#jackie is suggesting some to me (: n i may look up some stuff

[boyfeminism]

guy whose work is letting hir experiment with the challah recipe <3

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 18: Peppermint and Silver

((Abe takes some time to consider things before going to the address Google gave him. Meanwhile, Y/N wonders if they really can trust the hunter--or risk being wrong again.

Links to Part 17: Meeting in the Park and to the whole series here.))

Abe read the address Google gave him over and over again so many times in the following hours that he had every line of the typescript burned into his memory by the time it began to grow dark outside. It didn’t stop him from looking at it again as he wandered restlessly around his office before coming back to his desk, where a few wards were lying next to some tools to help him get into the building and his gun.

Really the only things he thought he would need tonight.

Almost everything.

Abe dug through the pockets of his large coat until he found the case, not even half full, and dropped the five silver bullets inside onto the palm of his hand. He studied the bright casings for a moment before loading every single one into his gun. Because if he did come close to finding Wilford Warfstache tonight, then he wanted to be ready to finally return the favor after all of these years.

After he had enough time to make sure the Colonel knew all the pain he had caused on a very personal level.

Abe’s chest throbbed, the familiar pain sharp and almost as bad as when the gun fired, when the bullet pierced his heart and he heard you scream his name. In those seconds when he was sure his story was over, he heard the struggle, the second shot, the Colonel’s voice as his consciousness and you faded away.

To wake to an empty house and that stain on the floor, still there after all this time.

Abe took a shuddering breath and grabbed his dark leather jacket and the few things he had laid out, holstering the gun last. It was too early to go yet, but he couldn’t stay here.

The bell rang over the coffee shop door and Carla immediately responded, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

“Oh, I didn’t see the sign,” Abe started, now very aware of the obvious paper on the door explaining the shop would be closing early today. “I’ll just—”

“Abe?” Carla said, looking up from the table she was wiping down. All of the others already looked cleaned, and a mop and bucket were waiting in the middle of the floor. “No, it’s fine. I was just cleaning up for the night, but I can get you something.”

“You don’t have to, I can just get some coffee somewhere else,” Abe said, but she was already headed toward the counter.

“Don’t you dare insult me like that, hunter,” she said, but something felt off in her otherwise joking tone. “Are you going on another one of your stakeouts?”

“Something like that,” Abe said. “…Is something wrong?”

“No, I just…it’s been a long day, and I couldn’t get someone else to close for the night so I decided to close early.” Carla sighed, and Abe followed her glance toward the staff leaning against the wall behind the counter, the shape of it like driftwood.

“The Host was here?” Abe asked, ready to ask if he was still close when she shook her head.

Apparently, some guy and his dog found the staff in the park, and signs that the Institute had managed to find the Host before Abe could. Abe was disappointed at the missed opportunity to ask the guy some questions, but realized that Carla seemed genuinely upset.

“It happened so close to here,” she said, rubbing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “And he stopped coming around all of a sudden, so I don’t even know if something was wrong before that. I didn’t think…”

Abe waffled, vaguely sensing that he should say something reassuring here but coming up empty. After some thought, he asked, “You need any help cleaning up around here?”

Carla nodded, her lips in a thin almost smile as though she had expected as much from him.

“Tell you what, hunter, you put the chairs up on the tables for me so I can mop, and your coffee’s on the house. Deal?”

Abe nodded and moved toward the nearest table, pausing only when Carla asked, almost out of habit, “Feeling ready to try something new today?”

“…Do you have that peppermint stuff here, to flavor coffee with?” Abe asked.

Carla looked at him, but the hunter’s back was to her, his head bent as though studying the chair in front of him. “I think I can figure something out.”

He nodded again and the sound of the coffee brewer going mixed with the scrape and bump of chairs being put up, filling the otherwise silent shop. When Abe returned to the counter, he found Carla neatly filling two cups before passing one to him. He took his with a shrug and leaned against the counter next to her before inhaling the sweet scent coming up from the coffee.

For a moment, he could see them standing next to them, eyes closed in quiet delight as they inhaled the steam, their lips spreading in a smile before they even took their first sip.

Abe took a sip and Carla nearly inhaled her own drink when she saw his expression.

“You okay, buddy?” she asked in between coughs that suggested she wasn’t doing much better from trying not to laugh.

“It’s, uh, different than I expected,” Abe admitted. He couldn’t remember the last time he had drunk coffee that wasn’t strong and black enough to wake the dead, and even a second and a third sip just made his taste buds want to give up in the face of the peppermint overpowering everything until it was all he could smell and taste. Then again, that was half the reason they drank the stuff, wasn’t it?

Carla recovered and took another sip from her own drink before saying, “Tell me one thing that you’ve done since you got back that doesn’t involve a case.”

“What?” Abe asked.

“Every time you come in here, you’re looking into another case or just coming off of another one of your hunts,” Carla said. “What do you do in your free time, hunter?”

Free time? Who had any of that stuff lying around? Abe hesitated before saying, “I saw a puppet show the other day…”

She gave him a look and he added, “And kind of had to ask the puppeteer some questions, I guess.”

“Abe.” Her tone was exasperated, but she took another sip of coffee to give her time to think of another tactic to take before she asked, “Why peppermint?”

“I wanted to try something new,” Abe lied, only for her to give him another look daring him to try again. “…And I knew someone once, who seemed to like this stuff a lot. Not bad, but I’m not really sure I get it if we’re being honest.”

Not that it stopped him from taking another sip. Hey, it was still coffee.

“What about you?” Abe asked. “What do you do when you’re not here?”

“Baseball,” Carla answered without hesitation. “Watching, playing on a team with players from other local businesses, you name it.”

“…Really?”

“Why do you think I have all these team pennants up over there?” Carla asked, gesturing toward the colorful flags on one wall that Abe pretended he wasn’t noticing for the first time. “And I do other things. Believe it or not, you whole life doesn’t have to revolve around your work. What do you want to do, once whatever this is you’re working on now is over?”

Abe’s mind went to Wilford, to where he was planning to go tonight, to the loaded gun at his side. That was always his end goal, with everything else just being stepping stones to get him that much closer to finally putting an end to this. What came after that hadn’t ever been something he’d given himself the hope of even considering.

“Just something to consider,” Carla said when he failed to answer. She raised her cup to him with a wink and said, “Although it seems like you already have someone on your mind who might help with that.”

Abe looked down at his cup and didn’t have the heart to correct her. His next sip just tasted bitter in his mouth.

---

Chase was right about the others being less than happy when the two of you returned after being out for over two hours with nothing more than a note saying you were going for a walk. Chase waited through Marvin and Jackie’s questions and telling off for not saying anything with the air of someone who had been through this many, many times before, until you got so frustrated that you may have headbutted Jackie’s knee to distract him long enough for Chase to get a word in edgewise.

He told them about going to the park and finding the spot where the Host had been taken, and the talk with Carla afterwards. You noticed that he left out the run-in with his wife and kids, but you could understand why he wouldn’t want to talk about that.

Once he was done, Marvin said, “There’s not much we can do, if he really was taken in by the Institute.”

Jameson paused in the act of ruffling the fur where your collar had been to sign, “The Host, that man I talked to yesterday asked about him. He said this Carla was already worried about him, and apparently she had good reason to.”

“That’s who he was asking about?” Jackie asked. “The guy you were talking to just before I got there?”

Jameson nodded and Jackie sighed before adding for the benefit of the others, “He looked like a hunter to me. Not one I recognized from the Institute, but I think I’ve seen him hanging around the area before that.”

He shared a look with Chase that you missed because you were already connecting the dots yourself. The hunter, the familiar smell on Jameson and his things when he came in yesterday, it had to be Abe. The Host knew him, and it made sense to you that Abe would be asking around for him if the Host had sent Meri his way for some kind of help.

“Could be he just used Carla as a front to find out more information about the Host,” Chase admitted. “She said the Host had been coming around her shop for a while before he suddenly stopped last week. He might have realized someone was after him, and thought he could wait it out in the park until they moved on.”

You shook your head. No, none of this was lining up. If he was worried about Abe, then why would he send Meri to him for help? And if Abe was looking for him, why ask Jameson and not Meri? More importantly, last night the Host did not act like someone who was in hiding or worried about hunters. If he really thought he was in danger, he could have easily taken Captain Magnum’s offer and been on a ship and out of the harbor long before someone found him out in the open at the park.

“There are many eyes in this city.”

Even now, the Host’s parting words sounded more like a warning to you than any kind of concern for his own safety. After all, his voice and the effect it seemed to have on people should have gone a long way toward keeping any kind of conflict from reaching the level the scene at the park would suggest. So what had gone wrong? Had they caught him sleeping? Or had a way to silence him at the ready?

Jameson, noticing the shake of your head, signed, “I agree with Y/N. This seems like a lot of assuming about this fellow we know nothing about.”

Not exactly what you were thinking, and apparently Jackie seemed less than sure about that as well as he said, “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s a hunter and involved in this somehow. We should try to stay as far away from him as possible until we know what he’s after. Everyone understand?”

An entirely reasonable idea that the others easily agreed to, and one that you couldn’t have hated more. You tried to say something to defend Abe, to explain why staying away from him was the last thing you wanted, to give voice to all the reasons you had to believe he couldn’t be involved in the Host’s disappearance.

Could he?

But the only sound that came out of you just made Jameson wrap an arm around your shoulders and assure you that you were safe here in the house, with Chase affirming again that they would try to learn what they could about the Host. Only you suspected that would involve more suspecting Abe and less focus on who was really behind this.

You had to believe Abe didn’t do this, that he hadn’t taken the Host to the place Chase described in his shaking voice, unable to bring himself to give any details of what he had seen there. You had already messed up once, suspected Abe of a murder he did not commit, and you couldn’t do that again.

Not without proof.

Which is why you waited until later that night, when Jameson’s breath slowed to a deep sleep and both Jackie and the doctor had left, to slip out of bed and find your collar where he had left it on the floor. Once again, you leapt over the fence and managed to stick the landing before making your way back to the park, back to the torn-up ground where the struggle had taken place. There again you found the scent of blood, but this time you forced yourself to focus on the other scents, to try to find something else to latch onto.

It took a few tries, but eventually you found a faint, almost metallic version of the same smell you caught every time Marvin finished a smell, that brief wisp of a scent that suggested magic being used. And when you followed it, you found that it did not stop at the same place where the Host’s trail did but continued on in a very definite direction.

A trail, and one you hoped you wouldn’t regret following as you set off in search of where it led.

---

Abe pulled up to the address Google gave him and turned off his car and headlights. He sat there for a few minutes, taking in the low, dark building sitting alone in the middle of an empty parking lot, as quiet and apparently lifeless as every other place on the street. The large neon letters above the doors were out just like the tall lights spread around the parking lot, leaving Abe’s flashlight the only light in the area when he turned it on at the doors and checked the nearby windows.

No sign of movement, but the glass had been tinted to the point he could only get a dim idea of the space inside when he tried to look in. Multiple copies of the same notice had been pinned to both doors, declaring the building to be dangerous and unsafe for human use. Unlawful to enter as of late last week, but that didn’t stop Abe from trying the handle and then, finding that locked, pulling out his lockpicks.

When they proved less than helpful after a few minutes, he pulled out the backup plan and smashed the door’s window in with a short crowbar wrapped in a sheet to help muffle the noise.

At the crack of the glass, something else moved at the corner of the building with a cut-off yelp.

Abe’s flashlight swung around, his gun already out and pointed at the source of the noise, only to find the shape of a huge dog frozen in the act of backing away, the light completely washing out their eyes and fur so that his heart jumped at the sight before he got a grip on himself.

“Sorry, pooch,” Abe muttered, lowering his gun and pointing the flashlight so that it wasn’t shining right in the dog’s eyes. “What are you doing here, huh?”

The dog just stared at him, and despite its size Abe realized it was visibly shaking. Feeling like a jerk, he tried crouching down and clicking his tongue, but the dog made no move to come any closer and he suspected trying to do so would just scare it off.

He shook his head and stood up, returning his attention to the hole he’d made in the window that was just large enough to reach in and unlock the door from the other side. Abe’s shoes crunched on the broken glass as he walked inside, light up and his gun at the ready.

Abe. That was his voice, you’d know it anywhere, same as you knew his smell, the one that even now threatened to drown out the faint metallic scent of magic that had led you here. Straight from the place where the Host had been taken.

A hundred emotions and thoughts collided at once, the joy of finding Abe again splintering on the shame of being in this shape when it happened, the relief of not being recognized getting tangled up in the desire to pull off your collar, to have him see you, to know it was you, that you had found him. All above the doubt and fear that kept going even after he lowered his gun.

Why was he here? What was he looking for? What even was this place?

It was that sound, the crunch of glass under the hunter’s boots, that snapped you out of your shock and sent you following after him. You had to know.

Abe looked over his shoulder and saw the dog neatly jump over the small pile of glass. Great, it was following him. He probably should have shut the door behind him, but the idea of closing his only certain exit out of this place didn’t sit right with him.

“Just stay quiet and out of the way, okay?” he muttered, and could have sworn he saw the dog nod as it looked around, taking in the sight of the front room, carpet lining the floor and partially going up the walls, a desk apparently too large to move left sitting in between them and the curtained off door leading to the rest of the building. Abe’s flashlight caught indents in the carpet where tables and chairs used to be, empty hooks on the walls where pictures of some kind had been removed.

The place had an ashy smell to it, of stale cigarette smoke, and Abe flinched when he heard the dog sneeze after trying to give the carpet a sniff.

You definitely weren’t getting much out of this room. Whoever had owned this place before had apparently never bothered to try and vacuum this carpet everywhere, leaving you with too many faint scents that were all overwhelmed by dust and cigarette ash. While Abe looked behind the desk and sighed as he apparently found nothing, you went for the door behind the hanging curtain, and the lack of carpet you could see under the bottom of it.

Abe saw the dog’s tail disappear through the curtain and heard the click of its claws on the other side before they came to a sudden stop. When he pulled back the curtain, he found the dog standing a short way inside of a large room that made up most of the building. A stage took up one side, while the rest was all dedicated to the dance floor. Abe’s flashlight caught scratches and scuffs in the otherwise gleaming floor, and when he looked up the beam caught and reflected off of a mirrored ball hanging in the middle of the ceiling.

“Guess disco really is dead,” he said. “Took it long enough.”

He saw the dog’s forehead furrow as it looked at him before going back to sniffing the floor and then circling out as if searching for something. But now that Abe had started talking, it felt good to bounce his ideas off of someone else.

Even if that someone else happened to be a dog who didn’t appreciate his jokes.

“Place was shut down four, maybe five days ago,” Abe said as he started to walk toward the middle of the room, his flashlight moving back and forth to take in the details of the room. Or what was left of it. “Guess whoever owned this place didn’t have enough time to get everything. See, stereos and sound equipment’s gone, but they left the lights up there above the stage. Those won’t last long once vandals find this place.”

The dog, who obligingly followed his light to look up at the equipment in question, shot him a look that almost looked accusatory.

“It’s not the same,” Abe said, and the dog just huffed and went back to its searching. What was it looking for?

Even when he wasn’t shining his light directly on the dog, its eyes were surprisingly light, almost silver around the pupils. Was it blind? And underneath the dog’s dark coat of fur, its frame seemed slightly stretched out and wrong, like maybe it wasn’t eating enough to keep up with its size, but Abe could hear the tell-tale jingle of a dog tag whenever it moved.

A runaway, maybe. If he could get a hold of it, maybe he could take it back to whoever was probably looking for it now.

For now, though, Abe almost didn’t mind the company. It was something to keep his mind off of other thoughts or from overfocusing on every little sound or shadow out of the corner of his eye as he slowly walked around the edge of the room, looking at the posters on the walls of previous shows. None of the bands were ones he recognized, and he was just about to turn toward one of the back doors when something caught on his foot and dragged against the floor.

Abe looked down to find one of the posters had fallen, the tape on its back sticking to his shoe better than it had the wall.

“Come on,” he muttered pulling it off only to stare at the image.

You had just caught the scent that brought you here again when you heard the hunter swear quietly and then again, louder with a harsh breath of air leaving his chest. By the time you got to him, Abe was leaning hard against the wall, one hand to his eyes while the other held a poster by its top edge.

Or it did, until his arm dropped to his side and the paper slowly slid between his fingers to fall back onto the ground. When you looked, you could just make out the drawn silhouette of a person with a puffy hairstyle bigger than his head, the letters below him declaring him to be “Wilford ‘Motherloving’ Warfstache,” whoever that was, above a series of dates.

“He was here, he was here,” Abe moaned, sinking down to sit on the floor and look up at the ceiling with quickly filling eyes. “The same day I came back and he was here.”

The last date on the poster was the same day he returned to the city, the same day he found Google waiting outside of his office. And instead of telling him Wilford was here, he had sent Abe back to that damn house, outside the city, and on a fool’s errand to watch some stupid doctor.

“That was over a week ago! He could be anywhere by now,” Abe said, and swallowed hard to fight back the feeling he was going to be sick. “I was so close, I…”

His voice cracked and heard the clink of the dog tag come closer, looked away from the ceiling to find the dog sitting in front of him, one massive paw resting on his knee as though trying to comfort him. He placed a hand on top of that paw, which twitched but didn’t pull away, and they sat there while he tried to calm down, tried to tell himself it wasn’t too late. Again.

You sat there with Abe for a while, watching and trying to understand. He was upset about missing his chance to find this Wilford, clearly, but you didn’t think you’d ever seen him like this before. What was so important about this guy that not finding him could have this kind of effect on Abe, who had faced down countless monsters and murderers, who you had seen barely flinch in the face of his own friend’s (supposed) murder?

After a while, his breathing calmed and he rubbed the top of your paw playfully before reaching out. You flinched, afraid of what you weren’t sure, but his hand found the top of your head and scratched behind your ears before moving down to the side of your neck.

“Good dog,” he said, and you froze.

Not at the words, but at the familiar smell of peppermint and coffee on his breath.

You looked at him, but his eyes were tilted down, and you suddenly realized his hand was on your neck, on the collar.

Abe didn’t try to hold on as the dog shied away, figuring he was lucky it even let him get that close. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, but the dog still kept its distance as he stood before suddenly going back to sniffing the floor again, as though hoping he would forget that moment happened.

Distracted, it wandered away in the direction of the stage and Abe took a minute to pull out his small notebook and jot down the number he had seen on the dog’s tag, as best as he could while still holding the flashlight. He wasn’t sure what the cat symbol on the other side was about, especially since he was to find a name that might get the dog to trust him a little more, but oh well.

He looked up at the sound of the dog’s exasperated huff in time to see it rear up on its hind legs, one front paw scratching at the handle of the door behind the stage and failing to quite get it.

“What’re you after?” he asked, the dog dropping down to make way as he approached only to slip through the door the second that he pulled it open. There was a back hallway here, the doors on the end suggesting a back exit to this place, but the dog with its nose to the floor passed by a couple of storage closets and empty offices to stop dead at a door that just had an off-center star pasted on it. The dog looked back at him expectantly and then at the door and back again, as if waiting for him to get the hint.

“Something in there?” he asked, already on his way. He doubted there was anything even left in this room or any of the others, but if this was what he thought it was then it couldn’t hurt to look. He opened the door and tried the switch on the wall, which just flipped and failed to provide any light for the small room.

You looked around, taking in the mirror bolted to one wall with a string of unlit bulbs around it, the spaces where couches and chairs had once been, an empty metal rack on one wall and a tiny bathroom just barely large enough to contain a toilet and sink. The trail clearly led here, to this room, but why?

While you sniffed around, Abe checked the cheap desk underneath the mirror as he said, “Room for the performers, I guess, when they weren’t on stage. Nothing here though.”

The dog grumbled and kept sniffing, still trying to find whatever it was looking for. Maybe someone had dropped some food in here, although if that was the case Abe really hoped the dog didn’t find it.

He sighed, thinking it was too much to hope there would magically be just the right clue to tell him where to go from here, and started to turn around when his eye caught something in the mirror. Abe looked over his shoulder and had to check the mirror again before he could find the small, neat hole in the wall, so easy to overlook in the dark. He used his flashlight to get a better look and froze when he saw the light reflect off of something deep inside the hole.

There! The smell was so faint that you almost missed it, but there was a piece of paper so far under the desk that you doubted anyone standing up or even sitting where the couches used to be would have been able to see it. You had to grab it, as gently as you could, with the tip of your teeth and pull it out to have any hope of seeing what was on it, and even that was more difficult than it needed to be with Abe and his flashlight on the other side of the room.

It was a flyer, the graphic on the front a jumbled mess to your eyes, but you could smell two different kinds of ink on it. One used to print the actual flyer, and the other from a ballpoint pen which, you realized once you managed to get the paper to flip over, someone had used to write a short message which you could read:

See you there, W.

Why was this here? Why would someone come all the way from the park to leave this here, or alternatively, leave this note here before going straight to the Host? The trail was already so faint that it seemed to stop with this paper, as though who or whatever had dropped it here had disappeared completely.

The way it was written, it was impossible to tell if someone had written the message to ‘W,’ or if ‘W’ was the signature.

Either way, you were pretty sure Abe would want to see this.

Abe heard the dog make a vocal sound behind him, but he had taken his knife out and was digging it into the side of the hole.

“Why would someone fire a gun in here?” he asked out loud. “Bullet hole, about…chest, maybe head high depending on the height…”

He felt more than heard the dog stop by his legs and watch as he gave a satisfied grunt when the knife slid between the bullet and the wall and popped it out onto the ground. The dog startled backwards, but Abe just smiled and said, “Easy, partner, this could be just what we’re looking for.”

Abe paused when he picked up the bullet, quietly disturbed by how easily that word had slipped out. He was even more disturbed when he realized what he was holding between his thumb and forefinger.

“Silver.” He breathed the word and then, the thought hitting him like a freight train, he dropped his flashlight to the ground and used his other hand to pull out his gun and clumsily spill the bullets into the palm of his hand.

Each one had a small, easy to miss mark on the base to identify the maker, one that Abe knew for a fact wasn’t around anymore. A mark that matched the one on the base of the bullet from the wall. Five bullets in his hand, five in the Colonel’s. Five that Abe never shot, and two that the Colonel walked away with after wasting one, and then putting a second one in Abe and a third in his partner. And it looked like Abe had just found the fourth one.

“Damn it!” Abe’s fist struck the wall, the six bullets hitting the floor and bouncing uselessly off the ground as he hit it again, and again, and again, until the pain caught up with him.

He looked behind him and realized the room was empty, and in the distance he thought he could hear the click of claws on the polished dance floor.

Great, as if he didn’t feel bad enough.

Abe gathered the bullets, putting the unused five back into the gun before studying the last one again. Maybe there was something he could do with this, if it really had been with the Colonel all this time. He walked back through the building, calling for the dog, but there was no sign of it anywhere and the front door was still standing open.

You pressed yourself against the wall behind the front desk, heart hammering so loud that you could barely hear Abe’s voice calling for you, or at least the dog he thought he had scared off. You had seen the silver bullets catch the light from the flashlight as they hit the ground, most of them from Abe’s own gun. He sounded sorry now, but you had never heard that kind of anger in his voice before, not even when everything was going so wrong at the house.

You could hear him outside, still calling and looking around, and knew you were running out of time. If he left now, there was no guarantee you could find him again. Running into each other here had been an accident, and without a way to communicate to the others they would only try to keep you away from him.

Then again, maybe they were right to do so. Just because he was looking for Wilford now didn’t mean he wasn’t connected to what happened to the Host. And just because you thought you knew him before the mirror didn’t mean you knew him now. A lot could change, and if the party had showed you anything, it was that you could be wrong about anyone.

But, you thought as you heard a car door open in the distance, could you stand not knowing? Not even trying? What if this really was your only chance?

Abe sighed, feeling another pang of guilt as he opened his car and got inside. There was no sign of the dog, although considering how skittish it was before he went and did that, he couldn’t blame it for running. Plus, now his hand hurt like hell as he turned on the ignition and the headlights, catching one last glimpse of the empty dance hall before he turned and began backing up.

He didn’t see the dog that wasn’t there, or the shadow watching from across the street who was there. As the car pulled away, he didn’t see the figure that appeared in the doorway either, the very human silhouette that had to lean on the doorframe while you caught your breath, or hear your voice, cracked and strained from years of not being used.

“…Abe.”

((End of Part 18. As always, thank you for reading. And like I said before, this is where I’ll leave the story for now to take a little bit of a break, so, uh...*runs*

Edit: Story’s moving forward again, so here’s a link to Part 19: Good Branding.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox ))

[liamrysandme]

Hurt- Part two

All characters belong to Pixelberry

Book: Open Heart

Paring: Ethan x F!MC

Word count: 3741 

Warnings: Head injury, surgery. 

A/N: I’m doing my second year of residency and I really wanted to write a medically accurate fic!

Part One 

Ethan was sitting in his office, specs on and looking over some blood work results. Truthfully, he was concerned about his girlfriend. Earlier when the rest of the team had met, she complained of a headache and just seemed a little off. It wasn’t like her but as a junior fellow on the diagnostics team she was being given more responsibilities, more challenging, stressful cases that she wouldn’t been able to take when she was an intern. Maybe it was just stress. It didn’t stop the older doctor being concerned though, it’s strange behaviour for her. 

Ethan had just finished looking through the results for the team's newest patient. Everything was normal, except the patient had a vitamin D deficiency and a vitamin E deficiency too which could be why he’s experiencing vision disturbances, fatigue and muscle weakness but unfortunately didn’t explain the rest of his symptoms. 

He was just finishing looking through when his pager went off. Ethan picked it up off his desk, read the message and was immediately up out of his seat and moving toward the door. 

** 

Ethan rushed into the ER just in time to see Sienna and Bryce wheeling her in. He’d rushed through the hospital like a complete mad man- the staff he passed must’ve thought he was a lunatic. 

Ethan made his way up to the gurney just as they were wheeling her into a cubicle. “W-what happened?” Ethan stuttered asking no one in particular. 

“Er…” Bryce started, swallowing thickly as he looked down to one of his closest friends laying unconscious on a gurney. 

“Dr Lahela. Bryce,” Ethan said sternly and urgently, encouraging the younger doctor to continue. 

“Erm...a New-onset seizure, she complained of a headache earlier and also vomited," Bryce summarised, clinically. He needed to attempt to distance himself emotionally from this if he was going to help her. “We gave her five of diazepam to stop the seizure. She’s post ictal. She woke up for a minute or so and now isn’t responsive.” 

Ethan moved to reach for a pair of gloves from a box hung on the wall, “Right, someone get me IV access and page Neuro. Now.”

There was a flurry of activity. “Okay, I’ve got an 18 going in the left AC!” A nurse called as Ethan slipped on the pair of gloves and stepped closer to the bed. 

“Ethan, you can’t-” Bryce started. Ethan turned to him and gave him a pointed glare. 

“Either you two can help me or you can stand there and I’ll save her life single-handedly.” Ethan didn’t wait for a response as he turned his attention back to her. “Casey? Casey, can you hear me?” Ethan called, rubbing her sternum. 

This time Ethan managed to get her to open her eyes. She made an attempt to shuffle away from Ethan’s touch but couldn’t. He listened closely, noting her breathing was irregular. He moved closer to her to get a better listen. “Okay, she’s not moving enough air,” Ethan explained. He was just about to request that somebody bag her when Casey started gagging. “She’s vomiting. Let’s roll her.” 

Bryce moved to support her head as Ethan and a team of nurses helped to support the rest of her as they rolled her on her side. 

"I need suction,” Bryce requested, a nurse handed it to him and he took over draining the vile stuff from her mouth. 

“Anyone have any ideas?” Ethan asked the team. There were a thousand explanations. A thousand different diagnoses. 

“Meningitis?” Sienna suggested from the sidelines. 

“What’s her temperature?” Ethan asked. A nurse quickly checked her temperature. 

“It’s normal,” She said. 

“No fever. It’s not meningitis,” he insisted,” Her blood pressure is high,” Ethan noted. 

“A stroke?” Bryce suggested. He knew that was unlikely given her age but the symptoms added up. 

Ethan didn’t say anything as he moved around the bed. He gently pushed the hair away from the back of her head so the goose egg shaped hematoma was visible. “No, there’s a hematoma here. This is trauma.” 

Casey’s eyes momentarily opened, she moved her arm trying to move Ethan’s hand away but failed to do so before her eyes fluttered back shut. 

“She hit her head?” Bryce questioned. It didn’t make sense to Ethan either, when did this happen? How did this happen? 

“Okay, er...Roll her back down carefully, then get her in a collar and then she needs an urgent CT.” 

After they were sure Casey had finished vomiting, they turned her back over, got a neck brace on her and Bryce took over ventilating, except she wasn’t moving much air and he’d tried re-positioning her jaw to no success. “She’s not protecting her airway. I can’t-” Bryce announced, trying once again to position her jaw properly. 

Ethan knew what that meant. She’s not able to protect her airway which meant they needed to intubate. This definitely wasn’t something anyone thought they’d need to deal with today and they all still had no idea how this happened. 

“Ethan!” Bryce called, when the older doctor seemed to zone out for a second. How did this happen? 

“We need to intubate her,” Ethan announced. Ethan moved to the head of the bed, moving Bryce out of the way as a nurse handed him the laryngoscope. He used a technique called a jaw thrust to try and open her airway, since he couldn’t move her head since the she had a potential spinal injury. After that was done he placed the laryngoscope. He took him a second to  it in the right position. “Okay...pass me a 7.0 tube.” A nurse handed him the right sized tube. Once again, It took Ethan a couple of seconds to place the tube. Once it was in place he slipped the laryngoscope out of her mouth. 

Ethan then moved from the head of the bed as a nurse connected the tube to the BVM.  “Steth-” Ethan ordered, Sienna took her stethoscope off and handed it to Ethan. Ethan listened to her breathing through the scope for a couple seconds, “Okay, I've got bilateral breath sounds. Okay, someone inflate the cuff and then lets get her to CT. Someone call them and say we’re coming.”

** 

Ethan, Dr. Gary Taylor- the neurosurgeon on call, and the technician we’re standing in the CT technicians room looking at the images as they spread across the computer screen. 

“C-spine is all clear,” Dr Taylor nodded, “There’s no sign of a spinal injury.”  Although Ethan already suspected that so it was no surprise. 

“She’s bleeding on the brain,” Ethan mumbled. Neuro wasn't in any way his specialty but he didn’t need to be a specialist to see the bleed on the CT. 

“Subdural hematoma,” Dr. Taylor nodded. “She needs surgery.”  The two doctors filed out of the room, as a couple nurses headed into the CT room to get Casey out of the scanner then prep her for surgery. 

Gary was definitely not who Ethan would want to operate on his girlfriend. He’s an arrogant little shit but Harper was sick and he’s the surgeon on call. Dr. Taylor turned to Ethan just outside the room. “You’re not coming anywhere near my OR.” 

It frankly annoyed Ethan that was picking a fight now. Yes, they’d butted heads many, many times in the past but now was not the time to piss off and simultaneously test his restraint, not while Casey’s life is at risk.  

“I’m going with her,” Ethan insisted. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted...needed to be with her. 

"If you come into my OR, I will have you removed," Dr. Taylor pointed a finger in Ethan's face, "You watch from the gallery. Do I make myself clear?"

Ethan was fighting every instinct he had to punch him, his jaw and fists clenched tightly by his sides. Had Dr. Taylor not been one of the best neurosurgeons next to Harper, he just may have followed through with it.

“Fine.”

** 

Everyone made quick work of getting Casey prepped. Ethan walked alongside the bed as they made their way towards the OR. 

Ethan’s head started pounding in his chest as they approached the sterile line line. Someone was about to open up her skull and he couldn't stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. The damage that can be caused, that already could’ve been caused. 

Ethan leaned down and place a kiss on her forehead, "Don't you give up on me now Rookie, okay? I need you." He whispered as he took her hand. “I love you so much,” His voice wavered. Whether or not she could hear him didn't  matter; he just wanted to tell her. 

Ethan let go of her hand and the other slip of the raising as the scrub nurses rolled her through the OR doors, her anaesthesiologist following closely behind. Ethan felt helpless when the door swung shut- that was a new feeling for him. He was frozen in place. That could’ve been the last time he gets to tell her that he loves her. That he needs her.

**

Naveen had arrived and guided Ethan to the gallery. This was a sick, cruel form of torture for him. He didn’t like not having any control over what happened in there. He didn’t want to watch and do nothing. He couldn’t help but be annoyed with the surgical team as they scrubbed in- the bleed could potentially be getting bigger and bigger, causing more and more damage. 

Bryce, Sienna, Elijah and Jackie were also now present. Jackie had explained to them how Casey could’ve hit her head. If Casey wasn’t so stubborn and had just told Jackie the truth. This could’ve been avoided. 

Ethan just stood, fixed on the scene below him. He involuntarily flinched when Gary turned on the bone saw. He’d seen this a dozen times but...his girlfriend was never the one on the table. 

He wasn’t squeamish. Ethan couldn't afford to be in this job but seeing someone drilling into Casey’s skull had him feeling that way. 

He couldn't take this. He thought he could deal with it but he couldn’t stand to hear the horrific, nightmare inducing, sound of a bone saw drilling into her skull. 

"I’m...I'm gonna pass out," Ethan stuttered, stumbling back. Naveen was immediately on his feet at his statement. Ethan staggered backwards again right into Naveen.

“Ethan, sit down,” Naveen ordered. He guided him to a seat. He’d kept it together but he just couldn’t anymore. This was the final straw. That sound...

He ran a hand through his hair, fighting to urge to put both of them over his ears. Soon the sound stopped, he’d thought that would be a relief but it now meant Casey brain was on display. 

Tears started to pool in his eyes as he unsteadily got to his feet and gazed down into the OR. He quickly turned his gaze to Naveen then back to Casey. “She-” He started, his eyes refilling and glistening with unshed tears. Before too long they slipped down his cheeks. “She...she h-has to be okay... s-she n-needs t-to b-be.”

**

It was two days later since Casey’s freak little accident and Ethan hadn’t left her side. Ethan was sitting by her bedside when Bryce came in to stand at the end of her bed. 

“How is she?” 

Ethan nodded, “ Surgery was considered a success, there were no complications, her post- op EEG was all normal. SBT's have all been great. They’ve even started lightening sedation as well. She’s practically the ideal candidate for a full recovery.” 

"That's great," Bryce exhaled, nodding gratefully. 

“Yeah,” Ethan sighed. Both men tried not to think about that fact that Casey may now wake up as the same woman they once knew or wake up at all. There was no reason to believe that anything will go wrong, yet that's the only thing he can think about. 

** 

It was much later that day when Sienna and Elijah stopped by after their shift had ended. Ethan had moved from his post and was now standing by the window, looking over the view of the dark hospital parking lot. 

"How's our favourite patient?" Elijah asked as he and Sienna came in. Ethan turned to face them nodding. 

“Really good,” Ethan replied with a small sigh, 

“Bryce said that they’re lowering her sedation?” Sienna asked, Ethan nodded. 

“Yeah, they started this morning. Dr. Taylor hopes to see her start to wake up soon but it’s a waiting game for the time being.” 

Suddenly an alarm on the monitor started to ring and Casey’s head jerked back. All three doctors we’re immediately next to her. 

"Is she seizing?" Sienna asked, unsure of what she was seeing.

