night, thanking him enough times that he actually started to believe he was paying her a kindness, and not just dumping all his shite onto her lap so he could wipe his hands of it all.

A good employee, Miss Halloran. He'd have to give her a raise.

“Aye, well, you know… just tidying a bit.”

“A bit?” Neal asked skeptically, poking his head into the next room. “Where'd all that shit in the living room go?”

“Oh, some went in the shop, some in the storage unit.” Rumford dismissed. “...And how many times do I have to tell you to watch your mouth?”

“Sorry.” Neal sighed. “But for real, Pop– The place looks nice.”

“Y-you think?”

Thank God.

“Yeah, I mean… you even got rid of all those busted watches on the dining room table.”

“Well, ye know.” He mumbled, beginning to feel embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. “M-Miss Halloran took those. She has more time for them than I do, I'm afraid.”

“Huh.” Neal looked at him again, the same way Rumford himself might look at a piece of mid-century modern furniture.

Was never a fan.

“And all this has nothing to do with this lady you're totally dating?”

“She might be visiting some time in the coming weeks, yes.” he answered casually, smoothing out his tie and uselessly prodding at his pocket square.

“...Right.” Neal said. “Well, let me know when, so I can make plans to be as far away from this house as possible that night.”

Rumford clicked his tongue and scoffed. “We'll just be going over some translations, son.”

That was a lie. He had every intention of sweeping Belle off her feet. Wooing her with… whatever the hell it was that had convinced her to ask him on a second date. Demonstrating to her how remarkable he found her. Kissing her again. Yes, yes. Another kiss. That would be good.

Neal arched a brow at him. “Going over some translations? Is that what you academics call it?” he said, and Rumford blanched.

The nerve! The impudence! Where had he gone so wrong as a parent to deserve a son so saucy as this!?

Milah. Clearly her doing. After all, she's the one who had convinced him to try pot when they were in grad school. You're too high-strung, she'd told him. You need to relax.

All lies, of course. The devil at work. And Heaven knew what sort of corruption she was up to now.

“Dude, you're totally gonna make her dinner.” Neal teased.

Rumford rolled his eyes. “Well, of course I'll make her dinner!”

His aunties always taught him that the notion that it was exclusively a woman's place to slave over a hot meal for a man was misogynist propaganda put forth by the white patriarchy, and that the fastest way to anyone's heart was through their stomach. Considering how delighted she was by the food selection at the flea market, Belle seemed to be no exception.

“Are you gonna light candles?” Neal asked.

Rumford huffed and ushered him up the stairs. Should he? “Go... unpack your things!”

Neal laughed his way upstairs with his luggage. “You should put on some jazz records too!” he shouted.

“I-I-I–” Rumford stammered. Coltrane? Ellington? “...Maybe I will!”

Neal's footsteps slowed to a stop as he reached his bedroom , followed by the soft and distant (though very distinct) sound of him flopping heavily onto his bed. Rumford spun on his heels and started toward the liquor cabinet. He needed a drink.

You know, to relax. Was starting to feel terribly high-strung. A neat scotch would do nicely. He readied a glass and brought it to his lips, but the sound of footsteps returned.

“...Hey.” Neal called softly from the landing. “Dad?”

Rumford spun back around with a smile and returned to the stairs. Here it was– For all his sassy remarks, Neal was still his boy, after all. Still had the grace to apologize. Admit his wrongs. Do his father proud.

“What is it, son?”

Neal snorted, and Rumford immediately closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate. “Do you let her call you Rumford,” he laughed, “...or Barbara?”

Rumford snapped a finger at him. “You're grounded.”

“What!? You can't ground me!” Neal whined.

Rumford pressed his lips into a thin line and narrowed his eyes at him.

“...Yeah okay, maybe you still can,” Neal mumbled, retreating back up the stairs.

Rumford opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a vibration in his pocket. He slid his phone out as it continued to ring and checked the screen. David.

His eyes darted back and forth between the phone and his moping son for a moment until he finally let out a sigh. “Neal?”

He stopped his trek up the stairs and spun around. “Yeah?”

“You're no’ bloody grounded,” Rumford said. “Just– Know when to give your old man a break sometimes, aye?”

Neal smiled and happily continued up the stairs, and so Rumford returned to his scotch and took his call.

“...David.” he answered.

“Hey, bud!” David greeted warmly. “What's up?”

Rumford blinked owlishly. Bud. They were buds.

“David.” he said again. “Uh… H-how are you? Mary Margaret? Emma?” But why was he asking all the questions? David was the one who'd called him.

“Good, good. Look–” David said, “I just wanted to give you a call and see how your uh, date went.”

Ah, there it was.

Date. Date. Date.

“Yes. Yes, it ah… went well. Went well.”

"Good! That's great!” David said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. Like he was happy for him and like he actually enjoyed talking on the phone.

Incredible.

“It was two dates, actually.” Rumford corrected him. Not because he was boasting about having gone on two dates with the most stunning woman he'd ever laid eyes on– no, no– but because it was important to keep the facts straight and omit nothing. Old habits died hard, and such was the life of the personal property appraiser.

So, two dates with Belle French.

Not one.

But Two.

Dates.

With Belle French.

“Oh, wow! Really?” David asked.

‘Really?’ Rumford thought bitterly. What the hell was he implying with that incredulousness?

“We went to the flea market Sunday.” he added, a little more defensively than he intended to. “Spent the day there.”

“That must have been nice, man. I told you you could do it!”

Rumford opened his mouth to speak, but realized he didn't know what to say to that. Admit to his friend– his bud– that he had been right all along? That all his panic and worry had been for nothing?

Over his dead body.

“So…” David said, “anything happen? Any spark--”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“Kiss, I mean.” Rumford blurted, clearing his throat and leaning against the liquid cabinet. “There was a–” he bumped into the decanter, sending it teetering over the edge– and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat as the image of his aged scotch spilling onto his prized Bakhtiari rug flashed before his eyes.

He caught the decanter mid fall and felt his soul return to his body.

“There was a kiss.” Rumford finished breathily, his heart still pounding in his chest from the crisis he'd just narrowly averted.

“A kiss…” David baited.

He took a deep breath. “Aye.”

“Well, do you think you'll see her again?”

“Oh, I hope so.” he answered right away, and a smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey– Some enthusiasm!” David said. “I like it!”

“She's brilliant.” Rumford said, smiling fondly at the decanter.

“Yeah? What's she like?” David asked.

“The first day of spring.” he said, the words leaping out of his mouth.

“Oh. That's… nice.”

“The first bit of warmth you feel when you step outside on a clear day.” Rumford continued. “She is the sun, David. She is the sun, and I am the first bloom of spring– ready and eager for the sustenance she provides with her smile, her laughter.”

“Wow. That's… that's really beautiful, Rum.”

“And yet–” he began running a finger over the lotus inlay on the surface of his liquor cabinet, “she is the flower, and I am the bee.”

“Oh.” David stammered. “Well, okay.”

“Sweet. Luring. Tempting. Vibrant to the eye. Soft to the touch...” Rumford took a sip of his scotch and sighed.

The way she nibbled her lip, the way she walked so gracefully in those impossible heels. The seductive manner in which she had eaten that churro. And had her voice been not unlike that of a siren while she described the symptoms of disease in plant life? Yes, yes– Belle French was desire itself. Sensuality personified.

