#jesus christ dream you look sick go take some medicine and sleep >:/

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[lionlena]

You're hot... (JavierPeñaxsick!reader)

So, this is a surprise for @creedslove​

I hope you feel a little better after reading this. You deserve Javi to take care of you, honey.

Warnings: None, just fluff

You liked Javier Peña. He was your boss and you thought he was the right man to take down the Cali Cartel. You've heard what others have said about him. That when he was chasing Escobar, he was working with Los Pepes. That he was an asshole... a manwhore. And yet, you couldn't think badly of him. Maybe because he was nice to you from the start. He never ordered you do something. He always used the word "please." It was the same this time: "Y/N, can you sort the papers I left on the couch in my office, please. I have to do something urgent and I don't know if I'll be back today."

And how could you refuse? First, he was your boss. Secondly, he was looking at you with those puppy brown eyes. And three, he was so damn hot.

Unfortunately, you were having a hard time sorting the documents. Normally you handled these things better, but today you felt bad. You had runny nose and a headache since morning, but you thought it was just a slight cold.

You ran your hand across your forehead, "Damm, why is it so hot in here?"

You looked around your boss's office and groaned. There was still a pile of papers on his desk. It was early evening, everyone else had gone home, and you were terribly tired. You looked at the couch. Maybe if you lie down for 10 minutes, your work will go faster after a nap. You just close your eyes. For while.

You curled up into a ball and fell asleep.

You woke up to the feeling of something pleasantly cool touching your forehead. You stretched, opened your eyes... Jesus Christ!!!

Warm brown eyes looked at you with tenderness. Javier Peña, your boss, caught you sleeping at work and was now kneeling by the couch, dangerously close to your face. You didn't know what to say. He spoke first.

"You're hot."

Okay, maybe you just dreamed it.

"Umm... Thank you, I guess."

Javier let out a small chuckle.

"I mean you're hot, you've got a fever, hermosa."

Well, if you had a fever, it was Javier who made you hot as hell.

You sat down awkwardly, being careful not to hit him in the process as Javier was still kneeling by the couch. You looked half-consciously around the office and realized with horror that you had fallen asleep for over two hours.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry... I was going to finish sorting the papers, but..." A sudden shiver went through your body. "I was so tired."

Javier started looking around, you thought he was looking for documents, but it turned out he was looking for something for you. When he realized there wasn't any blanket around, he got up and took off his jacket, then placed it over your shoulders. The material was warmed by his body and you immediately felt better. You have blushed, but he couldn't see it because of the fever.

"Don't worry about it. I shouldn't put so much work on you."

"It's nothing," you whined.

"I'll drive you home."

"What about the documents?"

"Fuck it," he said and extended his hand to you.

All the way to his car, he held you gently and you couldn't help but snuggle into his body. You were sick. You needed comfort, and he obviously didn't mind. As you sat in the car, he asked you for your address and if you needed anything from the store. Medicines? Food? He was so caring. Would others call him "an asshole", now? He certainly wasn't like that in your eyes.

Javier came home with you. He made sure you had the medications you needed. He made you sit on the couch saying, "I'll make you some hot tea."

"You don't have to. I'll be better soon. I have leftover soup in the fridge, I'll warm it up and eat it.”

He shook his head and covered you with the blanket you always kept on the couch. You were still wearing his jacket, but he didn't seem to care.

"Sit here. I'll take care of everything." He raised his eyebrows. "It's official order from boss."

You didn't have the strength to argue with him. You were so comfortable on the couch. You've been watching your boss move swiftly around your kitchen. He warmed up the soup, made you some tea, and set it on the table along with the pills. Then he sat next to you and made sure you ate everything. It was quite funny.

"You know, I'm not a baby," you murmured.

"I would have believed it if I hadn't found you sleeping in my office with a high fever."

You put your head down and whispered:

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't fall asleep there."

You felt Javier put his hand on your knee.

"No, it's not like that. I'm not mad at you for falling asleep. I just don't understand why you agreed to help me if you weren't feeling well?"

You looked at him and shrugged. What happened next was like a dream. Javier gently stroked your cheek.

"Next time tell me you're not feeling well." He got up and grabbed the empty soup bowl. "You're free tomorrow. Rest while I clean up."

You ran out of words. Your boss pulled up the sleeves of his shirt and went to wash your dishes. Normally you'd feel embarrassed, but after you ate the warm soup and took your medicine, you were really ready to go to sleep. And Javier's jacket smelled of his perfume. You lay down and fell into a light sleep.

What happened next must have been a figment of your imagination.

Before leaving your apartment, Javier leaned over you and kissed your forehead whispering:

"Que duermas bien, mi dulce"

You might even think it was all a figment of your fever-ridden mind, but when you woke up in the morning you were still wrapped in his jacket. You smiled. Maybe Javier Peña was an asshole, but not to you.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Fixes Everything

Word Count: ~850 Warnings: Medication. Mention of Tom. Reader is sick. Author's Note: Nah, what the fuck is this? I have been down and out all week and this is what I come back with? Shamefully self indulgent. SHAMEFULLY.