Ethan looks to the monitor then back to Casey. “No, no, this isn’t a seizure. She’s bucking the vent,” He explained, the younger doctors relaxed somewhat, pleased that this wasn’t an emergency. 

Ethan took hold of her hand resting on her stomach and placed his other on her shoulder, “Casey can you hear me? Case?” Ethan gave her shoulder a light pinch and her eyes fluttered open. 

Ethan could see the panic  in her eyes as her surroundings started to become clear to her. She started grabbing at her face, desperately attempting to remove whatever was choking her. Ethan caught her frantic hands in his, stilling her and stopping her pawing at the tube. 

“Don’t do that, You're alright, Case, look at me," Ethan said calmly, "Look at me."

She looked up to him. It took her a second to connect the dots- Ethan . She searched his face frantically, trying to figure out what was going on. She’s scared and she can't figure out why her boyfriend isn’t doing anything to help her. Ethan read her expression. 

“Casey, you had surgery,” Ethan told her plainly, “You’ve got a tube in your throat, that’s helping you to breathe.” She shook her head; tears welling in her eyes. “Casey, you need to leave it in.” 

She withdrew away from him."Case-" Ethan warned.

She immediately reached for the tube tamer and tore the velcro off as Sienna and Ethan jumped forward to grab hold of her arms. If Casey wasn’t panicking she would know that she couldn’t just rip it out but she rightfully so freaking out.

"Wait, wait, wait, stop!" Ethan called. He turns to the side and reached for a syringe and she relaxes. "Hold on, I got you," He murmured quietly as he deflated the balloon. "Big cough on three, okay?" He instructed as he gripped the tube, "One, two, three."

Casey erupted in a coughing fit as Ethan gently slid the tube out. Sienna gently held an oxygen mask up to her face, which she gratefully gasped into. Once she slowed down, she finally rested her head back against the pillow. Ethan rested a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"There you go, easy, just breathe," Ethan soothed.

"E-" she sputtered quietly.

"Shhh, don't talk, just breathe," Ethan said, watching her vitals on the screen. “Okay, You’re stable.” Ethan turned to face Elijah and Sienna on the other side of the bed. “Could one of you go and update Dr. Taylor.” 

Instead of one of them going, the pair did. As much as they wanted to see their friend, they knew Ethan needed some time with her. 

"Do you know where you are?" Ethan asked as he sat on the bed beside her.

"Eden-" She replied, the rest of the word silent from her hoarseness.

“That’s right,” Ethan nodded. Casey nodded to the glass of water on the bedside table. Ethan picked it up and held the straw to her lips as Casey took a few large gulps. “Slowly, small sips.” Once Casey was done Ethan placed the cup back down.

“Ethan,” Casey breathed, her voice scratchy and quiet. She reached out to him, She just wanted some comfort, she still didn’t know what was happening. 

"That was the answer to my next question," He smirked. He got to his feet to lean over to place a kiss on her forehead, just below the dressing over the incision wound. “How are you feeling? Any pain?" He asked sweetly.

"No," she shook her head, wiping at her tired eyes, "What happened?"

"You hit your head really hard and you needed surgery to fix—" Ethan started.

"No, not like I'm a patient," She interrupted, holding up a hand, “Talk to me like I'm a doctor. Don’t gloss over anything, I want to know what happened. Everything.” 

A hint of a smile ghosted over her boyfriend's lips. Ethan was just relieved to have her back if he was being honest. Who knew that a freak accident could make you realise how much you need someone?  He always knew that Casey was able to keep him on his toes but this definitely took it up a notch. 

“Well, you managed to somehow hit that pretty head of yours which caused a subdural hematoma,” Ethan started with a sigh. He wished that he didn’t need to relay this to her but it's what she wanted after all. “You  had a seizure, During the time you were in ER we had to intubate you because you weren’t able to maintain your own airway, then when we were examining you we found a hematoma on the back of your head. Shortly after you were rushed to CT. The CT showed a bleed on your brain and then you had surgery.” 

“Why did I have a seizure? Did I hit myself during it?” 

��No, Bryce and Sienna made sure you didn’t hurt yourself during your seizure,” Ethan reassured, shaking his head, “You were acting off before the seizure started according to Bryce and Sienna. I assume that was an Aura but then you had been complaining of a headache while we were together shortly before this happened. Taking into account all of your symptoms, I assume you must’ve hit your head at some point during the day,” Ethan explained, Casey  nodded along. “Do you remember how that happened.” 

“No,” Casey replied

“Jackie seems to think you hit it on a bed.” 

She nodded, her eyebrows creasing. Come to think of it, she didn’t remember anything from that day. It was all a blur. "Who operated?" 

“Dr. Taylor,” Ethan said reluctantly. The man was arrogant, pompous and very few people in the hospital actually liked the man. Although he had many, many unappealing qualities, Ethan couldn’t deny that he was at least skilled, he saved his girlfriend's life after all. 

Casey huffed and rolled her eyes. "You really think I'd let him come anywhere near you with a ten blade If there was any other choice?" 

“No,” Casey muttered, a hint of smile on her face. Her hand came to rest on her throat. She now understood why people hate being intubated. Ethan picked up a glass of water from the side and held the straw to her lips. Casey took a few sips of the ice cold water. “Thanks. So...How long have I been sedated?" She glanced around, trying to figure out the time of day. It’s light dark- that’s all she was able to gather. 

"Two days," He replied as he rested a hand on her cheek as the other gently ran through her hair.  “How are you feeling? Truthfully.” 

Casey looked up to him, quickly meeting his eyes. It wasn’t often that Ethan was this affectionate to her. “My throat is a bit tender," she mumbled, Casey moved so her cheek was pressing more firmly against his hand, melting into his touch. “I’m just really tired.” 

Ethan nodded in understanding. “We only lowered the propofol a couple hours ago so that’s probably why. Just try and get some rest.”

It was safe to say that Casey was terrified. She understood everything Ethan had told her although it was still a lot to try and process in a short amount of time too. She was anxious about the possible complications she could have in recovery. 

Casey turned back to him when she felt his hand come to rest on her arm, “I’m here, Casey. Everything is going to be fine.” 

She was certain her heart just swelled. It really wasn’t often that Ethan was so affectionate and gentle but she was scared and he knew that- he’s scared too although he’d never openly admit that to anyone. 

Ethan collapsed the rail of the bed and slid in next to her, carefully pulling her close so her head was resting on his chest.  "I'm right here Case," Ethan said gently, "You're safe."

Both of them understood all too well the gravity of her injury. A brain bleed wasn’t something that people just recover from overnight. The couple just laid in each other's arms for sometime, grateful that Casey would recover and that she hadn’t suffered a different fate like many people with head injuries sadly too often do. 

"Ethan," She whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too, Casey."

 ______

Here’s a medical lowdown! I used a lot of terms in this fic and I don’t wanna confuse anyone

I’ve got an 18 going in the left AC-  The nurse is referring to the needle size. An 18 gauge needle is one of the largest needles. It’s good for giving fluids/ meds/ blood quickly. AC is the vein in the bend of your elbow. 

“No fever”- Since Casey has no fever it pretty much rules out Meningitis. 

A stroke?- Casey is young which means the chance of her having a stroke isn’t that likely, however, it’s possible. Because they’ve ruled out meningitis they could combine the symptoms and come to the conclusion that it’s a brain bleed. A hemorrhagic stroke could absolutely be why someone is having symptoms of a bleed. 

Casey opens her eyes, whimpering, and tries but fails to push his hand away - So we measure somebody’s level of consciousness by how many points they get out of 15 using the Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS). It’s calculated by how someone responds and other factors that play into this. The way Casey reacts shows that she’s aware that she’s in pain and where the pain is localized (ie: The back of her head). 

(I would put Casey’s GCS at around 9 her which really isn’t good!.) 

“There’s a hematoma ”- So now they know it’s trauma and not an illness. 

Ethan tells them to roll her carefully. This is because if someone has a head injury we always suspect they have a spinal injury too. This is because if you’re able to hit your head so hard to cause a potential bleed on the brain, you could’ve also hurt your C-spine. This is also why Ethan requests a C-collar (neckbrace). It’s just a precaution until a spinal injury can be 100% ruled out. 

Bilateral breath sounds-  After somebody has been intubated You have to check that the tube is in the right place (aka not in one of your lungs). Bilateral just means that there are even breath sounds on both sides. 

BVM- Bag Valve Mask. 

Sterile line- In most, If not all hospitals, there is a line painted on the floor before you enter an OR. You have to be really, really sterile to go in. 

“I’m gonna pass out” - Now, this isn’t uncommon when you’ve seen something happen to anyone, normally a loved one, but there’s a technical reason why this happens. 

When someone experiences something triggering (like someone drilling into your girlfriend’s skull) The vagus nerve will send signals to slow your heart rate and blood pressure but sometimes your body will do this too well. Basically Ethan’s body is trying to chill him out too much. His brain just isn’t getting quite enough blood which makes him feel faint. 

SBT - SBT means short breathing tests. Doctors use this when we’re trying to take someone off a ventilator or just to see if they can breathe on their own. The ventilator is turned off to see if the person can breathe adequately without being aided or not. 

 (People on ventilators aren't something I see all that much so my knowledge is fairly limited in all of this.) 

Post- op EEG-  

Post-op= Post operation. 

EEG= Electroencephalogram. This tests the electrical activity in your brain. They are most commonly used in people with epilepsy or to just detect seizures in general. 

Electrodes are stuck to your scalp (like a heart monitor) but for your brain instead. 

When someone is unconscious, Like Casey, It’s used to make sure that you’re not braindead or having subclinical seizures. This means that the person is having seizure activity but they’re not outwardly showing that they’re having a seizure. 

_

Ethan mentions that Casey is an ideal candidate for a full recovery. This is simply because Casey is young. The older the person is who suffers an injury like this, the mortality rate gets higher. It just means that she’s likely to recover. This isn’t always decided by age though. Lots of factors are taken into account. 

Bucking the vent- This can happen because the settings on the ventilator may not be correct or in this case it’s because Casey is awake. It basically just means that she’s fighting against it. 

Ethan gave her shoulder a light pinch- Again this is painful stimuli. This is called a trap squeeze because you’re squeezing the Trapezius muscle. This is painful and won’t leave a mark like a sternal rub can do. 

Tube tamer is just the thing that secures the tube in place. 

Ethan reaches for a syringe and she relaxes- Basically there’s a balloon-type thing at the bottom of an intubation tube that creates a seal. You need to deflate this before you remove the tube. (Ethan referred to it as ‘the cuff’) 

Aura- Not a spiritual one. This is simply what the feeling you get before a seizure is called. based on what Bryce had told him about her behaviour before her seizure, Ethan concludes this is what was happening.

[writethehousedown]

Lesson In Love (Gigi x Jackie) - Mina

A/N: So excited to participate in one of these challenges again, you treated me so well last time so I’m so excited to release this! Ty so so much to @dollalpaca for being an angel and betaing

Summary: Gigi may or may not be failing her music studies class. She also may or may not have caught feelings for the pretty Persian woman that offered to tutor her. Maybe. She’ll never tell.

“Janet,” Gigi groaned, narrowly avoiding falling off the couch as she rolled over and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It was leopard-printed, a gift from Jan to themselves from when they moved into the apartment. “Do you think ‘Intro to Floral Arrangement’ sounds like an easy class? Or do you know anyone who’s taken it?”

“Isn’t it an evening class? I feel like we went over that one like… twenty minutes ago.” The blonde hummed from the floor, not bothering to look up. She was probably right, too. She had her own laptop in front of her, in the process of color-coding her online calendar. Blue for lectures, green for labs and purple for choir practices. Gigi had seen her do this enough times - every semester since they met on move-in day their first year - to be able to recognize the blocks in her schedule at a glance. Sometimes it motivated her knowing that Jan could be so on top of things while also being the most chaotic person Gigi knew, other times it made her want to die and be reborn into someone who could organise her sock draw by diameter.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She frowned, letting out a deep sigh and closing the tab. Goodbye, department of nature studies. So long, her potential florist career.

The thing was, Gigi knew she couldn’t really afford to be particularly picky with only five days before the registration period ended, but still. At least, she thought, she’d long been enrolled in all her textile-related classes for the semester. She was looking forward to most of them too, especially the design ones. Really, it was just that one additional stupid arts gen ed course she needed to get out of the way, and then she’d be free for good.

“How about ‘Art of Listening’?” Gigi asked a few minutes later, reading over the course information. She heard the sound of Jan typing on her keyboard come to a halt. “That kinda sounds like a class for people that want to become therapists or something. Or marriage counsellors?”

“Maybe people that are gonna need marriage counselling, sure,” Jan replied, her typing picking up again.

Gigi laughed, running a hand through her hair and looking back at her screen. “It doesn’t seem too bad, y’know. Just two papers and a final.” She hummed, scrolling through last year’s syllabus. “And it’s actually about music, I could totally do that.”

“Wait, who’s the prof for it?”

“Uh… something-Nguyen I think?“ Gigi paused as she scrolled back up. “Yeah, Andrew Nguyen, why?”

“Oh, that’s the one!” Jan nodded happily. “Rock took it last semester, I think. I remember her talking about it when we first met, she was always complaining about the prof who—”

“Great, you should have just lead with that.” Gigi rolled her eyes as she closed the tab. Rock was one of the more easy going people she’d ever met when it came to that stuff, so she couldn’t imagine what a prof that annoyed her would be like. Probably awful, or at least had a bad taste in anime. A soft but slightly damp piece of fabric hit her in the nose before falling down in front of her, disheartened. She scrunched up her nose in distaste when she realised what Jan just threw at her.

“Why are you throwing your dirty socks at me?” Gigi screeched, picking it up and throwing it back in the blonde’s general direction. “And why is it wet?”

“If you’d just let me finish!” She rolled her eyes pointedly, leaning to grab the sock again. It was a little too far for her to reach, and Gigi watched her stubbornly wiggle to the side until she could close her fingers around it. She smiled victoriously, huffing a little as she leaned back against the couch and made herself stand up straight. “As I was saying,” she started again, enunciating carefully.

“Before I rudely interrupted you.” Gigi grinned down, picking at her nails.

“Yes, before you did indeed do that,” Jan huffed, “Rock took it last semester. And she was always annoyed because the prof didn’t always let them use their laptops in class, but she also said that it was really easy. Most of the time they just had to listen to some music and write about how it made them feel, that sort of stuff.”

“That sounds pretty easy.”

“Right?” Jan nodded excitedly, “And I think she mentioned one of her friends is taking it this semester too. A senior, so she’s probably in the same boat as you.”

Gigi didn’t think that’d make much of a difference, but she didn’t bother telling Jan that. It wasn’t like the class had group projects anyway, so she could hopefully get by with just showing to most lectures and turning in the assignments.

“I really should have done this over the summer, you were right about that,” she exhaled, shutting her laptop and falling back into the couch. She could have gotten those mandatory art electives outside of her major done as a freshmen, or even last year, like most other students in her program did.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,“ Jan chuckled, moving closer until she could rest her head comfortably on Gigi’s shoulder, blonde hair falling all over her face. “You’ll do great, because you always do; you’re talented, but you also work hard. So you’re gonna ace all your actual photography classes, pass this one, and be done with all your dumb degree requirements. And then next year you can take all the textiles classes you want, I’ll take all the music production classes I want, we’ll go to each other’s senior showcases, and barely even remember all the time we wasted on the ugly classes we didn’t care about.”

When Jan put it that way, it sounded pretty easy. *** After three weeks of classes, Gigi felt like she could safely conclude that the class was… Not that bad. If she had to give the class a grade it’d be a solid C-, bordering on a straight-up C. It was mostly filled with freshmen from the arts faculty trying to get an easy A, a solid half of whom had already stopped showing up to lectures. And yes, it was weird being back in a two hundred-person room when most of her other classes were forty at most. She had to turn in weekly written assignments, which was also not fun, but writing five hundred words once a week wasn’t a time commitment she couldn’t handle. The problem, though, was that as far as she could tell from those three first weeks, that supposedly-easy class would also n’ot rate the level of effort Gigi had put in as anything more than a C either. Which was definitely not what she wanted out of it. Far from it.

The class did have one major saving grace, a light in the dark and a minor help in stopping Gigi from quitting the class on day one, in the form of a fellow student.

Gigi didn’t know her name, or her major, or anything tangible about her, which was a little unfortunate. She did, however, know that the girl had legs. Long and strong, with toned thighs that suggested at least some form of semi-regular exercise, and looked equally good in the kind of wide-legged, loose cotton pants Gigi herself favoured as they did in denim cutoffs. She had really nice hands too, which the brunette found out about when they accidentally reached for the same assignment sheet. They looked soft, strong and capable and careful. They’d be nice to hold, or to have holding her down tightly, or tangled in her hair while she sucked bruises into her equally-beautiful thighs.

So yeah, you could say Gigi was kind of enjoying the course, sure.

The girl usually sat at the front of the room, in the very first row from where you kind of had to strain your neck upwards to see what was on the board. Gigi knew, because that was also where she sat during the first two weeks, until she realised this wasn’t going to be the kind of lecture where she could talk all the way through the lesson without the professor caring, not if she wanted to do more than just pass, anyway. The girl usually brought her laptop to class too - covered in political stickers and pictures of cartoons Gigi didn’t know. One time the brunette walked past her, only to see a video of a crab walking up a pile of sand playing in the corner of her screen.

Gigi could remember that she made a point about the role of music in religious movements when prompted, and how that connected to society’s idea of liveliness within places of worship. Gigi didn’t really remember the details, mostly because some of it had just flown way over her head, but their professor had been very impressed. When he had said so, instead of the self-satisfied smile that the brunette had been expecting, the girl had looked down at her notes, one arm twitching like she was resisting the urge to scratch at the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Gigi thought she’d even blushed a little, and really, no one should have had the right to be both this attractive and adorable at the same time. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the crab video, which was definitely weird, even by art faculty standards. But for her, she thought she might be willing to overlook it.

geege ok this girl at the front of listening class? so hot she’s like 90 percent leg and 40 percent sexy aunt energy

janjanjan sounds Hot

geege i’d let her walk all over me and say ty she’d just be like :] and tell me about the periodic table or smth

janjanjan okay maybe let’s stop there like keep the rest for when you’re alone at home

geege or in the shower

janjanjan thanks not like i use that shower too The thing was, Gigi wasn’t new to having crushes. At all. So perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to herself that she ended up developing crushes on more than a few of the people she met. Most of them were great, a lot of them were cute, and a few left her heart beating that much faster as she found herself wishing for their conversations to never end.

What was new (or disconcerting, if she were to listen to the Jan voice in her head), was Gigi feeling that way about someone she’d never talked to. Gigi still didn’t know anything about her, other than what she looked like and the sound of her voice - but god did she want to know.

And it felt like it’d been years, so many years, since Gigi had felt too shy to just go up to someone she wanted to know better and introduce herself. She’d felt anxious before, maybe a little self-conscious, but not the kind of shyness that turned into complete inaction. She found herself looking forward to the class, though not the actual work. *** She, Gigi thought, was currently winning at life.

She was done with classes for the week, had no plans that required her to get out of her sweatpants for the next twenty four hours, and was currently sitting back on the couch surrounded by food and two of her favourite people.

So yeah, life was pretty fucking great right now.

She leaned back against one arm of the sofa, a forgotten ball of yarn and half knitted almost-scarf in one hand and the other casually playing with Jan’s hair. The blonde was laying down on the couch, the only one out of the three of them that could kind of do so without most of her legs hanging off one end. Her head was resting on Gigi’s lap while her feet were in Rock’s.

Friday evening was their unofficially -designated group hang out time, a tradition that developed the last few months without any of them being aware of it, but now it was something that she wouldn’t miss for the world. It usually just meant Thai food, bitching about their classes, and whatever booze one of the other two decided to pick up. When Rock made grabby hands at her, Gigi grabbed an unopened can of sparkling water she brought for today and passed it on.

“Thank you,” Rock chuckled as she cracked it open, leaning forward to catch some of the foam that came out before it had a chance to further stain the couch. “Y’know,” she started, as she watched Gigi reach over for the mostly-empty bag of popcorn on the table. “I could just ask Jackie to help you out with the class.”

The brunette’s fingers closed on thin air, the bag of popcorn she was aiming for remaining just out of reach. “Who’s Jackie?” she asked absently, shuffling forward gently and trying not to dislodge Jan’s head from her lap.

Jan flicked her on the thigh regardless. “Rock’s friend, the one I told you about when you signed up! And, y’know, the one that’s also taking the class right now.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised. She totally remembered that, right. Her fingers grazed the bag of popcorn again, but in her haste she just ended up pushing it a few inches further away, balancing precariously on one edge of the table. “That Jackie.”

“I think she tutored, like, half her contemporary fiction class last year. So you know she’s gotta be good at actually teaching things, and not just smart,” Jan continued, as though Gigi’s attention was mostly captured by the pursuit of academics. One more inch, she leaned in a little further, balancing her weight on one arm. She just needed to get one inch closer and the bag would be hers. She could already taste the powdery, buttery, amazingness on her tongue.

“And Rockie’s always talking about how her old professor still basically cries about not being able to convince her to stay in the department. I’m pretty sure she’d totally still take him on as a grad student if Jackie just asked, nevermind that she transferred out more than two years ago.”

“So what do you think?” The blonde finished, a little more loudly, like she realised Gigi had tuned her out a bit. And Gigi had, yes, but she could finally feel her fingers closing in on the bag, triumphantly reaching in and stuffing a handful of popcorn - fat free - into her mouth. “Do you want Rock to ask Jackie when she has some time to meet up with you? Or maybe just give her your number, if that’s easier?”

“What? No, don’t do that. I’m not doing that bad.” Gigi laughed slightly, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m all good.”

“It’s too late anyway,” Rock laughed, all faux-casual. “I already messaged her.” She shoved her phone in front of Gigi’s face, and yeah, right there, that was a message saying just that, complete with her own number at the end.

“Why would you do that?” She complained loudly, tapping at the screen furiously to try and make it delete. It wasn’t that she was against the idea of getting help with the class, but mostly she was reluctant to have it taking up more of her time than it already did. Especially when she didn’t even know the girl.

“You need help!” Rock said with a yelp, avoiding the kick Gigi aimed at her. “She can help! It’s a perfect solution, why are you trying to hit me!” The last one landed just under her armpit, drawing out a higher-pitched squeal. “Besides, Jan agreed with me that it’s a good idea,” she added, turning expectantly towards her. “Tell her how you were the first one to even suggest it.”

Next to them, Jan had indeed been suspiciously quiet. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Gigi asked, poking the older woman in the chest.

“Don’t you want to see what your soon-to-be tutor looks like, Geege?” Jan giggled, ignoring her question.

“Oh, you’re right, let me show you her insta,” Rock butted in, her thumbs moving on her phone screen for a moment before handing it to Gigi with an evil smile.

Jacqueline Coxx, the profile read, next to a very familiar, grinning face. The same very familiar, grinning face that Gigi had spent many a lesson fawning over. This had to be a mistake, there was no way. “You should really be better at Instagram-stalking people,” Jan laughed as Gigi felt her mind going blank. “I think it’s the only skill that’s going to save our generation from lifelong unemployment. Or underemployment, for that matter.”

The brunette didn’t give it a second thought before she pushed her off the couch and onto the floor, screams of unacceptable betrayal and terrified excitement echoing loud in the room.

*** geege hiiiii is this jackie cox? this is gigi, roxanne’s friend from the listening class she said she’d told you i would message you geege but in case she didn’t i wanted to ask you about some tutoring if you could tutor me i mean geege but if you can’t that’s all good !! don’t feel like you have to say yes just bc of rocks stupid puppy eyes oh and sorry about the triple-text ***

“I more than triple-texted her, but three separate times,” Gigi groaned, burying her face in between the couch cushions.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Jan comforted, running a hand through her hair. Gigi would maybe feel a little bad about how much complaining she’d been doing over this, but everytime she thought of stopping, she reminded herself that Jan was at least forty-five percent to blame for this in the first place.

“It’s been more than two days. When’s the last time you went forty-eight hours without checking your phone? And be honest.”

Jan’s silence was enough of an answer. *** Jackie Hey Gigi! Rock did tell me about you, it’s all good Do you want to meet up after class on monday to figure out the details? Oh and sorry for such a late reply My phone was broken after i dropped it in a lake while i was hiking *** In an ideal world, Gigi would have planned things so she could get to class nice and early on the day she was supposed to properly meet Jackie. She’d have maybe put a little more thought than usual into her outfit, and made sure her hair looked good. Worn that red headband she knew did great things for her forehead and her eyebrows, maybe. Not that Gigi ever looked like a slob, but she definitely had clothes she liked more than others, and that she thought served her better for seduction purposes. Or even for just ‘making a decent first impression’, which she’d really settle for right now, as she ran up the final flight of stairs. Nothing said ‘I’m serious about needing help with this class’ like showing up late, especially for a course where attendance was actually recorded.

She spotted the door to the classroom still cracked open at the end of the hallway and slowed down a little, trying to catch her breath. She ran a hand through her hair, hoping that’d tame the mess a little and her cheeks wouldn’t be too red from the unexpected burst of athleticism. At the front of the room, their professor has already started talking, and Gigi quietly slipped into the first free seat she spotted, grateful to have avoided drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

It was only minutes before the class ended that Gigi thought to look around for Jackie, peering across the middle rows of students before she accepted that she wouldn’t dare sit anywhere but the very front row. She tried to lean forward to glance at the first row once or twice, eventually accepting that there was no way she could be subtle and standing the slightest bit up from her chair. The first row was mostly empty, as it usually tended to be. Gigi recognized a girl from the Image Composition class she took last semester, and thought about saying hi to her after class when she remembered she had a goal here. As she let her gaze move through the other students in the front, it eventually landed on Jackie, although Gigi had to do a double-take to make sure it was definitely her.

The thing was, she’d gotten to see - unknowingly, at the time - Jackie often enough since the semester started to get a sense of her style. And from Gigi’s weeks of casual observation, she tended to favour loose, comfortable clothes, and mostly neutral colours. She liked floral patterns too, especially on shirts, which the brunette could appreciate.

However, the first thing she noticed today was Jackie’s hair. And really, Gigi thought that if it wasn’t for the bright smile and the longest legs known to humankind, she wouldn’t have even recognized her.

The messy dark brown hair that Gigi had gotten used to, and maybe dreamt about running her hands through once or twice, was now four inches shorter and numbingly straight, effortlessly falling over her forehead and almost into her eyes when she looked down. Something about the flawlessness of her hair combined with the white hoodie she was wearing seemed to make her face glow, skin tanned and radiant with pearly teeth glinting through a bemused grin as she laughed at something her friend was saying.

Damn.

She was brought out of her daydreaming by the sound of students around her packing up their things, and Gigi realised that she most likely missed the professor dismissing their class. As she struggled with the zipper of her bag, the same one she’d been meaning to get fixed for the last three months but still hadn’t, she felt a hand hesitantly tap on her shoulder, warm against the thin material of her shirt.

“Hey, Georgia right?” A voice asked right behind her, and when Gigi turned around Jackie looked just as good as she did the first time she saw her at the beginning of the semester.

“Gigi. I’m— my name— Yep, hi, that’s me. What’s shaking?” The brunette chuckled awkwardly, “Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out, I really appreciate it! Or at least agreeing to consider it I mean, I know we really just said we’d talk about the details today, so you technically haven’t agreed to anything yet. And you don’t have to, obviously.”

Jackie didn’t seem thrown off by the sudden explosion of words and gratefulness, which Gigi took to be a good sign. If anything, her smile only grew less hesitant, the tiniest dimple appearing on her left cheek.

“We could, like, go to that library around the block? It’s a nice place to study, so.” Gigi nodded, following Jackie and making awkward small talk until they made it inside. She learned in those quick minutes that Jackie liked crabs, and geography, and obscure movie references no one else understood.

“It’s been a while since I was here to be honest.” Jackie grinned, swiping at her phone casually. “I missed it.”

"Right, Rock mentioned you’d transferred out of the faculty.”

The brunette hummed in agreement, looking a little surprised at Gigi’s knowing about this. “Yeah, I swapped my major and minor back halfway through my second year. Geo major with a minor in stage production now.” She made little jazz hand motions as she said it, and the brunette really wished she didn’t find it half as endearing as she did.

“Okay, so, tell me more about what you’ve been struggling with so far,” Jackie asked with a tilt of her head, and they got down to business. *** Maybe it was a little self-sabotaging (or self-serving, she could never quite decide), but part of what Gigi quickly found out she liked best about their bi-weekly tutoring sessions, was how much time she got to just stare at Jackie. She’d finish writing up the draft of her weekly listening assignment and pass it on for the older woman to read over, and get a solid five-to-ten minutes of ogling out of it.

Not that she was ogling her per se, that sounded bad. She was just… appreciating. Appreciating Jackie’s arms, and her neck, and her cheekbones, and her brain as she read through Gigi’s outline. Every now and then, Gigi would catch her frowning slightly, bringing her pen to the paper and tapping over the words as she read a section a few times over before making a quick note and moving on. It was kind of embarrassing how devastatingly cute Gigi found the whole thing, honestly. Like how the way she was resting her head on one hand, her fingers accidentally creating a gap that just perfectly framed the dimple on her left cheek.

“Hey, Geege,” Jackie suddenly smiled as she turned towards her. Fuck. Gigi really hoped her face wasn’t making what she was just doing incredibly obvious. “What did you have in mind for this part here?” She asked, shuffling her chair to bridge the space between the two of them.

“Which part?” Gigi shakily replied, leaning in a little. The paper she wrote her outline on was on the table, technically close enough for both of them to read, but just barely. Gigi told herself that was her excuse for moving in a few inches more, until their hands were almost meeting on the sheet of paper. Almost.

Jackie was making it hard for Gigi to focus, leaving her stumbling through the start of an explanation of the admittedly somewhat unclear point she’d made in her outline about the sudden change in rhythm. As she got into the meat of her point, she could feel herself getting more confidence, gesturing with her hands as the words started coming out more easily, and Jackie nodded in wordless understanding. It only took a few sessions to realize that if there was one thing Jackie was good at, it’s listening. It never felt like she was trying to put answers into Gigi’s mouth - letting her explain her perception of the music instead, and asking questions when needed. She made Gigi feel like even if writing about how she experienced music as an art form would never come all that naturally to her, not in the way sewing or even most visual arts did, it was something that was still within her reach. Something she could understand and relate to.

“So, are you saying it felt expected to you?” Jackie asked eventually, after Gigi paused. “Like it was building up to this in the previous parts? Or that it caught your attention specifically because it was sudden? Or out-of-place, maybe.”

The brunette took a moment to think, replaying the lead-up to that section in her head.

They weren’t even touching, but she could feel the heat radiating off the older woman’s skin. She could feel the warmth, could see it in Jackie’s gaze as she looked softly back at her, she could smell it even. And Gigi knows that didn’t actually make sense, that all she was probably smelling was laundry detergent and sweat and maybe coffee. Gigi didn’t even like the smell of coffee. But right now, sitting side-by-side in the library and alternating between emphatically talking and listening to each other, Gigi felt like all of those things.

It was only when they both moved on from that particular point, a few messy notes from Jackie hastily written to Gigi’s own words, that she realized just how close they’d gotten. She was well into Jackie’s personal space, their shoulders no longer content just brushing against each other occasionally but rather aligned against one another. No wonder she could smell the coffee.

She started to move back slowly, not wanting to draw attention to how close she’d gotten, but a sharp sting on her ear stopped her mid-motion. She let out a small cry of pain, Jackie immediately turning to face her. The older girl felt impossibly closer than a moment ago.

“I think my earring got caught in your shirt,” Gigi said quietly, a pained and nervous giggle leaping from the back of her throat. She remembered putting them on this morning, long and dangly strips of silver shaped like eyes, and thinking about how they might get stuck in her hair. If the lack of distance between the two of them went unnoticed earlier, it was definitely no longer the case. Gigi felt incredibly conscious of every exhale of her breath, of Jackie’s face only inches away from hers. The guy in the seat in front of them threw them a dirty look, like he was annoyed at how wrong Gigi’s flirting attempts had turned out. She couldn’t really blame him because, what the fuck, they had turned out pretty bad, huh.

“Hold on,” Jackie breathed, “let me untangle it for you.” Gigi knew she was speaking quietly because they were in a library, and so close to each other anything above a whisper was unnecessary, but she was struck hard by the intimacy of it nonetheless. She couldn’t decipher whether choosing to wear those earrings today was the best or worst decision she’d ever made.

Jackie reached for the end that got caught, carefully lifting it away from the threads of her sweater. It was the kind of tangle no one could probably ever manage to achieve if they tried, and yet happened without either of them realizing it. When she moved to grasp at the fabric a little more firmly, her fingers brushed against Gigi’s neck, unexpected. And maybe it’s stupid to feel so thoroughly destabilized by the mere touch of a fleeting hand, but Gigi found herself forgetting to breathe for a few seconds.

“There,” Jackie chuckled as the earring finally came free, looking in Gigi’s direction without directly meeting her gaze. “I think you’re all good now.”

Gigi thanked her politely, but she’d be the first to admit she found it hard to focus during the rest of their session, every brush of air or clothing against her neck making her shiver at the memory of Jackie’s fingers. ***

“Wait, Jackie Coxx?” Crystal asked the next time Gigi met up with her to catch up over some drinks in their favorite dive bar. Crystal had technically been Jan’s friend first, but she and Gigi had gotten a lot closer over the years, bonding over a love of what their friends would lovingly call ‘loud’ and ‘confident’ clothing choices. “‘Trips on her own feet’ Jackie Coxx?” Crystal continued, the grin on her face widening as Gigi felt her cheeks heating up. “Follows at least three Twitter accounts dedicated to Star Trek? Rockie’s junior year baby crush? The same—”

“Rock is still a junior, Crys,” Gigi interrupted, laughing, because— what. What. “And wait, she has a crush on Jackie? My Jackie?”

“So not the point,” Crystal answered, still smiling like this was the best news she’d heard all week. “My Jackie huh? God, you’re such a simp—”

“No.” Gigi groaned, dragging out the ‘o’. “Back to Rock. My best friend, Janet fucking Sport, is head over heels, stupidly in love with Rock. And I don’t care how adorable she is, if what you’re telling me is true, she’s just been… been using her! And that really this whole time she’s just been waiting and pining for Jackie! As if Jan didn’t—”

It was Crystal’s turn to interrupt this time, the smile having faded away from her face to leave way for a confused expression. “Gigi, Gigi, stop for a second,” she repeated, a little more forceful than the brunette was used to hearing her speak. “Come on, think of all the time you’ve spent with Rock, with both of them. Have you ever gotten the impression that she was anything that a hundred and ten percent in?”

The brunette closed her eyes for a moment. She thought of Jan ditching her and Nicky to go hang out with Rock every Friday. Of Jan dragging her to go shopping on the weekend before Valentine’s day, an itemized and color-coded list of stores and potential gifts saved on her phone. Crystal definitely has a point, Gigi let herself recognize, deflating as the potential anger left her body as quickly as it had arrived.