“...You still there, bud?”

Rumford coughed into his glass. “What now?”

“Nothing, nothing. Was just starting to think thought I lost you there,” David chuckled awkwardly. “But I'm glad things worked out for you, man.”

“Aye. They did. Thank you.” he said, quickly grabbing his glass and downing the rest of his scotch.

“Anyway… how's Neal?”

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful…” Rumford smiled. “As sarcastic as ever.”

*****

It was day three since the single greatest moment of Belle's life: meeting Dr Gold. She'd gone on not one date with him, but two. Gotten to know him. Kissed him (thoroughly!). Made plans to make plans to see him again. She hadn’t gotten any calls or texts from Rumford yet, but that was probably just because he was really busy. Perhaps she could call him saturday night after his show in Richmond and they could talk about how her translations on those journals were coming along, what he appraised at the show, or what each other are wearing and what they might do if they were together– like have tea and read poetry.

It was like the start of her very own romance novel.

Oh! How she'd been replaying their kiss in her mind every waking (and not waking) moment. It had been pure magic. Clearly, her and Rumford were just meant to be. Soon, she'd be introducing him to her father and figuring out what to get him for Christmas. Or maybe he didn't celebrate Christmas. Maybe he was Jewish. Was he Jewish?

It was a loud smack! that finally pulled Belle out of her thoughts. She startled, her heart pounding in her chest, and noticed the large tome that had fallen face down on the display she was setting up on the front table. She reached to pick it up with a sigh, knocking over another book in the process. Smack!

Her phone began buzzing rhythmically, inching across the table with each pulse of vibration. She swiped it up and checked the screen.

Reminder - Lunch with Dad.

“Oh!” Belle gasped and rushed to right her two fallen books, then scurried into the back room to grab her purse.

Papa was already waiting for her when she arrived at Granny's, as were their usual Coke and iced tea. Ruby didn't hesitate to strut over to their table, the smile on her face a little too eager. Her father would be asking her all about Boston today, and Ruby had bet her twenty bucks that it would be a disaster.

“Belle, Mr French-- Always a pleasure.” Ruby greeted with a nod, readying her notepad and flashing a shark-like smile. “What'll it be?”

Belle's father looked up from his menu with a quick, polite smile. “I'll have a cheeseburger. Medium rare–”

“Papa…” Belle shot her father a chastising glare across the table and Ruby stopped scribbling on her notepad. “The doctor said–”

“I know what the doctor said!” Moe grumbled, rolling his eyes. “God, what's the point of living longer if I can't… live a little!”

Belle opened her mouth to protest, but only sighed instead.

“He's got a point.” Ruby chimed in.

“Thank you.” Moe said with a vindicated smile.

“Fine.” Belle said, glaring at Ruby before reaching across the table to take her father's hand. “Just… promise me you'll be good the rest of the week?”

He returned a pained expression and sighed. “I promise.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at him. “I mean it, papa. No fast food for lunch.”

“I promise!” he said, throwing his arms up.

“We can go to the store tonight and get you some things so you can pack your lunches.” she suggested. “Pick up some turkey, some whole grain bread. Lettuce, tomato…”

“Needs bacon and swiss.” Ruby added.

“Or provolone.”

“No!” Belle huffed, holding up a finger at the both of them. “No bacon! And you need to watch your dairy!”

Ruby shrugged and looked at Moe. “I tried.”

He gave her a tight-lipped smile and handed her his menu. “Cheeseburger. Medium rare. …With bacon.”

“You got it, Mr French.” she winked, jotting it down and turning to Belle.

Belle's eyes skimmed the menu over and over, repeatedly drifting back to the word cheeseburger. But she couldn't order a cheeseburger now. No, no.

“I’ll um, have… the uh…”

Salad. If she wanted her father to start eating right, she was going to have to lead by example. Normalize healthy choices. The Caesar salad was good, she thought. But wasn't the dressing so fattening as to defeat the purpose? Dammit. Dammit. “The um… the grilled chicken and avocado salad.” she said before she could change her mind.

Ruby scowled and wrinkled her nose.

Her father reeled back in offense. “Grilled chicken and avocado salad!?”

Belle threw her hands over her face and groaned. “Excuse me for trying to set a better example!” she cried. “You think I don't want a cheeseburger!? Cause I'd love a cheeseburger!” she shouted. “But I try to eat healthier around you so you don't feel left out eating a turkey sandwich while I sit across from you and wolf down a double cheeseburger with extra cheese and extra bacon and extra everything!”

Ruby and her father blinked owlishly at her as she huffed and puffed, recovering from her outburst.

“Princess.” Moe said. “If you want a cheeseburger, just order the damn cheeseburger.”

Just order the damn cheeseburger? Just order the damn cheeseburger!? And ‘princess!?’

“Fine!” she said. “Then I will! With fries! Extra fries! And I want bacon on mine too! And throw in an order of onion rings while you're at it!”

Ruby fought back a snicker and scribbled her order down. “I'll have that right out for you guys,” she grinned, plucking the menu from Belle's hands and strutting back to the kitchen.

“So… how was Boston?” her father asked.

Belle took a large sip of her iced tea and nodded as she slowly set it back down. “It was um… It was good.”

“Good...” he repeated, not sounding too satisfied with her response. “So you got to see that... fella you're always on about?”

She took another swig. “Mhm!”

Moe frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. “Well, is that it? I thought I'd be hearing about it for a month, is all.” he chuckled rather stiffly.

“Well…” Belle glanced down at the condensation puddling around her glass, blushing and smiling despite herself.

We flirted with each other on national television and I invited him out for drinks and proceeded to drunkenly come onto him and maybe sort of made out with him the next day.

She cleared her throat. “He um, said Mama's book could be worth a small fortune.”

“I see…” Moe nodded along, bringing his Coke up to his lips and taking a long sip.

“And um, well, he was really sweet and charming and I um… or he um– well, I'm not really sure who actually asked who but uh… We went on a date afterwards!” She blurted gleefully.

“You wha–” her father gasped and began choking on his drink.

“Oh– Papa!” Belle climbed halfway out of her seat before he gestured for her to sit back down.

“Fine.” he coughed into his fist. “M’fine!”

“Are you sure you're alright?”

He nodded and took a moment to finish his coughing fit. “Fine, princess.”

“O-okay…” she said, finally easing back into her seat. Was feeling a little too tense to roll her eyes at the princess this time.

“I-I'm sorry–” Moe stammered, “a-a-a date, you said?”

“Yes…” she answered simply, stirring her straw with intense focus.

“Now, when you say a date–”

“We went to a bar and had a few drinks.” she shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal. To make a molehill out of what he was definitely trying to make into a mountain. Perhaps they'd cancel out into a… modest hill. A hillock.

It was close enough to the truth, at least. Papa didn't need to know the part about how she got drunk before Rumford had even shown up and all the… advances she made.

“Right.” he said.

“H-he was a perfect gentleman,” she rushed to assure him, catching herself and shoving her glass away. “And Ruby was there the whole time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We um… well, we had really good time and we went to the flea market Sunday for like… another.” she said. “Date, I mean. A-another date. Oh papa, it was amazing!” Belle blurted, and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Gosh, darn it. She could never temper her excitement around her favorite topics: books, Rumford, puppies, and food. In that order.