“Sweetheart,” Santi’s voice filters through your dreams, “you wanna go on a run with me?”

You grumble something close to a no and pull the covers closer, hoping to cover your pounding head and nausea.

He presses his lips to the top of your head and moves his weight off the bed and out the door. Sleep is easy to find again, aching muscles pulling your body back into it.

You don’t know how much time passes before he’s speaking again, “come on, sweetheart, made pancakes.”

His large hand is usually warm against you but it stings like ice this morning and he knows it too.

“Jesus Christ, you’re burning up.”

And then he’s gone again, consciousness only coming to you when he sticks a thermometer in your mouth.

“How do you feel? What hurts?”

He removes the small device, muttering a small oh no as you reach for his hand.

“Everything,” you croak, throat on fire.

You cough then, a noise in your chest like a baby’s rattle and Santi’s gentle hand is coaxing you to lay on your side, “I’ll get you some medicine, okay, baby girl?” 

He’s such a dutiful man, his strong arms pulling you forward moments later to a sitting position, “you’re fucking soaked, baby.”

You huff a laugh through your scratchy and swollen throat, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as he smooths a hand down your back.

“Can you take this pill for me?”

Opening your mouth, he places the small, bitter pill on your tongue.

“Don't swallow yet—“

You giggle.

“Princess, don’t be an ass,” there’s warning in his tone, worry, “drink this.”

He pushes a straw into your mouth and encourages you to sip as he runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck.

“I think it would be a good idea to get you into a show—“

“No.”

“Fine, a bath. I think it would be a good idea to get you into a bath so I can change these sheets.”

“No.”

“You just wanna sleep?”

“Please.”

He makes a sound of annoyed concession, “I’m at least changing your clothes.” 

He’s gently threading your arms through the holes of one of his shirts, another—dryer—one being pulled on not long after and he lays you down on your stomach, a soothing hand across your back.

“Water’s on the table, I’ll leave the door open and check on you in a bit.”

“Stay,” you reach behind you limply, “cuddle.” 

“In a bit, okay?” He presses his lips to your forehead, “try and rest and then I’ll get you in the bath and change these sheets.”

“And then you’ll cuddle?”

He laughs, “yeah, baby girl, then I’ll cuddle.”

Occasionally, you feel a warm washcloth pressed to your face, wiping across your tears and running nose.

“I’m sorry I’m so gross,” you croak at him.

“No,” his voice is warm, “gross is when Tom got shot in the stomach and I had to shove my finger in the wound to keep him from bleeding out, this isn’t gross. This is just life.” 

You let him guide you into a bath, filled with salts and bubbles meant to clear your head while he changes the sheets on the bed. When he returns, you’re curled in on yourself in the water, searching for more warmth.

He kneels next to the tub and talks you into letting him wash your hair.

“Please, baby?” His eyes are big and soft—dopey—as he begs, “let me wash your hair, you’ll feel better.” 

He drags the shampoo through your hair, fingers gently threading through the locks. He sings to you, presence heavy and encompassing in the dim light of the bathroom.

“What time is it?”

His wrist turns, “quarter to two.”

“I was out for a long time.”

“Yeah,” he continues washing the soap out of your hair, “are you hungry? Saved you some pancakes.” 

“Blueberry?”

“Always.” 

He drains the tub and helps you dry off to dress, rubbing vick’s vapor rub into your chest and on the back of your neck.

“This fixes everything.”

“You tell me that every time.”

He laughs, “have I ever been wrong?”

“Santi?”

“Yeah, baby?” He looks up at you from where he kneels in front of the bed, pushing your foot into a sock.

“I feel like my nose is going to explode.”

He presses his lips to your knee and stands, holding his hand out for you to take, “I think your medicine wore off, come on.”

Setting you on the couch, he frets around you. A plate pushed into your hands, another dose of cold medicine held to your lips. 

“Stop staring at me,” you say, shoving the last bite into your mouth.

“I'm not staring at you.”

“It's creepy.”

He laughs, standing to take your dish, “I just hate that you feel bad.” 

When he comes back, pulls you against his chest and kisses your forehead, “fever's gone at least.”

“You can tell with your lips?”

He hums into your skin, “I can do a lot of things with my lips.” 

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Lost Time

It was half past eight on a Monday and I was running late. I was known for being late as well as scatter-minded and it was an image I had been trying to combat since I was a young girl.

However, that didn’t change the fact that I had already missed the 8:30 train and the 8:20 one before that. I stood on the platform with the usual suspects of businessmen in charcoal dark suits, middle-aged moms on their way to the market with overly large floral-print tote bags, and a few highschoolers who looked just as late I was with a bruised-eyed emptiness about them.

I bounced on my heels as I waited and checked my watch every few minutes. I had been given several warnings so far about tardiness at my office job and while I wasn’t exactly thrilled about quality control work I was less thrilled about the prospect of being fired.

I texted my workplace friend about covering for me and then I checked my watch again.