“Rock did a tour of the university, back when she was still in high school and she wasn’t completely sure what program to apply for. Jackie was the one doing it apparently.” The red head paused to take a sip of her drink, grimacing a little at the taste. Why she kept ordering those novelty IPAs everywhere they went despite knowing full well she didn’t like how hoppy they were, Gigi had no idea. “I think she just made Rock feel comfortable, you know? Like, it was fine that she didn’t have everything figured out already, and made sure she knew she wasn’t making a decision at seventeen that she could never walk back. So Jackie gave her her number in case she had any questions, and then they actually started hanging out together once Rock started this year.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised, “that does really sound like her, yeah.” She could imagine it in her head, Rock a little younger and more unsure, not all that dissimilar from how she behaved when Jan first introduced the two of them to each other.

It was strange, remembering that a few months ago she would avoid directly meeting her gaze or spending any one-on-one time with her, when she could also recall the ‘u up’ and ‘netflix? :)’ texts she received from the shorter woman last night. It also really sounded like Jackie, although she didn’t tell Crystal so. It was just as easy to imagine her taking the time to reassure a worried high-school student without making her feel like she was being talked down to.

Crystal was still looking at her expectantly, and Gigi couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at how strongly she reacted. “So, not an actual crush then?”

“Nope, she just thinks Jackie is really cool. God knows why, because based on what I’ve heard, she’s kind of a giant dork.”

“Hot giant dork.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should have asked you that first.”

“Uh-huh,” Crystal replied, giving Gigi’s shoulder a squeeze. “You should ask her for the full story, actually. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before, but she tells it much better than I do. And maybe you want to spend some time thinking about why you reacted that quickly, because we both know Jan is a pretty flimsy excuse.”

The brunette sighed loudly. “It’s just a crush, it’s nothing.” It didn’t sound convincing even to herself. Back when Jackie was just the hot girl in her class, that would have probably been true, but it felt like a long time ago now.

Crystal rolled her eyes with a cheeky smile. “That was a lot more believable five minutes ago, but sure.”

Gigi made sure to hit her in the leg for that, laughing easily and sputtering mindlessly about how she had it all wrong.

“Wait, what did Rock used to want to study, back when she was in high school?”

There was a long pause, before Crystal finally cackled., “Video game design.” *** geege do you think it’s weird

rockstar YES

geege … to ask someone if you can platonically caress their cheeks kiss them on the forehead at least wait till i finish to be mean

rockstar u know what this is both not as weird AND weirder than i expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

geege what do I do roxanne she’s not gonna tutor me forever. the final is less than a month away how do i tell her i wanna date her without seeming like i wanna date her

rockstar go up to her and be like ‘if we played pokemon together, we’d be a pokematch’ ;)))

geege what

rockstar will you be the nidoking to my nidoqueen

geege tf those sound like the names of drugs

rockstar yk it was one thing when you were just thirsting after the hot girl in ur class but now it’s actual feelings how embarrassing

geege u have given me a solid amount of advice. none.

rockstar k fair how about i pick up noodles on my way back? and we can eat that for dinner while you tell me all about ur gay crush without my consent

geege i like the chicken stir fry ones

*** “Do you want to listen to it again, maybe?” Jackie asked, reaching for her headphones. “Then you can tell me the exact part you’re thinking of.”

It was another Wednesday afternoon, but this time they’d ditched the library in favor of a small coffee shop that was closer to where Jackie lived. It was artsy in a way that Gigi was used to, a little hipster, but not actually fancy enough to properly lay claim on the word. The tables were a little worn in and wobbly, the lattes a little too cheap, and the art prints on the wall either too well-known or not enough.

“Sure, just give me a second.” Gigi took the earbud the Persian woman offered her, making an aborted motion towards the computer, before following through as Jackie nodded at her with a soft smile. The older woman’s phone vibrated on the table between them, and she took a quick glance at the screen before putting it back down with a little more force than necessary.

It took Gigi a few tries to find the part she had in mind when mentioning texture, replaying the same part a few times over until she was fairly certain she found what she was looking for. “That part here, until the tempo slows down again—”

The brunette was cut off by the sound of Jackie’s phone vibrating on the table again, lighting up with a missed call notification and some texts.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the Persian woman cursed sheepishly. “This is so rude. I’m sorry, Geege, I should have just turned it off earlier.” She sounded a little annoyed, but mostly flustered, taking a quick look at the screen before flipping it back over facing down.

She flashed the younger woman an apologetic smile, her cheeks coloring a little as she pointedly pushed the phone away from her.

“Are you sure everything is okay? We can take a break if you need to deal with some stuff? Or even just cancel for today, I think I have basically everything I need to finish writing this up, so.”

“No, no, âsemun be zamin nemiyâd,” Jackie protested, mind clearly elsewhere. “It’s nothing, really. Or, well, it is something I guess, but it’s kind of stupid and I shouldn’t let it distract me, you know?”

Gigi hummed noncommittally, not wanting to force her to talk about whatever this was if she didn’t want to, but finding herself unwilling to acknowledge it as something stupid either. She offered Jackie what she hoped was a quick and comforting smile instead.

“I just…” She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from this prof about a recommendation letter for grad school? And she’d said yes before, but some more students asked her, and she has this thing about not writing more than five letters per year, I don’t know. So she said she’d get back to me today or tomorrow to confirm, and I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. That sounds really stressful.” Gigi brought a hand to Jackie’s shoulders, squeezing the back of her neck lightly. She tried to avoid doing too much extensive thinking about what she might do after college, but she doubted it was a train of thought that’d ever made anyone feel good.

“It’s okay, I should be used to it.” Jackie shrugged with resignation. “It’s just that every time I remember I’m waiting to hear back from her it makes me think of next year, and what’ll happen if I don’t get in? Or if I do, because it’s like I really know that grad school is what I want to do, you know?” She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, and Gigi really wished they were close enough friends for her to offer Jackie a hug or something.

“Just call your prof back now. You should have said something earlier, and we could have rescheduled.”

“Oh,” Jackie breathed out, sounding inexplicably surprised as she turned towards her. “No, no, no, no, that’s not necessary. That wasn’t her. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess today, let’s just get back to this thing, yeah?”

Gigi nodded, reaching for the headphones and passing one on to her. In a lot of ways, this had grown to be her favorite part of their sessions. Not that she didn’t enjoy listening to Jackie talk about music, which she did; mostly because she was practically tone deaf and found it magical that Jackie was so good at it, or trading ideas back and forth on the pieces they listened to, both of which were rewarding in their own ways. But there was something about sitting next to each other, silent save for the shared music, that just got to her.

They were standing outside the coffeeshop, Jackie struggling to undo the lock on her bike, when Gigi thought back to their earlier conversation. “I know it’s not the same because I’m not graduating yet, but you know I’m here if you ever need to talk to someone, right? Like, no pressure or anything, but I just— just wanted to put it out there, I guess.”

Jackie stopped mid-motion and looked up at her, half of her U-lock in hand. “Thanks, Gigi.” She grinned, all bright and pearly and warm. “I think sometimes I just get too in my own head, you know? Especially about things I can’t do anything about. And yes, I know how stupid it is to stress out over these things so much, I really do.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid, though,” Gigi mentioned, as they started walking towards her bus stop. It was really nice of Jackie to walk there with her, rather than just take off on her bike straight away. It maybe made sense now that they knew each other well enough, but her heart still kind of fluttered whenever she offered it. “I mean, maybe it’s not productive because you’re worrying about things you can’t control, sure, but it also means you care, right? And I don’t think that’s something stupid, even if you wish you could just… not care less, but care better, you know. Still care, but in a way that’s better for yourself. To yourself.”

She thought of her parents, and of the guilt she used to feel every time she overheard someone asking them if they really thought it was wise to let her go to college for fashion, how she overworked herself to the point of passing out alone in the studio her freshman year in a misguided attempt to redeem herself from having failed a class. Like she thought she could atone for her perceived academic failures by working her body into the ground. She thought of the conversations that had started to happen in her periphery, whispers of ‘What are you thinking of doing after next year?’, ‘Have you also applied for the internship at this gallery?’, ‘Have you considered doing a minor in business?’, and how she sometimes struggled with not letting these thoughts invade her brain late at night.

“I just think it’s hard sometimes, but it’s even harder if we don’t let ourselves accept it. Or talk about it. So I guess all I’m saying is that if you need someone to listen, you know where to find me,” she finished with a deep breath.

When she looked up, there was a quiet smile on Jackie’s face, and Gigi felt warm at the thought of maybe having been the one to put it there. ***

geege you know i suddenly understand why you do the shoulder thing like i use to never really get it but that was before

janjanjan the shoulder thing??

geege wait more important how did ur audition go did they love you when are you gonna hear back

janjanjan it went pretty okay i think they’re def looking more for someone that does modern

geege so that’s good! very good!!!

janjanjan and one of the choreographers sort of smiled and nodded at me at the end i think he was on the dance team my first semester but that was before he graduated ig anyway idk maybe it was just in my head

geege no but that all sounds really good!!! look at u go diva!

janjanjan gigi just finished twenty minutes ago she was wearing this stupid ass shirt a really loose tank bc it’s been hot af and one of the straps kept falling of her shoulder

janjanjan oooooooooh oh no that shoulder thing

geege i saw collarbone and so much shoulder and upper arm

janjanjan how tragic tell me, did she lift it back up

geege yeah but it kept falling back down

janjanjan that’s rly good though!!!

geege no it was torture did you know she has a mole on her shoulder? right at the top and all i kept thinking of was that i wanted to kiss it

janjanjan cute also i don’t know how to tell you this but that shit doesn’t happen by itself

geege well it’s not like it was her fault

janjanjan listen a shirt can be a too big sure but you still kind of have to make it happen it doesn’t magically keep falling off

geege hm

janjanjan believe me i would know *** No matter how much she tried to forget about it, Gigi’s last session with Jackie was a thing that was very much happening right now.

It was strange, thinking back to the beginning of the semester, how she almost didn’t sign up for the class. How she maybe would have never met Jackie if she hadn’t, or maybe would have just pined from afar without ever learning her name were it not for her meddling friends. She found herself spending the last half of their session wondering more about how to casually ask Jackie if they’d still hang out once finals are over. Or if their semester-long friendship was, well, just that.

In the end, she just blurted it out as they packed up their things, subtlety thrown out the window.

“I mean, you’re friends with Rock, so I’m sure I’ll at least see you around, yeah?”

Jackie only hummed noncommittally in reply. She was busy packing her things back into her khaki tote bag, checking each pocket like she was looking for something. It reminded Gigi of what she used to do in middle school, every time she hadn’t done the homework or just really, really, really didn’t want to be the one called on to explain her work in front of the whole class. She’d just lean down, and start searching through her bag very obviously, making a show of opening every zipper, her head almost disappearing inside it if she could manage.

“Do you, like, need help finding something in there?” She asked, her voice coming out more harsh than she’d intended, just as Jackie seemed to decide she’d found what she was looking for and decisively slung her bag back over her shoulder.

“Sorry, I— it was—” she stopped and started, letting out a resigned sigh and shaking her head at herself. It made Gigi want to cringe. “Yeah, I’m good now, and yeah, I’ll still see you around. At least for the summer, but after that too I hope! I mean, I’ll still be around and you’ll be around too, so, y’know…” she trailed off. Her cheeks were tinged pink, just barely. Her ears, too, or maybe it was just the white of her sweater making everything appear brighter in contrast. “Besides, you still haven’t shown me any of your work, and you promised you would.” She was right about that, Gigi knew. She usually wasn’t shy about showing her designs to other people, but somehow she’d found himself unsure of what to show Jackie first.

She settled her bag on one shoulder, and they started making their way out in companionable silence until Jackie spoke again. “Hey, actually, do you maybe want to grab coffee before heading back? I have a bit of time before my next class and I could use a pick-me-up.”

They ended up just stopping by Starbucks, because it was on their way and surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon on campus. Gigi got a mocha frappuccino (almond milk, extra whip) and managed to sneak in Jackie’s usual cold brew order before she had the chance to protest.

“Gigi…” She sighed fondly, kind of like a grandma would when her grandchildren were doing something they’d regret. She was shaking her head in resignation, which Gigi took as a sign that she’d decided to leave it at that.

“No, I’ve been stealing almost three hours of your time every week since almost the start of the semester and—”

“How can that even be true when Rock only introduced us in what, February?” Jackie laughed in protest, reaching out to grab her drink from the brunette’s hand.

“No, not the point!” Gigi replied, moving her arm back until the cup was just out of Jackie’s reach. “You’ve given up a lot of your free time for me, is what I’m saying. And you didn’t even really know me, I could’ve been a total freak.”

Jackie opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something, but Gigi continued before she had the chance.

“And you were so nice about it. Not ‘nice’ like when you have nothing actually all that good or specific to say. But nice in that you never made me feel like I was being stupid, you know? And you actually took the time to explain things to me so I’d understand them, not just the bare minimum so I could pass. You did all that when you didn’t really have to, so that meant a lot. Means a lot. I enjoyed spending that time with you, and not because it means I’m going to pass the class.”

Gigi forced herself to stop there, even though she knew for a fact that she could’ve easily kept going. She could feel her words coming out a little rambly, probably sounding more confusing than appreciative. At least she hoped that was what they sounded like, because the only other alternative was frightening. The idea that Jackie was in fact hearing everything Gigi was saying, her poor attempt at expressing the warmth she had felt growing inside her all semester long every time she was beside her, was infinitely more terrifying.

“Geege.” Jackie looked away, smiling after a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Gigi could feel her cheeks getting hot, but when she looked up she could see that Jackie’s cheeks were tinged pink, too. It was almost funny, feeling what she felt and seeing the physical reflection of it not on herself, but on the person causing it. She wanted to reach out and let the tip of her fingers brush against Jackie’s cheeks, to see if they felt as warm as her own face did.

“You don’t have to say anything, I wasn’t trying to, like, I don’t know, get anything. I just wanted you to know what I meant, and that I really did mean it, when I was saying thank you.”

Gigi was laid bare, like her body was nothing but a lens, and behind it were all of her feelings jumbled together in a tangled mess, conclusion still very plain to the eye.

It was a surprise, when Jackie stepped forward and kissed her.

Gigi closed her eyes reflexively, but she could feel herself inhaling sharply, her body failing to catch up with what her brain was also struggling to process. When she eventually kissed back, it was only because she could feel Jackie’s body starting to move away, the fear finally pushing her into action. She brought one hand up, resting it on the side of the older woman’s neck, fingers gently brushing against her hair as she kissed back a little more confident. She could feel Jackie’s hand on her waist, warm and solid. Her grip tightened slightly as they separated, not strong enough to keep Gigi anywhere but a reassurance of where she was wanted.

Neither one of them really stepped back when the kiss ended, just stayed standing right in front of each other, breathing the same air. She heard Jackie swallow, loud in the silence of their shared space. She licked her lips, a reflex she didn’t even think about, and it was like the realization that, oh my god, they just kissed, hit her all over again when she found them wet. She suppressed a small shudder, although she wasn’t sure how successfully.

It was Jackie that finally broke the silence and stepped away from her, letting her hand fall away from Gigi’s side, brushing against her wrist and then gone before she had a chance to realize it.

“I,” Jackie breathed, “I’ve wanted to do this for a really long time, Gigi.” She laughed a little, maybe a bit self-conscious, and that was what brought the younger woman out of it.

“I spent hours talking to Jan about this gorgeous girl in my listening class,” she started, words leaving her mouth almost of their own volition. “How I didn’t even know her name but god, I really wish I did. Then I did know, even if I didn’t realize that you were, you know, you, when Rock said he knew someone who could tutor me. And then you were there and still the same person, but also so nice and understanding and just… good? Like, being around you just felt good.”

She paused, forcing herself to meet Jackie’s eyes again. “And I still mean everything I said earlier too, you know. Even if you weren’t interested in me, that’s not why I was saying it, but I still mean it just as much now.”

“Oh.” Jackie’s mouth was gaping so wide Gigi was worried it might actually fall to the floor. Maybe if Gigi were a different person, or if her brain wasn’t currently busy processing and reprocessing their kiss on an endless loop, she would have felt a little self-conscious at her outburst, but that just wasn’t who she was.

Especially not right now. Not when Jackie’s lips were right in front of her, still a little wet, still a little too red.

“That’s, that’s pretty good, then,” she finished quietly. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, only interrupted when Gigi let out a small snort.She couldn’t help but realise they were kind of ridiculous. Her face was taken over by an unashamedly stupidly large grin. Jackie properly stepped back then, far enough that Gigi could no longer feel the warmth of her body. She missed it immediately.

“I really need to get to my next class.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “So I can talk to the prof about her feedback on my draft first, but text me, yeah? I know it’s really shitty timing because we both have finals to take and papers to write, but I’ll make it work. Or I’ll call you, if that’s better? But I’m not running away, I promise.”

Gigi flashed her a bright smile and nodded in understanding. “I have your number too, y’know, so maybe I’ll just be the one to text you.”

“Okay, great, nice.” Jackie replied. She had her bag and coffee in hand, but made no clear motion to leave, kind of like she was worried if she did Gigi might disappear forever. It was so, incredibly, frustratingly cute and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder if Jackie would mind being kissed on the forehead.

“Jacks, it’s fine.” Gigi grinned. “I need to go too, anyway. Just maybe don’t drop your phone in any lake before you text me back this time, yeah?”

She turned away with a laugh of her own this time, and Gigi sipped through the plastic straw like it did anything to hide the smile on her face as she watched Jackie walk away.

“Wait!”

The Persian woman startled, turning back to her with an unsure smile. “What, did you forget something, Geege?”

“My first final is tomorrow,” Gigi said, looking up at Jackie with glinting eyes. “And it’s my first actual written exam this year, because I didn’t have any midterms, so how about another kiss for good luck, huh?”

Gigi’s cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she watched the uncertainty leave Jackie’s face, only to be replaced by a raised eyebrow and deep smile. Her shoulder’s rose slightly, like her instincts were telling her to hide her face in embarrassment at the cheesiness, but her eyes didn’t leave Gigi’s anyway. They didn’t leave Gigi’s, until they closed and their lips met again, and the younger woman thought it felt like more luck than she thought she had the right to ask for.

[zwritestuff]

if you fall, i fall [jackie/nicky]

a/n: for the lovely layla @portfoliono​ ! i hope you like it, it’s 7.4K of tooth rotting nackie fluff, because you said you like jackie and your favorite ship is nackie, so i ran with it. i hope i did it justice. the prompt for this fic comes from @dailyau​ “We’re teachers and our students keep getting in trouble and causing general mayhem to try to get us together so let’s just pretend to date so they stop doing that and whoops I think I kind of like you now.”

 also- thanks for frey for beta-ing and catching the plot holes. what would i do without you?

ao3 link.

***

Jackie has to bite her lower lip to prevent a loud laugh from escaping her mouth, but as Nicky keeps on talking, it becomes nearly impossible. 

“And then they promised me they’d stop cheating on the tests if I asked you on a date. I wonder if they’d keep that promise, though, because some of them clearly cheated on these exams,” she finishes, holding up two paper sheets with same mistakes, and Jackie erupts in laughter.

It’s already a routine for them to have a second breakfast together in the teachers room on Fridays, since Nicky rarely eats breakfast on her own, and talk about the crazy stuff their students say and do to convince them they should date each other. Jackie’s not sure how it all started, nor where did they get the idea, but it had been going on ever since the school year started and at this point, they’re finding it more amusing than annoying.

Well, Jackie finds it amusing. Nicky not so much.

“The little shits are getting on my nerves,” Nicky declares solemnly, earning a slap in the arm from Jackie. “What? I’m not wrong,” she says with a cocky smile, sipping on her coffee.

Jackie cocks a brow, taking a bite from her toast. “No, you’re not. But don’t call the kids ‘little shits’,” she scolds her, and Nicky puts her hands up in mock surrender.

She’s not a fan of calling their students names —what teacher is?— but she definitely has to agree with Nicky. They are little shits. Not all of them, clearly, but the overwhelming majority is, anyway.

Jackie slouches in her chair, stretching her wrists as she sighs, looking at the pile of papers she has yet to grade. She takes a long sip from her mug and rests her head in her palms, watching closely as Nicky grades exams, muttering words in French and occasionally complaining to Jackie that an exam is clearly done with Google Translate. She chuckles softly, making the oh so typical comment about how they didn’t have Google Translate when they were in Middle School, and Nicky laughs wholeheartedly.

“When I was in Middle School, I didn’t have half the guts the kids have these days,” she says, grabbing her red marker and circling a few mistakes in a sentence. Jackie hums in agreement. “Not that it’s bad, it’s amazing. These kids are the future. I just wish they’d use it for something more important than convincing us to go on a date.” Nicky rolls her eyes, discarding the red marker and moving onto the next exam.

Jackie thinks for a moment that it doesn’t bother her half as much as it should, because they’re still children and it’s normal for them to act childishly, and that, if anything, she’s flattered the kids think her and —in their words— “the pretty French teacher with a nice accent” would ever go on a date with her if she tried hard enough, because half of the teacher staff is already after Nicky.

Well, anyone with functioning eyes is after Nicky, which only makes it more difficult to even have a shot with her.

She doesn’t care, though. Nicky and her have been good friends since Nicky started working at school eight years ago, and Jackie is fine with just being friends. For real. Nicky is fun, has great taste in movies, and always has a cup of wine ready when Jackie needs to vent after a bad day.

They work well as friends, no matter how many times the kids insist they’d go well with each other and that when Jackie is teaching the French revolution, she could have Miss Nicky over to help her with the class. 

Out of the blue, an idea crosses her mind. It’s stupid, not practical at all, far too cheesy, and, all in all, not something a grown woman in her thirties should be even thinking of doing — but it settles in her mind, buzzes around incessantly until she can’t help but say it out loud.

“We should just tell them we’re dating already, that’ll get them to stop, surely,” she says, trying to sound as convinced as someone who just suggested to their colleague they should fake-date to stop a bunch of twelve year olds from interrupting their classes.

Nicky cocks an amused brow, a smile creeping on her face as she sets her coffee mug down.

“You think? Isn’t that just adding gasoline to an already burning fire?” She inquires, sounding far too dramatic. Jackie laughs shortly, biting the inside of her cheek, regret slightly washing over. Until a complimentary idea pops up in her head.

“Well, maybe. But if we say we went on a couple dates, or, I don’t know, dated briefly and broke up, maybe that’ll be enough for the kids to drop it,” she suggests, chewing on her lower lip.

She knows it’s stupid to go to such a length to get the kids to drop it, but they’ve reported it to Principal Hall and she just laughed, saying it was just a matter of time before they stopped, or that it’d end once they advanced grades.

Nicky seems intrigued by the idea — how wouldn’t she? She loves those cheesy rom coms with that same trope, or the friends to lovers one, or anything that’s cheesy and sugary enough to leave her longing for a great romance.

Jackie’s not expecting her to say yes, though. Because Nicky is a responsible adult and-

“Alright, let’s do it.”

Oh.

Jackie blinks repeatedly before she registers what Nicky said. “For real?” 

Nicky shrugs, giving her a playful smile before taking a sip from her coffee. “I don’t see why not. It’s convenient for both of us, and if I get you to take me to a dinner during it, I have nothing to complain about.” She briefly looks up at her and gives her a sly wink.

Jackie stares at her for a moment. So it’s just as simple as that?

“Alright. Let’s do it,” she echoes, and goes back to grading papers.

And it is as simple as that.

 ***

 It may not be that simple.

For starters, they have to figure out a lot of details; like when was their first date, what did they do, and where did they go. 

They get together on a windy Saturday, in a cafeteria that serves the best pastries in the whole city, or so Nicky claims. The least thing Jackie cares about are pastries, but she appreciates it when Nicky buys her one and sets it next to her mug of hot chocolate, claiming that she has to try it or she’s breaking up with her. 

Jackie lets out an over the top offended laugh. “Why don’t we tell people that we broke up because we had an irreconcilable fight about pastries?” She suggests playfully, taking a bite of the pie. It tastes amazing, but she’s not giving Nicky the satisfaction of agreeing with her.

Luckily, Nicky is busy devouring her own slice.

“I think that’s a pretty solid reason to break up,” she replies, her mouth is half full, and Jackie scolds her softly, but Nicky dismisses her with a wave of her hand. “I don’t know why are we still fake dating if you don’t consider Shuga’s pastries the best in the whole city,” Nicky teases, and Jackie rolls her eyes with a grin.

“You got something here,” Jackie says, bringing her hand to Nicky’s chin and leaning over the table. Nicky freezes mid-movement, staring intently at Jackie as she gently brushes off the crumbles from the corner of her mouth. “There.” She smiles and withdraws her hand, not thinking much about the way Nicky brings her hand to touch where Jackie’s thumb was just seconds ago, hesitating before going back to what she was doing. She doesn’t think about it at all.

“Thank you,” she mumbles with a small smile. Jackie grins again, dismissing it with a wave of her hand.

They resume their conversation about what the hell they are going to say if questions about their relationship come up, which they will, and Jackie can tell Nicky’s seen one too many movies, because she comes up with stories worth of a Hollywood romance that Julia Roberts probably stars in.

Jackie turns her outlandish ideas a few notches down to make them more believable, and Nicky complains because, to her, it’s totally believable that their first date happened on the coldest day of the year, having dinner over at Nicky’s apartment when the power went out in the whole city, so they lit up candles, wrapped themselves in all Nicky’s blankets and cuddled until the next morning.

It sounds like something, but not a believable something.

Nicky folds her arms with a childish pout, mocking Jackie for her lack of ability to have fun with their little trickery.

“We’re already living our own Hollywood drama, we might as well have fun with it,” she debates matter-of-factly, raising her index finger and straightening her posture. Jackie knows that position and tone, it’s the one she uses when she scolds the kids. She chuckles softly.

“We could have fun, but we gotta make it believable. The kids aren’t idiots,” she points out, and Nicky clicks her tongue, placing her chin on her palm, tapping the table with her perfectly manicured nails as she thinks of another explanation.

Nicky hums thoughtfully as Jackie takes a last sip from her hot chocolate, setting the mug aside. She stares at Nicky, counting and connecting the beauty marks on her face. They remind her of the stars, and before she can get any more cheesier, an idea comes to her mind.

“You know this restaurant called Avril’s? The one that’s on a rooftop with the glass ceiling?” Jackie asks, Nicky nods shortly. “Let’s say we had dinner there and the waiters wanted to kick us out, because we stayed over closing time and were too busy stargazing, talking about everything and anything,” she offers, wondering if it’ll meet Nicky’s standards of romance. 

Apparently it does, because she claps excitedly, and her smile is so bright Jackie swears she could outshine the sun.

“That sounds amazing! And something you could treat your fake girlfriend to, y’know,” Nicky cheekily suggests, a playful grin growing in her face.

Jackie snorts. She’s not sure if she means it, but she agrees anyway. Besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen if Nicky texts her one night, demanding to be taken to Avril’s? They’ve had dinner together before, it’s not a big deal.

 ***

 It’s Valentine's Day when they decide to start with their little white lie.

The kids from the students’ council are selling flowers, with personalized little notes for an extra dollar. They do it every year to collect funds for some of the many projects they have going on. If you’re not courageous enough to buy a flower and send it to the person you like, they deliver it anonymously for five more dollars. The middle school kids are always sending each other flowers anonymously, with the occasional brave boy that walks up to his crush —usually a girl from higher grade— and gives them the flowers before running away. 

Jackie knows it’s Nicky’s favorite part of the entire year — of course it is — so she wasn’t the least bit surprised when Nicky suggested she gives her a bouquet of roses right in the middle of the hallway. Jackie preferred something a little more lowkey, but Nicky put on puppy eyes and batted her eyelashes prettily, and she said please several times, so Jackie lost the war before it began.

The bell for recess echoes through the entire school and Jackie calmly collects her stuff as the kids exit the class with clear enthusiasm. She bids them goodbye, tells them to remember to do their homework, and soon she’s alone in the class again, suddenly wondering if she should go with the plan.

Almost as if on cue, a text from Nicky comes through. 

I’m waiting for you already, xo.

She bites her lower lip. She can do this, it’s just buying flowers, walking a few feet to meet Nicky, and then hiding in the teachers’ room before she has to teach her next History class. Easy peasy.

Jackie walks up to the nearest flower stand, noticing how a few of the students she’s just said goodbye to are floating around. Perfect.

She greets the students, asks how the sells are going, and they chirp excitedly about all the anonymous deliveries they’re doing.

“Do you wanna buy some flowers, Miss Cox?” One of the girls, Melissa, asks sweetly, batting her eyelashes and pushing a bouquet of roses towards the teacher.

Jackie laughs wholeheartedly. “Sure, why not? How much for these?”

“Ten dollars.” Melissa’s smile doesn’t even quiver. Jackie quirks an eyebrow. She’s making Nicky buy her a slice of pie for this.

“Alright.” She pays for the roses, and the kids ask if they’re for her mother or someone especial. “Wouldn’t you guys like to know,” Jackie teases, thanking them for the bouquet and walking away, heart racing in her chest as she walks towards Nicky.

Nicky’s talking with the art teacher, Crystal, perched against the door of the art classroom, looking casual as ever. Sometimes Jackie wonders if Nicky really is as laid back and relaxed as she always seems or if she’s a great actress. 

Jackie takes a deep breath, and it’s not long until she can hear Crystal ramble about the art exhibition she’s prepared with the kids, and Nicky nods with a polite smile, saying something Jackie can’t quite make out.

It’s then when it hits her that other teachers don’t know about their little scheme.

Shit.

“Jackie! Hi!” Crystal chirps excitedly upon laying eyes on her, and Nicky turns to see her with a smile shiny like that day at the coffee shop. It makes Jackie feel a little lightheaded, but she manages to babble out a greeting. “How have your classes been so far?” She asks sweetly, and Jackie awkwardly settles herself next to Nicky.

“As good as they can be on a day like this, and you?” She politely asks back, and Crystal happily babbles about the cheesy projects her students turned in when she said the theme for today was love.

“One of them did a realistic portrait of a rose, and it was so pretty! It was like the ones you have,” Crystal points out innocently, but she stops for a second, blinks repeatedly, and looks back and forth between Jackie and the rose bouquet she’s holding. “Oh, you have roses. Are they for anyone in particular?” She asks, but by her tone Jackie can tell she hasn’t quite caught on the way Nicky leans against her, wrapping her hands around her bicep.

Nicky’s touch sends shivers down Jackie’s spine, and, for the love of everything holy, she tries not to blush and to keep her voice steady as she speaks.

“Yeah, they are,” she vaguely says. Because Crystal didn’t ask for who they are. And besides, she probably has an idea of who-

“Aw, that’s nice! I hope your Valentine likes them. I’m gonna buy some flowers for my own Valentine too, see ya around!”

Oh. So it really wasn’t a lie that Crystal is oblivious.

Jackie just stands there awkwardly, with Nicky still hanging off her arm. She turns to see her and hands her the bouquet.

“For you,” she simply says with a meek smile. Nicky coos, grabbing the bouquet, smelling the flowers and slightly pressing it against her chest. “You owe me a slice of pie from Shuga’s,” Jackie whispers in her ear, and Nicky rolls her eyes, smile still present on her face.

“Consider it a date,” she teases, tugging on Jackie’s arm so they start walking. “That went better than I expected,” Nicky mumbles close to Jackie’s ear and stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her temple. It makes Jackie’s stomach twist, but she dismisses it as nerves. A few students stare, but they act as if they didn’t notice it.

“I think so,”  Jackie replies, Nicky giggles as if she just said something funny and rests her head on Jackie’s shoulder.

For the rest of the day, Nicky sporadically texts her about her student’s reaction and how they all want to know who gave her the roses. Nicky never said her name, but she did act flustered when one of her students said Jackie’s name. It was all they needed to jump into conclusions.

Some teachers gaze at Jackie out of the corner of their eye when they see her in the teachers’ room, but she pays them no mind. 

At the end of the day, Nicky grabs her at the entrance of the school and kisses her cheek to say goodbye. Jackie’s heart skips several bits, but all she does is touch the mark of lipstick Nicky left behind, replaying the feeling of Nicky’s lips on her skin for what feel like forever, before snapping out of it and heading to her car.

 ***

 The next day everyone, teachers included, seem to know there’s something going on between them. Jackie feels as if she was sixteen all over again when she walks through the hallways, trying to keep her poised facade, while students follow her with their gazes and whisper something to their peers. 

And she thought she’d be more respected as a teacher. 

She doesn’t have any classes to conduct during first period, so she pathetically hides in the teachers’ room. The new maths teacher is there, too - Gigi, if she recalls correctly - and she stacks pens and pencils in her bun as she grades homework, seemingly not noticing Jackie’s there. So Jackie just settles herself, grabs the papers she still has to grade from her bag and sits on the other side of the table.

They exchange just a couple of words; the only time Gigi talks to her is to ask if she has white out, the rest is just her mumbling curses and wondering aloud what on God’s green Earth she’s reading.

“Do you have any idea who’s the literature teacher in eighth grade? It’d be really nice if they gave these kids some calligraphy exercises,” Gigi comments in an annoyed tone, and Jackie chuckles. 

“Oh, I tried it too. It doesn’t work, believe me. They either don’t do it or pay someone else to do it,” Jackie says with an eye roll, and Gigi quirks a brow.

“Huh, the worst part is that this is actually what I was doing when I got calligraphy homework,” Gigi chuckles, rubbing her eyelids as she sets the papers aside for a moment. “How long does it take until I can read chicken scratch?” 

Jackie laughs wholeheartedly, if Gigi knew that after all this years she still can’t read some of her students writing.

“Give or take, a couple of years,” she says instead, because she’s not about to stress this young teacher this quick and early in the morning. “It gets better the more you get used to your students.”

Gigi sighs heavily, standing up from the chair and walking up to the sink. 

“I wonder how Nicky deals with bad calligraphy, since most of the homework and exams she has to grade is already unreadable sometimes,” she says, and Jackie shifts in her seat a little, wondering if she brought Nicky up intentionally because she heard the rumors, or-

It’s too early for Jackie to be overthinking already.

So she snorts and rests her chin on her heel of her palm, loosely looking over her papers.

“She’s, uh, she’s used to it by now, I guess. She has this, um, this instinct that never fails her, y’know?” Jackie offers, trying not to stutter and failing miserably. But she sounds like someone that’s so excited to talk about her girlfriend that she can’t get the words right, so she guesses it’s a good thing. It’s the little things that sell this fake relationship.

Gigi turns around to look at her, taking a sip of water and quirks an eyebrow, the sign of a smile creeping on her face as she sets the cup down.

“How long have you been dating?” Gigi asks, straight to the point. Jackie bites the inside of her cheek. Well, that was quick.

“Couple of weeks,” she answers, suddenly noticing Nicky and her didn’t talk about how long they were dating for when they had planned this whole thing. Shit.

It seems like a good enough answer for Gigi, so she goes back to her pile of papers and takes a green pen from her bun.

“She’s never told me anything about it,” she mumbles. “You guys wanted to keep it a secret, I’m guessing? I’ve been told shit spreads quick around here,” Gigi says jokingly, causing Jackie to chuckle. That’s probably the understatement of the century.

“Sort of. We’re just taking things slow,” she comments softly, with her cheeks getting a slight shade of red. This is the first time she’s talking about her fake relationship and for some reason, it makes her feel warm and fuzzy, as if this was real and not a pretend game. 

Gigi looks up to meet her gaze one last time and smiles. “Well then, good luck. Nicky can be a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes,” she teases with a smile and goes back to grading.