Moe pursed his lips. “How old is this man again?”

“Oh. Uh…” Belle looked down at her lap and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I mean, he can't be a day over forty… seven… ish?” she mumbled. “...Fifty, maybe? ...Tops fifty, definitely.” She nodded.

Moe leaned forward and blinked. “Fifty!?”

“I said not a day older! He could be...  forty-two?”

“So you don't know?”

“Not exactly… but you know what Mama would say,” she chuckled uncomfortably, “...age is just a number?”

Moe shook his head. “I don't like the sound of my little girl going on a date with some man from TV who's old enough to be her father.”

“Oh, now papa,” Belle snorted and rolled her eyes. “He's not that old...”

He scoot forward in his seat and tapped a finger on the table. “You know, it's just that these men, they probably show a good time to a new girl in every city.”

She sank into her seat a little. “He’s not like that–”

He glanced furtively around the diner and whispered, “I just hope you didn't give him what he was really after, Belle.”

“Papa!”

“Look, I get it. You have a little... crush on the man, but you're not getting any younger, Belle. You can't keep wasting your time mooning over some TV man like that when, well... you and Greg made a lovely–”

Belle smacked her hand on the table, cutting him off. “Greg was total jerk who was only looking for someone to… to fellate his ego!”

The diner fell silent, but Belle refused to glance around at all the faces that were definitely staring at them. Couldn't ignore Ruby snickering by the soda fountain though.

“He what?”

“My date with Rumford was the best date I've ever been on!” Belle said, putting her foot down. “He actually listens to what I have to say and asks for permission before he kisses me!”

“Maybe it was.” Moe conceded. “But I think if you're expecting to ever hear from him again, you're only going to be disappointed.”

“But we made plans…” she mumbled, shrinking in her seat.

“Alright,” he shrugged. “Then where? When?”

Belle thought back to her conversation with Rumford at the hotel and frowned. “Well… plans to make plans.”

Her father sighed. “Exactly.” he said, leaning back victoriously in his seat. “I'm sorry, princess.”

“No.” she said, lifting her chin up. “You're wrong about him.

He had to be. Rumford had been far too sweet, far too nervous– and the kiss they'd shared far too magical– for him to be the sort of man Papa thought he was.

“Well, for your sake, princess, I hope I'm wrong.” he said.

“I would appreciate it if you'd stop calling me princess.” Belle said before she could talk herself out of it. “I don't like it and I never have.”

Moe scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You always used to love it when I called you princess!”

Belle folded her arms over her chest and huffed. “When I was a child!” she said. “I am a twenty-eight year old woman and I won't tolerate being infantilized a moment longer!”

Her father blinked owlishly, and as Belle glanced around the quiet diner again, she could tell she had said those words entirely too loudly. She heard a familiar, stifled laugh from the kitchen and looked down at the fist she'd slammed on the table with a sigh.

She owed Ruby twenty dollars.

A/N: TEA nominations are underway! If you'd like to support my work, you can be a rockstar and spread around the promos I've been posting here - [x]. Thank you all for your comments and encouragement on this story! :*

[chaletnz]

Italy Day Eight: Salerno

Today was another day without a checkout time so I was in no hurry to get up, I was also still tired when my alarm went because the snoring of the old Italian man in the bed beside me had woken me throughout the night. When I finally decided to get up I took my time getting read and organising my bag before heading out on my walk downtown to the main train station. I wanted to check the times and ticket prices for the trains to Bari tomorrow and find my best option for transport and ended up buying a ticket for tomorrow afternoon. The only thing left on my agenda for today was to try the "Caffe alle nicciola". Whilst searching for cafes in Salerno I discovered that this variation on espresso was actually invented locally in this very city. In this very coffeehouse that I visited even. I ordered a chocolate croissant and a nicciola which was the perfect Italian breakfast combination. I walked along the streets and then came back along the promenade to enjoy some awesome views over the sea and across to the colorful little houses and mountains on the other side. I then headed towards the castle but there was no short route up as the only path is privately owned and the road route would take an hour so I decided to go exploring the back streets. It's a miracle I did too because I came across a huge art piece down several sets of stairs, dedicated to Alfonso Gatto with lines of poems on each step and huge portraits on the walls, but the best part - at the bottom when I saw a scrawled signature I discovered it was by Alice Pasquini! The very definition of a hidden gem! Now I was somehow in the city centre which was full of kids just released from school so I ducked into some shops for a look and found my way back to a square I'd visited last night that was quite impressive with a nice fountain in the centre. I watched some workmen stringing up fairy lights along the paths so I'll have to come back later for a look once it's dark! Next I followed my map to another square with an old church and bell tower then I walked back down to the sea where I sat and had a nice little shakerato (chilled cocktail with espresso and Baileys) at Di S Teresa on the boardwalk. It was nice to sit on the beach and people watch and enjoy the ocean views while sipping my coffee cocktail - finally I felt like I was on holiday and could just relax and not be surrounded by the hustle and bustle of tourists. I don't understand the street dealers, they're all selling the same stuff on the side of the road. All the Africans with their fake bags and shoes, and rubber balls. Who ever buys it?! One guy had some beaded necklace things he was trying to push on to people on the boardwalk. No, we're here for the views and the cafe not to buy some random thing off a towel on the side of the road... I sat in the sun for a while to work on my tan and watched some dogs playing. There was a really cute little black puppy that was really shy and then this white dog called Matilda came running and barking like crazy with her owner loudly shrieking her name behind her. Two guys with their dogs joined and the energetic one called Tyson went to Matilda's mommy and drank all the water she offered him from her portable dog bowl. But just when I thought I could not watch the dogs any longer, the cutest lil dog arrived! He had his back legs hung up in a sling thing and was on wheels but he was going for it - running and wheeling across the sand. All the other dogs sniffed him when he came over to introduce himself and it was the most heart warming thing I've seen in Italy! I headed walked back to the hostel feeling a bit sunburnt and hungry so I had a snack and a lie down then went out for dinner. I'd been eying up a pasta place earlier that I'd decided to eat at because it was cheap - only €6 for a plate of pasta and a coke combo. When I went in to the (completely empty) restaurant the guy at the counter said they were out of tomato pasta and that he only had pesto or cheese. This should've been alarm bells - my head was screaming "but this is Italy!" But on the outside I sighed gently, asked for the cheese and pepper pasta and sat outside to wait. It arrived lukewarm and smelling heavily of Parmesan cheese. It wasn't soft and creamy like I imagine pasta should be but rather hard and chewy. Pasta is still a relatively new dish for me anyway, I'm fine with plain tomato penne but stray from this well trodden path and it's not a pleasant carb-loaded meal for me! Afterwards I needed to walk it off so I followed the main streets around the centre and observed how different the shops were in the evening. It seemed like loads of restaurants suddenly popped up in spaces where there was just a giant iron door when I passed earlier in the day. As night fell I spontaneously decided this would be the best time (and cheapest place) to get a haircut so I returned to a small backstreet I'd passed this afternoon and seen two barbers. The one I really wanted to visit was already closed but the other was still open with two older gentlemen having a chat together waiting for customers. They spoke absolutely not even one word of English so my request was made entirely with hand gestures until I just sort of gave up and let him do his thing. He gave me the most basic of haircuts but it was only €10 so I think I made the right decision! My last stop for the evening was at Angelo Napoli for what will probably be my final authentic Italian affogato. I must say "affogato" with a very heavy accent because not once have I been understood when ordering it!