Jackie mumbles a soft thank you, wanting to say that Nicky is actually funny to be around, that she always looks forward to seeing her because she always makes her laugh, and how everytime she smiles, Jackie feels lightheaded. 

But she doesn’t say anything, just goes back to grading in silence, and bids goodbye to Gigi when it’s time to leave for her class.

Her students have clearly heard the rumors, and they try to pry by asking if she’s hung out with Miss Nicky recently and if she would consider telling her to tone down their amount of homework. Jackie just laughs and announces she’ll give back the homework she took for grading. That shuts them up almost immediately.

Some of the students that like to cause problems once in a while try to bring it up again, but Jackie shuts them down at lightning speed, using the stern voice her mother used on her when she was their age. That gets the job done and makes the students fall back into silence. 

At the end of the day, she finds Nicky at the entrance, and she’s about to say goodbye to her, when Nicky places a kiss on her cheek, leaving her lipstick behind.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, honey,” she says, winking at her before turning around and heading towards her car. 

Jackie stands there for a second, watching Nicky leave as she smiles dumbly. She wouldn’t mind if this became a routine.

 ***

 “Do you wanna go roller skate tonight?” It’s the first thing that Nicky says when Jackie picks up. 

Jackie cocks a brow. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and Jackie’s watching “I Dream Of Genie” yet again, cuddled up on her couch with a blanket. Their scheme had been going on far too well at school. Everyone knew about them, including Principal Hall, who had pulled Jackie aside to get all the information she could. And Jackie couldn’t lie to Jaida, she was her best friend after all, so she ended up telling her everything and made her swear on Beyoncé she wouldn’t say anything.

Jaida said she wished her luck trying to not fall in love with Nicky, that she’d seen how this plays out in movies, and that it was a matter of time before they end up dating for real.

Jackie had ended that conversation by leaving, saying she had work to do and hiding the blush on her face by burying her nose in her scarf.

“Nicks, we have work tomorrow,” Jackie tries to argue, and for some reason she can feel Nicky rolling her eyes on the other side of the line.

“It’s disco night over at this skating rink I know,” she says, blatantly ignoring Jackie’s complains. “Can we go? It’ll be just for a little while, please? We’ll be back before your bedtime!” Nicky teases, and Jackie laughs shortly.

“My bedtime is at nine.”

“The rink opens at seven thirty.” 

There’s a short-lived silence on the line as Jackie tries to fight back a smile. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say this is a date. 

“I’ve never roller skated before, will you teach me?” She asks, standing up from the couch and walking towards her closet. 

“Oh, I’ve never roller skated either,” Nicky confesses nonchalantly, and Jackie gasps, taken aback, immediately asking why she’s inviting her if she’s never skated before. She can almost see Nicky shrugging. “We can figure it out together. If you fall, I fall, cherié,” she offers, making Jackie blush just a teeny tiny bit.

“Alright. You’re picking me up, I suppose?”

“Of course! Wear something cute,” she says, and Jackie has no way of knowing, but she’s ninety percent sure Nicky winked when she said that.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” is all that Jackie replies before Nicky hangs up.

 ***

 Nicky is terrible at roller skating, but Jackie isn’t any better either.

They hold onto each other for dear life, rarely letting go of the edge of the rink and laughing loudly when one of them falls. 

The rink is filled with people far more talented than them, that skate in tune with the songs blasting through the speakers, and Nicky is just getting up and shaking off the dust from her butt when her favorite song, “Pookie”, comes in. It’s as if a switch is flipped. She grabs Jackie’s wrist and does her best to copy what the seemingly professional skaters are doing, while Jackie complains that she’s going to make her fall.

“I’m counting on it,” she replies with a cheeky smile, grabbing Jackie’s hands and chanting the chorus of the song as she drags her around. “Loosen up, babe!” Nicky exclaims happily, and Jackie giggles.

The fact Nicky called her babe most certainly does not make her heart race. Absolutely not.

Jackie tries to follow Nicky’s command, but she ends up stumbling again, except this time she brings Nicky down with her.

Nicky is laying next to her, and Jackie apologizes profusely once she’s able to sit up, but Nicky just laughs so carelessly and wholeheartedly that it infects Jackie too.

“Wanna grab a cherry cola?” Nicky asks, pulling Jackie up. Jackie cocks a skeptical brow.

“They still make those?” She inquires. Her hand is still laced with Nicky’s, but she doesn’t bring it up nor tries to break the contact. It’s nice, and Nicky is keeping her steady, anyway.

There’s an area with snacks and drinks, tables scattered around, so they take off their skates for a moment, and Jackie looks for a table while Nicky gets them drinks. Jackie complains, because Nicky won’t accept her money to buy snacks, to which Nicky simply replies, “I’m paying, because that’s what fake girlfriends do,” she assures her, though Jackie can swear she hesitated when she said “fake girlfriend”.

She tries to convince herself that it’s just her mind, because Nicky knows this is just a casual hang out and their relationship is still fake. They’re just friends. Nothing else and nothing more (a tiny part of Jackie wishes it wasn’t like that, though).

Nicky comes back shortly after, with two cans of coca cola and two bags of chips, jokingly saying that dinner is ready. 

“I haven’t forgotten about your promise of taking me to Avril’s,” Nicky teases, making Jackie chuckle as she sips on her coke, spilling some of the drink down her chin.

“You really haven’t, huh?” She replies, aiming for the tissues, but Nicky grabs them first.

“Let me pay back the favour,” she says, and Jackie is about to ask what she means, when she takes her chin with one hand and gently wipes away the drink with the other.

Nicky’s touch shouldn’t give Jackie chills down her spine, shouldn’t make her feel butterflies in her stomach, and on top of all, it shouldn’t make her heart beat uncontrollably.

It shouldn’t. But it does. And the smile along with the soft stroke of Nicky’s thumb against her skin when she’s done definitely don’t help.

“There. All clean,” Nicky announces with a satisfied smile. Jackie gathers herself to muster a thank you, and busies her mouth with the chips. “Hey, let’s take a selfie.” She pulls out her phone before Jackie can swallow, scooting herself closer and focusing the back, so it shows that they’re at the roller skating rink. It disappoints Jackie a little that this is probably a part of their scheme, but she smiles with her cheeks full of chips either way. 

“You look cute,” Nicky compliments her, and before Jackie can say anything, she adds, “You are cute.” There’s a softness behind her words that surprise Jackie, heat spreading down her neck, and she has no way of knowing, but she’s sure she’s blushing ever so slightly.

“You are pretty too,” she returns the sentiment once she gains her voice back. Nicky smiles sheepishly, looking down at her phone. Jackie stares at her out of the corner of her eye, and if she was a bit more delusional, she’d say Nicky is blushing.

Her own phone lits up with a notification and she sees that Nicky posted the photo they just took together, captioning it with “Love this goofball @cox_jackie” and a string of red heart emojis.

It’s the word “Love” that makes Jackie’s heart go wild.

Almost immediately she has Jaida in her DMs, along with other nosy teachers like Crystal and Brita, asking if she and Nicky are together-together for real. She covers her face with her hands, completely flustered, and hears Nicky giggle mischievously.

“I hate you,” Jackie says, her hands still covering her face.

“You love me,” Nicky teases, snuggling to Jackie’s side as she scrolls through Instagram.

“Maybe I do,” she mumbles quietly, hoping it got lost in the noise of the rink. Nicky looks unfazed, so maybe it did.

Jackie notices it’s not long before nine, but she doesn’t bring it up and neither does Nicky. Instead, they stay for as long as they can, falling flat on their butts and helping each other up, leaning on the other for balance. 

Her ass will hurt tomorrow, and she’ll have to lean on tons of coffee to survive her class during the first period, but it’s worth it. Having a nice time with Nicky is worth it.

 ***

 Their scheme is maybe getting a little out of hand.

Neither Jackie nor Nicky can step into the teachers’ room without being attacked with questions about how their relationship is going; Nicky is the cheesy one that comes up with intricate answers for simple questions. She talks about Jackie as one talks about their crush when they’re fifteen and experiencing love for the first time.

It’s adorable. It makes Jackie want this to be real oh so badly.

It was a few weeks into their pretend relationship when Jackie realized she might like Nicky more than a friend and a fake girlfriend; she wants to kiss her, give her hand a squeeze when they’re watching horror movies and there’s a scary part, buy her coffee on her way to the school because she knows Nicky doesn’t have breakfast most of the time, to text her random cat photos she finds on the internet, buy a succulent with her and take care of it, slowly adding more plants to their collection.

Well, they technically have done all of that already - except the plants part. But Jackie wants it to be real, to stop doing it to get coos in the teachers’ room and showing off on social media. 

Jackie blames it on the almost daily dates, the constant texting, the kisses she gives her at the end of the day, leaving her lipstick behind, the cuddles anywhere and everywhere. Plus, Nicky is a very convincing actress, apparently.

She’s getting too attached to all of it, but she can’t. They will “break up” eventually. So when the other teachers, and even friends out of school, ask about her relationship, she keeps her answers short, polite, and precise. Nicky always excuses her by saying she’s just very private.

Jaida, on the other hand, likes to make fun of her for the situation she’s willingly messed herself into, and the jokes only increase when Jackie admits through gritted teeth that she may or may not have fallen for Nicky. Jackie can only shut her up when she brings up how Jan, the new football coach, has been working at the school for less than a week, and yet she has a big crush on her.

It’s a Friday morning, the only day they have a little bit of peace, and Nicky is talking about how stressed the kids make her, because, apparently, they are still keen on using Google Translate instead of checking their damn notes. Jackie listens and tries to cheer her up, but there’s a question burning on the back of Jackie’s mind, though she’s not sure if she should bring it up right now.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Jackie asks out of the blue, just to stop her mind from going back to those three words. Nicky shakes her head, saying something about spending it grading, binging Project Runway, and ordering take out. Then, Jackie remembers the promise she made Nicky when all of this mayhem started. “Do you wanna go to Avril’s on Saturday?”

Nicky blinks repeatedly before a smile breaks onto her face, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought you forgot,” she says softly, fidgeting with her fingers.

“I didn’t, I wouldn’t.” Jackie offers her a shy smile, biting the inside of her cheek. “Is nine okay for you?”

Nicky cocks an amused brow, “I thought your bedtime was at nine,” she teases. Jackie laughs nervously.

“You changed that, I guess.”

***

Jackie makes an effort for their fake date (but is it fake? who knows anymore), puts on her favorite dress, a pair of heels, and braids her hair carefully. Spring is coming, and so is the warm weather, but she brings a jacket just in case. Who knows, maybe Nicky might need one?

For a change, she picks Nicky up, and does her best not to crash the car because of staring at Nicky out of the corner of her eye. She looks beautiful, but what else is new? Besides, it’s the first time she’s seen her wearing a suit, and the sight makes Jackie easily flustered. It’s casual, yes, but it’s not what she would normally expect from Nicky - who definitely won’t be needing her jacket tonight.

Little did Jackie know, it was just the start of a night full of surprises. 

A waiter takes them to their table, leaves the menu and says he’ll be back to take their orders. Nicky whistles once he’s gone, looking at the place.

“Well, this sure is fancy,” she comments to break the ice. Jackie hums in agreement as Nicky looks up, her eyes widening at the sight of the ceiling. “It’s so pretty.”

Jackie’s eyes, however, are still glued to Nicky. “I’ve seen prettier things,” she says, and Nicky pulls her gaze to meet Jackie’s, a cocky grin setting on her face.

“Like what?” She inquires, and Jackie hums, feigning thoughtfulness. 

“Well, for starters, Shakira-” Nicky yelps, offended, clutching her chest. Jackie laughs wholeheartedly. 

“And here I was, thinking you’d say something nice to your fake girlfriend!”

Jackie hates how she adds the “fake” before “girlfriend”, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s not the time, not yet.

“If it’s worth anything, I think you look beautiful tonight,” she says earnestly, and her heart skips several beats when Nicky bites her lower lip, looking away with what Jackie can only hope is a blush.

“You look stunning,” Nicky returns the sentiment, and Jackie beams.

They place their orders and talk about random topics before their food arrives. Jackie can’t say she’s sure, but at times she swears she can feel a different air hang around them. An air of unsaid words and glances that linger a second too long, of blushes hidden behind drinks and flustered laughs. She hopes she’s not imagining it.

They fall into a comfortable silence once their orders arrive - well, the silence lasts just for a moment, because Nicky moans when she tastes her lasagna and insists Jackie has to try it. After a few moments of goading, Jackie complies, and is taken aback when Nicky holds out her fork and urges her to eat it before it ends up on the tablecloth. 

Jackie locks eyes with Nicky as she leans forward on the table and wraps her lips around the fork, and there’s something in Nicky’s piercing gaze that makes her shiver.

“Tasty,” Jackie concedes with a giggle, Nicky smiles proudly, but Jackie’s sure she sees her swallow thickly. She parts her lips slightly, but shuts them almost immediately, stuffing her mouth with lasagna, and Jackie follows suit by going back to her risotto.

Dinner goes by in the blink of an eye, and Jackie feels her skin prickle with anticipation and anxiety; she just wants to say it. To lay her heart out in front of Nicky in order to get an answer for once and for all, so she can start getting over a fake relationship that, for being fake, got under her skin.

She wants to bring it up, she’s itching to say it, but she can’t gather the courage to do so in a casual way that wouldn’t sound so calculated, but she doesn’t want it to be a spur of the moment either. Jackie wants to give Nicky the Hollywood romance confession she deserves - whatever happens after that, happens.

The night is coming to an end, and Jackie feels like throwing a childish fit. She can’t let it end without telling Nicky. Jackie wishes she had ordered wine, maybe that would’ve let her tongue loosen up a little.

“Should we order dessert?” Nicky wonders, vaguely looking at the menu. “I dig the chocolate fondue, honestly,” she says, looking up at her through her eyelashes, Jackie quirks an eyebrow.

“Isn’t that a little too much for one person?”

“We can share,” Nicky offers almost immediately, making Jackie snort.

“Alright, habibi.” The word slips from Jackie’s mouth before she can think much about it. It’s nice though, even if it feels a little more personal than just calling Nicky “babe” or any term of endearment in English.

“You should call me habibi more often, I like it,” Nicky comments with a giggle. And she may not know it, but it makes Jackie’s heart swoon with happiness.

***

The chocolate fondue is probably the best idea Nicky has ever had.

It’s tasty, messy, and they get their lipsticks ruined by the chocolate with the first strawberry they dip, but damn it if it isn’t worth it. Nicky repeats the action of feeding her, and Jackie feels bold enough to return the favour. Their eyes are locked the entire time, and Jackie feels as if she’ll drop the bomb at any moment.

It certainly doesn’t help that Nicky starts making jokes about never wanting to break up with her if these are the perks of their fake relationship. It stings only a little, though it creates an opportunity for her to tell Nicky the three little words that have been burning at the back of her throat for the past weeks.

“If we break up, can you still take me here? These weeks with you have been way better than most of my relationships,” Nicky comments nonchalantly, almost making Jackie drop her chocolate-covered strawberry. Her heart starts pounding against her chest, forcing herself to look up to meet Nicky's gaze.

She's staring right back at her, with a look she can't quite decipher.

Jackie inhales sharply, realizing her opportunity had arrived. She breathes in deeply, licking her lips and hoping her voice doesn't betray her.

“Aw, you're exaggerating,” she says, trying to play coy and hoping and praying it goes the way she wants to. 

It does, sort of. Nicky softens up her gaze, smiling gently at her.

“Well, not really. My relationships haven't been all that great; maybe because I'm too much of a hopeless Hollywood romantic, and I expected a lot of my relationships. I know that's bad, but- During all this time I've spent with you, it was easy to feel as if I was in a movie,” she confesses earnestly, evading Jackie's piercing gaze.

Jackie can feel her heart beating in her ears, a rush of adrenaline overtaking her as she grips on the fabric of her dress, trying to form a coherent sentence.

“Says the one who lives on reruns of ‘Breakfast at Tiffany's’,” Jackie teases, her voice coming out breathier than she would've wanted, but Nicky laughs and her nerves melt away. “If I'm being honest, I like being your fake girlfriend, it's probably one of the best ideas I've had, if I do say so myself,” she proceeds, trying to sound jokingly, but before she can get another other word in, Nicky interrupts her.

“Yeah, it's your greatest idea, though there's only one thing I don't like about it,” Nicky says, her voice quivers every other word, and Jackie frowns, not understanding for a moment until it clicks.

She stares into Nicky's eyes, and she stares right back. And then she sees it. The feeling Jackie couldn't grasp on—it's love. Or something awfully familiar.

There's silence between them for a moment, until it gets awkward, and Nicky frowns slightly, opening her mouth to say something, but Jackie interrupts her this time.

“I like you,” Jackie admits in a whisper, low and breathy, staring right into Nicky’s eyes. And for a moment she thinks it got lost in the noise of the restaurant, but by the way Nicky’s eyes grow wide, staring right back at Jackie with a sparkle she’d never seen in them, Jackie knows she caught it.

“I like you too,” Nicky says softly. “I’ve known for a while. Even before this,” she confesses, and Jackie can feel her head spinning, her heart is pounding so hard against her chest that she’s sure if Nicky tries to listen carefully, she’ll hear it despite the noise of the restaurant.

She can’t believe this is actually happening. 

“I wanted to tell you sooner, believe me, but the words wouldn't come to me, and I was afraid you would reject me, because you're so pretty and cool, and all the teachers have a crush on you, and I felt like I wasn't good enough, and-” Nicky interrupts Jackie's rambling by reaching across the table and squeezing her hand, looking at her as if she's the most precious human to have ever existed.

“All the teachers may have a crush on me, but I have a crush on just one of them. Guess who is she?” She teases, giggling giddily. Jackie smiles, her cheeks getting as red as the strawberries in front of them.

“You're so cheesy,” Jackie says with a snort, allowing herself to get lost in Nicky's soft touch for a moment, until the curiosity takes the best of her. “So, uh, does this mean this is our first real date?” She asks shyly, stroking the back of Nicky's hand.

Nicky smiles, bright and beautiful, and if it wasn’t because Jackie’s sitting, her knees would inevitably buckle.

“The first of many, hopefully.” She winks, and Jackie holds back an excited screech. 

“So, this was indeed my greatest idea,” she says, and they laugh happily, the night slipping away between giggles and blushes they don't bother to hide anymore.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.4

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Special shout-out to Mystery Trio Animated’s old video for inspiring me on how to get the ball rolling. (I’m trying a healthy combination of Mystery Trio shit and canon shit.) Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!!

Ao3 link here.

ch.3 - ch.5

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

“Yes, son,” Fiddleford sighed with a smile. “As I’ve told you for the last fifteen minutes, we’re finally here.”

“Yay!” Tate cheered and grinned as the beautiful woods fell out of sight and the four-year-old’s hidden eyes widened at all the open space to play in. He grinned at the sheep and horse and cow and he saw that sign shaped like a pinetree that read “Pines’ Farm” and thought that was funny. The road was made of dirt and rocks and made weird noises under Daddy’s blue truck.

The road led up to a big house with a triangle roof and a porch. On the porch, two men Tate had never seen before sat in chairs and stood, waiting. Suddenly Tate was nervous and shrunk back into his car seat.

Fiddleford noticed this and smiled at his son. Tate was a kind and intelligent boy, but was often quiet, except when he was alone with Fiddleford. It was like he saved all of his words for him. Fiddleford parked and got out, deciding to let Tate move at his own space.

“Fiddleford, glad to see you’ve made it safely!”

“Howdy there, Stanford, good t’see ya!” What started as a handshake turned into a manly hug with smiles and pats on the back. When it was over, Stanford patted his old roommate’s shoulder and said, “Fiddleford, this is my twin brother, Stanley. Stanley, well, you already know who this is.”

It didn’t take a genius to know who Stanley was either, not just considering the fact he did in fact look like Ford’s twin without being identical, but Fiddleford had heard enough stories and seen enough pictures to recognize this guy from a mile away. “Pleased t’finally meet ya, Stanley.” And he held out a hand to shake.

Stan laughed, took it, and shook him possibly slightly too rough. “Ha! Just Stan’ll do, Fiddleford… Jeez, that’s a mouth full. Mind McGucket or Fiddler or Fidds.”

Fiddleford winced. “Anythang but Fiddler since I ain’t one.”

Stan snapped his fingers and said sarcastically. “Darn. N’ here I was thinkin’ we could put a band together, with Ford’s piano skills n’ my beautiful voice.”

Ford snorted while Fiddleford smiled unsurely. “Well, I do play the banjo…”

“Great! We’ll call ourselves the Three Cowboys! I’ll get to writin’ our first song later.” Stan peered over Fiddleford’s shoulder and at the truck. “But first, did you even brin’ the squirt with you?”

Fiddleford looked back at the trunk and could barely see the top of his son’s head in the front passenger’s seat. “Nah, he’s there. He’s just shy.”

“Ah, well he’ll join us when he’s ready.” Ford said and moved to the trunk. “Here, let me help you with your things and show you to your room, buddy.”

“Well, thank ya kindly, Stanford, I reckon you can get this one. Oh, here, I’ll take that one, it mighty heavy.”

Ford and Fiddleford were chatting away like a pair of school girls as they went into the house, arms full of luggage. The McGuckets sure did bring a lot of crap. Stan shook his head with a smile and moved to the trunk, but on the way he swore he saw a little boy with bangs over his eyes looking at him, but then ducking under the car’s window again. Stan smiled and softly knocked on the glass. “Y’ello?”

The boy didn’t appear, but he did crank the window down. “Hi.”

“I’m Stan.”

“Tate.”

“Nice to meet you.” Stan said. “You know, your daddy n’ my brother are close friends.”

“I know.” The boy said quietly. “Daddy says we’re gonna live here a bit.”

“Yup.” Stan said happily, and then asked, “You reckon you’re okay with that?”

“Uh, huh.”

Stan had no idea what it was like to be shy as a kid. Ford might have, which is why he was inclined to let the boy get out of the truck whenever he pleased, but Stan wondered if maybe all it took was someone to show that they were happy he was here and would be even happier to see him happy. He went to the trunk, grabbed a big suitcase with Tate’s name on the tag, and then went back to the window. “C’mon, kid. I got a surprise for you in your new room.”

That got the boy to perk up. He poked his little head up, just enough to look at Stan’s soft smile and outstretched hand, and Tate grinned. “Okay.” He hopped out and closed the door behind him and took Stan’s hand.

Stan squeezed his little hand reassuringly and led the boy into the house. They crossed the living room together to get to the back hallway and Stan led him to the other bedroom, the one connected to Jackie’s Jack and Jill bathroom. Tate gasped with joy to find a bunk bed by the door with a new knitted blanket at the foot. He climbed up the ladder and jumped into the fluffy feather-stuffed mattress and laughed. “Wowie, Zowie! I get a bunk bed?!”

Stan barked a laugh and sat his suitcase on the bottom bunk. As a kid he had no idea that a lot of other kids in the world thought this was the coolest thing to have in a bedroom, it was just convenient for the Pines twins, but now they were grown and perfectly happy with two full beds in their attic bedroom so Tate could have a twin-sized bed in his new room. “You sure do. Don’t tell Ford I told you this, but he knitted you that blanket and if you’ll look in that chest there’s some more surprises for you.”

Tate scurried down to the floor and t the toy chest under the window. He gasped as he found it half-full with brand new toys. There was a jump-rope, some chalk, a wooden train, complete with engine, cars, and a caboose, and a football and a baseball with a bat. Tate’s voice was caught in his throat, leaving his mouth to open and close like a fish. He knew he should say thank you, but he was left speechless due to all of the nice new things.

“So, whatcha think, squirt?” Stan asked, and when Tate looked at him the farmer knew what the boy was trying to say.

~~~~~~~~~~

In Ford’s favorite workspace, the thinking parlor, there was a desk that used to be filled to the brim with Pa’s work-papers, but with the deed tightly secure in the family’s safe and after a furlough cleansing, there was now only one drawer dedicated to important old documents and the rest of the ancient desk was free to use for Ford’s investigations and ideas. Ford and Fiddleford stood there now, the Southern engineer watching his best friend pull things out from here and there, as if preparing for a school presentation. Fiddleford smiled as he saw how little his friend had changed.

Ford had suggested to leave Fiddleford to unpack once he showed him his room, assuming he wanted to rest after the trip, but Fiddleford had insisted that Ford show him the plans and Ford understood on a personal level; he was sure Fiddleford wanted to forget his problems for a moment and be distracted with an issue he can actually solve. So Ford laid out a map of Gravity Falls with little red xs sprinkled here and there and he pulled out a red marker and uncapped it.

“Right,” Ford started as he smiled at his old roommate. “As I said over the phone, Gravity Falls is a friendly enough town, but it has got to be one of the strangest towns there are. I hadn’t realized how strange it was until leaving for Backupsmore and I realized that some things weren’t normal. Not to mention, if you look at the map, a lot of anomalies I’ve noticed occur away from our farm, so as children it’s not like we were fully exposed to them.”

Fiddleford did in fact notice that there were no red xs on the Pines’ farm, or close to the barrier. There were one or two in the actual town itself, but most of the xs were in the woods and in the mountains. Probably whatever creatures were out there purposely stayed in the woods, like any other wildlife, to avoid mankind. Fiddleford nodded and said, “Alright, but what sort of anomalies have ya noticed?”

Ford pulled out a journal with a golden six-fingered hand on it and opened it to showcase some very well drawn sketches. Fiddleford stared to find unicorns, eye bats, two-headed snakes, dark vague shadows, and possibly a werewolf? Fiddleford blinked and muttered, “Uh… ya… ya sure it’s…”

“I swear on my life,” Ford said seriously. “I’ve seen some strange things out there, Fiddleford. I haven’t had a chance to get a proper look at any of it, but I’m hoping with your help I may finally be able to catch something, or at least some solid evidence, that proves I’m not crazy.”

Fiddleford detected a hint of bitterness by the end of it. He wouldn’t be surprised if anyone else Ford had explained this to had written him off as a whack-job. Fiddleford smiled and patted his shoulder. “Hey, I believe ya. Reckon somebody’s gotta catalog these critters. Why not it be us, right? So, suppose tomorrow mornin’ we just get on out there n’ explore the woods for some weird critters?”

Ford smiled back with determination and excitement gleaming in his eyes. “That’s the idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tate was watching TV in the living room while Jackie was in the kitchen with Stan by her side. Yes, Jackie did all the cooking and was good at it, but Stan knew how to make some stuff edible and it seemed like a fair trade; if Stan was going to teach Jackie how to run a farm, she might as well teach him a thing or two about cooking.

“So, what can you cook, Stanley?” Jackie asked while she seasoned some flour that was already in a big paper bag.

“Besides Stancakes?” He clarified. “Uh, I can do grits. That’s about it, missy.”

Jackie giggled good-naturedly and said, “Well, first thang you gotta know ‘bout cooking is this fellow right here.” And she held up a big container of Crisco. “The best thang they did since put mayonnaise in a jar.” Jackie spooned some of the thick white stuff out and put it on the hot skillet to melt like butter. “Gum in your hair? Squeaky door hinge? Crisco.”

When Jackie’s back was turned to work on the chicken, Stan stuck his finger in some of the Crisco; it looked pretty, almost like frosting for a cake. To hide what he did, Stan stuck his finger in his mouth; the taste wasn’t great.

“Bags under your eyes? Wanna soften some scaly feet? Crisco.” Jackie added as she dipped a breast in the egg wash then put it in the bag, then did the process again with another piece of chicken. “But it’s best for frying chicken. Mm! I love fried chicken! Gotta be my favorite! It takes a lot of work to make, but it tastes so good and it’s always worth it! Well, worth it to me, anyways.” Jackie rolled up the bag tight and held it out to Stan. “Shake that.”

“Oh, sure.” Stan took the bag filled with chicken and flour. He shook it and found that once he got a rhythm for it it was actually kind of fun. With a stupid grin on his face he rattled the bag really heavy, making Jackie laugh.

“Alright alright, Stan, the chicken’s already dead.” Jackie took the bag and opened it to see how well seasoned it was. “Yup, she dead. And well dressed for the funeral, too.”

Stan laughed and the timer dinged. “Oh, will you take out the cornbread, please?” Jackie asked as she stirred the green beans, the Crisco not quite fully melted yet, but almost.

“You got it.” Stan slipped on some oven mitts and opened the oven. There sat a beautiful skillet full of Mexican cornbread. This wasn’t just cornbread, this was cornbread with spices and bits of corn. The smell made Stan’s mouth water like a dog and he happily put it on a folded up towel on the table. “Sweet Lord!”

“Give it a minute to cool, Lee, geez!” Jackie said, able to read his mind and know he wanted to pick at it.

Stan stuck his tongue at the back of her head and watched her fry the chicken. The grease bubbled around the chicken and flew everywhere, like firecrackers. Stan took a step back as he got sprayed a little bit, meanwhile all Jackie did was flinch and asked, “Will you call the boys for dinner? It'll be ready by the time they get in here.”

“Sure.” Everyone was inside the house, so there was no sense in ringing the triangle; Stan poked his head in the living room to tell Tate dinner was ready and then knocked on the parlor door to tell the nerds that food was ready.

By the time Stan came back with Tate by his side, the table was set with pitchers of sweet tea and water on the table, big bowl of green beans, the skillet full of Mexican cornbread, and Jackie had just flipped the chicken. Stan licked his lips and playfully fought with Tate for space in the kitchen sink as they washed up.

Fiddleford followed Ford to the bathroom to wash and then to the kitchen. He stared happily at the set-up before him, and then his eyes widened at the stranger in the room. A dark-skinned woman used tongs to lift fried chicken out of a skillet and onto a tray lined with paper towels. She wore an apron over leans and a white t-shirt, her past-shoulder-length black hair tied in a loose, low ponytail to keep her hair away from her cooking. Fiddleford smiled; he had known the twins had hired help but he had no clue who that was; he had accidentally assumed it was another man.

The woman set the tray of steaming chicken on the table, wiped her forehead dry, and smiled at Fiddleford. “You must be Ford’s friend. I’m Jackie.” She introduced and held out her hand.

Fiddleford gently took it and shook her head with a smile. “Fiddleford H. McGucket, ma’am. It’s a pleasure t’meet ya.”

Jackie’s cheeks turned rosy at his politeness and invited him to sit. Soon they were all happily digging into the delicious dinner and enjoyed every bite.

Fiddleford was extremely impressed. The chicken crunched happily in his mouth and the chicken’s meat was soft and delicious. The green beans were flavored with bacon and onions, and the Mexican cornbread was very good. As Fiddleford munch on his bread while he listened to Stan tell a story, he couldn’t help but think how much better the cornbread would be with some butter. He checked the table for it, and perhaps he was overlooking it, but he didn’t see it.

“Jackie, may I have some butter, please.” Fiddleford asked politely when Stan was taking a break from his story to drink some water.

Jackie smiled and nodded. “Sure.” Let’s forget the fact that Ford was sitting next to Fiddleford and was the closest to the fridge. Jackie didn’t even notice, and she casually got the butter-dish out of the fridge, sat with it, and handed it to the southerner as he dipped his head and whispered “thank you” as to not interrupt Stan.

By the end of the meal, Stan was patting his gut happily and sighing heavily. “Yup. Jackie, I think you get better with every meal.”

While Jackie stood and took her dishes to the sink, her face grew warmer.

“Yes, that was delicious, Jackie, thank you.” Ford praised.

“Well,” Jackie opened the fridge and pulled something out. “I hope everyone left room for dessert.”

“Mm! Pie!” Stan gasped happily and rubbed his hands together; it didn’t matter if it killed him, he’d make room for Round 2.

“Lemon Meringue.” Jackie explained, sitting the pie down on the table as she took up the mostly-empty bowl of green beans and began to put the vegetables in a smaller container for the fridge; leftovers made for an excellent lunch.

Mouth watering and eyes as big as dinner plates, once Jackie sat down the small plates, forks, and pie knife on the table, Stan cut right into the beautiful dessert while Ford began to collect dishes.

Fiddleford, too full for pie at the moment, stood and stretched his arms over his head. “So, should we get back to work, Stanford?”

“Sorry, let me finish these dishes first.” Ford said as he began to clean. “Got to thank Jackie for the meal the best way I can.”

Jackie lightly shoved his shoulder as she brought over the skillet of cornbread and began to move it to a plastic container. “Hey, I don’t wanna eat canned meat or TV dinners any more than you do.”

“You know, Tate,” Stan mumbled with pie in his cheeks like a chipmunk. “If you’ll look in that cabinet there should be a jar with holes if you wanna catch some firefl-...”

“FIREFLIES?!” Tate excitedly interrupted, drained his cup of water, and dashed to where Stan said the jar would be. Lo and behold two jars with holes poked into the lids shined and Tate snatched one up. “Daddy, wanna catch some with me?” The boy pleaded.

“Sure, son,” Fiddleford said with a smile, playing with his boy sounding much better than returning to work that can be done another time, so they hurried out the kitchen door and were amazed to find dozens of blinking bugs out on the farm.

Tate grinned and ran with his father admiring the scene. Stan decided he could enjoy his pie just as much on the doorstep as he could at the table, and he took his dessert with him and sat with the door open to watch the McGuckets play. Jackie and Ford got a nice view of the scene from the sink and happily chatted away as they cleaned the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan yawned into his hand and he hummed a little song to himself. “Doo, doo de, doo, doo… gettin’ a midnight snack, gonna eat some…”

Stan turned on the hall-light, his eyes still sensitive to bright lights, so he could see his way into the kitchen without bumping into the table or walking into the fridge. He gasped in horror and then growled like an angry bulldog at the open fridge and spilt content. “Pie!” He finished his song bitterly with one knee before the open fridge. “Oh, c’mon! I was gonna eat that! Actually, this part here still looks good…”

With no one to judge him, Stan scooped up some lemon-filling with two fingers and hummed with satisfaction as the delicious taste grazed his mouth. On his feet again, Stan was about to grab some paper towels to start cleaning up the mess when something ran across his foot.

Stan yelled and jumped about a foot in the air before grabbing a hanging pan from the wall and holding it as he would a weapon. He first thought that the pie fell off the cramped shelf in the fridge, opening the door, but now he wondered if they had a late-night visitor. Wouldn’t be the first time a raccoon got into the house.

Stan carefully moved to where he knew a light-switch for the oven’s light was and he braced himself for whatever was coming. He flicked it on and saw something out of the corner of his eye run into the hall. Did a chicken escape the coop? “C’mere you…” Stan growled and ran down the hall.

Nothing appeared on the stairs for the attic, or further down the hall for Jackie’s room, so maybe whatever it was went into the living room. Pan still at the ready for some whacking, Stan crept into the living room and relaxed his old boxing stance to find it empty. The farmer scratched at his mullet to try to think what could have slipped away from him and gotten into the fridge. Stan was in the hallway, going to put the pan away and clean up the pie, when he noticed a small draft and he checked the front door. Sure enough, something had broken the screen in the screen door.

Stan groaned and closed and locked the main door. Tate must have forgotten to close the door when he went to the truck to get something for bed. Well, after chores Stan would just have to repair the hole.

When Stan re-entered his attic bedroom, his eyes immediately caught his twin asleep on top of a book, a flashlight on the floor by his dangling arm. That nerd had a bad habit of never stopping until his body made him. Shaking his head with a smile, Stan slammed the door loudly on purpose, making Ford jump awake with a grunt. “Huh?! Wh… Stanley?”

“You know you’ll sleep better on your pillow, not a book, right?” Stan asked as he took off his robe and let it fall on the floor by his bed, leaving on his boxers and t-shirt.

Ford snorted and readjusted his lopsided glasses. “What were you doing up?” He yawned into his palm.

“Well I was gonna have some more pie,” Stan said as he sat on his bed. “But somethang raided our fridge n’ ruined my midnight snack.”

“Was it a raccoon again?” Ford asked as he folded his glasses and put them on his nightstand by his book.

“Maybe, but I got a glimpse of it before it ran off n’ the little bit I did see didn’t look nothin’ like a black n’ white thief.”

“Well…” Ford yawned again and said dozily, “It’s too early to think. Goodnight.” And he laid on his right side, his back to his brother, and quickly fell asleep.

Stan chuckled as he shook his head and laid down for some shut-eye.