[pendragonfics]

Ten years, One day, Four hours and Seven Minutes.

Paring: Loki/Reader

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Slight Violence, Not too much violence to be tagged, just a flesh wound, Brief moment of medical procedure, Loki is stubborn, Awesome Frigga

Summary:   A young maid comes at the wrong end of Loki's wrath after an unimpressive royal family dinner. Folly entails.

Word Count:  2,494

Posting Date:  2016-05-19

Current Date: 2017-05-08

You had served the royal family of Asgard for nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirteen minutes of your life. It had begun as a bargain for your life - either be taken by raiders, forced to do who knows what to who knows who, or be relinquished by Odin to serve his family. And so you did. You wore your woollen maid's dress with as much honour as a common woman could, and did your best at your job.

It so happened, that nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, four hours and eleven minutes ago, you'd been assigned to be Prince Loki's personal chambermaid, and, you'd done what his brother joked often about at the table.

It was nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, four hours and eleven minutes ago that you'd found yourself completely and honestly...in love with him.

Love was often confused with lust, or blind devotion when it came to young women watching men from afar. They see bodily traits and love them. They see personality quirks and love them. They see charm and money and love them. Maybe that was you, at first, but it certainly was more than that.

Like, now.

The door slams to open, a loud crack! sounding in the the room. His eyes are wild, as if he's searching for blood to spill, and has come for an alternative method of release. You've known Prince Loki from the shadows for a large portion of your life.

You can't both love him and be afraid of him.

Yet you are.

You stand still.

Loki's dinner had gone the same way as the food did; it had started off lovely, then it all went to shi- how did Thor become the golden child of their family? He remembered a time when the two of them had been equals, but more and more, Loki feels Odin's distain for being a magic-user, a book-reader, a useless son in battle.

Dinner was horrid. And so he let out steam.

His mind was racing, his pulse aching, his words lost to him as he let out a roar that was so ungodly, it could be heard all over the land.

Loki slammed the door closed, and began methodically tossing things everywhere. A chorus of crashes and shatters filled his ears of things he'd collected over the years. Loki's boots crunched over the splintered china and pottery. He felt immortal, then, truly. Like a young god who could do whatever he pleased.

He could be better than Thor.

One intact vase on the bedside table - a hideous orange tone with orange flowers -caught his eye, and he flung it into the wall over the other side of the room.

Loki wasn't aware of the girl standing there, and watched in stilled horror as she threw herself to the floor, the vase hitting where her head had been.

Loki's breath caught in his chest.

He knew this girl. Not her name, because they'd never directly crossed paths, but her face. Her kind (s/c) face and her deep (e/c) eyes which he'd once or twice spelled himself to be invisible on slow days to watch work. She had been his servant for almost ten years, and for that long a time, he couldn't help but admit that he'd fallen a little in love with her.

"I'm a monster," Loki woke from his fit of anger, numb. He saw all the destruction he'd caused, all the lovely trinkets in his room, destroyed. He'd never done that before. "Oh no," he muttered, treading toward you.

He met your eyes. All that had been cut was a sliver under your cheekbone, and the trickle of blood shocked him. He'd never seen a servant, or even a resident of the palace bleed.

"I'm so very sorry, please forgive me -," he began.

You leapt to your feet, head swimming with white noise. He's apologising, he's a prince, he's the prince, he's Prince Loki and he's apologising for his own act. No. It was your fault you were in the way. Not his. Not his.

"My lord," you speak your first words to him, heart racing not only from the fact you're speaking to him, but that the blood from your cheek keeps you alert and you can't believe this is how you finally talk. "S'not your place to apologise - it's it is my fault I am injured, I was slow today with my chores."

You look to the wall that is half scrubbed, and now half re-dirtied with the water of the vase, and inwardly sigh. You can't look at him. Not now. He's a caged animal, a beast you find at a zoo to ogle at, and you're a mouse.

"Little bird, I hurt you, it was I; my fault alone." Loki goes to cradle your face. "Let me help-,"

You back away from his touch. No. No. He's your master. You're the servant, scum of the palace to clean the actual scum and be silent and invisible. It was a dream to work for him, but you should have known; every dreamer must wake.

"My lord, I must go," you cry, his touch stinging your wounded cheekbone, and leaving your pail and brush, you flee.

It had been nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty three minutes since you began working for Prince Loki. Maybe that was too long.

The next day, Loki woke to all the damage he'd caused to be cleaned up, the wall mopped and rescrubbed, the pail his (h/c) haired chambermaid had left gone. His room was perfect; there wasn't a trace of what he'd done in there at all. Except for his heartbeat, which worsened his pain. He was blinded in his anger from what couldn't be helped and hurt those around him.

Loki rose and went about his daily duties as a prince - giving his stiff smile at functions, watching the entrance to the servant's quarters to see if he could find his (e/c) eyed maid...reading to forget what he'd done, and then walking a bout in the garden with his mother, Queen Frigga.

"I suppose you miss her, isn't that the trouble with you today, Loki?" The Queen pondered, producing a small pair of secateurs to trim her garden.

Loki couldn't look at his mother. He couldn't look anywhere.

"I also suppose you're wondering how I know what's happened? And that I know what exactly took place last night after dinner to your maid." The Queen continued, her smile sad. "I've moved her to a more quiet part of the palace, Loki. Somewhere where she won't be hit by vases and subjected to fits of rage."

Loki bit his lip. "I was so infuriated, I -,"

The Queen pocketed her garden tools, and turned to her younger son, her joy and pride she wasn't so prideful and joyful for for this act he had done. "Tell me everything that happened, and I'm sure we shall work out how never to allow this sort of thing to happen again."

Nine years, seven months, twenty seven days, eight hours and thirty nine minutes, and you were assigned to work as an assistant cleaner for the royal medical wing. It was a stressful job, being around Asgardians in so much pain, around Healers who never lost hope in a patient, but you found a sort of serenity in it. A calm in a storm. You cleaned the marks and messes the floor would have spilt, remove taints from the bed sheets. You even shadowed the Healer Eir as she worked.

It had been now nine years, eight months, nineteen days, eleven hours and fifty five minutes, and you had somehow become more than a chambermaid; more than what you had been for so long and forged a part of your identity in. You now worked alongside the Lady Eir, still learning the ways of healing Asgardian wounds, but helping clean and heal the afflictions that came. Lady Eir was certain you would become a great healer one day.

You only hoped you could one day heal your broken heart.

Nine years, nine months, thirty one days, two hours and fourteen minutes. There was tell of battle arising around the palace, after Prince Thor's coronation was interrupted by an invasion of the Frost Giants from Jotenheim. From a patient you tended to, you heard that Prince Thor and Loki were in the foreign land themselves, gone to fight for Asgard. You shouldn't have felt that tug in your chest. Prince Loki was a man grown, and he chose to do with his life as much as a prince could.

Ten years, one day, four hours and seven minutes.

You stand in the Healer's wing, slowly wrapping a man's wrist after an ill-thought out twist to it in mock battle. You have forgotten to keep count of how long you've worked for the royal family, because it's not a tally of a sentence anymore. You've found peace in this place, you found something you are valued for, as a person. No longer are you called 'maid' or 'girl' or a variation of bad names for unfaithful women, but your own. You are Lady _______, Healer.

"Lady ________, Prince Loki needs tending to! He's injured from the battle of Jotenheim!" A healer in training, Terra, calls to you. You hear panic in her voice.

Before you can respond, Loki is brought in by two of Thor's friends, Hogun and Fandrall. Loki's face is paler than his normal ivory, and limp. There's a gash on his side that seems to have taken upon itself to recolour his emerald robes red.

"Terra, prepare a bed. I need the healing slab cleared and ready for use," you tell your healing staff. "Where is Lady Eir?" You ask Terra, who has made a bed.

"I am unsure, m'lady," Terra stammers.

"Find her, please." You tell her, and turning to the rest of your fleet, say, "I need his armour taken off!"

Loki becomes lucid, falling in and out of sleep like a babe with an inflicting tooth. He's in pain, so much pain, but he doesn't want Lady Eir and her healers to see him like this.

"I need his armour taken off!" He hears. He can't put a finger to it, but that voice...he's heard it before. Somewhere.

His heart beats a little quicker. He holds on.

"Yes m'lady," a chorus of healers follow her words.

Loki feels a bout of pain course his veins, sway his mind into following into a stupor of sleep. He nearly does, it hurts so much. He can barely feel the armour from the battle slide off. But he hears one thing.

"Stay with me, my prince. Please," he hears a whisper.

Feels a kiss upon his brow.

His eyes flicker open. Has he died? Has he passed onto Hel and met with the one person he believed never to see until the end of his life? Loki doesn't believe any other possibility that could have him face to face with you, the maid he loved, the maid he hurt, the maid he regretted losing for months and months.

You.

"How?" He whispers. He isn't sure if he's asking how he's died, or how to stay with her. But she knows.

Loki's vision begins to tunnel, his gaze focused on his maid, his girl. His biggest regret. "Be strong," you murmur, hands working deftly on his chest. "Drink this," you add, lifting the milk of poppy to his lips. "I know you can."

It all fades to black, and Loki accepts it. He can die in peace. He's seen you again.

"I see you've been busy."

You sit straighter. For hours, you worked on Prince Loki, cleansing his wounds, working around the clock to pause the bleeding, changing the bandages...sewing. And now, its nearly daybreak, and you're still by his bedside.

For...other reasons.

"My lady Eir," you rise quickly, stumbling over the hem of your skirt, awkwardly. "I am so sorry, yes. Prince Loki is going to live."

She smiles. "So I've told his parents," she comments, moving to you. "And, according to the Queen, I've found the reason for your devoted application to your healing last night." She smirks.

"Lady Eir, it is not what you -,"

She waves her hand. "The fact you are in love with the Prince is your ailment I cannot cure. Though, what you did was the most apt display I've seen a student of mine perform." You're speechless. For your months working for Lady Eir, you've not heard such praises from her, "Lady ________, I am not saying your love for the prince has made you better. I am saying you are better...though I do not dare say than me."

"Thank you, my lady," You curtsy, a little wobbly still from your fatigue. You can't find yourself to sleep, yet you're dead on your feet.

"Now, sleep, _________," she ushers you to the bed beside Prince Loki, and unable to do a thing but comply, you curl up. "He will be here when you wake."

Loki's eyes feel heavy when he wakes. It takes a moment for him to remember, and when he does, his heart races. He was dying. Did he die? He saw his old chambermaid, the maid he didn't know the name of yet. A kiss...

The prince is a smart man. Intelligent beyond comparison to any scholar in the castle, and he soon works out he's in the healer's wing of the castle.

"My prince?"

His heart misses a beat.

His head turns.

It's her.

She looks so tired, weary beyond anything he's seen in his life; her bright (e/c) eyes seem to be carrying baggage, her (h/c) locks limp. But Loki can't see you and see someone who looks like they've seen Death. He sees utter beauty in your features.

"My name is ________ ________, and I was your maid for many years," she introduces, her hand moving slowly toward his bed. "Since leaving your quarters, I've become a healer..."

"___________," Loki tries out, your name soft on his pallet.

"I know you are a prince and I am only a common healer, but it's been slowly poisoning me for years keeping this out of me..." He listens in rapture. He can't get enough of your voice. "For the last ten years, a day, four hours and seven minutes, I've been completely and honestly in love with you. And I know you'll marry someone worthy, someone of a position of power -,"

"________," Loki interrupts, reaching over the side of his bed. His hand is weak, but it finds yours, and together, your hand warms his. "You have forgotten to think of the possibility that I could - and do - love you."

He feels your pulse race in your hand. "And I you, Loki."

[anavoliselenu]

Driven chapter 9

A pattern starts to evolve with my continued scrutiny of the images, and I realize that most of his escorts are long, leggy blondes, stick thin, with some type of plastic enhancement. And all are drop-dead gorgeous. Much to my chagrin, I realize they look very similar to Haddie, except hers are real. Ironically, the pale hair next to his dark features makes him seem more aloof and edgier somehow.

I note that each girl exists through a context of time, except for one. One particular stunner is scattered through different periods of time, and I wonder why that is. Is she an escort? The one he takes when his other arrangements have fallen through and he needs a date? Or is she the one he keeps going back to because there is really something there? After clinking on several of their pictures together, I finally get a caption that offers her name. Tawny Taylor. The caller on his phone yesterday. What is she to Justin? I know I could dwell on this for hours so I force myself to push it to the back of my head and resolve to think about it at another time even though I’m afraid to know the answer.

I look like none of them. I may be tall, but I’m definitely not petite on their anorexic scale. I’m thin but I have curves in all the right places, unlike their ruler-straight physiques. I have an athletic body that I’m proud of—that I work hard at to maintain—whereas they look like they have no need to even think about exercise. I have curly hair in a rich chocolate brown color that stops midway down my back; it is unruly and a pain, but it suits me. I continue the comparisons until I tell myself that I need to just get off the page before I become depressed. That my hatred toward them has nothing to do with them in particular.

I go back to Google and type in “Justin Donavan childhood.” The first few pages reference children’s organizations that he is involved with. I quickly scan through the links, looking for one mentioning his childhood in particular.

I finally find an old article written five years ago. Justin was interviewed in connection with a charity he was supporting that benefited new changes speeding up the adoption process.

Q: It is public knowledge that you were adopted, Justin. At what age?

CD: I was eight.

Q: How was the adoption process for you? How would you have benefited from these new initiatives that this foundation supports?

CD: I was lucky. My dad literally found me on his doorstep, took me in, for lack of better term, and I was adopted shortly after that. I didn’t have to go through the lengthy process that occurs today. A process that makes kids who desperately crave a home, a sense of belonging, wait months to see if an application will be approved. The system needs to stop looking at these kids as cases, as paperwork to be stamped with approval after months of red tape, and start looking at them as delicate children who need to be an integral part of something. A part of a family.

Q: So what was your situation, prior to being adopted?

CD: Let’s focus less on me and more on the passing of these new measures.