~~~~~~~~~~

After morning chores, Jackie walked in through the kitchen-door to grab something when she thought she heard the sound of a hammer down the hall. She peeked and found Stan on one knee in front of the door, working on putting a new screen over the door. “Broken screen?” She clarified as she stood by his side, her hands behind her back.

“Yeah, something chewed through n’ got into the house.” Stan shivered as he recalled the foggy memory. “It ran across my foot. Ugh, I can still feel it’s little fingers.”

“Yikes.” Jackie said and looked into the living room to find Tate coloring at the card table. “Well, since that pie’s gone, I’m gonna pick some blackberries for a cobbler. Should I make Tate help me or you got him?”

“Nah, some of those berries aren’t ready, you better pick ‘em.” Stan said as he stood up straight and wiped his hands clean. “I’m gonna take him with me into town to get some stuff from the store. Any requests?”

“Oh! Can you get some hot chilis, please?” Jackie quickly remembered.

“Sure. OY! Squirt!” Stan called and leaned against the doorway. “Wanna go into town with me? You can ride shotgun in the Stanmobile if you want?”

Tate grinned like a Cheshire cat and yelped, “Okay!” and then scooped up his crayons and book to put them away in his room.

“Sure you don’t wanna take Truffles into town?” Jackie asked, remembering Stan’s comment that the horse needs to travel every so often.

“With Tate?” Stan snorted. “Nah, wild thing isn’t ready for a kid. Let me break him a bit more n’ then we’ll see. Maybe take him out in the woods tomorrow. Maybe take a gal with me.” He added with a wink, making Jackie smile like an idiot as she shoved him in a playful manner.

“Well then good luck finding a date in town.” And she went back into the kitchen to grab a basket to berry-pick with.

Meanwhile, while Jackie worked on blackberry cobbler and Stan took Tate into town, Ford and Fiddleford were in the woods, equipped with a compass, a map, Ford’s journal, and a backpack on Fiddleford. A few days before Fiddleford arrived, Ford had placed several cameras in a variety of areas to try to get some idea of what they’re dealing with, a lead of some kind or evidence that there was something out there.

“Okay, that’s 1A, 1B, and 1C.” Ford checked off the map, his journal under his arm. “2A, 2B, and 2C were well intact. We just need 3A, 3B, and 3C. This way.”

“Ya sure ya know where you’re goin’?” Fiddleford checked. No offense to his friend, but all these oaks and pines looked the same to him.

“Don’t worry, I know these woods like the back of my hand.” Ford eased. “I used to spend a lot of time here with Stanley as kids. The trees are a great hiding place from bullies.” He chuckled at a memory and decided to share. “One time, we climbed up a big pinetree to hide from a group of kids, when one of the branches broke off and landed right on one of the kid’s head. Stanley says Pines got to stick together.”

Fiddleford laughed at the little joke as he followed Ford along the woods. They came to a small clearing and Ford stopped. “Here we are. Okay, up there should be Camera 3B. If you’ll get 3A down there, I’ll get 3B.”

“Gotcha.” Fiddleford found Camera 3A tucked into some leaves. He looked around for a third camera, and again, maybe he was just needing new glasses, but he didn’t see one. “Uh, Stanford, where’d ya put 3C?”

Up on a branch and untying a camera, Ford called and pointed. “Down there, by the rock.”

Fiddleford shuffled his feet in case he were to step on the camera, but he looked around and even felt the brush with his hands was startled to turn up empty-handed. “Uh… I ain’t findin’ it.”

“That’s odd, hold on, buddy, I’ll help you look.” Ford said and hopped down with the camera to search for Camera 3C. It truly wasn’t where Ford had placed it and it was nowhere around the clearing.

“Maybe a deer or rabbit took it?” Fiddleford speculated.

“Or a unicorn! Or a gremlin! Or a goblin!” Ford gasped with wonder sparkling in his brown eyes. “Or both!”

“Calm down there, Dr. Crackpot.” Fiddleford chuckled and made Ford smile. “Let's just get this film developed before we get our hopes up higher than a Georgia pine.”

“Great, now you’re doing it, too.”

“No! No, I just… it was either that or higher than the Empire State buildin’, n’ we’re in the woods…”

“With a Pines.”

“... with a lot o’ pinetrees.” Fiddleford laughed at their fun babble and they followed the compass for the farm.

By the time Jackie was pulling a sweet-smelling cobbler out of the oven and about to go outside to check on the sheep, Tate and Stan came home with some groceries. Tate immediately dug around a bag once it was placed on the table, pulled out some Gummy Koalas, and ran off. Jackie gave Stan a skeptical look, to which the farmer just shrugged and pulled out a white paper bag full of hot red peppers.

“Oh, great, thanks.”

“No problem, missy.” Stan said as Jackie lunged a hand into the bag and he pulled out a box of freezy-pops to put in the freezer. “What, gonna make chili? Mexican food? Spicy fried chicken?”

“Nope.” And Jackie bit into a pepper and munched on it with a big smile.

Stan yelped in shock and quickly shut himself up, but that didn’t stop him from breaking a bead of sweat and his eye twitching at her. “What in Moses’s name are you doing?”

“Having a snack.” Jackie explained as she took a second bite, only leaving the stem. “It’ll be awhile ‘til dinner.”

“What, apples n’ bananas not good enough for you?”

“Nope.” Jackie repeated and bit into another one.

“Gah!” Stan yelled and grabbed his hair as he stared at her. “How do you do that?! Stop that!”

“Nope.” Jackie said a third time and happily finished her second chili.

With shivers on his back and an impressed smile that was impossible to miss, Stan left Jackie to shake her head and munch on her snack in peace.

Tate, at this time, was running into the living room, hoping to eat his candy in front of the TV, but his daddy and his daddy’s friend were in the living room already, stringing pictures up and they had a bunch of adult-looking equipment. “Daddy, whatcha doin’?” He asked.

“Hey there, sport.” Fiddleford said and took the time to give him a side hug as he watched a photo develop in the liquid-filled pan. “Just developin’ these photos here. They’ll help us figure out what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Oh. Can I help?” The boy asked hopefully.

“I don’t know if there anythang ya can do.” Fiddleford moved his back to his son and smiled. “Whatcha got there?”

Tate grinned and showed his daddy the gummies. “Uncle Stan gave ‘em t’me! He’s real nice.”

“He sure is. Did ya make sure t’tell him that n’ thank him.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Good.” And Fiddleford ruffled his hat to mess with his hair.

Ford smiled at the father and son duo and resumed his work, recording their findings. None of the pictures so far got a full image of anything, but glimpses here and there showed that something strange was out there. Ford stared at one picture that showed someone very short and what looked like the bottom of a beard. And in another photo, when Ford looked back on it, he realized that wasn’t a twig; it was a pointy hat. “Fiddleford, come look at this.”

Fiddleford moved away from his son and towards his friend and he stared at the image that had caught Ford’s attention. “Oh… oh my…”

“I know.”

“Whatcha reckon that there is?”

Tate looked at the picture and noticed the red circle on another one. He grinned and called out, “Gnomes!”

The three turned to look back at the doorway of the living room and they saw Stan laughing at them, shaking his head. “Gnomes?! Ma used to use ‘em for an excuse for when socks went missin’, remember Sixer? There ain’t no such thing as gnomes. Except the stone ones you get at the store.”

“Ya don’t believe in gnomes, Uncle Stan?” Tate asked.

“Stanley doesn’t believe in the supernatural.” Ford answered with a roll of his eyes and he tried to resume his work. “Even as kids you couldn’t spook him with stories about monsters or ghosts or anything like that. But show him a picture of a r-...”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you, Poindexter!” Stan scooped up Tate, making the boy giggle, and held him under his arm. “I ain’t gonna let you poison this poor kid’s brain with nerd talk. C’mon, I’ll show you how to rangle in sheep.”

“Be careful, son.” Fiddleford called after them. “N’ stay outta the stalls! Don’t mess with Truffles!”

“Okay.”

The evening that came was cool and pleasant, perfect porch-sitting weather. Stan finished his freezy-pop first and read the joke that was now revealed to him for finishing his treat. “Okay okay, what is a ghost’s favorite ice-cream flavor?”

“Oh!” Tate gasped with his hand in the air, sitting on the steps with a banana-flavored pop in his hand. “Oh! Boo-berry!”

“It’s definitely Boo-berry.” Fiddleford said, sitting next to his son.

“How about cookies and scream?” Ford guessed.

Stan chuckled as he rocked in his chair. “I’m gonna say Corpse-mellon. N’ it… huh.” Stan looked all over the stick, but there was no answer to the joke. “It’s blank.”

“Blank stick?” Ford paraphrased. “That’s a bad omen, Stanley. Be careful, something terrible might happen.”

“Yeah,” Stan said slowly and shook his head. “You’re off your rocker, Sixer.”

“I am not!”

Jackie, who had been standing as she ate, sneakily pushed her foot down on the back of Ford’s rocker. On reflex, he leaned forward and Jackie released just in time for the six-fingered nerd to lose his balance and fall forward and on his face. The whole gang laughed while Ford got up red-faced. Stan patted Jackie’s back and howled with laughter, “I love this gal!”

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Jackie was checking the cornfields to make sure everything was in order when she could hear some familiar sheep sounds. She stretched her neck to look past some corn and she saw little Dot wiggling past the short fence and skip into the woods. Jackie yelled in shock and ran after the lamb, grateful that this time it wasn't storming and the sun was shining brightly. “Gosh darn it, Dot! Your ma sucks at keeping an eye on you!”

Because Jackie was so close this time and not blinded by rain, she actually managed to scoop up the lamb quickly. She smacked the lamb a little bit, Stan giving her permission to spank any naughty animals, and she hugged Dot so she would know she was forgiven. A snap of a twig made Jackie jerk her head upward and she listened and kept her eyes sharp. Now she knew Ford and Fiddleford were out in the woods again, close to a breakthrough according to the nerds, so she was sure it was one of them heading home or passing by. How funny it would be to come across each other. So you can imagine how shocked Jackie was to find a little bearded man standing on a rock and looking up at her.

Jackie bit her lip to keep from yelling; she wouldn’t like it if someone yelled at her due to the shock of her appearance, and she didn’t want to scare this weird creature away. The pointy hat and beard told Jackie that this was definitely a gnome. It’s beard was all over the place and gray and the gnome had a big-ish nose and a bit of an overbite with some misshapen teeth, but his eyes, though lopsided and slightly cross eyed, were warm and this creature gave off a kind atmosphere.

Jackie smiled and got on one knee with the lamb in her arms. “Hello.”

The gnome lifted a little arm and wiggled his fingers at her politely. Jackie freed a hand and held it out to him to either shake or hop on. Whichever he wanted. The gnome smiled at her and hopped up on her palm, sitting with his hands prompting him up from behind.

“What a nice lil’ guy.” Jackie complimented. “What’s your name?”

“Shmebulock. Senior.” The gnome croaked.

“I’m Jackie, nice to meet you.” The human smiled while the lamb sniffed the air around Shmebulock. “Wow, a real gnome. I’ve got a friend who’d love to meet you.”

“Shmebulock.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow, but decided to let it go. Maybe gnomes were limited in speech. Before she could ask another question, Shmebulock whistled loudly. Jackie barely had time to register that she was faced with dozens of other gnomes and she screamed in horror when they leaped from the trees for her and Dot.

Jackie’s scream was heard by Ford and Fiddleford, who were currently setting up the cameras again, dropped everything, no questions asked, and ran as fast as they could for Fiddleford’s truck and drove in the direction they feared Jackie was in danger. There was a thick dirt road leading deeper into the woods the men ran on and they saw a truly unusual sight at the edge of the trees.

Jackie was running for her life with a lamb in her arms, a crowd of gnomes behind her. Fiddleford stopped the car and Jackie hopped in the truck before it sped off to try to lose the gnomes. She huffed and puffed, her heart going as fast as the truck, and Ford opened the back window to check on her from the passenger’s seat. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Jackie breathed and Dot “bah”ed happily.

Ford smiled at them and gasped with amazement and wonder as one huge gnome, made out of dozens of small gnomes, ran after them, looking like Santa Clause on his period, red all over with sharp teeth and hat and a big beard. “Wow.” He awed and pulled out his journal to begin sketching.

“DRIVE, FIDDS!” Jackie yelled.

The giant threw gnomes like darts and some of them landed in the truck. While Jackie kicked one off the car, Shmebulock Senior was being slammed against the steering wheel by Fiddleford’s hand, but then one leaped on his face, building him and veering the truck off course. Ford punched the gnome off of his friend, only leaving behind a black eye on the driver.

“Thanks, Ford.” Fidds groaned.

“Don’t mention it. Hey, what’s that?” Ford asked and pointed ahead.

The three humans screamed as the truck ran right into an oak tree. They then held their heads and groaned as they stumbled out of the truck. Poor Fiddleford was a nervous wreck over the wreck. “My truck!”

“Don’t worry, I can fix it.” Ford tried to comfort his friend, ignoring the tire that just popped and the bumper that just fell off. “Probably.”

“At least we lost… oh, no we didn’t.” Jackie held Dot closer to her chest as the giant gnome was before them.

Ford stood in front of Jackie, Fiddleford, and Dot protectively, his arms outstretched, as the gnomes broke away to better surround them and insure there was no way out. The little men of the forest growled and snarled like animals, until a loud voice commanded silence. “ENOUGH!”

Slithering out from the shadows like a snake, but rather on a long white beard than a scaly body, came a gnome much older looking and much different from the other gnomes. This gnome carried a staff with a mushroom on top, wore purple instead of red, had a crown and a red cape, and his voice was as sour as lemons and his eyes were green with envy. Those green, empty, creepy eyes were on Jackie, and while all the gnomes bowed to their king, this guy dipped his head respectively to her.

“My Queen!” He cheered happily. “The time has come to fulfill your destiny!”

“EW, WHAT?!” Jackie yelled. “Nu, huh! No way!”

“Leave her alone!” Ford demanded.

“As it is written, in the Prophecy of Shmizzledorph…”

“Go away!” Fiddleford interrupted.

“... the Prophecy…!” But Ford threw one of his boots at the gnome and the king yelped out a sharp, “Ouch! Alright, fine! You want her back? There’s only one way…”

The gnomes around them giggled, anticipating that they would walk away with a new queen tonight. Jackie stuck out his tongue at them.

“You must answer… A RIDDLE!”

Ford, Fiddleford, and Jackie all blinked at the over-exaggerating king. Ford shrugged and said, “Fine, I like a good riddle.”

“What… IS A GHOST’S FAVORITE ICE-CREAM FLAVOR?!”

Now the humans were nervous. Nervous, surprised, and maybe a little bit impressed. The three huddled like they were about to play football and rambled off ideas.

“Boo-berry!” Fiddleford whispered.

“Cookies and scream!” Ford hissed.

“Stanford, go with Fidds’ answer.” Jackie voted quietly.

“But what if it’s not boo-berry?” Ford asked nervously. “Then you’ll have to be that creep’s queen.”

“But what if it’s not cookies and scream?” Jackie returned.

With a squeeze on his old roommate’s shoulder, Fiddleford gave Ford that softer facial expression and whispered, “Stanford, trust me.”

Ford thought for a moment, took in a deep breath, and nodded. The team broke away and Ford faced the king who was elevated by his own beard. “Boo-berry?”

The gnome was silent. Ford feared he was wrong, but then, “IMPOSSIBAAAAAAAAAAAAALE!”

The humans held each other as the gnomes were then all turned into stone, the little statues they were destined to become. With Fiddleford sandwiched between Ford and Jackie, they watched as the king turned to stone and a little bird landed peacefully on his outstretched hand.

“Huh,” Fiddleford quipped when their protective hug was loosening. “I didn’t actually think that would work.”

The trio worked together to push Fiddleford’s truck back home, but not without a souvenir. As Ford placed a gnome on the porch step, Jackie sat Dot down and let the lamb skip off to join the other sheep. “Thanks for saving my butt back there, guys.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t let you get dragged off into the woods to marry that creep.” Fiddleford reassured her teasingly with a light shove on the shoulder.

“And really, we should be thanking you.” Ford gently corrected. “Thanks to you we finally got what was on our cameras! And I have plenty to write about in the journal! Thank you, Jackie.”

The only lady on the farm couldn’t keep the smile off her face until Stan slammed the door open with Tate by his side. “Whoa, what happened to you three?” He asked, noting the scrapes, Fiddleford’s black eye, and the leaves in Jackie’s hair. “You get hit by a bus or something?”

“If we told you, you wouldn’t believe us, Stanley.” Ford said daringly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a prideful smirk on his smug face.

Stan grinned and crossed his arms over his chest while Tate ran into Fiddleford’s arms for a hug. “Try me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford yawned into his six-fingered hand as he ruffled his brown hair and wandered towards the kitchen. “Mm, thank Moses Stan didn’t eat all the strawberry cobbler.”

He turned on the light and gasped to find a gnome standing by the open fridge, helping himself to the cobbler, which was lying on the floor. The gnome screeched and scampered past his feet and Ford ran after it to see it run through a hole in the screendoor. The young scientist hurried out the door and watched the gnome run off into the woods. The stone-gnome on the step was gone.

“This is bad.”

[artificialqueens]

The Goode Case, 9/14 (Jaida/Jan) - Juno

Chapter Summary: Who is lying to Jaida: Brita or Jackie? Meanwhile, Jaida must help Widow face her grief, and her own spectre.

(A/N: Hi all! I hope you enjoy part nine. Thank you for your continued support!)

6.56PM

Brita’s shoulders tensed up suddenly, looking cautiously at the door. Jaida turned to see why.

Crystal was holding the door for Aiden, both of them looking calmer than they had earlier, but they were too far away from the door to catch them. Brita turned back to her wine sharply, while Jaida watched the two of them slowly amble to the bar.

“Oh, so you were messaging Aiden as well, were you?” Jaida smirked.

“Not about coming here,” Brita muttered, her voice hitching with nerves.

Jaida watched as Aiden’s eyes flicked over to the three of them for a split second, before flicking back to Vanessa behind the bar. Crystal was leaning on the bar, pointing at one of the drinks behind it.

Jaida leaned towards Brita. “She looked.”

“She did?”

“Yep.”

“Does you think that mean she’s interested?”

“How the hell am I meant to know that? Ask Jackie, she’s the mind reader.”

“Maybe we should put work aside and just go sit with them,” Jackie suggested.

“Too late,” Jaida muttered, as Crystal and Aiden approached them.

“Hi.” Crystal waved to the three of them crowded in their single seat, giving them a small smile. “Look, this is a bit weird, but … can we sit in the seats here? There’s no other free booths.” Crystal motioned to the spare row of seats.

“Uh, sure,” Brita motioned, and the two students slid into it.

“Thanks,” Crystal nodded. She turned to Jackie. “You called me earlier, is there – is there an update on Gigi?”

“No – “ Jackie leaned a little nearer, and Crystal did too. “But we’re organising an investigation tomorrow, at the house again. Hopefully it can give us more information than yesterday. Can you come? In the afternoon? We may need your …”

“You can see spirits,” Jaida continued, to clarify, “and we could always use more people who can do that!”

“If it will help Gigi, I’ll do anything!” Crystal nodded fervently. “And Aiden too?”

Jackie’s glance flicked to Aiden, lingering a second too long. Jaida felt Jackie stiffen next to her.

“Alright. But no one else, please.” Jackie chewed her bottom lip. “I will send you a message when we know the time.”

Jaida’s phone was ringing, this time with a work tone, but an unknown number. She stepped out of the booth and walked over to the back door, which was a little quieter.

“This is Hall.”

“Hall, this is Lake, from Forensics. How are you?”

“I’m –“

“Great to hear it.” Darienne Lake, Forensics team leader, was well-known for not beating around the bush with pleasantries. “Listen, I can’t get in touch with your case leader, so you will have to do. Sniffer dogs haven’t been able to find anything more than what we’ve already reported from the weekend. No evidence that Georgina went past the guest house.”

“Didn’t you mention this to Brita when she went down earlier?”

“What? No. We did see her, but she just parked up and went into the old guest house for a bit.”

“But – didn’t your guys call her down for something? A lead?”

“We’ve had no leads, Hall. Why would we call her if we’ve had no leads? Look, we’re putting it on email for her as well. Let her know if you hear from her before, will you?”

Darienne disconnected the call without another word, leaving Jaida to frown at her phone.

Brita hadn’t mentioned she’d been to the house. All Jackie had said was that she’d been to Northfield for a lead, but now Lake was saying she hadn’t even called her down. Lake was straight-talking, and Jaida knew she wouldn’t lie.

She had to ask Brita about it.

Jaida looked back at the table. Crystal and Aiden sat opposite Brita and Jackie, looking like the conversation was relaxing around them; even Jackie was starting to appear less tense. How was Jaida meant to approach this?

Crystal eventually picked up her purse and took Aiden’s hand, leading her to the bathrooms. Perfect.

Sliding back into the booth opposite, Jaida cleared her throat.

“Brita, that was Lake from Forensics. You know Lake, right? Tells it how she sees it?”

“How could I not know her?” Brita chuckled.

“She’s going to send you an email from their work today. No leads.”

“Oh, alright.” Brita nodded, chewing her lip.

“None at all.”

“Alright, fine.”

“Nothing all day.”

“What are you trying to say?” Brita muttered.

“You went to the house.”

“You went to the house?” Jackie repeated. “Brita! Why didn’t you tell us? We should have gone with you! You can’t be going alone! Look what happened earlier today, and that was with three of us!”

“I just forgot my torch there,” Brita replied smoothly, patting her bag. “Nothing major. And – ow! – stop trying to read my mind! Why do you think I’m lying?”

“You could have just told Jackie you’d left it, and not that you’d heard from Forensics,” Jaida pointed out. “No big deal. But Lake was just on the phone to me, and she said she hadn’t even called you!”

Brita sighed. “What is wrong with you two? I thought we were working together on this!”

“We are working together! Come on, Brita, you’re being a bit evasive now,” Jackie reasoned, reaching for her arm. “We just want you to be honest with us.”

There was a short silence, until Brita turned in the booth to face Jackie.

“Alright,” she said, “go ahead. Read my mind. Then you can see that all I wanted was the torch. And nothing else happened.”

“Are you sure?”

“We should –“ Brita motioned to the back yard, which was quiet and empty, and Jackie nodded. They slid out of the booth, leaving Jaida alone in the booth with her thoughts.

Crystal and Aiden came back from the bathroom shortly afterwards, looking out the window at Jackie and Brita as they passed.

“Hi, Detective Hall.” Crystal gave another nervous wave.

“Call me Jaida. Now that we’re all doing psychic shit together it might be best to be familiar.”

“Psychic shit,” Aiden muttered, and for the first time since Jaida had seen her, started sniggering.

“So, Jaida,” Crystal said, peering up at her, “have you – I mean, have you seen ghosts for long?”

Jaida cocked an eyebrow. Aiden’s eyes darted between them both.

“I’ve seen them all my life,” Crystal continued. “I have a big family, which means lots of grandparents, great-grandparents who die when you’re young. The first time I saw my great-aunt Rosalia in my room, I thought I was going nuts! So did my mom. She took me for some baptism thing at my church!”

“Really?” Jaida cried.

“Yeah, my mom is very superstitious. Thought it was the devil! She came round eventually. But at first it was so scary to see them all.”

“Oh.”

Jaida wasn’t quite sure how to react to this. In Crystal she’d found – an equal? A confidant, maybe? And for once she didn’t know what to say. Other people around her seemed to be far more open, more comfortable with these truths than Jaida herself was.

She turned to Aiden, hoping to change the subject. “And you don’t, like, teleport or some shit do you?”

Aiden just shook her head quickly, averting her eyes to look into her glass of coke, her shoulders becoming stiff. Crystal gave her a nudge, but Aiden just shook her head again.

“Alright,” Jaida said, “you don’t have to say.”

Brita was striding back inside, having left Jackie out in the garden; and reached for her purse, which was on the seat next to Jaida.

“Jaida, I’m going now.”

“What?” Jaida exclaimed. “Why?”

“Just –“ Brita hissed, motioning to the front door, and Jaida followed Brita out there, both slipping under one of the umbrellas in the bar next door to avoid the rain, which was still coming down. Brita settled a little, but Jaida could see her face was a little red, and her eyes staring at a point in the distance as she spoke.

“I think I’m moving Jackie off the case tomorrow. She’s becoming a liability.”

“What?” Jaida cried. “Liability? I have no idea what you’re talking about now.”

“She hit me, Jai!” Brita motioned to her cheek, and Jaida could sure enough see finger marks in the redness. “Slapped me right across my face! I was just trying to talk to her!”

“She slapped you? Why? That doesn’t sound like Jackie.”

“I don’t know, she’s gone nuts!” Brita’s voice was tense, nervous, her hands jittery in her lap. “I think the whole – ghosts, telepathic stuff – it’s all gotten to her a bit. I think she needs an office role for now. We’ll find Gigi’s body alone.” Brita forced a smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jaida swallowed when Brita said body. “You really think she’s dead?”

“I don’t know what else she can be, sis.” Brita shook her head sadly. “Listen, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m gonna go home. Get some rest. Think about what to do about Jackie.”

Jaida went back into Vanjie’s, which was starting to heave with people, struggling to get at the bar for Happy Hour. At the same booth, Crystal was still in place, with Aiden opposite her, her eyes on her coke, while Jackie sat, dazed, next to Aiden. She grabbed Jackie’s hand and pulled her from the booth, moving away from the bemused students.

“Jackie,” Jaida hissed. “You slapped Brita?”

“What? Did she say that?” Jackie frowned. “Why would she say that?”

“I don’t know, Jackie,” Jaida put her hands on her hips. “But I saw her face, and there was a mark on it! What the hell is wrong with everyone today?” Jaida cried. “Am I the only normal person left?”

Jackie shook her head. “I didn’t though! I was just trying to connect with her, but I don’t – I mean, I didn’t hit her!”

“Did she hit herself then? Did someone else walk up and hit her?” Jaida snapped.

“Jai, you can’t possibly believe that I did that!”

Jaida hoisted up her bag over her shoulder. “Honestly, Jackie, I don’t know what to believe. I’m going home. I’ve had enough already.”

“Jaida!”

But Jaida didn’t look back. She made her way out of the bar and into the torrential rain.

7.50PM

The bus ride seemed to be over in the blink of an eye. Jaida’s thoughts spiralled in her mind, from Brita’s grim acceptance that the case was now a hunt for a body; to Jackie’s startled denial of the accusation of hitting her team leader. But there was no reason Brita should lie about that too. Plus, she had the mark on her face! One of them was lying.

And then Brita’s strange revelation that she had returned, alone to the house. Forgetting her torch was a feasible enough reason to return there, but what had prompted Brita to lie about that? Was she lying about being slapped as well? How had the red mark appeared on her face if she was?

Things were getting stranger and stranger, and Jaida hated it. She felt as if everything was happening around her, with her powerless to control any of it. The paranormal stuff was bad enough to get used to, but all the uncertainty surrounding this case and her team was starting to mess with her mind.   

When Jaida got indoors finally, the room was dark, curtains drawn, but the room didn’t feel empty. Switching on the light, she found Widow was sprawled on the couch, one shoe on and one off, staring at Jaida, her eyes glassy. A bottle of red wine sat on the floor, empty and laid on one side.

This was bad. Really bad.

“Widow, what are you doing sitting in the dark?”

“Thinking.” She barely moved. Even her lips didn’t seem to move.

“Have you had any more than that bottle?”

“I had – the whole bottle?” Widow turned slowly to the ground, then made a nonplussed face. “Huh. I had the whole bottle.”

“You hate alcohol. You said yourself it made you do crazy shit, it tore your family apart. You swore off it last year.”

“Do you blame me?” Widow’s voice was slow and bitter.

Jaida shook her head. “No, I don’t, of course not.”

Jaida was a little uneasy, but she came and sat at the edge of the couch to see how Widow would react; to her relief, Widow moved her feet and carefully, slowly sat herself upright. Although her eyes were a little vacant, Widow didn’t actually seem too drunk.

“What’s on your mind?”

But Widow laughed with surprising energy. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

“She does. And you do.”

Jaida shuffled over on the couch to wrap her arms around Widow, who leaned into Jaida’s side. Widow was much shorter than Jaida, and her chin just about reached Jaida’s shoulder.

“I miss her,” Widow breathed against her shoulder, slurring her words slightly. Jaida could feel Widow’s heart racing, and the heat of her body as the alcohol pulsed through her. Her lips were black, stained by the wine she’d drunk, her eyes bloodshot, pupils wide.

Jaida squeezed her a little harder, and that was when the spirit appeared.

Lank hair, skin ashen, most definitely not of this world. Her dead eyes rested on Widow, not on Jaida. Her arms were stiff, gruesome in their bloodied mess, and she stood in the corner as she always did, motionless.

Jaida, emboldened by her work that day, had a thought come to her out of nowhere.

“What was her name?” Jaida’s voice was breaking, and she half-expected Widow to run away immediately; trying to make Widow talk about anything personal was like trying to milk a wall. But Widow just shivered, the alcohol loosening her tongue and her mind.

“Tori. Victoria.”

Jaida swallowed as the figure in the corner took an uneasy step towards them. She forced herself to stay calm.

“How – how long had you been friends?”

“Oh God,” Widow shuddered again, “since … kindergarten. Yeah.”

“Were you in school together all – all your lives?”

“Yeah, all the same classes until – I left for college and she didn’t.”

Widow was shaking, but Jaida focused on the figure in the corner, now emerging, taking another step towards Widow, and another, seeming to glide towards them, becoming more and more real.

Stay calm. Widow needs this.

“When did you last see her?” Jaida asked.

Widow was shaking with grief. “July. When I went to KC and we went to that show. She –“ Widow stopped, the veneer of drunken blankness creeping over her eyes, but she blinked and carried on. “She had on this stupid shirt, this stupid pink shirt, and she wanted me to swap, but I didn’t, cause she – she’s like a size ten, and I’m a fourteen …”

Widow’s voice died as she started to sob into Jaida’s shoulder, the spirit close enough to touch. Now that she was so close, Jaida saw her grey face was lined with sadness; her hair was more dark brown than black; and her hollow eyes swam with tears.

She was reaching for them both, and Jaida’s fear was fading again, turning to empathy.

“… and she ripped the fucking shirt taking it off, if you can believe it, and I – I had this stupid idea to share the shirt I had with her, it was too big for me …” Widow wiped her eyes furiously. “So – we both put our heads in the head hole, and had one arm each, like we were fucking ten years old or something!”

The noise coming from Widow was still sobs, but now laughter mingled into it.

The woman behind them both reached a hand and rested it, ever so gently, on Jaida’s hands, clasped at Widow’s shoulder.

Jaida jolted in worry, but she just felt a spreading warmth through her body, like an open fire on a winter day, making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She exhaled, unaware she had been holding her breath, and lifted a hand to the woman, but she moved her own hand to Widow’s arm, where it gently rested.

“I really didn’t want to think about her,” Widow whispered, her words still slightly slurred, “but it’s – it’s not so bad, talking about her. Remembering her. Actually, Jai, I think you’re the first person to ask me anything about her.”

“You just threw yourself into painting and shit, instead of thinking about her,” Jaida agreed.

“She was my best friend growing up,” Widow finally leaned away from Jaida, wiping her eyes again, “I got so many memories of her. She was amazing.”

“You got any pictures?”

“Sure, how long have you got?” Widow exclaimed, rubbing her eyes and grabbing her phone from the coffee table, flicking the screen open.

Jaida glanced up at the spectre, her face becoming more relaxed, the lines around her seeming to blur, as she faded into the air, disappearing from Jaida’s sight – Jaida knowing somehow that she was fading for good, her goal – to make Widow open up about her – accomplished.

Widow sniffed, tears falling onto the screen as she hurriedly wiped them off. “This was us at the show in July. In my big ass shirt.” She managed a laugh. “It was ruined the next day.”

The picture was Widow and the figure that Jaida had seen, this time in life, her head squashed by the shirt’s head hole next to Widow’s, the logo on the shirt stretched ridiculously across their chests. One of each of their arms was through the arm holes of the shirt.

Widow’s head was thrown to the side, her black curls dancing around her face, frozen in a laugh that Jaida could hear from just looking at the picture. Her friend – Tori – had a bottle of Corona in her hand and was kicking her leg on front of Widow, her face a picture of joy.

Jaida had never seen Widow so happy.

9.34PM

Jaida’s phone was ringing, a friend tone, but she looked down at Jackie’s number and groaned.

“Go away,” she hissed at the phone, as the tone faded.

Jackie: Jaida please pick up, please don’t ignore me

Jaida:What do you want

Jackie:It’s better if we speak, not message

Jaida rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to speak. Her two colleagues were both acting bizarrely and she just wanted a rest. She didn’t reply to Jackie’s message, and Jackie didn’t send her another.

Her phone buzzed again, thankfully not Jackie this time.

Dahlia: ok my mom is on shift tomorrow so I can come at like 3?? X

Jaida: I will let Brita know. Thanks Dahl you’re amazing xx

Dahlia: btw you never told me about Heidi and her date x

Jaida:I met her, she seems nice xx

Dahlia:oh good, Rock did the cards for the first time and I think she had one wrong x

She picked up her phone again and brought up Brita’s contact, with the selfie they had taken as their screenshot.

Jaida: Brit Brittany Bit

Brita: what’s up Jai x

Jaida: Dahlia is good for tomorrow at 3pm x

That was all that needed to be said. Brita was acting just as strangely as Jackie. With a start, Jaida’s eyes fell on her bag, and she realised that she had forgotten to pass Brita the book. Oh well, it could wait until tomorrow.

Her phone sounded again. Why was everyone trying to get in touch with her right now? Jaida expected it to be Brita again, but her stomach leapt to her throat when she saw the message.

Jan: hey gorg. I got Friday evening off shift. Can’t wait to see you at six! X

Jaida: Can’t wait either Jan. See you Friday xx

Jaida wrapped her braids for the night and got into bed, allowing her thoughts to turn to Jan, conjuring her image in her mind, adding in details here and there; her voice, her eyes, her lips …

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING QUESTION

If investors stop writing checks, or they could become irrelevant. The big danger is that you'll dismiss your startup. Only a tiny fraction of people who do great work, and they manage to get things done. But was it the most interesting work I could imagine doing? So if you try, anything you achieve is on the plus side of the room to check email or browse the web or check email now. When startups came back into fashion, around 2005, investors were starting to write checks again. And yet conventional ideas of professionalism have such an iron grip on our minds that even startup founders are. The thing to do, or know, things you're not supposed to. And yet Apple's overall market share is still small. Childhood was getting old. And since I made much more money from it, it offered the highest ratio of income to boringness of anything I'd done, by orders of magnitude.