Does he not want to talk about it because it draws attention away from the charity, or was it so bad he just doesn’t talk about it? I scan the rest of the article but there is nothing else about his childhood. So he was eight. That leaves a lot of time to be damaged, conditioned as he’s said, by whatever situation he was in.

I stare at the screen for a couple of minutes imaging all kinds of things, mostly variations of the kids who have come through my care, and I shudder.

I decide to look up his parents, Andy and Dorothea Westin. The pages are filled with Andy’s movie credits, Oscar nominations and wins, and top-grossing movies, amongst other things. His family life is referenced here and there. He met Dorothea when she had a bit part on one his movies. At the time she was Dorothea Donavan. Another piece clicks into place. I wonder why he uses his Mom’s surname and not his Dad’s. I continue scanning and see the basic Hollywood mogul background, less the tabloid drama or stints in rehab. There are a few mentions of his children, a son and a daughter, but nothing giving me the answers I’m looking for.

I return to search again and scan through the different links that mention Justin’s name. I see snippets about a fight in a club, possible altercations with current-generation brat-pack actors, generous donations to charity, and gushing comments from other racers about his skill and the charisma he brings to his sport that had been tinged after the CART and IRL league split years ago; a wide range of information on such an enigmatic man.

I sigh loudly, my head filled with too much useless information. After over an hour of research, I still don’t know Justin much better than I did before. I don’t see anything to validate the warnings he keeps giving me. I can’t help myself. I open up the page again for CDE and click on the picture of him. I stare at it for sometime, studying every angle and every nuance of his face. I glance up and sadness fills my heart as the picture on my dresser of Max catches my eye. His earnest smile and blue eyes light up the frame.

“Oh, Max,” I sigh out his name, pressing the heel of my palm to my heart where I swear I can still feel the agony. “I will always miss you. Will always love you,” I whisper to him, “but it’s time I try to find me again.” I stare at his picture, remembering when it was taken, the love I felt then. Seconds tick by before I look back at my computer screen.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, strengthening my resolve as the song on my computer, Justin’s referenced song, repeats itself for the umpteenth time. It’s time. And maybe Haddie is right. Justin may be the perfect person to lose and find myself in at the same time. For however long he lets me, anyway.

I look back at my phone, suppressing the overwhelming urge to text him back. To connect with him. If I’m going to do this, I at least need to make sure a couple things are on my terms.

And chasing after him is definitely not going to allow me to achieve that.

CHAPTER 11

I barely recognize the girl in the mirror who stares back at me. Once again, Haddie has gone all out with her preparations for the launch party tonight thrown by the public relations company she works for. She spent almost an hour blowing my ringlets out so that my hair hangs in a straight, thick curtain down my back. I keep staring at myself in the mirror trying to adjust to this different person. My eyes are subtly smoked so the dark smudges have an opalescent quality, reflecting the violet in my irises. My lips are lined with nude liner and lip-gloss, making the slight touches of bronzed blush on my cheeks stand out.

She has talked me into wearing a little black number that shows off more skin than I’m comfortable with. The bust of the dress runs into a deep V, hinting suggestively at my abundant bra-proffered cleavage without being trashy. Just a suggestive hint at my curves. The straps go over the shoulders and connect the non-existent back with thin gold chains that drape loosely and attach at the swell of my butt. I tug down on the hemline for it falls mid-thigh, something I’m not altogether used to.

I look again in the mirror and smile. This is not me, the girl I know. I sigh shakily as I add chandelier earrings to complete the look. This may not be me, I think, but this is the confident girl I want to be again. The new me who’s going to go out tonight, let loose, and have fun. The girl who has resolved to have a night of fun and gain some self-assurance before I undertake all that is Justin and his warning-laced pursuits.

“Holy shit!” Haddie walks into my bathroom, a whistle blowing from her lips. “You look hot! I mean—” she stumbles over her words, “I’m at a loss here. I don’t think I have ever seen you this smokin’ sexy, Selena.” I smile widely at her praise. “You’re going to have them lining up tonight, baby. Hot damn, this is going to be fun to watch!”

I laugh at her response, my self-esteem bolstered. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself,” I compliment her harlot-red dress that shows off all of her best assets. I slip my heels, wincing at the feel of them, and smirking at the memory of the last time I wore them. “Give me a sec and I’ll be ready.”

I grab my clutch and stuff my driver’s license, money, and keys into it. When I grab my phone to place in the small purse, I realize I never asked Haddie about the voicemails from her I’d listened to earlier.

“Had? I never asked you what was so exciting about the event tonight. What hot celebrity did you guys secure as a carpet walker?”

She gives me an enigmatic smile. “Oh, it fell through,” she dismisses casually. I shake off the feeling that for some reason she is laughing at me. I quirk my head at her and she turns around, effectively changing the subject, “Let’s go!”

***

The entrance to the trendy club downtown is quite the spectacle, complete with criss-crossing searchlights, velvet ropes, and a red carpet ready for stars to walk for media photo opportunities. The entrance is complete with a backdrop displaying Merit Rum, the new product being launched. We park in predetermined spots for Haddie and her fellow PRX employees at the trendy, upscale hotel that owns and is somehow or another physically connected to the club. Haddie flashes her credentials, which allows us to whisk past the hoopla and within moments we are inside the populated club, the dull throb of the music pulsing through my body.

It has been years since I’ve been in a club like this and it takes me a while to acclimate to the dim lighting and loud music and not feel intimidated. I think Haddie realizes my nerves are kicking in and that my confidence is waning despite my sexed-up appearance for within moments she has pushed us through the throng of people to the bar. With disregard to the numerous bottles of Merit lining the slick countertop, Haddie orders us each two shots of tequila.

“One for luck,“ she grins at me.

“And one for courage,” I finish for her, our old college toast. We clink glasses and toss back the liquid. It burns my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve done a shot of tequila, I wince at the burn and put the back of my hand to my mouth to try and somehow stifle it.

“C’mon, Selena,” Haddie shouts, unfazed by the liquor. “We’ve got one more to go!”

I raise my glass, an intrepid smile on my face, tap it to hers, and we both toss them back. The sting of the second one isn’t as bad, and my body warms at the liquid, but it still tastes like shit to me.

Haddie gives me a knowing glance and starts to giggle. “Tonight’s going to be fun!” She hugs her arm around me and squeezes. “It’s been so long since I’ve had my partner in crime back.”

I throw a smile at her as I take in the club’s atmosphere. It’s a large expanse of a room with purple, velvet-lined booths around the bottom floor. A glossy bar with a mirror placed behind it fills one whole wall, the mirror reflecting the room back, creating the illusion that the massive space is even larger. In the middle of the main floor is a large dance floor complete with trussing lined with moving head lights that are spinning, creating a dizzying array of colors. Stairs angle up from various intervals around the floor to a raised VIP area where teal booths are sectioned off by velvet stanchions. In one section of the VIP area, a plexiglass partition allows all below to see the M.C. spinning the music that pumps through the club. Model-worthy waitresses flit around in hot pants and fitted tank tops, uniform purple flowers adorning each one’s hair in some way or another. The club is swanky class with a touch of sophistication despite the various advertising paraphernalia for Merit Rum placed strategically around the room.