The only real difference between adults and high school kids is that adults realize they need to do two things, one of which won't surprise them, and this question is just to get you users, or a big partner—is ipso facto suspect. When I said I was speaking at a high school. After the reception we got from art dealers, we were trying to sell luggage and pens and men's shirts. That was contrarian advice 10 years ago, one was supposed to look. More time gives investors more information about a startup's trajectory, and it was a radical departure from existing languages, the most important. The most powerful sort of aptitude is a consuming interest in some question, and such interests are often acquired tastes. But you can and should give users an insanely great experience with an early, incomplete, buggy product, if you keep growing at 10% a week you'll be surprised how well this works. Startups building things for other startups have a big pool of potential users in the other companies we've funded, and none took better advantage of it than Stripe.

When founders seem unfocused, I sometimes suggest they try to get into grad school in economics, but if you major in economics it will be hard to find a better focus group than hackers, because they grow into the trees of the economy tend to be diametrically opposed: the founders, who have nothing, would prefer a 100% chance of $1 million to a 20% chance of $10 million, while the VCs can afford to be rational and prefer the latter. Tranched deals are an abuse. The world changes fast, and you learn things you'd never have known otherwise. There's one other major component of determination: ambition. Repeat till, like an internal combustion engine, the process becomes self-sustaining, and each project generates the next one. This time the number of founders in the same language, so languages spread from program to program like a virus. But as one VC told me after a startup he funded would only take about half a million, I don't know what we're going to do that is to get out there and do stuff. In a traditional series A round, before the VCs invest they make the company set aside a block of stock for future hires—usually between 10 and 30% of the company. And choose those that will give you the most promising vein of users.

Once we actually took the plunge into e-commerce, it turned out to be surprisingly easy to compete. But as so often happens, the closer you get to the truth, the messier your sentence gets. Don't think that you can't do it by accident. The solution is at the other end: to realize that those famous writers actually sucked. When we were in grad school, a hacker friend of mine who spent too much time around MIT had his own lock picking kit. There is such a thing as Americanness. So don't assume a subject is to be excited about it, because it's common to see families where one sibling has much more of it than Stripe.

With each step you gain confidence to stretch further next time. A round. I've been impressed by how consistently the speakers advocate launching fast and iterating. So if you want to do such things. We had a comparatively easy time of it; the first people I asked said yes; but it is for many software startups because they're now so cheap. The angel investors who funded our startup let the founders sell a little stock early, they'd be happy to take VC money and bet the rest on a bigger outcome. Believe it or not, the two senses of hack are also connected. The winners slow down the least. This can only happen in a very limited way in a list of n things. And why did Bricklin and Frankston write VisiCalc for the Apple II?

VCs will say this is inevitable—that you should all become humorless little robots who do nothing but work. It seems to me the solution is to work in the other companies we've funded, and none took better advantage of it than another. The need to do two things, one of the questions I was trying to answer was how many there were of them. When I grew up in the 1970s, the idea of writing serious, intellectual stuff like the famous writers. Things have already changed so much that there's nothing else they'd rather do. And while 110 may not seem much better than 100, if you want to do such things. $3000 is insignificant as revenues go. The intervening years have created a situation that is, as far as I can tell they're mostly random. There is one case where the list of n things is that there's so little room for new thought. The way you succeed in most businesses is to be undisciplined. But startups aren't tied to VC the way they dressed and the way they used to.

But investing later should also mean they have fewer losers. Of course, running companies is a lot of work creating course lists for each school, doing that made students feel the site was their natural home. In the car world, there are a lot of startups; it would not be called determined. Actually startups take off because the founders make them take off. There are plenty of people as smart as Bill Gates who achieve nothing. Besides which, art dealers are the most technophobic people on earth. Not even investors, who are supposed to be able to get it really hot before adding more logs. Making money right away was not only unnecessary for them, but I can think of a phrase to convey how extreme your attention to users should be, and I realized Steve Jobs had already done it: insanely great.

Franz Beckenbauer's was, in effect, simultaneously choose all the management companies to run yours for you, and you'd be protected even if it happened to die. In the past, a competitor might use patents to prevent you from selling a copy of something they made, e. But like many fouls, this one was unintentional. This CFO is both the smartest and the most upstanding money guy I know. If you'd proposed at the time the starving part is actually quite easy, so I was haunting galleries anyway. Who knew? I point out that in their current state they have nothing to lose. But using the Internet on my work computer. It's the way things felt in 2001. Ironically, part of the economy. So I went back to America. It's called a hack.

Thanks to Gregory Price, Jackie McDonough, Sam Altman, Max Roser, Jessica Livingston, and Robert Morris for putting up with me.

[allinlowercase]

If I Could Tell Him - Chapter Four

Chapter Four - Family Portrait

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five 

Summary: Alaska hadn't intended to be slingshot back into 1960. Life doesn't always live up to our intentions. When she and her friend Jackie are supposedly hit by Paul's car, they are by chance swept into the Beatle's orbit. But while Alaska struggles to reconcile her lost future and past, Jackie is unable to contain her excitement.

January 23rd, 1963

I sat in the living room, my leg bouncing up and down as I waited for my phone to charge. Interestingly enough, my phone wasn't as beat up during the crash as I thought it would be, although the screen protector was so cracked that I had to remove it. I smiled when the battery finally reached 100%. It was an iPhone 8, which meant that it suffered from the garbage decision to only have one shared port for charging and headphones. This was, of course, a mild inconvenience in the grand scheme, however, since the only task I could perform with my phone was listening to music, it was frustrating.

I pulled up the Spotify app and thanked God that I'd had the sense to download all my favorite music for offline. I needed Ariana right now, and I didn't relish the possibility of having to wait 60 years for Sweetener. Of course, none of the McCartney clan were home at the moment. I was alone, working on a few job applications. Paul's pocket wasn't limitless, and I'd already spent valuable hospital money on what Mr. McCartney deemed "respectable working clothes", which really meant single-colored skirts with matching shirts. I looked like a damn secretary, but seeing as how that was probably the only job I'd land in my situation, it was appropriate. I'd also managed to purchase a small box of feminine hygiene products.

They weren't so much for me as they were for Jackie whenever she was released. My birth control was a small implant inside my arm (there was no telling how the removal of that was going to go if I were still here in the next four years), but Jackie had been on the pill, which was not readily available yet, and wouldn't be for another four years as according to her. I rested my head back against the seat of the couch.

I was sitting as I usually liked to: on the floor, back braced by the couch, legs spread straight underneath the coffee table. Mr. McCartney and Michael as well thought it improper the first time they'd seen me sit that way, so I made a habit of only doing this when I was alone.

I got to a part in one application that asked for my parentage. The official story was that I could not remember where Jackie and I had been staying for our "trip", and Jackie remembered nothing at all. I hoped that that would help account for why we didn't have passports ("we can't remember where our luggage is") and why the English government was going to have a time and a half trying to find any American records of us. I kept hoping that there was some kind of loophole I could indefinitely exploit, like "oh, I was born in a bathtub in Butt-Fuck, Nowhere, so the state has no record of me" or "my family died in The War". For now, we were on temporary visas until whoever was in charge of us could find a proper permanent solution.

I heard a door open and shut and quickly ripped the one earbud I'd had in and shoved my phone underneath the couch in a panic. I was terrified of messing up time-space. Paul turned a corner and came striding into the living room with one of his bandmates. I didn't really know one from the other yet. Maybe John?

Paul cracked a smile at my position on the floor. I'd resolved to really only wear my future clothing as a kind of at-home wear, them being dark wash jeans and an emerald green sweater. His bandmate took one look at me and started laughing.

"Macca, that's the bird you hit with a car?" he wheezed. I frowned at him, not really understanding what was so funny about me. I'd seen girls wearing pants in these parts . . . occasionally.

"Well kind of, the one that got hit-hit is still in the hospital," I deadpanned. This seemed to calm him down a little and he looked almost sheepish.

"Right, I apologize. That may have been uncouth of me," he said. That was kind of an apology, so I kind of forgave him, nodding in response. Paul cleared his throat as he sat down next to me, on the actual furniture.

"Well then. Alaska, this is my friend John Lennon. John, this is Alaska Dunn; she's a guest of mine," he introduced primly. Inwardly, I congratulated myself on my earlier guess. I stood up and stuck my hand out to shake.

"Hi," I offered simply. John took it and pumped a couple of times. His handshake was firm, the skin of his hand warm. It felt weird to analyze someone's handshake. Is this how Dads feel?

"Well, girly, we're here to work on official Beatles business and as much as I enjoy an audience, this is secret stuff. Run along now," John said dismissively, making a shooing gesture with his hand. I wrinkled my nose at him but did as suggested. As if I want to be in the presence of this asshole anyway.

Paul snorted. "John, don't be rude. Alaska, you're welcome to stay, but it might be loud in here." I smiled in response.

"Thank you, Paul, but it'd be best for me to leave then. I need to finish these up," I said, gathering my applications from on top of the coffee table. Paul shrugged and moved to sit at the upright piano in the corner. I had a fleeting thought of grabbing my phone from under the couch, but John was still looking at me to leave. I figured it would be better to leave it there and come back later.

From the living room, I went and sat at the kitchen table. It was probably not that much quieter than staying in the living room would have been, but I liked the solitude. I looked back at the line asking for my parentage. My father wouldn't be born for another ten years, my mother for eight. I leaned back in the kitchen chair, a little lost. It kept hitting me anew how serious this situation was. Everyone I'd known, except Jackie, didn't exist yet. I was going to miss Kennedy's senior homecoming game; we had a tradition of going to Steak n' Shake after every home football game, and even Steak n' Shake probably didn't fucking exist yet.

My cheeks felt wet and I reached up to realize, I'd started crying. Oh, that was great; any moment now my vision would get blurry and my throat would get tight, and at any moment John fucking Lennon could walk in and see me crying. I could guess he'd probably have a field day. I started to gather up my things to move upstairs when I heard a throat clear.

In the doorway stood Paul. In the other room, piano continued on, the same stilted melody playing over and over as John worked around with it. Paul looked a little uncomfortable, the same guilt coming out again. I sighed.

"I'm not crying because of John, this isn't your fault," I offered. Paul nodded and moved until he was sitting at the table with me. His eyes caught the area on my application where I'd tripped up. He swallowed and nodded.

"But I do understand what you're going through, at least a little." I knew he'd lost his mother at an early age. "How recent . . .  has it happened then?" he asked softly. I swallowed thickly, my throat starting to hurt.

"Not much longer than before I met you actually. I'm still processing it," I said, some tremble in my voice. I cursed myself; I didn't want Paul to feel sorry for me, even if some small part of me was desperate to reach out for comfort. He nodded solemnly, and, hesitatingly, put his hand on top of mine on the table.

"It doesn't get better per se, but it gets easier to focus on other things as time goes on, I think. I was fourteen you know when my mum passed," he told me, softly. I turned my hand over so our palms were touching and squeezed his hand. He smiled small, at me. "I won't bother you for details, I'm sure that wouldn't help. But I'm here if you need me."

"Paul! Get back in here, I'm onto something," John yelled from the other room. Paul smiled and rolled his eyes. With that, he stood up and patted my shoulder before leaving the room.

A/N: Hello, thank you for reading, as always. Oh look, another wild Beatle, in a Beatles fanfic! And it only took me four chapters.

[platinumshawnn]

Grief | Jack Lowden pt. 2

Part One |

Word count: 3,000

Summary: Jack reflects on his life with his father and struggles readying himself to say his final goodbyes as the family finishes setting up the last minute preparations and details for the funeral 

A/N: I may have went a little out as far as this part goes, I only meant for it to be like 2,000 characters max but....it practically wrote itself and went all out. Also, I figure I’d like this part’s soundtrack inspiration. Enjoy?  

It was the first time in over a week that night that they slept in bed, back to back -- not touching, but she didn’t need to be pressed right up against him to feel his presence; to feel the heaviness that weighed him down into the thin mattress of his old room, the sadness and grief that he drowned in, that consumed his every fiber. He was restless, tossing and turning in bed for hours and hours and it was all she could focus on. His breathing seemed ragged and forced, too deep to be normal. She couldn’t remember what time she had lulled to sleep, just remembering that she had fallen asleep at some point to the sound of his struggled breathing; his pain physically evident. When she woke, it was to the sound of clinking, noting the emptiness of the bed immediately before anything else as her eyes wandered around the small room that was decorated by old school and family photos, small awards he’d acquired during his teens, all signs of the Jack she knew and loved surrounding her. A vast contrast to the broken man she’d witnessed as she glanced to the digital alarm clock that read 6:42 A.M., her eyes moving to find the blonde Scotsman near the window with a coffee mug in his hand, stirring so robotically she wasn’t even sure he was fully aware of what he was doing; like he wasn’t in control of his own hand.

  His hair was disheveled, his expression hidden by the shadow that still cast the room into a It state of near complete darkness -- but it was common sense to assume that he hadn’t slept much or even at all if she had to be honest. Jack remained oblivious to her waking, just as he was that his coffee was probably stirred enough, that he didn’t even turn to look when his wife stumbled out of bed, tripping over her own feet as she crept from the room in her nightgown. They had begun to make progress the night before, for the first time since his father had passed, and that was all she could think of while looking over her shoulder to glance back at the vision that was of her husband in the open window; the peak of sunrise starting to come up with his silhouette stood there like some artsy photo you’d stumble across in a magazine or online. And though maybe today he’d revert back to silent and looking through her, she couldn’t deny the warmth that spread across her chest for the little amount of strength he had mustered to give her a piece of the man she knew -- the man who loved helping his wife and loved just basking in her presence, just as long as he could be near her he never needed for anything to be said. And maybe she was over analyzing and thinking too much about a moment that maybe was nothing, but to her, it felt like progress.  

  She ducked down the hallway as quietly as she could, making sure as to not disturb the house that was still completely and utterly silent and asleep as it should have been at this hour as she made her way into the bathroom with her arms folding over her chest like somehow it would provide her some warmth, by hugging herself. The hardwood floors were cool under her bare feet that tiptoed across, closing the bathroom door behind her and flicking on the fluorescent yellow lights that made her squint; blindly stumbling her way to the toilet. She did what she had to and finished her business, cringing when she flushed the toilet as it sounded almost as loud as shooting a gun in this silence and kept the water pressure of the sink low when she washed her hands.

  Her eyes though lifted to the mirror before she left, her hand hovering over the light switch while she took in her exhausted appearance; the bags under her eyes more prominent than ever and hair a mess, yesterday’s curls barely even showing any sign they’d been there just hours previously as they were now replaced by frizzy bedhead from the tossing and turning she herself had done. She hadn’t slept well and it was obvious aside of the back pain from sleeping weird. Before she could linger on and wake up enough to complain about how dull and lifeless she looked, about the few pimples that were starting to break out across her forehead, and how dried out she looked, she flicked the light off and began to make her way back to Jack’s room. Her eyes had been drawn to the framed images hung on the walls, family photos and graduation pictures of the kids, childhood photos, pictures of a family with wide smiles and bright, happy eyes -- there was no way of ignoring the pain in her chest it brought her as her eyes stopped on one specific picture of her and Jack clinging to either side of his father, taken the previous Easter. She swallowed thickly and lifted a hand to brush the frame with her fingertips ever so gently.

  When she returned to the bedroom, she stopped by the doorway and fidgeted with her fingers as she stared at Jack, who still had not moved much but at least he had stopped stirring and was now sipping slowly at his drink. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, as she spoke.

  “Did you sleep at all?” She asked.

  It took him a minute before he quietly answered after lowering his cup, “No, couldn’t.” He admitted. Olivia nodded slightly and made her way across the room gingerly, wordlessly as she came up behind him and reached out to gently touch her fingertips to the spot between his shoulder blades as if test the waters. It was when he seemed unbothered by the contact, if anything relaxing slightly, that she moved in closer to close the space between them and wrapped her arms around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder while her eyes focused out the window too. She pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder.

  “What’s the agenda for today?” She asked, eyes flickering to his face as her hands clasped together just below his ribs. His chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath and then sighed, eyes not even bothering to look at her.

  “I have to go confirm flowers and drop off some other stuff for the boards. Double check that the obituaries turned out the way mum wanted, make sure everything is correct.” He ran down the small list of responsibilities, her cheek rested on his shoulder and watching his expression.

  Nodding once, Olivia paused. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  He didn’t say anything but by the flutter of his eyes, closing them for a moment too long and the visible flinch he gave before he opened them again, she knew she had her answer. She turned her head after one last moment of taking in the sight of him to look back out the window, the silence between them giving her a moment to think, really think, how much harder this must have been for him. The two had been as close as a father and son could be, this man that she’d become relatively close with in those last six year, was not just a father to him -- he was a role model and his idol, his best friend even. Jack was close to his parents but there was always something so much deeper between his father and him and she had admired it from the first time she witnessed it, envied even, despite having a good relationship with her own father.

  She inhaled and backed up from his slightly, her tight hold around his midsection releasing but her hand reaching up to grasp his left elbow gently, “Let’s go for breakfast. That old cafe downtown your dad used to love, we can enjoy the sunrise during the drive.” She suggested, head tilting as she waited for an answer that took him a minute of contemplation. It was with a sigh that he turned and agreed, her small smile being met by his tired expression, his eyes still wavering the idea. “Come.”

-

 He hadn’t been as eager to finish his breakfast, the eggs and toast still untouched, but he nibbled at the bacon slowly; eyes out the window and watching the cars and civilians that were starting to fill the streets; making their way to work, bundled up as they try to block out the cool morning breeze that had managed to leave a layer of condensation in their car’s windshield. Neither of them had said much either since sitting down and ordering, other than polite ‘thank you’s whenever the waitress came by to check everything or ask if they needed refills, but the soft hum of conversation from other customers and the staff and the quiet music playing overhead was something she was thankful for -- it gave her something to focus on while she ate, her eyes flickering up to look at him every so often.

  She wasn’t used to their silent breakfasts and even if there was noise to fill that silence, it made her uncomfortable. “What are you thinking about?” She suddenly asked while scooping a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth and chewing.

  “Nothing.” He shortly answered, looking away from the window and down to his plate that was barely touched, picking up his fork and knife to cut a piece of waffle off to pop into his mouth in the meanwhile but she could easily tell there was something more to say, keeping her waiting gaze on him. “Well I just,” He said after swallowing, “do you remember the last time we came here?” He added, glancing across at her.

  “I think. We came here with your dad for his birthday, right?” She recalled, her hands going to rest in her lap while she leaned forward a bit.

  Jack nodded, “Yeah. I’m just thinking about…” He said, drifting off and smiling slightly to himself. “He inhaled his food sometimes, do you remember? Just to bug me, he’d say it was a contest to mock me and eat as fast as possible and then he would be like, ‘come on, Jacky, you gotta give me a run for my money’ or that my grandmother ate faster because I would always make everything a competition as a kid and it was the stupidest thing. It frustrated him when I was a kid and it frustrated me as an adult and it was funny to him. He ate four waffles in five minutes and I was horrified. These things are huge.” He recalled, pointing out the size of the waffle on his plate with his fork.

  Olivia smiled and watched the way his face seemed to light up at the memory, a smile on his face as he spoke but it was a short lived moment before he paused; smile faltering and looking across at her, looking back down when he met her eyes. “Anyways.” He finally finished, her own smile leaving her face as she realized the conversation was over, nodding once. “I think I’m just gonna get this to go, I’m not too hungry.” He quietly said. As much as she wanted to argue to at least have a few more bites, she remained quiet and sighed quietly, waving a hand to call the waitress over, forcing a small smile.

  “Can we have the check please? Thank you.” She softly said.

  They paid and got containers for their food, quiet as they left, walking shoulder to shoulder as they carried their take away boxes in their hands back to the car. I wasn’t vocally decided upon but Jack had decided it was his turn to take over, getting in the driver's seat as she clambered into the passenger’s, buckling up before they were off again.

  Flowers took only five minutes to confirm, dropping off pictures for boards that would be placed around the church at the funeral took another ten; quietly speaking as Jack explained how they wanted everything placed, while Olivia wandered around and took a look around the lobby area, hands in her pockets. She timed everything. From the time it took to get from one place to another, to how long each conversation was, she counted. She could sense how tense he was by the end of their driving around, picking up a copy of the obituaries that would be available to take the next day for guests that were in attendance; still parked in the parking lot outside the printing place fifteen minutes later as he stared blankly down at it.

  She didn’t say anything, just staring at him and waiting, waiting to hear for any mistakes; misspells or changes that needed to be made but he said nothing, just looking at the poem that was inside for a long time. It was when she uttered a soft call of his name that he sharply inhaled and looked up, putting the demo copy in the console between them, blinking rapidly as if to hide the evident tears she could still see from her seat, her heart aching as she sighed.

  “Oh, Jack…” She breathed out, reaching a hand over to gently touch his jaw with her hand gently. He shook his head and began to reach for the key in the ignition to start the car.

  “It’s fine, they got everything right, I think mum will give them the clear.” He rambled shakily. “I mean the picture inside is a little orange looking but he’d probably say it made him look more tanned so…”

 “Jack, stop.” She said, grabbing the nearest hand to stop him from shifting gears. She kept her voice soft as she spoke, but stern as to make it obvious how serious she was. “Turn the car off and look at me.” She ordered. He stayed still. “Turn it off.”

  He sighed deeply and turned the car off, avoiding her gaze until she forced him to look at her; grabbing his chin and turning his face until she could see his eyes, tears welled up and cheeks flushed red as he clenched his jaw. She shook her head, “You don’t have to constantly be strong, you just lost your dad. I know how much he meant to you, and if this is hard, and it hurts just let it out. Stop trying to be okay and let yourself hurt -- grieve, Jack. You’re allowed to be upset.” She advised quietly, seeing his mouth twitch. “But please don’t shut me out and lie to me, I’m your wife and I’m here to go through this with you. I’m here, okay? It’s okay.”

  And it was just like that, hearing those words and the sincerity in his wife’s voice that had been there -- built up after convincing himself he was the one responsible for keeping it together for everyone and being tough -- that he let out a deep, shaky breath and leaned his head down against the steering wheel, his eyes screwing shut as Olivia watched on. Her hand moved to rest on his back as she shifted in her seat to be as close to him as she could, pressing a kiss to his temple as he let out a broken sob, his body tense; sliding her arm around him and remaining there in that position, lips pressed to his temple and closing her eyes.

  “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay.” She quietly spoke, her own tears welling up at the anguished sounds that left his shaking body, sobbing.

  He hiccuped, “No, it’s not. Olivia, it’s-- not.” He cried out, his speech muffled as he kept his head down. “He’s gone and there’s nothing I could fucking do. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I’ve got no goddamn idea and I’m scared and it physically fucking hurts.” He sniffled, the cries leaving his mouth fluidly as she gently rocked them, her hand pressing to the side of his head to pull him closer towards her chest; his body giving in until he was clinging tightly onto her.

  “I hate this,” He muttered brokenly against her. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.”

  She pressed another kiss to his hair, mumbling after five minutes as he was starting to calm back down into sniffles, still tightly holding on to her as if his life depended on it. “It’s not okay and that’s okay. You’re allowed to be angry and sad, and to want to set fire to the world, but know I’m still going to be here, reminding you he was proud of you every step of the way because you knew exactly what you were doing before and I know you’ll figure it out -- in a month, a year, but you’ll figure it out. You always do and he knew that.” She brunette explained. She paused a beat before continuing. “Take your time, the world will still be here for you when you’re ready -- I will, your family, your friends. We’re on your side and you’re not going to do this on your own, whether you want that or not. But don’t force yourself to pretend you’re okay and invalidate your own feelings.”

  “I can’t do this.” He suddenly replied all too quietly.

  “You can, you don’t want to though. You aren’t completely letting him go though, Jack, he’s not entirely gone.” Olivia shook her head slightly, her words now spoken close to his ear as her voice softened. “You are exactly the man your father was and one day you’ll see that, every time you look in the mirror, he is right there with you. You are a great man, Jack Lowden, just as your father was.” She finished, resting her cheek atop his head.

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 5: Second Opinion

((Chase and Jameson do what they can to help the former District Attorney feel more comfortable, before Dr. Schneeplestein calls on a colleague for a second opinion.

Side note, but the tiger toy mentioned here is absolutely based off of the one Chica had in one of the more recent Unus Annus videos. That is an entirely real thing that someone else came up with, and I love it. Schneeplestein’s accent is also inconsistent. I try not to play it up too much, but feel free to let me know if it’s ever annoying or hard to read.

Link to the previous part if you want it here, plus a link to the Traces of Silver masterlist.))

The wolf’s ears perked up and they tensed, just enough to warn Jameson before a knock came at the examining room door, one that sounded suspiciously like someone was actually kicking it.

“Mind if I come in?” called a voice on the other side, and after a beat added, “I can’t, uh, get the door.”

Jameson jumped up and opened the door for Chase, whose hands were full with a couple of plastic bags bearing the name of a local pet store and a paper bag which was giving off a smell that made Jameson’s moustache twitch as he sniffed.

“Whoa,” Chase said, nearly dropping it all when he spotted the massive wolf moving into a sitting position on top of the examination bed, silver eyes turned in their general direction. “They’re so big!”

The wolf’s ears went back and Jameson came very close to facepalming before he quickly signed a reproach.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean—sorry, I’ve just never seen a werewolf in person that was still—” Chase stopped himself and sighed before trying again. “Hi, I’m Chase, uh, Chase Brody, and a pro at putting my foot in my mouth, apparently. And you look so cool.”

The wolf tilted their head, clearly confused.

“JJ and the others are living in my house right now, with another guy I’m not sure if you’ve met yet, Jackie? They told us all about you!” Chase paused and quickly added, “But not that you were a werewolf, that was kind of a surprise—”

Chase hissed at Jameson’s sudden weight on top of his foot and took the hint to stop talking already.

“What is all of this?” Jameson signed, gesturing toward the bags.

“Ow. And oh, I got hot dogs! The guy was setting up his cart on the corner and I thought you guys might be hungry…mostly because I was kind of hungry.” Chase dropped the other bags on the floor and opened the sack to show Jameson the foil-wrapped hot dogs stacked inside. “The doc’s still looking up what’s safe for a wolf to eat so we can stock up at the house, but we figured the plain ones should be good if you want a few, Y/N.”

Jameson reached into the bag and unwrapped one of the plain hot dogs before putting it on the tray next to the wolf’s bed, alongside the bowl of water he’d set out earlier. The wolf’s nose twitched, but they hesitated before turning their head away.

“Well, it’s there if you want it,” Chase said with a shrug. “Jameson, here’s one with relish for you.”

Jameson walked back toward the door, but instead of reaching into the bag he signed, “They’ve barely touched their water, too. Maybe something’s wrong?”

“The doc said to give them time,” Chase signed back before saying aloud, “The main reason I went out though was to pick up some stuff from the pe—uh, store that might help Y/N feel a little better.”

“Really?” Curious, Jameson opened one of the plastic bags and rummaged through what looked like a sampling of the entire dog grooming section, from various brushes to clippers and even nail trimmers. He looked from the bag to the wolf’s heavily matted coat of fur and then back at Chase. “I suppose we could give it a try, if Y/N is willing.”

“Y/N—” Chase started, turning just in time to see the wolf’s head snap back up. The nearby tray was noticeably hot dog-less now, a fact that Jameson pointed out with an elbow to Chase’s side that he didn’t need.

While the wolf’s agreeing nod was less than enthusiastic, after Chase and Jameson ate (and after the wolf devoured a few more of the plain hot dogs when they thought the other two weren’t looking), they awkwardly moved down from the bed to the floor to make the whole process easier.

At which point Chase and Jameson became very aware that even when seated on the floor, the wolf’s head was still almost at chest level. And that they had an obvious problem when the moment one of them moved closer, the wolf almost instinctively skittered backward on the floor until they were up against the bed.

“Whoa, easy, easy,” Chase said while Jameson gave a gentle hushing sound, but the wolf just sank down with a low whine. Chase looked to his left and saw Jameson signing urgently. “Y/N, JJ’s saying that if you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to do this, okay? He says it’s okay, you’re okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

He waited a second before adding for himself, “But if you’ll let us get some of that old fur off, I do think you’ll feel a little better. I promise we’ll be gentle and stop the second you want us to.”

It took a few minutes, but eventually the wolf moved forward, away from the bed and back toward the middle of the floor. They flinched again when Jameson’s hand touched their shoulder, but the reaction wasn’t nearly as bad this time, and they slowly followed his lead to lie down with their large head resting in his lap.

Jameson stroked the top of his friend’s head, slow, small movements that gradually helped the wolf to not so much relax, but at least not shy away when Chase started in with the brush and the other tools he switched to as needed, both noticing the obvious shudders running up and down the wolf’s spine with every touch of a brush or comb.

After a few minutes, Jameson signed, “You’re pretty good at this.”

“I used to have a dog when I was younger,” Chase said with a shrug. “Plus, this is nothing compared to trying to get gum out of the hair of a 4-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.”

The wolf’s ears twitched and Jameson glanced at Chase, whose face had clouded over as if he already regretted saying that. Jameson gestured toward the other bag of shopping Chase had yet to touch and asked, “What is in there?”

Relieved at the change of subject, Chase slid the bag toward the other man and said, “Take a look, I picked up a couple of other things I thought Y/N might like.”

Jameson looked into the bag and a few seconds later Chase became aware of the gentleman’s glare.

“What?” Chase asked.

“Dog treats, really? And tennis balls?” Jameson looked in the bag again and pulled out a stuffed tiger that, bizarrely, had a set of very visible abs. “And what even is this?”

“I don’t know, I just thought I’d get a couple of things to cheer them up,” Chase said, and again the wolf’s ears flicked as though trying to figure out what they were talking about.

“And that includes a sexy tiger toy?”

“…It made me laugh,” Chase muttered.

“You are so lucky they can’t see this,” Jameson signed back, tying the bag shut before going back to stroking Y/N’s head.

It took what felt like forever, but finally Chase ran a brush through the wolf’s coat for the last time, causing the last few strands of loose hair to come floating down to join the rest of the scattered piles that all together probably could have been used to make a small dog on their own. With the mats and shed fur gone, the wolf’s coat already looked much healthier and darker, and Jameson gave a low whistle as the wolf stood up.

“Lookin’ good,” Chase added. “How’s it feel, Y/N?”

The wolf shook their self and paused before raising a paw up, waiting until Chase took the hint and shook it with a wide grin.

“Awesome!” And, unable to contain himself as he shook the werewolf’s paw, he added, “…Oh my God, your paw is so huge, I love it—”

The sound that came from the wolf took both Chase and Jameson by surprise, especially as it sounded suspiciously like a barely suppressed laugh.

---

The wolf returned to the examination bed and spent most of the rest of the day dozing on and off, waking as Chase took his leave, and again to hear Jameson’s soft, muffled snoring not long before the doctor entered the room and gently but firmly directed the gentleman to a bed of his own in another room, assuring him all the way that he would keep an eye on his friend.

Sometime later, Dr. Schneeplestein looked up from his paperwork and saw the wolf’s clouded eyes were open.

“Y/N, zhis is Dr. Schneeplestein. Jameson is sleeping next door, if you are not comfortable with just me.”

The wolf’s ears moved, showing they heard, but aside from a soft sigh there was no other response.

“If you change your mind, I vill understand,” the doctor said before returning to his papers. “Marvin called earlier, to check on you. I told him he needed more sleep, but as usual he is ignoring me. He will be here as soon as he has looked up somezhing, he says.”

The doctor waited a few minutes before saying, as casually as he could, “I have an associate, a good doctor at a local hospital, very respected if he does not have zhe experience of certain other very good doctors, and I had hope…Perhaps you would be willing to let him examine you?”

He expected a response, was braced for a negative reaction of some kind, but after a moment the wolf just sighed again. Schneeplestein gave up pretending that he was looking at the paperwork anymore and spun around in his chair to face the bed.

“Is somezhing wrong?”

After a delay, the wolf shook their head. Their ears pricked up at the sound of the chair wheels on the floor as the doctor rolled his way over to the bed and stopped a respectful distance away.

“It is just a suggestion, and you can say no if it is uncomfortable or no good. I know zhis man, he is very discreet, and he is coming by here soon anyways, I simply thought…” Schneeplestein sighed and admitted, “I can do zhe best I can, but I am limited in what I can do here as I am. I trust zhis other doctor very much, for vhatever zhat may be worth to you. Even if he is a bit, uh…vhat is zhe word? An over actor. Mellow somezhing. You know what I mean, probably.”

The wolf’s clouded eyes gave nothing away of the thoughts going on behind them, but eventually they eased into a sitting position and nodded, just once.

“Good,” Schneeplestein said, with real relief, especially as he heard his phone chirp behind him. The wolf’s ears perked up and he explained, “Zhat would be Dr. Iplier now. I will be just a second.”

The doctor left the room too fast to notice how the wolf suddenly grew rigid, their newly groomed fur standing up in a ridge all along their spine. Instead, he made he way through the darkened clinic and unlocked the door, where the man waiting outside wasted no time coming in and shrugging off the jacket worn over his white coat and tossing it on a nearby chair.

“Thank you for coming in early,” Schneeplestein said as he locked the door behind him, and the other doctor shrugged.

“Makes it easier to come by after my shift at the hospital, but it’s still weird seeing you up this early even without all the cloak and dagger stuff. Did you stay here all day?”

It was Schneeplestein’s turn to shrug. “I had enough to keep me busy, and I do not need zhe sleep every day.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dr. Iplier asked, in a way that suggested he really shouldn’t be. “You’ve still got a couple of hours, maybe you should give it a shot.”

“Sure, maybe,” Dr. Schneeplestein said, giving a side wave of his hand to dismiss the topic from the conversation and most likely from his mind in general. “More important, zhere is zhe patient I mentioned who is waiting.”

“The patient you’ve told me absolutely nothing about,” the other doctor pointed out as he followed him into the back. “The patient who was apparently important enough for a vampire to stay up all day to keep an eye on.”

“Zhe patient you are to tell no one about, if you are to come into zhis room,” Schneeplestein added as he stopped outside of the door in question. He turned an absolutely serious and borderline threatening stare on the other doctor as he said, “I need you to tell me zhis, now.”

“…You have my word, I won’t tell anyone,” Dr. Iplier answered. He placed a hand on Schneeplestein’s shoulder and added, “And honestly Henrik, whatever you have behind that door, I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Dr. Schneeplestein nodded and unlocked the door, at which point the other doctor promptly swore and pulled it shut again.

“Henrik. Please tell me you’ve just decided to go into animal rescue and that was just a normal gigantic wolf sitting in there.”

Dr. Schneeplestein ignored him and reopened the door, to once again reveal the large wolf standing on the bed, shoulders braced and head lowered. Like an animal poised and ready to attack.

“Zhis is zhe doctor I told you about, Dr. Iplier.”

Dr. Iplier could have sworn the wolf sniffed the air, searching for his scent, before they visibly relaxed and sat down on the bed. He tried to speak and cleared his throat before giving it a second attempt. “Er, hi. You’re, uh…”

He glanced at the other doctor, who added, “It is better if you do not know zheir name, I think. I am hoping you vill take a look at zhe patient’s eyes to start with?”