It’s nearing eleven o’clock, and I can see the crowd thickening and can feel the vibe of the masses pulsate with energy. In the VIP area, there is a crowd of people around a particular corner, and I wonder what trendy celebrity Haddie’s team has gotten to promote their newest product. I’ve been to enough of these functions with her to know the drill. Hot celebrities shown taking photos with new product equals big-time press for not only the item but Haddie’s company as well.

I take the glass Haddie hands me, my usual Tom Collins, and I sip from the straw as I point to the upper section. I raise my eyes in question rather than shout over the music that is starting to increase in volume as the club becomes more crowded. I figure we have about thirty minutes left until the decibels are so loud that the only way to communicate will be to yell.

She catches my silent question asking who’s up there. She leans over to talk in my ear. “Not sure. We have several people confirmed for tonight,” she shrugs a noncommittal answer. “Some surprises are in store as well.”

I narrow my eyes at her wondering why she is being vague with me, seeing as I’m not going to blab to anyone and ruin the surprise. She just smiles broadly and tugs my hand to follow her. We navigate through the mob of people, moving together as one unit. I can feel the alcohol slowly start buzzing through my body, warming me, easing my tension, and relaxing my nerves. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel sexy. I feel beautiful and sensual and at ease with those feelings. It’s not the alcohol that’s making me feel this way directly; rather the alcohol is allowing it by lessening my anxiety and insecurities.

I squeeze Haddie’s hand as she pushes through to a purple booth, which is reserved for PRX staff. She looks back and smiles genuinely at me, realizing that I’m starting to relax. Starting to enjoy. We break through the crowd to the booth to find two of Haddie’s colleagues there. I smile to them and say a quick hello, having met them before at previous events I’ve attended. I thank one of them for his compliments on my vamped-up style for the evening. As we sit down, there is a large cheer from the other side of the room on the upper level where the crowd had been earlier. I glance up to see what’s going on and notice nothing really but a number of women showing way too much skin hoping for whatever hot item PRX has invited up there to take notice of them.

I roll my eyes in disgust. “Fame whores,” I mouth to Haddie and she bursts out laughing.

I finish my drink as the catchy beat of a Black Eyed Peas song fills the club. I start moving my hips to the tempo and before I know it, I grab Haddie’s hand and drag her through the people out onto the dance floor. The surprised look on her face has me laughing as I close my eyes and let the music take me. We sing the words together, “I gotta feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a good night,” as we undulate in our own world on the dance floor.

I haven’t felt this liberated in so long that I just want to suspend this moment in time. I want to capture it in my memory so that the next time I start to fall in that dark place, I can remember this feeling to help me hold on to the light.

Haddie and I move to the music, working our way through several songs, each one strengthening my confidence and increasing my fluidity on the floor. Several of her co-workers, Grant, Tamara, and Jacob, join us as the song switches to Too Close, an old song but one of my favorites. I flirtatiously dance with Grant, acting out the song with him. We laugh, our bodies rubbing innocently up against each other, enjoying the playful interaction of the lyrics.

I raise my arms over my head, crossing them at the wrists and swivel my hips to the rhythm, the alcohol buzzing through my system. I close my eyes, absorbing the atmosphere all around me. A tingling sensation up my spine has me flashing my eyes back open.

I look up, and despite the synchronized unison of the mass on the dance floor, I stop, frozen in place when I see Justin. He is standing on one of the stairways that angles down from the VIP section. He has a drink in one hand and his other arm drapes casually around the shoulder of a statuesque blonde. She is turned into him, her hand rubbing gently through the top unbuttoned portion of his dress shirt. Her face tilts up to him and even from a distance, I can see her reverence and adoration of him although he has his head turned away from her, laughing with a rakish man on his left. A large daunting man stands behind him, eyes scanning the crowd. His security, maybe? Justin flashes a smile at his male cohort and it’s natural and unguarded, allowing me to momentarily appreciate his absolutely devastating looks. The blonde says something and Justin turns his attention back to her. She lifts her hand from his chest to rest on his cheek and lifts her face up, placing a slow, seductive kiss on his lips in ownership.

My insides churn at the sight, clouding my vision so much that I don’t pay enough attention to see if Justin is encouraging and returning the kiss or merely just tolerating it. My mouth is suddenly dry. I am paralyzed on the floor as I watch him with her. Numb really. We’re not together—my constant refusal of him has not demonstrated that I want otherwise. And despite my intense and unfounded hurt right now, all I want is that to be me he is holding. Me he is kissing. In the seconds that all of this swirls within me, my hurt begins to shift to anger. How stupid was I to think a guy like him could actually want a girl like me when he could have a girl like her?

I notice Haddie fall motionless in my periphery, taking notice of what I see. I’m about to turn to say something to her when Justin lifts his chin away from his arm candy, and looks up, his eyes locking onto mine. My heart skips over a beat and lodges itself in my throat. Despite the distance between us, I see shock flash in his eyes at us being in the same place, same time, yet again.

Even though a fellow dancer jostles me, my eyes hold steadfast to his. I know I need to leave the floor before my emotions get the best of me and my threatening tears begin to fall, but I am riveted in place. Unable to break the inescapable, magnetic pull he has over me. He releases his hold on the blonde immediately, discarding her easily. He hands his drink off to his male companion without looking and strides unfaltering down the stairs. His emerald eyes burn into mine, never losing our connection.

As he reaches the dance floor, the music changes to a deep, pulsating throb enveloping Trent Reznor’s hypnotic voice. Without a word or a look, the horde of dancers seems to move apart as he stalks onto the floor toward me. His expression is indiscernible, the muscle pulsing at his jaw, the shadows from the lights playing over the angles of his face. His long legs eat up the distance quickly. Numerous people turn their heads in recognition as he struts past, but the hungry look in his eyes stops them from approaching him any further. Despite the music’s volume, I audibly hear Haddie suck in a breath as he reaches me.

All of the things I want to yell at him, all of the hurt I want to spew at him, disappears as he stalks up to me, and without preamble grabs my hips in his hands, forcefully yanking me up against him. He holds me there, pressed against him, as his body starts to move, hips begin to grind into mine in sync to the punishing tempo of the song. I have no other option than to move with him, respond to the animalistic rhythm of his body. I slide my hands over his hands on my hips and lace my fingers through his. Holding him.

Holding on to the ride that is undeniably coming.

Our eyes remain locked. My head tilts back to look up at him. His lips part slightly, and I can hear him hiss out as my hips respond with him. His eyes darken, glazing with desire, filling with heat—with a predatory need. His scorching look alone has my nipples tightening and my body becoming a melting mess of need in anticipation of his touch. Of his undoubted possession of me.

I bite my bottom lip as he moves our combined hands from my hips to behind my back, kneading my backside through my dress, handcuffing me there. We continue to move as one with the music, the feeling of his firm, defined thighs pressing against mine. His arousal rubs thick and compelling against the lower part of my belly. He leans his face down so that we are within inches of each other. I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he sighs into me.

It is by far one of the most erotically sensual moments of my life. The rest of the world has fallen away. The intoxicating effect he has on my body blocks out the crowd of people around us, all looking our way, noticing me because of the man I am with. Rather it is just he and I. Moving. Responding. Arousing. Anticipating.