Dr. Iplier looked from Schneeplestein to the wolf and back again before sighing. “Yeah, sure, why not? You’re not a biter, are you, Patient?”

His face visibly paled when the wolf shook their head “no,” and he took a second or two to gather his courage before moving closer to the bed and the patient in question. Only to take one look at those clouded silver eyes and immediately forget himself, one hand under the wolf’s snout, the other holding a light up to the eyes as he examined both.

“Fascinating. I don’t think these are actually cataracts, but whatever is going on here seems to be completely blocking the light from getting through. You, uh, patient, can you look straight up for me? Now down?” As the doctor directed, the twitch of the small muscles around the wolf’s eyes were the only sign that they were following his directions. “It’s complete coverage, whatever it is. How long has this been impacting your vision?”

Dr. Iplier looked at the wolf, then after an awkward silence glanced over at Dr. Schneeplestein who gave a helpless shrug.

“We cannot be sure.”

Dr. Iplier opened his mouth to point out the obvious and then just exhaled instead, causing the wolf to pull back from him with their ears laid flat against their head. Great, the werewolf was criticizing the smell of his breath.

“Zhere is also burns under zhe fur,” Dr. Schneeplestein prompted, earning another stare of disbelief from the other doctor before he looked back at the wolf.

“Burns, right,” he muttered, then added for the benefit of the wolf, “May I…?”

They turned their head and he reluctantly pulled back the thick ruff of fur on the wolf’s neck until he caught sight of the skin underneath, the wolf’s ears flicking at the sound of his low whistle.

“Henrik, what happened here?” he asked.

“Long exposure to silver, we think,” Schneeplestein answered.

“Think,” Dr. Iplier repeated, his eyes meeting the silver stare of the werewolf sitting in front of him. “I guess that would explain the burns, I’ve read that even a touch of silver can leave this kind of mark, but the extent of it, plus the eyes…”

He shook his head, his own gaze roaming over the wolf, briefly pausing on the bandages around their paws only to fully stop on the chest, on the bare spot above a healed wound.

“Henrik, what about here?”

“Zhat would be from zhe gunshot wound, yes. I removed zhe silver bullet sometime last night.”

Dr. Iplier tried to keep his voice from cracking as he said, “Henrik, can I talk to you out in the hall?”

Schneeplestein looked from him to the wolf and said, “I am not sure what difference it would make—”

But Dr. Iplier was already pulling him out into the hallway, where he gently shut the door behind him before rounding on the vampire. “Henrik, I know I’ve asked this before, but are you insane?!”

“Seventeen times now, and zhe answer is still a solid ‘probably not.’”

“Then explain…literally any of this to me!” Dr. Iplier gestured frantically for a few seconds while he tried to think of where to start before asking, “You’re treating a patient who by all rights should be dead, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I am very aware.”

“A silver bullet, straight to the chest! Never mind a werewolf, that should have killed anyone! Henrik, it’s bad enough you have a werewolf hidden away in here, if the Institute catches wind that there’s one in the city who literally survived a silver bullet—”

“Still very aware, thank you,” Schneeplestein interrupted, his expression and tone of voice tense. “But zhat is not why I asked you here. Zheir eyesight, zhe burns, is zhere anything we can do for those?”

Dr. Iplier ran a hand through his hair, mind still racing as he answered, “I might know something you can use for the burns, but supposedly werewolves can heal from just about anything, even silver with enough time. So maybe their eyes will get better on their own? I don’t know, I’ve never treated one before! As far as anyone knows there hasn’t been a werewolf desperate enough to risk coming to this city in years. Where did this one come from, how did they get by the Institute’s hunters? Did one of them do this?”

Schneeplestein took a moment to consider his answer before saying, “Most likely not, no. Ve cannot be sure until zhey are ready to change back and talk to us.”

“That’s another thing, why are they still a wolf if it’s not a full moon tonight—” Dr. Iplier stopped himself short and pulled out his phone to check, only to give an exasperated sigh. “Oh, only two nights away. And you can’t keep them here for even that long, Henrik, no matter what shape they’re in.”

“Yes, keeping zhem locked in a small room is not good for zhe mental or physical health.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He pulled the other doctor a little further away from the door and continued under his breath, “As long as they’re here, you’re running the risk someone else will find them. Then it’s your neck on the line, and that line is already thin enough as it is.”

The doctor didn’t need to remind him that stepping one toe over that line could mean worse than just losing his license, with a wooden stake to the heart always an option.

“Zhere is a plan in zhe works, to get zhem out of zhe building and somewhere safe,” Schneeplestein reassured him. “Zhey will be gone by morning, if all goes well.”

“Really? Because I know of a couple of abandoned buildings out in the country where you could hide just about anything.”

“…Maybe ve do not have zhe same idea in mind here.”

The two doctors went back into the room, where the wolf had moved back to lying down. Dr. Iplier could almost see what Schneeplestein meant about being stuck in this room being bad for the werewolf’s mental health as he explained that he would write up a prescription and have some medicine ready to go along with the vampire’s regular delivery by the next morning, with zero signs from the wolf that they were even listening. Like they couldn’t be bothered to care anymore.

With that thought in mind, Dr. Iplier gave the werewolf an awkward goodbye and walked back out to the waiting area with Schneeplestein. There, he picked up his jacket and finally voiced what else had been bothering him.

“They were shot in the chest.”

“With zhe silver bullet, yes. We went over zhis,” Schneeplestein reminded him.

“But that’s wrong, a hunter would probably aim for the head or the body, right? Even if the werewolf was coming right at them the entry wound should have been higher, and the only way that angle makes any sense is if the werewolf had them pinned to the ground.” Dr. Iplier looked at the other doctor, whose expression confirmed that he was thinking the same thing. “Or if they were shot straight on, standing upright. As a human.”

Dr. Schneeplestein silently nodded and Dr. Iplier felt a chill settle in his own chest.

Because those two options meant he had either just agreed to help treat a potentially killer werewolf just a couple of nights before a full moon, or a victim that by all signs someone out there wanted dead.

((End of Part 5. Thank you for reading! I probably could have split this into two parts (and probably should have, considering we’re quickly catching up to what I have written so far), but I kind of want to keep with swapping back and forth between Abe and the DA with each part for as long as I can. Plus they felt kind of short on their own...and I just felt like it. XD

Link to Part 6: Clues in the Dust.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy))

[ourlastbastion]

Wild Fire Ch. 18

AO3

FFNet

Slowly… take it slow and steady.

The world was dark, the only light available was flickering from the windows, casting a faint glow on the outside world. Maleko hunkered down close to the ground, hidden by the grass and garden, kneeling and eying the top of the trashcan. His body was tense, yet the muscles were loose, ready for him to move at a moment’s notice, ready to charge, to pounce.

He breathed deeply, holding it for a moment before letting it out once more. Rinse, repeat. Keep breathing, stay calm, stay still.

At the corner of his eye, Maleko saw movement. He refused to move, but his eyes followed the small figure as it ran across the lawn, pausing only to snuffle at the ground. He waited as a dark head poked up and looked around. Waited as it started drawing nearer, closer and closer. The vermin had yet to notice anything wrong as it continued scuffling towards him.

Drawing towards the garden, it’s protective wiring still a gnarled mess from Maleko, it perked its head again. Something was wrong, it must have noticed. It hurried towards the carrots, intent on getting its food and getting out. Maleko watched, digging his fingers into the ground as he waited, shifting so that his legs were ready, muscles coiled, ready to spring.

Just a few more feet… one…two…three… count the seconds as it got closer; five… six… seven...

The raccoon paused, Maleko sprung forward.

At his sudden movement, the raccoon froze. It was only for a moment, but that brief hesitation of fear was all Maleko needed as he landed atop it, throwing his entire weight on the animal, small hands grabbing it tightly. A snarl escaped him as he dug his claws into the coarse, dark hairs. The raccoon squirmed, Maleko grabbed it by the neck.

A swift movement, a firm twist and it fell limp in his hands.

Maleko relaxed, pulling himself back so that he sat crouched among the garden. He took a deep breath, an open smile on his face as he stared at the prey. His heart was racing now that it was over, adrenalin and excitement mixing together. It had been so long since he had hunted, actually hunted, he’d missed the thrill, the rush he got when he caught his prey.

He wanted to dig into it right now, tear it’s pelt off and eat the meat. It’d been long since he’d hunted, longer since he’d had fresh kill to eat. As much as he had loved how cooking tasted, there was something special about fresh meat.

Before he could bite into it, the door opened reminding Maleko of why he’d hunted tonight. He got to his feet and scampered out of the garden, holding the dead racoon up proudly for Mickey to see.

“Ga-got it!” he slurred, still smiling.

Mickey laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a hunter,” the teenager praised, moving aside so that Maleko could enter the house. “Having you around might be a better solution to our raccoon problem than mom and her gun.”

Puffing his chest out, Maleko couldn’t help but feel pride at the praise. But when Mickey made to take the raccoon, to stuff it in a trash bag to be disposed of, he held it closer to himself and shook his head.

“Not done,” he said, swatting his hand away and making his way to the kitchen. “Skin it. Meat is—is good. Is,” Maleko hesitated, fumbling with his words, trying to find the right ones. “is good with,” he shook his head, frustrated at his own words and gestured desperately at the spice rack, hoping Mickey understood.

He did. “I’ve never had raccoon meat before,” Mickey said, watching Maleko throw the raccoon onto the counter and climb into the chair so he could reach. “And you’re sure it’s good?”

“Uh-huh!”

Maleko hadn’t really ever had these kinds of raccoons before. But there had been similar small animals back in the jungle, surely they’d taste the same. Any meat was good meat, after all. And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t particularly excited to show Mickey this. To show that he was proficient in something, himself, that he had something he was good at the same way Mickey was good at games.

Before he could grab the raccoon again, Mickey swiped it and placed it in some kind of metal tray.

“As delightful as some cooked raccoon may sound, I don’t think ma will be too thrilled about it, you know?” he offered, bringing the trayed raccoon out of Maleko’s reach. “She’s already got some chili cooking for tonight’s dinner, I doubt she’d be happy with us changing it on the fly for some raccoon meat instead.” He didn’t stop smiling, however, as he began edging away towards the back door. “How about we toss this one out, and we can see about you catching us a different one tomorrow night. Does that sound good?”

He was soft as he spoke, patient. Mickey didn’t speak to Maleko in a way that suggested ‘this is what we’re doing and it doesn’t matter what you say even though I asked’. Even if Maleko knew that what he said wasn’t going to change anything, the way Mickey talked to him made him feel like his words would hold some sway. He liked that. “Aight,” Maleko said, nodding his head. It was like Mickey had said, he could catch them another raccoon any time.

Satisfied, Mickey took the raccoon to the outdoor trashcan, the metal bin making noise as he dumped the body and tray in. “Asahi, you go wash yourself up, then we can play some games until it’s time for dinner, alright?” he called from the doorway.

Nodding his head, Maleko scampered out of the kitchen, making his way to the bathroom to scrub his hands clean of dirt and raccoon.

This family was nice, he thought. He’d only been here for a day, but he liked this household, liked this family. Maggie was a lot like mama in many ways, and Mickey was a lot like an older brother. He listened to Maleko and played with him, and none of them asked questions he couldn’t answer. He liked being here. He wanted them to meet mama, she’d like them too. They took care of him, bandaged him up, were nice to him.

And they were safe, too!

Taka hadn’t given him any warnings or cautionary words since he’d come here, only telling him to be careful of his identity, to not run out just yet. Not when Kim and Jackie were probably still out there and looking for him. Even if he wanted to leave this house, he couldn’t, not until he knew it was safe to keep moving. Taka hadn’t given him any reason to worry about Maggie and Mickey, either.

The bird kept close, always in the trees by the house, keeping an eye on him, always close enough to talk to him. That’s what mattered, Maleko wasn’t sure what he’d do if he lost Taka, he had been there for him this entire time. Losing him would be terrible.

He hummed as he scrubbed his hands clean, nose twitching at the citrusy smell of the soap as he cleaned his hands and wrists.

By the time he’d finished scrubbing his hands and arms clean, making sure that not a speck remained from his earlier hunt, he’d come down to find that Mickey had already set up the living room for the two of them. The TV was on a low buzz, the familiar home screen of his game console up and waiting for a game to be chosen. The stairs creaked as Maleko climbed down, watching the teen fiddle with a controller.

Hearing the creaking, he looked up at the boy and smiled, dark eyes warm and friendly as Mickey gestured for Maleko to come over. Which he did, scampering the rest of the way and climbing onto the couch beside his friend.

“Alright,” Mickey smiled, ruffling Maleko’s hair when he settled in. “We’re going to play one of my RPG games tonight,” he explained.

Maleko tilted his head, “Are-Pee-Gee?” he repeated slowly, he’d heard the term before. Sometimes from Soul and BlackStar when he played with them, even David brought the word up from time to time. He’d never seen one before, however. “Fun?”

“Very,” Mickey confirmed. “Pick a number from three to five.”

Three to… huh? Maleko stared at him, head cocked to the side. He wasn’t very smart, he knew that, but he’d been certain that numbers started at one. Asking to start from three just made his head hurt and for him to start questioning what little he understood of numbers.

“Just humor me, kiddo.”

“Uh… aaah… five!” Maleko finally decided after a prolonged moment of confusion, trying to make sense of what was going on. Five, he’d decided, because it was the bigger number.

Mickey snorted, sliding off the couch to rummage through his game cases. “A man of good tastes,” He laughed, and though Maleko couldn’t see it, Mickey slipped a game disc in, the machine whirring to life. Mickey returned to his spot on the couch and then tugged Maleko up so that he was seated on his lap, arms around the boys midsection in a lazy hug as he held his controller. It was nice, it was warm. “Persona 5 it is, then.”

Maleko’s brows furrowed. “Persoh-sona 5?” he asked. That meant it was… the last game in the series, right? Then he shouldn’t he start with the first one?”

“They’re all pretty much independent of each other,” Mickey said, as if he had known what Maleko was thinking. “Most people don’t consider the first half of the series to be part of the same, universe, I guess? As the last three games. But you can play pretty much play the series in any order you want. You like supernatural stuff?”

“Eh?”

“Mythology,” he explained. “Folktales. Demons and angels, that sort of thing.”

“Oh. I, uh, I dunno?”

That only made Mickey laugh, “Well, you’ll find out if you do or not after this.”

As it turned out, Persona was fun.

Even though Maleko wasn’t handling the controller, wasn’t the one actually in control of the protagonist, Mickey made sure to involve him in everything. During fights, Maleko got to suggest actions, during dialogue, he got to help decide what to say. Whenever they had the little quiz questions, however, Mickey was the one who answered the, for obvious reasons.

Maleko felt like he was just as involved n playing the game, not just an outsider watching.

They got to the first palace, Maleko a jittery mess of excitement and confusion on Mickey’s lap, he had burst out into uncontrollable laughter when he saw Kamoshida. He didn’t understand why, but a cap and speedo looked funny, so much so that he hadn’t been able to stop and had almost fallen off of Mickey’s lap and onto the floor—would have had Mickey not kept his arms wrapped around the boy. It took five minutes for him to calm back down for them to continue the game.

That wasn’t even talking about how pretty it all looked. So much color. And the music, it was something else entirely.  He’d squirmed and swayed and bopped to the music wile Mickey laughed behind him.

“Yeah. The Awakening music kicks ass,” Mickey laughed, and Maleko could just hear the capital letters. “You’ll hear it a few more times.” To that, Maleko squeaked and yipped happily.

He loved the outfit that Joker wore, the mask, the coat, the style. Maleko had never been one to care about fashion, he’d go around his everyday life naked if he could, clothes were sometimes just uncomfortable and constricting. But he didn’t, because people didn’t like that. Even so, there was something about the clothes Joker wore that made Maleko want them for himself.

The volleyball coach wasn’t really that good of a person, Maleko found himself curling his lip whenever the man appeared. It was his attitude that bothered Maleko. Everything else he did, or apparently did, well, Maleko couldn’t really understand, but Mickey really didn’t like him, so Maleko didn’t either.

Then the girl, the nice, quiet one with the sad eyes, jumped off the school roof. She wasn’t able to catch herself like Maleko had when he jumped out a window at the Academy. She got hurt. Badly. Maleko decided that he wanted to tear the teachers throat wide open.

They had only reached the first boss when the front door opened and Maggie burst into excited chatter with the newcomer.

Pausing the game, Mickey grinned and nudged for Maleko to get off of him as he, himself, rose from the couch. “Dad! Welcome home,” he greeted as he left the controller on the coffee table.

“Hey, there, Mickey. Boy, it smells good in here, are you cooking chili?” a man’s voice asked, a rustle of clothes suggesting he was removing a coat to hang on the rack. “Oh, do we have a guest?”

Maleko squirmed and turned around, still kneeling on the couch as he peered over the back at the new man, the father of this household. His brows furrowed in confusion and his mouth set in a straight line as he saw a familiar tall man with a head of thick black hair. There was a look of equal surprise and confusion on Mickey’s fathers face.

“Ah, dear. This is Asahi,” Maggie introduced, standing at her husbands side and holding a hand out to Maleko with a warm smile. “I found him last night all tangled up in my garden. He’ll be staying with us for a little while, until we can find a way to get him back home.”

That only made the man’s brows furrow, the creases of his forehead becoming more apparent. “Asahi?” he repeated, as if that didn’t match up with what he’d already known. Of course it didn’t. Kim had called out ‘Maleko’.

This was the man from last night.

This was the man who had almost run Maleko over with his car.

This was the man who’d held Kim back when she caught up with him, giving Maleko time to flee once more before finding safety with Maggie.

“Well,” Taka’s voice rang in his head, he wasn’t sure at this point if it was Maleko imagining or Taka talking. “Fate certainly has an interesting way of working.”

With a trembling smile, Maleko raised his hand in a scared wave. “’ello,” he greeted, awkward and anxious. Was this man going to rat him out? Was he going to kick him out? Turn and hand him over to Kim? The doubts were bubbling up inside of Maleko, growing stronger the longer the man waited to reply.

But then he smiled, it was bright and genuine, a smile that made Maleko feel safe. The man got down on a knee and watched Maleko, smiling peacefully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Asahi,” he said, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Maleko decided that he was good.

It wasn’t long after that Maggie called them all to eat, claiming the chili and sandwiches were all ready to be had. Maleko sat beside Mickey, careful as the husband—Robert—questioned him about this and that. Where was he from, how was he feeling, simple, not probing or suspicious. All the same, Maleko was careful as he answered each one as ‘Asahi’.

Until Taka told him otherwise, he’d be careful, even with the people he felt he could trust.

-----

The sun had set, replaced by the grinning moon, drooling it’s blood and chuckling cruelly as it overlooked the world below.

Kom had been distant.

Usually, Kai wouldn’t care, nor would she notice—she was hardly a cozy individual herself, but Kom of all people distancing himself was abnormal enough to catch her attention. He claimed he needed to avoid any distractions if he was to perfect all the new drugs and poisons he was manufacturing for her and the Acolytes, she could understand that, but it was off all the same. He was hiding something from her and it made her… anxious wasn’t the right term… tense.

She loathed to admit it, but it made her angry. Kom was her most loyal ally, she dare say he was a friend. She knew his loyalty went beyond just friendship on his end, she wasn’t blind, she just never had interest to reciprocate. So, for him, who was known for obsession and loyalty, to be hiding something and sneaking about, it was off-putting.

It wasn’t as if she feared him betraying her, no, treachery wasn’t even a question.

Kom cared about Maleko, not nearly as much as she had, but he had loved the boy in his own way. There was no way he wouldn’t have wanted to seek revenge himself. He would want the heads of those who had slain her boy, the ones who devoured his soul, just as much as she did. So no, she didn’t think he was planning to betray her.

Not that it eased her nerves much. Betrayal wasn’t the only reason someone could go skulking about like he was, and even if he wasn’t planning to go against her, whatever he was doing under the guise of his drugs was something he clearly felt she would not approve of enough to be open about. It was the unknown of what he could be doing that bothered her. She would much rather suspect him of being a spy than to have not a single inkling.

She tried not to think about it too much. Kai couldn’t afford to cast Kom out this late in the plans, he was irreplaceable at this point. Even if much of his work was alchemical rather than magical in composition, there were very few Acolytes with the talent and knowledge of alchemy to be able to resume his work if she disposed of him. She’d have some keep a closer eye on the sorcerer, pretend to be in the dark.

There were more important things than for her to focus on the distrust she felt towards those around her. Not that she could say she actually trusted any of the Acolytes, witches or sorcerers who had joined her cause.

Everyone here had their own reason for joining her. Most were only here because they hated Death, they hated the demon weapons and their meisters. It was understandable among the witches and sorcerers, the war between the two sides was as ancient as time itself. The humans, now that was a grab bag of reasons. Some hated the DWMA for various reasons, some disliked the idea of a God of Death ruling over them, were opposed to the notion of a being of death making laws for the living. Some of the more radical numbers, which was surprisingly the majority of the Acolytes, honestly believed Kai to be a God of some kind.

Was water manipulation really so astounding and unbelievable that she was considered a God? Well, she wouldn’t encourage nor deny the notion so long as it kept them loyal. These cultists were the ones who she could say were the most loyal. They believed her to be their God, of course they wouldn’t go against her lest the face divine retribution.

Humans were unbelievably stupid. They clung so desperately to a belief that they refused to believe anything else.

Oh well, they weren’t going to last much longer, anyway.

Kai was pleased to say that the curtain would be closing soon. It had taken a few days since the decision, but she and her company had reached Antarctica. The entire landscape was full of water, from the ice, snow, to the ocean and the people on it. This would be the battleground. The snow would run deep with blood, bodies would be scattered, and Death’s army would be crushed. She’d have complete control over the terrain here.

She had little doubt that Mabaa and other witches would join her once she has her victory here, finding the crippling blow she deals Death as proof enough that her side is the winning one.

Even now, more and more followers and allies were arriving to the frozen wasteland.  

Perhaps Kai wouldn’t kill Death. She could kill his son instead, let him feel the pain. Leave him abandoned in that city of his, unable to leave, picking off any allies he hoped to find before they could enter. He could watch helplessly as all that he built was destroyed, unable to lift a finger to help.

Whatever she chose to do, she had time to decide.

“Are you ready?” a witch squeaked as Kai walked past. Skoya, if Kai remembered right, another of the witches who only joined because of a hatred for Death. A small, timid girl, probably no more than two hundred years of age, old enough to know the trauma that Death’s ‘order’ causes, young enough that she’s not made herself a complete recluse living only within the With Realm.

Kai nodded, feeling the corners of her lips turn down in a tighter frown. An address to her followers, Yuri had claimed. She hadn’t really seen him since she first rejoined the Acolytes. He had been gone from her party for a while to assemble others and had regrouped with her only a short while ago. He said she needed to make a statement to all those who believe in her, who follow her, to bring them here and remind them why they must fight.

A bunch of empty words, a boring speech, just to put a fire under their asses and get them to move faster.

She wasn’t going to say no, Yuri was smart, she would admit.

As she stepped into the wide open ice ‘stage’ that had been constructed, the crowd before her waiting anxiously for her to speak, she spotted him off to the edge, a coy smile on his lips. At the other far side of the stage was Kom, when their eyes met, he ducked his head down to look away.

It took all her strength not to glare.

Instead, she turned to look at the man who had his camera raised, wires attaching it to his laptop. Streaming, no doubt. One of her followers had set up a private website to address each other, password protected so that only fellow Acolytes could access. She didn’t know how secure that really was, but she also didn’t care. There was also a screen set up behind her, hooked up to another technologically talented individual somewhere she couldn’t see.

Kai watched as the hundreds of men and women, humans, witches and sorcerers rustled about, anxious balls of energy. She watched as they murmured and muttered to one another before finally raising her hand, watching Yuri gesturing something to the man with the camera.

The murmuring fell, rolling into a silence until only the wind and crunching snow was heard. She took in a breath.

“How many have family or friends whose children were taken by Death, by the Academy?” A quiet mumble as people whispered to one another, she let the initial buzz run its course. “Either hunted by the school, or taken in because they could turn into a weapon or possessed qualities to hunt witches. Children, might I remind you, children.”

She continued to speak. Children were what made up a sizable chunk of Death’s army. Teenagers, kids. Death sent children to hunt monsters that murdered adults, sent children to hunt witches and sorcerers. Wasn’t there even a famous Death Scythe who had only been thirteen when he acquired the title? Yes, there was, a boy by the name of Justin Law, he had been thirteen, how crazy. How cruel. How fucking inhumane.

They hunted witches and sorcerers of all ages as well. It was no small rumor that Death had sent one of his meister-weapon pairs to hunt down Angela Leon. The poor girl was even younger than Maleko! Had it not been for that swordsman of hers, she would no doubt have died.

The screen behind her came to life as Kai kept talking, bringing up an image of a young boy with black hair and glasses, wielding some heavy looking glove like weapons. The images were clearly taken secretly, from an angel off to the side out of sight as the meister attacked the kishin egg. They kept flipping through until it landed on the weapons transforming into their human forms.

Two little kids in an orange and yellow hat. Younger than the usual twelve-year-old threshold that most of his soldiers began fighting at. As young as Maleko, perhaps as young as Angela.

Angry hisses and gasps rang out from the crowd before her.

“Is this the kind of ‘God’ you want running this world? A God who won’t fight the wars he started, but rather sends your children to fight for him?” Kai was playing on the parental fear many had. Even if she didn’t trust the mental stability of any who thought her a God, she trusted that they at least knew how morally disgusting it was to have children thrown into life or death situations such as this. Children shouldn’t be handling weapons, shouldn’t be fighting and killing, shouldn’t be training to be soldiers. Children should be children. Playing, studying, having fights with their friends, making up, developing crushes and getting into trouble.

Before she’d met Maleko, she wouldn’t have cared that Death used children as cannon fodder. But that changed. Now, as much as she hated them, she hated Death even more for using them.

How can someone who claimed to be ‘good’ do something so deplorable?

The screen behind her began to show members of his staff, his trusted leaders. “His personal ‘Death Scythe’ is a slut. An alcoholic manwhore who spends more time with hookers than doing his duty. One of Death’s top meisters? Psychotic, treads the line of madness, at any moment he could easily snap and begin cutting up the students under his care, if he hadn’t already,” she was pacing the stage, her shoes clicking against the ice with each step. “A normal school would hardly let them anywhere near children. Yet Death has the two as the primary influences for weapons and meisters. The ones that these kids should aspire to be.”

Kai continued yelling to the crow, marching and growing more heated with each point. Death was a coward, too afraid to leave his castle, unwilling to bend to others. Why should a God of Death rule humanity? He doesn’t know the first thing about humanity nor mortality, why should he use their children as his soldiers? Brainwashes them into thinking they’re doing something great, that it’s a high honor to be spending their childhood, risking their lives when they’re not even adults. Whatever law a country creates, Death and those associated with him are above. It doesn’t matter if someone tells them ‘no’, he and his superiority complex are above it all.

The crowd was cheering, or rather screaming, already brought to rage by her opening on child soldiers that it didn’t matter much else what she said, yet she kept talking, stoking the fires of her followers, fueling their rage and starving them for battle.

By the end, even Kai was grinning, an unsteady smile, but a smile nonetheless. She was breathing hard, her throat hurt, but she gazed upon the crowd and knew that this was it. “If Death wants us gone, then he will have to bring his armies here and fight us. Then, when all that comes back to him are corpses and coffins, he’ll know that he’s not above us.”

Before her, the crowd broke into cries.

----

Maleko shook his head, speaks of water splattering all over as the towel hung around his neck. Maggie had sent him upstairs to take a bath and he had just finished it up. His small body shivered a little as he went from a warm tub to a chilly room. It was hard to get used to how much colder everything felt when he had his magic locked up, when he was left without his natural heat.

A shudder ran through him and Maleko hurried to crawl into the warm pajamas that Mickey was loaning him, then slipping his feet into fluffy bunny slippers.

He liked it here, he was going to miss the family when he finally moved on and continued his search for his mother. If she allowed it, he’d like to come and visit them again, thank them for taking care of him while he hid from Kim and Jackie.

Stretching, yawning, and scratching at his stomach, Maleko left the bathroom and began heading towards the stairs. It was too late to go outside and play, but it was too early to go to bed. Maybe he could ask Mickey if the two of them could go back to that game of his, he wanted to see how the teacher was going to get in trouble. Maybe he’d still get a chance to tear out his throat.

He smiled, his hair still damp, but his body warmer now as he approached the stairs, a hum on his tongue and a bob to his head. As he reached the first step, his entire body froze.

Ears perked, twitched, his eyes narrowed and his heart began to race. Hope flooding through him, followed by confusion. He wasn’t mistaken, was he? This… this couldn’t be, it had to be…

“Is this the kind of ‘God’ you want running this world?”

She was quiet, but the voice, the passion… Maleko recognized it so easily. Even though so much time had passed since he had last heard her talk, he’d never forget how she sounded, he’d recognize her no matter, whether it had been days or years.

“A God who won’t fight the wars he started, but rather sends your children to fight for him?”

A wide smile spread across Maleko’s face, his body was positively vibrating with energy, so much so that he didn’t hear Taka’s warning, instead he raced down the stairs, nearly falling down half of them in his haste. She was here, mama was here! Maleko was blinking back tears.

How had she found him? Maybe Taka brought her here, or she’d been searching for him all this time—of course she’d been searching for him! It didn’t matter how, his mama was amazing! She finally found him, they could finally go home! This awful nightmare was finally over, it was over, she was here, she was really, really here! She was here!

He skidded into the living room. “Mama!” he cried out happily.

Except… she wasn’t there. No sign of her, not even a trace of her scent.

“He’s deserves neither respect nor love, he deserves nothing but scorn and wrath!”

It was Kai’s voice, there was no doubt about it, she was there, she was talking, but at the same time, she wasn’t there.

Robert, Maggie and Mickey had been huddled on the couch, and when Maleko came barreling down, they froze up and turned to him. Maleko watched as Maggie recovered herself and reached over to the laptop that sat on the coffee table, fiddling with it—then mama’s voice was gone.

Maleko felt his heart drop. “Mama…? Where’s mama?” he asked, desperately hoping for an answer, that she really was here, that he hadn’t imagined it all.

“Asahi,” Mickey began, staring at Maleko with a look of confusion and pity.

But then Robert stood up, brushing his hands against his pantlegs and coming around the couch to stand before Maleko. His face unreadable as he glanced towards the laptop. Maleko followed his gaze and saw Kai on the screen. “Your mama… huh?”

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 3: Slow Recovery

((Jameson and Marvin are relieved when their friend finally wakes up, but it’s clear Y/N still has a lot of recovering left to do, and not just physically.

Link to Part 2, and to the series as a whole here.))

When the wolf woke, Jameson felt the paw shift slightly beneath his hand, the brief tension before they relaxed again. He looked at the barely opened silver eyes and tried to snap his fingers to get the attention of the man seated in the other chair in the exam room before resorting to kicking him in the shin.

“Hhh-I’m awake,” Marvin muttered as he straightened up, his voice husky with sleep. “What is it, JJ?”

At Jameson’s gesture, the magician was quickly up and standing next to him beside the wolf that nearly covered the entire padded exam table.

“Y/N?” Marvin asked, only to be answered by a weak whine from the wolf. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s me, it’s Marvin, and Jameson, we—”

He hesitated and looked at Jameson, who only stared down at the wolf with sadness everywhere from his eyes to the droop of his shoulders as he gently rubbed the wolf’s bandaged paw.

“You’re going to be okay,” Marvin tried again. “This clinic belongs to Dr. Schneeplestein, we wrote about him to you, remember? He’s the one who—he took the bullet out of your…”

Marvin trailed off. It had been hard enough, standing there in the operating room and using his magic to keep you asleep while the doctor worked. Even the doctor wasn’t sure if anesthetic would have any effect on a werewolf, and he seemed just as surprised as Marvin when he retrieved the misshapen bullet from your chest, only for the wound to immediately close and leave nothing but a scar behind.

He still remembered the clink of metal as the doctor dropped the bullet on the tray beside him before his eyes met Marvin’s, the doctor’s voice muffled behind his mask as he said only one word.

“Silver.”

As if he heard his name, or probably because he had heard it, there was a knock at the door before the click of the lock and Schneeplestein poked his head into the room.

“The patient is awake, yes? May I come in?”

He started to walk in without waiting for an answer, only to pause when the wolf on the table sat up so quickly that Jameson startled back while Marvin quickly reached for the line leading to the wolf’s other leg.

“Careful, Y/N, your IV!”

“Ah.” The doctor nodded as if he had been expecting this and carefully closed the door behind him before he said, “Perhaps I should address zhe elephant in zhe air first.”

Jameson and Marvin paused at that before Jameson signed, “I think you mean ‘elephant in the room.’”

“Close enough,” Schneeplestein said, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “Please allow me to introduce myself, Y/N. I am Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein, a very good doctor if I say so myself, who also happens to be a vampire. You have my vord that I have no intention of hurting anyone in zhis room.”

The wolf on the table stared in the doctor’s direction with those silver eyes, ears twitching as though gauging the reactions of the other two men before they eased back into lying down.

“Ah, very good,” Schneeplestein said, and the wolf’s ear twitched again when the doctor let go of the breath he had been holding in, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “It is a pleasure to meet zhe Y/N Marvin and JJ speak so highly of.”

He stepped as close to the table as he dared and held out his hand, quietly noting how long it took for the wolf to react before they awkwardly raised a paw and moved it in his general direction if nowhere actually near his hand. He caught the paw and gave it a gentle shake before letting go and asking, “May I take a closer look at zhe patient?”

There was another, different kind of pause before the wolf’s head dipped once in a nod, and the doctor’s face lit into a smile.

“Fantastic! First I am checking zhe chest area from zhe surgery,” he said, gently raising the wolf’s leg as he spoke so that he could get a clear look at their chest, where only a white, livid scar in the shaved area marked where the wound had been only hours beforehand. “And now I will check again for any broken bones or other issues, okay? Let me know if zhere is any pain, preferably without any biting zhe doctor.”

He meant it as a joke, but the second he placed his hands on either side of the wolf’s head and began moving down their spine the wolf’s lips rolled back to reveal a set of very healthy teeth. Knowing that the wolf was trying very hard to restrain their reaction somehow did not make the examination any easier, but the doctor continued to gently check the area. There was no sign of anything out of line until he pushed back the tangled mess of fur and saw the skin underneath.

He hissed to himself and began to check the rest of the wolf’s back and chest. He had noticed the inflammation during the surgery, but had assumed at the time that it was just around the wound. Now he could see that it was so widespread that it seemed to cover the wolf from head to tail.

“Like burns,” he murmured to himself. “Zhere must be something to help with zhat, but it will be difficult with all zhis fur.”

“Would it help if they changed back?” Jameson signed before looking at the wolf. “Don’t you think it would be more comfortable, Y/N?”

“Jameson,” Dr. Schneeplestein said, as gently as he could.

“Or are you afraid it will hurt? Maybe if the doc can take out the IV first—”

“Zhey cannot see you, Jameson,” Dr. Schneeplestein interrupted. He drew a penlight from his pocket and shined it in the wolf’s eyes without any reaction from them, confirming his suspicions. The light illuminated the cloud of silver that completely covered their eyes, hiding any sign of movement or recognition underneath. “Another side effect from long exposure to zhe silver mirror, I think.”

Silence greeted his words, and Jameson’s hands dropped mid sign as he looked from the doctor to the wolf in disbelief.

“It’s not permanent, is it?” Marvin asked, and the wolf’s ears fell.

“It is too soon to tell,” Schneeplestein answered with a sigh. “We can hope, yes, but I do not know for certain.”

“I mean, their chest healed as soon as the bullet was out, so why can’t…” Marvin reached under his mask to rub at his own eyes. “Maybe we missed something? Jameson is right, Y/N if you could just change back it would make this so much easier.”

The wolf did not respond, and when Jameson reached for their paw again they pulled away, shifting until their back was against the wall, their body curled in on itself except for the leg with the IV attached which remained sticking out.

Jameson and Marvin shared a glance, and Marvin gave a tentative “Y/N?”

The wolf just closed their eyes, and when Marvin started to try again Dr. Schneeplestein cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps ve could speak outside? Y/N is still needing rest, after all.”

Outside the room, in the short hallway that connected the three examination rooms to the front of the small clinic, a young man slouched in a chair looked up from his phone and sat up at the sight of the other two.

Before he could ask about the patient, JJ’s hands moved quickly, signing so fast that it was all the other three could do to keep up.

“What’s wrong? Can they not change back? Maybe whatever fiend locked them away in that mirror performed some kind of magic—”

“I think I would have sensed it, as long as I’ve been with them,” Marvin interrupted. “But if there’s a physical reason…”

He looked meaningfully at the doctor, who could only shrug. “I cannot rule it out. Zhey have been through so much, yes, but perhaps zhat is all zhe more reason not to change back?”

He waited, and when the other three still seemed confused, Schneeplestein said, “What would you do, if zhey changed back now?”

Jameson mimed a hug, but Marvin’s immediate answer was, “Find out who did this to them.”

His tone did more to suggest what would happen once he got a name, and the young man with the phone looked from the magician to the other two with visible unease before he said, “That’s what the doctor means, right?”

“What?” Marvin asked, realizing too late that came out harsher than he meant it to. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, I just know that when I’d been through some…bad stuff, the last thing I wanted to do was immediately relive it by telling someone, you know?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his red-rimmed eyes meeting Marvin’s before quickly looking away.

Schneeplestein nodded. “Exactly, Chase. I can do what I can, but Y/N is needing time, and understanding, not question, question, question.”

Marvin clenched his fists but nodded to show he understood, while Jameson ran his hand up and down his arm before signing, “I should go back in there. I don’t want to leave them alone, again.”

“Yeah, I’ll—" Marvin cut himself off with a jaw-cracking yawn and the doctor shook his head.

“You both should be going home and getting some sleep. It is too late in zhe morning for me to leave, so I will be staying here anyways.”

“No offense, Doc, but it’s not the same,” Jameson signed. “Y/N will feel better with someone they know around!”

“Somehow, I still feel offended,” Schneeplestein muttered, but he added a smile to show that he was joking. “JJ, zhey vill be fine, but zhere is zhe cot in zhe supply closet if you insist on staying. But Marvin, you have used up so much magic, you need real sleep.”

“We can trade off staying with them,” Marvin suggested, if only because his swimming head combined with the way every little noise felt like an attack on his senses to leave him little will to argue. “Chase, you coming?”

“I actually just told Schneep I’d swing by the store for him and pick up a few things once they open,” Chase answered before looking down at his phone. “I can text Jackie, he’ll probably want to walk you home.”

“Pass,” Marvin muttered under his breath, but the younger man didn’t seem to notice. “Jameson, Henrik, you two let me know immediately if anything happens.”

“Will do,” Jameson signed while the doctor nodded with a gesture to shoo the magician on his way out.

Chase waved and followed Marvin out the hallway’s door to the empty waiting room of the closed clinic, and both had barely stepped outside and locked the door behind them before a man in a red hoodie stepped up to them, seemingly coming out of nowhere.

“Don’t do that,” Marvin said, too tired to jump despite Jackie’s sudden arrival.

“No one’s around,” Jackie answered, gesturing at the empty street. Dawn wasn’t that long ago, and even the early morning joggers hadn’t strayed this way yet. “Chase said your friend woke up. Have they told you what happened?”

“No,” Marvin said, immediately regretting the decision to shake his head. “We won’t know anything until they’re ready to change back and talk to us.”

“Hm.”

Marvin’s eyes snapped up to meet Jackie’s. “What?”

Jackie seemed to consider playing it off before going straight for honesty. “I told you, something about all of this feels off.”

Chase looked from the magician to his friend before asking, “What do you mean?”

“These guys have been looking for their friend for years, and suddenly Marvin just ‘senses’ them out of nowhere? Marvin, you told me yourself you’d been to that house before, multiple times, but there was no sign of anything except…the thing that used to be there. Why would they show up now?”

“We went over this last night,” Marvin said, his jaw tense as he tried to keep what few shreds of his patience was left, “There are a hundred reasons why. Maybe my magic got stronger, maybe that particular entity has grown weaker, maybe Y/N had enough strength to try and reach out through the mirror for help, or maybe, just maybe, I just screwed up before. Maybe I just missed something so incredibly obvious that it took this long for me to notice, okay?”

Jackie seemed visibly surprised when the magician’s shoulders sank and he was quick to say, “I didn’t mean—Marvin, you know that’s not what I meant, I just—”

Marvin cut him off with a raised hand, his other reaching up underneath his mask to rub at his eyes again. “Look, I just need to go home and get some sleep, okay?”

“I’ll go with you,” Jackie said, possibly more than a little eager to make up for what just happened.

“Don’t worry, I don’t need a bodyguard,” Marvin said, his words slurring together now. “Keep an eye on Chase or JJ or…whatever, I don’t care.”

He was already walking away, and Jackie looked helplessly from him to Chase.

Chase rolled his eyes and said, ���If you want to keep an eye on him, do it. The rest of us can take care of ourselves for a little while.”

“Call or text if you need anything,” Jackie said, hesitating briefly before he added, “And just…keep an eye on the wolf, okay? Something about all of this just feels off.”

“…Yeah, I will.”

Chase and Jackie shared a look before Jackie went jogging after the magician to catch up with him before he could jaywalk across the street.

For a moment, just a moment, Chase felt the cold chill of being watched. He made a show of looking down at his phone, while underneath the brim of his hat he scanned the street, but there was no one else to be seen except for the pair lightly squabbling as they walked away.

The feeling passed and he tried to shake it off, but he double checked that the front door to Schneeplestein’s clinic was locked before he walked away, glancing over his shoulder as he did so.

With as much care as he took, Chase still missed the shadow on the other side of the street that was there one second and gone the next.

((Thanks for reading part 3! I actually titled this part after writing the rest of this note, but: I guess if it isn’t clear already, the District Attorney is going to be recovering from a lot in this story. The physical issues at least are temporary, but they’re not going to have a full bounce back after coming out of the mirror. That’s why the first few parts with them are going to be on the slower side, but they are building up to something, I promise.

Link to Part 4: Information Exchange.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

[artificialqueens]

The Goode Case, 6/14 - Juno

Chapter Summary: Forensics have some news, prompting Jaida, Brita and Jackie to visit the guest house in the daytime. What will they find in the light of day?

(A/N: I really appreciate all the supportive words that have come through for this, thank you!! Here is part six.)

Monday 30thOctober

9.46AM

Jaida gulped down her third cappuccino from the vending machine. They always came out lukewarm, while Jaida normally liked hers hot, to burn her throat and remind her she was awake. Especially today, when her mind was still foggy from the events of the weekend.

She put her cup in front of the vendor and poured a fourth, hoping that this would be the one where she started to feel the magic.

It was now four days since any confirmed sighting of Gigi Goode. Reality was starting to bite that the longer this went on, the less likely it was that Gigi would turn up alive. The anklet that the two students had turned up had been the only clue as to her whereabouts. It was unlikely that Gigi would still be there, but there may be more clues.

She took her coffee back to the chair, at her laptop, smoothing down her shirt. She had barely logged back into her account when Brita approached her.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet,” Jaida said, not looking directly at Brita.

Brita ignored her. “Forensics report that they found some DNA evidence for Gigi, fingerprints which match those on the clasp of the anklet, on the railings on the staircase and the walls downstairs. No other evidence though, no body fluids, no blood. Gigi was in the house, but it’s not clear for how long, or that she stayed there.”

“Alright then.” Jaida continued her typing.

“I know you’re pissed at us, sis,” Brita’s tone changed, softened, “but we do need to go back to the guest house. Chief wants us to look in more detail for more clues. The parents have confirmed that it’s definitely Gigi’s anklet, even though we already knew that from Crystal. So, we’re going back.”

Jaida nodded. “When?”

“Eleven. I’m driving. Daylight will make it less … weird. We’ll just be able to do our jobs.”

“I’ll be ready at eleven then,” Jaida said, pushing her braids behind her shoulders. “You and me? And Jackie too?”

“The three of us,” Brita confirmed. “Be ready for ten to eleven.”

Jaida just nodded at her, bringing her coffee cup to her lips and chugging it down as fast as she could. She might need another – it was shaping up to be a long day.

She was contemplating whether a fifth cup would make her too jittery, when Jackie came out of her training meeting and flopped into her chair.

“Lovely day,” she began, pointing at the dark grey clouds out of the window.

“Beautiful,” Jaida replied, without looking up. She focused on making her mind not think of anything but the report she was writing up, the progress report for Chief. That was more important, at this point, than talking to Jackie about whatever psychic thing she had on her mind this time.

Jackie didn’t seem to take the hint. “We didn’t get much yesterday evening, did we?”

“I think we got enough.” Jaida pointedly typed a little louder.

“Jai, how many times am I going to have to apologise for not telling you, before you at least look at me?”

Jaida rolled her eyes. “I’m not angry at you, or Brita. I’m just feeling a bit …”

“Disorganised?” Brita offered with a chuckle. She was coming back to her seat, mug of coffee in her hand. “We know you like things to be nice and organised. Come on sis, you even have different ringtones for me and Jackie.”

“Yeah,” Jaida mused. “I guess so.”

Brita had a point. Things has become a little disorganised the last couple of days. Her mediumship, which was now slipping into her work life. Brita and Jackie, who now felt closer as friends than ever. And Jan Mantione, who Jaida had found had entered her own dreams last night – much more pleasant ones than she’d had on Saturday night, anyway.

Like the tones on her phone, the portions of her life that she’d always so carefully separated, for fear, or embarrassment; or for a modicum of privacy and self-preservation; even for no reason at all – were all beginning to collide, the defined mental lines blurring, fizzling into nothing.

Jackie was watching her, Jaida met her dark brown eyes. As private and orderly as Jaida liked to be, Jackie was the total opposite; she couldn’t have hidden anything on her face, her earnest expression giving away everything she was feeling. Jaida didn’t need telepathy to know that.

“What?” Jackie smiled a little awkwardly at Jaida’s stare.

“I think I’m going to change your ringtone to match Brita’s.”

11.22AM

Even in the daytime, the guest house looked foreboding, even more so with the yellow hazard tape around the fences.

Brita immediately turned on her torch once they were inside, for even the light of day didn’t show everything, and led the way through the front door. Jackie pulled her glasses from her pocket and slid them over her nose, before switching on her own torch. Jaida, the notepad and pen in her left hand, trailed them without a torch, relying on Brita and Jackie’s lights to show the way.

“Where was the anklet found?” Jackie asked.

“At the foot of the staircase,” Brita replied.  

Jaida looked at the entrance to the kitchen, which was to their right, as they filed to the hallway, and saw the woman again. Her hair that remained was light brown, but her skin that was exposed was completely black, clothes charred, eyes white with dust.

She stood and stared at Jaida as they walked past. Part of Jaida wanted to know more about her, but she turned her face away hurriedly and moved half a step closer to Jackie in front of her. They had a job to do today.

“As the DNA evidence was found on what’s left of these railings, it indicates that maybe Gigi came up here.”

“I said that yesterday,” Jaida muttered. “I told you I saw her upstairs.”

“We going up?” Jackie whispered, pointing to the stairs. Brita nodded grimly.

“Let’s see what’s in the guest rooms.”

Brita and Jackie didn’t notice Jaida’s breath hitch as they climbed the staircase. At the top of them was a man, balanced on what remained of the railing, just at the top of the steps. It was the same man as last night, Jaida noticed and in the light, she could now see noose marks around his throat. Jaida swallowed, forcing herself to breathe normally, watching with rising nausea as first Brita and then Jackie walked straight past him, not seeing him.

When Jaida got near him, he watched her. His face was dark and grey, and his eyes were inconsolably sad. When she reached the top of the stairs, turning right, he dropped off the rail, gliding to settle in front of Jaida, stopping her from going any further. She could see Jackie and Brita vaguely through him, but he wouldn’t let her pass. When she tried to step forward, the man glided to block her.

Then Jackie’s words came into her head. “There would be no point in just seeing someone, they probably want to communicate something with you.”

“What – what do you need?” Jaida’s voice shook as she spoke, unsure what she was doing.

He was the same height as her, and she could look straight at his dulled eyes. His face was a little blurred, but Jaida could still sense the emotion – such sadness that she felt like she could cry for him. The whole experience felt very strange, and a little macabre.

She was vaguely aware of Jackie and Brita turning to watch her, Brita saying something that she couldn’t catch.

“Hello? What’s your name?” Jaida managed to say, her throat dry, almost unable to form words.

To her shock, he raised a hand towards her, to the hand where her notebook and pen were. She lifted hers too, dropping the notebook and pen to the ground; reaching to take his hand, the fear she was feeling starting to dissipate, replaced by curiosity –

It was Jackie who grabbed her hand before he could, and pulled her through this man, Jaida shuddering as she passed through his body.

“Was that a ghost?” Brita asked Jackie, not looking at Jaida.

“Yeah. Just one that Jaida could see I think. I couldn’t see it. Did you see anything?”

“No.” Brita shook her head. “Jaida, you’re going in between me and Jackie now. We’re not losing you to any ghosts.”

Jaida opened her mouth to protest – and didn’t Jackie want her to be more in tune with her ability anyway? – but Brita had already spun back round and was heading down the corridor. When Jaida turned to look behind Jackie, the man was no longer there.

“Jackie,” Brita said sharply, “stop it. I’ve asked you not to.”

“To what?”

“You know what,” Brita hissed. “Stop trying to get inside my mind.”

“I’m – not?” Jackie said confusedly.

Brita turned back to them both, her eyes wild, a look Jaida didn’t recognise in her friend, but she regained her composure and nodded, turning back to the corridor where the two guest rooms were.

The guest house was not big, and there were only the four guest rooms – two on either side of the staircase – plus one larger room at the end of the right hand side. The floor was still dirty from years of neglect, but there were tracks in it now, from forensics and from their own activity yesterday.

Brita crouched to look at the doorknob, on the guest room on the right, which was not as dirty as the rest of the brass on the door – as if a hand had held it recently.

“Jai, was this the one those two students were hiding in last night?”

“No, it was the other one,” Jaida pointed to the left.

Brita straightened up.

“I know we’re not on the best terms with this … telepathic stuff right now,” she muttered, “but Jackie, can you hear anything through that room? Anything that suggests there is a person inside?”

Jackie stood perfectly still, her face pensive, brow furrowed.

“No,” she said finally, shaking her head. “But that student, that Aiden – I mean, I couldn’t hear her either, so …” Jackie shrugged, her expression becoming troubled. “The silence doesn’t convince me, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, no time like the present,” Brita announced, reaching to the doorknob. As carefully as possible, she turned it, and the door creaked open slowly.

Inside, the room was empty, nothing at all to indicate any presence. There was no furniture, no carpet, and only a half-broken faux chandelier seemed to show it had been inhabited at all. The window was boarded up, the boards still in place, much darker even at midday than the rest of the house.

“There’s nothing here,” Brita muttered.

“And look,” Jackie said, pointing to the ground. “There aren’t any tracks. The floor hasn’t been disturbed.”

Brita sighed. “I hate to say it, but … have we been led on?”

“What?”

Jaida looked at Brita, whose expression was unreadable.

“I’m just saying, but there’s definitely no one in this house. Jackie can’t hear anything. Maybe Gigi was never here, or just here briefly.”

“You might be right,” Jackie nodded, “the DNA could just mean that she came up the stairs and then went back down them again when she couldn’t go anywhere.”

“I think that’s the most likely scenario,” Brita agreed, nodding eagerly. “The camera being repaired obviously means we didn’t see her go into this building – or come back out. She must have left again.”

“Guys, I saw her! In that damn room that we couldn’t open!” Jaida cried, pointing to her left to the old living area behind the double doors.

“That could just be coincidence, Jai,” Brita replied.

“It never has been before!”

“Alright,” Jackie held up her hands. “We’ll go and check it out again. Just stop snapping at each other, I still have a headache from yesterday.”

The three of them walked to the double doors, still shut fast from them slamming last night.

 “I still don’t hear anything, anything at all, from this room,” Jackie murmured, her ear to the wooden door.

“Any spirits Jaida?” Brita asked.

“No,” Jaida muttered, “just that guy behind us, and that woman downstairs.”

“What guy?” Brita jerked her head sharply to Jaida. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Jaida shrugged, taking half a step back. “Just some guy at the top of the stairs, and some woman in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen,” Brita repeated quietly.

“You know I just saw him here, that was why you wanted me to walk in the middle!”

Jaida watched Brita’s expression become pensive, and then twist in anger. “Jackie, I said stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Jackie put her hands on her hips. “Why are you so jumpy today?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Jaida said, shaking her head. The last thing they needed was Brita and Jackie at each others’ throats for any longer. She started to walk away from them.

“Jaida,” Brita called, “you’re still going in the middle.”

“What?”

“If you see any more ghosts, you’ll have someone behind you, that’s all.”  

As they all turned back to go down the staircase, the man from earlier had reappeared, and Jaida felt her steps slow down. He was still so sad, so very sad, his expression hopeless, the bruising on his neck a gruesome reminder that he was not quite as real as he appeared.

Jackie, ahead of Jaida, must have sensed her fear, as she turned back to her. “He can’t hurt you, Jaida.”

“Is there a ghost?” Brita asked.

Jaida nodded solemnly and walked forward, her legs shaking. She reached a hand behind her, wildly, and Brita took it, anchoring her.

“I got you, sis.”

Feeling a little more emboldened, Jaida walked forwards, and the man’s eyes followed her, but the closer she got, the more Jaida became curious, and not frightened. She slowed to a stop in front of him, frozen in place, while Brita pushed gently at her from behind.

“Come on, Jai, we need to leave.”

“What do you need?” Jaida’s voice was stronger this time as she addressed him, ignoring Brita’s voice. Jackie looked back at Jaida, and then in front to where this man was, but no one else could see him.

“Tell me what you need from me,” Jaida said firmly.

“Jaida!” That was Jackie, her voice frightened. “Come on!”

But Jaida’s gaze was fixed on the spirit before her, her own fear completely gone, replaced by empathy, and a desire to know more.

He raised his other hand this time, towards Jaida’s right, and Jaida felt herself raise her right hand towards his, until they touched –

And Jaida felt a tug at her back, lurching forwards, towards this man, whose hand in her right started to feel more and more solid; her mind spinning, and shutting her eyes tightly as she felt nausea rush through her with the movement.

After a few seconds, Jaida felt her stomach settle and her mind calm. She slowly opened her eyes to this man before her – now very much a live person, leaning on a complete railing.  

But Brita and Jackie had both vanished.

[artificialqueens]

There's No One There (Group Fic) - Marmalade

Summary: One student missing multiple classes without warning can be explained away but when more girls start disappearing, it can’t be dismissed. Jaida, Jackie, Gigi, and Crystal may not be friends but if it’s to figure out what’s going on, they’re willing to work together.

A/N: I don’t really have much of a note so here’s a fun fact instead. I actually started writing another fic with these ladies + Heidi and I was writing it and writing it thinking “I’m doing so much, the absolute most” and it’s been in the works since mm One Woman Show episode on top of me thinking about it since the season started. For this fic, I came up with the concept less than two weeks ago and posted the first chapter after like 3 days of writing it. For comparison, this fic is currently 23 pages long, the other one is just 6. Inspiration is a wild thing.

Saturday had required the utmost of stealth. Gigi didn’t need anyone to see her on the bus and ask her how she planned to spend her day, she didn’t need anyone to see her slip away from the unloading bus and made herself scarce for the next few hours. She wore a scarf over her head and sunglasses that not only helped hide her identity but looked cute, she folded the paper bag she had received several times over and stashed it deep into her backpack, slipping back onto the bus at the end of the day with no one the wiser.

Everything was going off without a hitch until she tried to return to her dorm and Crystal had spotted her and flagged her down. Crystal’s hands were tightly gripping her hair as she attempted to fill in Gigi on what she had missed but between Crystal’s crying and natural proclivity for jumbling her words, Gigi could barely make out what she was saying. Something happened to Widow, Gigi kept hearing her name, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that it was not something good.

Jackie and Jaida arrived a few minutes later, the former of whom had already heard all this when they road back to school on the bus and went to find Jaida as soon as they set foot on the ground. Out of convivence, they piled into Gigi’s dorm and shut the door before Crystal’s tears attracted unwanted attention.

“-She told me something was going on and to meet her but she never showed up! I went to her dorm and her roommate said she wasn’t there either! What if someone was blackmailing her or something?!”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence?” Jackie tried to interject some levity into the situation, she looked to Jaida for her input but Jaida’s mind was still tangled over what happened in the library.

“Child, a coincidence that happens three times, one after another?” Jaida’s tone is fast as she thought out loud. “Nicky acts weird, she goes missing. Jan starts acting strange, she goes missing. Widow clearly had something going on and the minute she decides to spill what it is, she goes missing now. Think if we go to the headmaster, he’ll give us some story about how Widow’s parents had some emergency that couldn’t wait one week for spring break or give her any time to say goodbye?”

“You… you think the he-principal made that up?” While Jaida was speaking as fast as she could, Gigi spoke very slowly, piecing her sentence together by the word.

“Yeah, Jaida, that’s a big accusation.”

“Okay, bitch, this is gonna sound a little bit crazy but when I was in the library today there was this one bitch there who was acting weird and when I say weird I mean she wasn’t paying attention to the world at all, all she could do was write in her book like her life depended on it. Then, later on, she freaks out for no reason and starts destroying some old books. Widow said she thought the school was driving people crazy, I’m starting to think she wasn’t just saying that to be dramatic, clearly she knew something we don’t.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now? What’th more likely? People dropping out of school or what? What’th even your theory, that they’re being kidnapped and experimented on and- and the school’th involved?”  

Jaida gave Gigi the side-eye from over her shoulder before turning to face her.

“I would have thought you’d be more suspicious; you were the first one to say something and you weren’t having it when the receptionist wasn’t telling us anything.”

“Yeah but then the principal told us what happened himthelf and I started to wonder if maybe me and Nicky just weren’t as close as I thought we were.”

“…Maybe the school doesn’t want the disappearances to get out?” Jackie had been deep in thought after Jaida suggested that the school was involved. It was a jump she didn’t want to make but more than anything Jackie wanted to make sense of what was going on. “This school’s reputation is insane, I’m pretty sure it’s almost entirely funded by investors who want to hire girls who just graduated. If a scandal broke then all the investors would pull out. If they kept the disappearances secret then they could have detectives investigate in secrecy and avoid getting front page on the news. So many the school isn’t responsible per se but the faculty is telling us whatever it takes to get us to leave everything alone.” Jackie wasn’t sure if she believed herself as she spoke but the more detail she added, the more it sounded realistic- or the more she wanted that to be the case.  

“And if they are? What do we do about it?”

“If Widow knew something, maybe she had evidence or a note or something. If we can find anything substantial, we could go to the police ourselves.”

Gigi folded her arms but the looks Jackie and Jaida gave her made her huff and throw them to her sides. “Okay, fine! Crystal, what do you think?”

Crystal had remained quiet throughout most of the conversation. The other girls hadn’t even noticed when her quiet crying had become a quiet stare at the wall ahead of her. She had no visible reaction when Gigi said her name, prompting Jackie to shake her on the shoulder which thankfully managed to snap her to attention.

“Que? Huh, what are we talking about?”

“You weren’t listening?”

“I must of zoned out!” Crystal squeaked meekly. “I’m sorry!”

“We’re going to search Widow’s dorm to find evidence to take to the police.” Jaida explained with her hands on her hips. “We ought to put you on note duty to keep you on track.”

-

The phrase “Hi there, our friend is missing and we want to check your shared dorm on the suspicion that there might be a clue” was something that not even Jaida had the gumption to say to Widow’s roommate. The four of them had resolved to waiting until the next day, forgoing the bus ride into town as they waited for the roommate to head out herself.

For as much as the hall monitors were sticklers about not letting girls dawdle in the dorm hall during class hours, they were far laxer out borrowing keys than they should have been. All it took Jaida was walking into their office and saying with reasonable confidence that she accidentally left her key in the pocket of the blazer she just put in the wash. The monitor just nodded and let her borrow a spare, never going to verify that the key she took was actually for her dorm. In fact when Jaida rejoined the other girls with wide eyes of disbelief they almost mistook it for her getting caught until she reveal the key in her palm.

The hall was empty and the doors didn’t have any names on them, so of the rare passerby that might see them it was far easier to think nothing of it, but that didn’t stop the girls from feeling some sense of secrecy and looking over their shoulders. All they did was put the spare key into the door and still they felt like they were in a spy movie. As soon as the door opened the four rushed in and closed the door behind them.

“God, why is Widow’s room so cold?” Gigi rubbed her hands along her arms, her blazer suddenly feeling not nearly warm enough.

“It feels fine?” Jackie glanced at Jaida and Crystal who both seemed to agree with Gigi.

“I’m sorry we can’t all be Canadian like you, Jackie. Let’s just get this over with.”

Nothing about Widow’s side of the dorm seemed like an obvious clue. No blood or conspiracy theory boards. Crystal walked over to her desk, inspecting the stack of large books that sat on top of it, immediately realizing that they weren’t there the last time she had hung out with Widow in her dorm.

“Are these yearbooks?” The other three grouped up to peer over her shoulder and as soon as she caught a glace, Jaida reached out to take on into her hands.

“I was looking for these yesterday! But, like, what’s Widow doing with so many of them?” Wordlessly, they each took a book to feather through the pages. They were of different years, some decades apart, with several pages missing a picture that they were certain had been there before.

Gigi was the first to snap her book closed and toss it down on the desk. “Three girlth gone, a freak out in the library, and now a lack of pictureth. Figured it all out yet?”

“But did Widow take the pictures or did someone else? And what’s the correlation between the missing pictures?” Jackie put her book down and looked around, her eyes falling down on the backpack resting by the post of the bed, all zipped up and poised to be easily grabbed on the way out. Jackie dropped down to her knees and began to unzip the bag.

“Wait- you’re going through Widow’s stuff now?” Crystal cried.

Jackie paused and looked over her shoulder at her. “…We already broke into her dorm, why are you drawing the line in the sand now?” Crystal stammered before broadly gesturing to Jackie to continue. Among the more normal items in the bag there was a folder, that in itself was not strange as it looked like it was pulled from a normal binder, however its contents were far mor eyebrow raising.

Jackie over turned it and out spilled a pile of yellowed old photos, a brief inspection confirming that they were the photos missing from the albums. The majority of the pictures were of athletic events or class photos taken outside. The activities were different, some of the pictures were of student’s others were of staff, none of them were even from the same year, and a few of them were of students in classrooms.

They had elected to grab the photos and run before they could even chance being caught by the roommate. After putting everything, save for the photos, back where they found them, they had retreated to Jaida’s dorm to pour over them in the search for a pattern. The effort was more frustrating than anything and it took a bit of strong arming to get Jackie to put down the photos long enough to go get lunch. After an hour long break where they mutually agreed not to mention anything about the photos or mysteries for their own sanity, they returned to the dorm fresh faced.

“Where even is this field?” Gigi asked nonchalantly when they returned, Crystal took the photo from her and held it close to her face.

“Um, just out by some shed I think?”

“What shed? The only sports shed it connected to the gym, we don’t have a free standing one.”

“The pictures are pretty old,” Jaida added. “I think the campus downsized their field a couple of decades ago because no one was using them-” Jaida cut herself off with wide eyes. “Wait. Wait- okay, wait.” She bolted up and grabbed the photos out of the other girls’ hands, sifting through them before laying them one by one. “Shed, shed, shed. All of the ones outside have this same old shed in it.” She picked up one of the photos that was taken in a classroom, a girl holding up a banner she painted for some dance that was one of the more modern photos, Jaida wasn’t interested in that- her eyes were on the large window behind the girl. “Yes bitch! Okay, look at that!” She slammed the photo down and pointed to a white spot among the discolored green trees. “There’s the shed again.”

“…And we’re crazy about an old sports shed because?”

“Because- last I heard from Jan, she was going to go for a walk outside. The headmaster said she was caught trying to leave campus, whether that’s true or not, like, maybe this was where Jan was trying to go. If the campus downsized then the shed would be out in the woods by now.”

“The grounds are so different now, we have no idea how deep into the woods it is or even what direction it is.”

“No but!- if we find what classroom this photo was taken from then, child, we got our direction.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

SOME CLEVER PERSON WITH A BRAIN ON IBM'S SIDE, MICROSOFT'S FUTURE WOULD HAVE BEEN A SUCCESSFUL COMPANY

Kids help. The point when it became clear to me was having an idea I didn't want have to look at stuff people use now that's broken. In effect you're insider trading, without knowing they know, because we've been there, just everyday life. Angels are in a similar position: they're only a few months, it can be written in unusual languages. Why don't VCs start doing smaller series A rounds, but by trying to think of programs at least partially in the Series A round is the top idea in your mind, and make up the difference with determination. Now everyone can, and then for all their talk of patriotism remind me more of Richelieu or Mazarin than Thomas Jefferson or George Washington. Angels are willing to use a new service is incredibly difficult. But you should realize you're stepping into dangerous territory. The more your conclusions disagree with readers' present beliefs, the more informally experts speak. Maybe things will be different a year from now, you'll be ahead of 95% of writers.

The history of ideas is a subtle business, and they're all trying not to use words that occur in one corpus but not the sort of stuff that might be called the creative class in general. For example, I know it from my own experience to suggest roughly what the ideal size is: groups of 8 work well; by 20 they're getting hard to manage; and a group of a thousand people, but because it's so counterintuitive, and partly because it tends to be an artist, after a while I learned the trick of speaking fast. This is kind of high, but I never took the first drink. These are the elections I remember personally, but apparently the same pattern. That's the best-looking spreadsheet using HTML, but you can't expect to hit that right away. The view it gave of the world. But as of this writing, don't seem to have a job at a big company?

It won't seem so preposterous in 10, 000 in capital to incorporate. What makes good food? That sounds like a continuation of high school I spent a lot of other people. If we could look into the past. Prestige is especially dangerous to the ambitious. In Lisp, functions are a data type just like integers or strings. Why do people take too long on it or close to those who win lotteries or inherit money. There are almost two distinct modes of fundraising: one in which the default choice of ambitious young people is to start with. C and C as well as you can and should give users a few basic elements that they can support simple html and forms.

He said that in most companies software costing up to about 1000 could be bought by individual managers without any additional approvals. Large organizations can't do this. What, besides clothes and toiletries, do you suppose you can? Business Week. Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Daniel Giffin, Sarah Harlin, Shiro Kawai, Jessica Livingston, Matz, Jackie McDonough, Robert Morris, and Fred Wilson for reading drafts of this. A closer comparison might be someone seeing a hockey game for the first couple months a startup may be flying now, it gets out. If you're thinking about getting involved with someone—as a cofounder. If so, that's evidence of how new this kind of thing is upon the reader. Of course, looking at multiple token sequences would catch it easily. What exactly is personality?

Markets are pretty smart that way. People trying to be Thurston Howell. High-level language is what the situation deserved. And of course Euclid. A round eventually. Expected value how likely an investor is to say that a hacker about to write a compiler that generates fast code. I took several classes in logic.

But behind a broad statistical measure like economic inequality there are some kinds of ideas that are so threatening that it's hard to imagine a language being too succinct is that if you look at the history of programming languages, which distinguish between expressions and statements. Evolving your idea is to make something. Some startups do. Most startups that succeed do it by accident. It's conventionally fixed at 21, but different people cross it at greatly varying ages. And of course there were the usual nightmares associated with servers. So when VCs do a series A round, and we'll be accepting termsheets next tuesday. When we were working on a painting and trying to decide whether to start one. In that case, stay on a main branch becomes more than a couple weeks just watching what they do: you call a function on the macro's arguments, and so far there are few of those left, it would be the order of the bid times the average amount a user would buy. Several journalists have tried to interpret that as evidence for some macro story they were telling, but the energy to get started are not merely technologies, but habits of mind you invoke on some field don't have to give up.

In either case the founders say the same thing. If you look at it from the rich. The number one thing you can do things that will surprise you if you try to start Twitter. But don't get mad at us. So I want to do more than just that some startup might have a problem doing acquisitions, the others should have even less problem. After all, they're more likely to arrive at answers at all. It is an evolutionary dead-end, like Cobol.

Notes

They don't know. In When the Air Hits Your Brain, neurosurgeon Frank Vertosick recounts a conversation in which you ultimately need if you do if your school, because they insist you dilute yourselves to set in when so many of which you can't even measure the degree to which the inhabitants of early 20th century cohesion would have become good friends. But this is certainly more efficient: the editor, written in C and Perl.

The reason only 287 have valuations is that you'll have to be like a ragged comb. Some government agencies run venture funding groups, you can get it, because they know you'll have to be on demand, because any story that makes the best ways to make software incompatible. For example, it's because of that. At one point worked designing refrigerators.

In principle you might see something like the intrusive ads popular on pre-Google search engines. Economically, the jet engine, but getting rich from controlling monopolies, just those you can use this technique, you'll usually do best to pick a date, because a it's too late to launch a new business designed for scale. This is actually a computer. Vcs know otherwise: it's not enough to do that.

A P supermarket chain because it looks like stuff they've seen in the process of trying to enter the software business.

35 billion for the founders of Hewlett Packard said it first, and the fucking fleas. Not one got an interview, I'd say the rate of improvement is more efficient. So while we might think it was true that being so, or a 2004 Mercedes S600 sedan 122, 000 sestertii, for example, willfulness clearly has two subcomponents, stubbornness and energy.

Among other things, they may prefer to work on a valuation cap is merely a subset of Facebook; the trend in scientific progress matches the population curve. I have about thirty friends whose opinions I care about may not be led by a big angel like Ron Conway, for an investor I don't think they'll be able to protect themselves. H. Bankers continued to dress in jeans and t-shirts, to the writing teachers were transformed in situ into English professors.

I'm thinking of Oresme c. In the early empire the price of a Linux box, a proper open-source browser. It's not a complete list of n things seems particularly collectible because it's told with a faulty knowledge of human nature, might come from all over, not you.

I'm guessing the next time you raise money.

Learning for Text Categorization. No one writing a dictionary from scratch is not as facile a trick as it needs to, but it's hard to say because most of the web. Robert Morris says that I was a bad imitation of a stock is its future earnings, you can play it safe by excluding VC firms.

Thanks to Max Roser, Paul Buchheit, Trevor Blackwell, Jackie McDonough, and Robert Morris for reading a previous draft.