The song comes to an end, but we remain entranced in each other’s spell. I breathe for what I feel like is the first time since we’ve touched, a long shaky breath. I don’t realize that the music has stopped, and that the DJ is speaking over the microphone about the product of the evening. That except for the small crowd around us, the attention of the club has turned and is focused on the stage.

Justin and I stand there, not moving, feeling like we are barely breathing despite our heaving chests, absorbing each other and the sparks of sexual tension that are igniting between us.

“Justin! Hey, Justin,” a voice breaks through our connection, snapping me out of my spellbound state. Justin swivels his head to find one of the PRX staff calling his name. “It’s time. We need you on the stage. Now.”

He nods curtly before looking back at me, eyes smoldering with a rapacious urgency that makes my insides shiver. He unlaces his fingers from mine, releasing his hold on my hands and pulls away slightly. The warmth of his body is gone immediately, but my body is still humming from the connection, aching with need. He gives me a slow, suggestive smile and shakes his head softly. At me? At his own thoughts? At which one I’m not sure.

He reaches up a hand and tugs on my hair, his eyebrows quirk up as if to ask me why the change in my hair. I shrug shyly at him, words escaping me. His name is called again. He turns to go, but not before I watch the transition on his face from the Justin Donavan I know, to the public persona. Aloof and untouchable. Sexy and untamable.

We haven’t uttered a single word, and yet I feel like we’ve said so much.

I watch his broad shoulders as he walks through the crowd toward the stage, his bodyguard falling in step beside him, pushing back the people swarming him. I watch the spectacle and a little part of me smiles at the fact that I’ve seen the real Justin, not this one. At least I hope I have, my ever-present doubts returning.

Before I can finish watching his ascent to the makeshift stage, Haddie has me firmly by the arm and is pulling me unceremoniously from the dance floor. My resistance is futile as she drags me down a corridor, past the line for the bathrooms, and toward a small alcove near the exit. She spins me to face her, an incredulous look on her face.

“Ow, you’re hurting me!” I snap at her, yanking my arm away, not exactly thrilled at being taken away from the chance to watch Justin.

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?” she asks, each word a staccato. I don’t even know how to answer her. I think I’m still under his spell for my words are not forming. “Holy shit, Selena! You two were basically fucking each other with your eyes. I mean, I felt uncomfortable watching you two, like I was peeping into your bedroom,” she rambles on as she does when excited, “and you know I never get uncomfortable.” She leans back against the wall and tilts her head up to the ceiling, an unbelieving look on her face.

I stand there and stare at her for I don’t know how to answer her, so she continues. “I knew you said you guys had made out,” she continues ignoring the childlike snort of laughter that comes from me, “But you never told me that there was … that spark … that chemistry … such intensity … My God! I mean, I was hoping when you saw him that—”

“What?” Her last sentence triggers my brain to function. “What do you mean you were hoping?”

She smiles sheepishly at me. “Well …”

What the fuck is going on here? “Quit stalling, Montgomery!”

“Well, I was calling you last night to tell you we had landed him as a guest—Merit’s one of his new sponsors. Anyway I called just because I was excited, I thought we could sit back and lust after him tonight—I didn’t know anything about what had happened. I talked to Dane and that was when I found out you were out with him.” Her words are tumbling out now. I nod at her to continue, my eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “Then you came home and everything unfolded …”

“And what? You decided not to tell me because …”

“Well,” she contemplates, “After you told me everything, I had no idea that you two—your connection—is that magnetic. That captivating. I thought maybe if you saw him here, I could help you—I could push the issue. Help you have some fun.”

I blow out a loud breath, silently staring at her. I know she means well, but at the same time, I don’t need my hand held like a child. I’m mad at her. Mad at Justin for being here with that bimbo. Mad at him for waltzing up to me and taking hold as if I belonged to him. Mad at him for making me want him so badly my insides are burning. My contemplative silence settles over us.

“Don’t be mad, Selena. I’m sorry. I was doing it from a good place.” She bites her bottom lip, pouting at me, knowing I can never stay mad at her for any period of time. I smile softly, effectively forgiving her.

I sag back against the wall and close my eyes, listening to the cheering of the crowd at something the MC says. The question rattling around in my brain comes to the forefront. “Who’s his plus one?” I ask, referring to the blonde. Is she one of his arrangements? Someone he picked up in the club? Why is he kissing her if he is telling me he wants me? Did he not ask me because I’m not enough—pretty enough, sexy enough, glamorous enough—to be on his arm in public?

“Does it matter?” she sputters, “I mean, Jesus, Selena, you two are—”

“Who?”

“Not sure,” she shakes her head. “His people just asked for clearance for ten. No names were given.”

I let out a slew of curses that make no sense, just something I do when upset and trying to process through a situation. Haddie eyes me cautiously, knowing my litany of cuss words and its implied meaning. “Talk to me, Selena,” she urges. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I’m not lying to myself, am I?” Haddie looks at me confusion etched on her face in question. “I mean, I’m not making it up? The chemistry? Justin?”

“Are you crazy?” she stammers, grabbing me by the shoulder and giving me a little shake. “I thought you two were going to spontaneously combust out there! How can you question it?”

The crowd erupts again, the sound echoing down the hallway. I can hear Justin’s voice on the microphone. The rasp of his voice pulls at me. The crowd cheers again at something he says, and I wait for the noise to subside some before I can continue. “If he’s that into me. If there is that much chemistry … then why is he here with that blonde? Kissing her? Why not ask me? Or am I just the girl he wants to fuck on the side?” The confusion and hurt are evident in my voice.

Haddie twists her lips up as she thinks about my comments. “I don’t know, Selena. There are so many scenarios here.” I raise my eyebrows at her as if I don’t believe her. “He could have already had her as a date before he met you. Or he could really want you and she could be the piece on the side until you say yes.”

I snort again. “Really? Did you see her?”

“Have you seen you?” she rebukes. “Have you looked in the mirror, Selena? You’re gorgeous on a normal day and you look unbelievable tonight! I’m kind of getting sick of telling you that. When are you going to start believing it?” I roll my eyes at her like a child. She ignores me and continues on her possible scenarios. “She could be one of his arrangements? Or maybe she is a fame whore who met him here? Or maybe she’s a friend.”

“When’s the last time you kissed a friend like that?” I whip at her, taking my hurt out on her. She just stares at me, arms folded across her chest. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I’d say keep doing what you’re doing. He obviously likes you, including your stubborn streak and smart mouth.”

“But, how do I—what do I?”

“Selena, if you’re mad at him, be mad at him. It hasn’t stopped you from saying something to him before, and he still wants you. Just because you’ve decided to sleep with him doesn’t—”

“How do you know I’ve decided that?”

“Oh, honey, it’s written all over your face—and your body, for that matter. Besides, anyone watching that display out there already thinks that you have,” she laughs sympathetically at me as my eyes widen. “Look Selena, every girl in this club would fall into line if he snapped his fingers. Everyone, that is, but you. He’s the one pursuing you. How many times in his life do you think a woman has said no to him? Has walked away from him? Maybe he likes that. And if he does, don’t change it just because you’ve decided you want to do the deed with him.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“But that’s just it,” I confess, “Am I a challenge or does he really want me? And if it does happen, then will the challenge be over and then he’ll be done with me?”