For not the first time I missed university and the ideal of sleeping through whatever classes I didn’t care for and sneaking in a few minutes late to any lectures I actually did. My older sister kept insisting I was lucky I had gotten a job right out of college at all, but there was no helping it. It all sort of sucked.

The monotony was almost as bad as the knowledge that monotony was my future: pure predictable, clockwork knowledge of what I might be doing a month from now. And then a year from now. And the year after that.

I bounced on my heels and checked my watch for the third time. It was a leather watch with a round handsome face and a worn strap- my father had given it to me right before the Alzheimer's set in when I was around seventeen.

We hadn’t “lost” him, but we did lose the man I grew up with.

That was how I remembered that morning: thinking about Monday and work and my father’s watch which kept ticking much slower than I would have liked it to.

Maybe things would have been different if my work friend had texted me back faster or if I had woken up earlier or if I hadn’t bothered to wake up and go to work at all that morning.

I bounced in place and just as I was about to look down at my watch again a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Ah,” I jumped and swung around to start shouting at whoever it was or the very least pull away from the stranger manhandling me on a public platform.

I hesitated when an old woman looked back at me. She was small, and had neat grey hair swept back into a tidy bun and a hunched back with wide, heavyset shoulders. She was lined with deep wrinkles and had clear blue eyes that struck me as somehow attractive and open.

She smiled mildly at me and her cool hand was still wrapped around my wrist as I faced her. I wrinkled my nose slightly as the scent of something like chlorine hit me over the head. It was a saturated sharp kind of chemical smell.

“Excuse me,” the old woman spoke in the same tidy manner as her look. “May I borrow some of your time?” I frowned deeply as I suspected she was about to break out a bible and start a pitch for either Jesus Christ or some new age church of cardinals or weed or paying them money or whatever.

I drew back, “I’m sorry.” I tried to glance at my watch but it was still in her grip. “I gotta get to work.” “It won’t take long at all. No trouble for you, I promise.” She said and her voice was similarly friendly, high-pitched, and reminded me somewhat of a cricket.

The chemical smell funneled through my system and I tried to politely hold my breath. “Sorry. The train is about to come and I really can’t miss it.” “We have time.” She said slowly. “It will only be for a bit and won’t cost you a cent.” I sighed heavily and looked around to check if anyone there noticed me being accosted by the elderly, but no one even batted an eye in our direction. “Are you selling something?” “No.” She said suredly. “I know this sounds a little forward, but I’m trying to find someone and I could use some help.” “Huh.” I blinked a couple times and chewed on my bottom lip; I weighed my options carefully for just a moment more and then met her syrupy blue gaze. “Just looking for someone, yeah?” I exhaled slowly. “Alright. Sure.” Her smile grew wide and candied sweet. She released my wrist and I swore a popping sound erupted through the air and sent a shiver down my spine.

“But I really can’t do it right n-” I didn’t finish my sentence as the train whooshed onto the platform and I stumbled backward. When I turned to tell the old lady I would have to help her later, she was gone.

I sniffed loudly and rubbed at my wrist before hurrying aboard my morning train and trying not to get stuck on any of the details. It was Boston, sometimes weird people talked to you.

And you tried to forget them. At least, at the time I hoped to forget her and get to work without being noticed or reprimanded again.

--------------------

It was two months into December and I had a head cold like nobody's business. I hadn’t been able to breath out of my left nostril since the day before and I missed her dearly, as you would a best friend or lover.

Cold sheets of rain had been coming down in slushy torrents for days now and I had spent hours the week before helping move my roommate out. She had finally decided to go all the way with her questionable boyfriend and move in with him despite the old pizza crust smell and missing fire escapes in his neighborhood. But he had both a car and a netflix account.

I was happy for her up until I helped her move a couch in the pouring ice-rain and woke up the next day with the feeling of a balloon inflating in my sinuses. 

I went to work all the same in an effort to make management get off my back about the number of days I had missed. The world was a slow motion mess of dayquil and painkillers by the time I was finally able to head home in a daze. I produced kleenex after kleenex out of my purse as I traveled, like a magic trick where no one was impressed.

I was rocking gently back and forth in the train when my head pounded slightly and my nose cleared up for just a moment. I would have hit the air with my fist right then in victory if not for the sharp scent of chlorine that washed over me.

The uncomfortable sterile smell that reminded me of storms and sucking on copper pennies.

My eyes darted left and right to check if anyone had noticed, but the train was filled with pencil-skirt ladies on their phones typing away, school children with ipads out, and a homeless man softly snoring in one of the seats.

I massaged the bridge of my nose and hurried the rest of the way home with more kleenexes produced and thoughts of nyquil on my mind. I was surely too sick to be cogent I figured and becoming slightly delirious.

I slipped into my now one-person apartment, ate canned noodle soup, and tucked myself to sleep in my thickest sweatpants and sweater. It should have been over then, but it wasn’t.

I had dreams, and not the type of dreams I had ever had before. Dark shadows shifted and oozed under me, bright neon colors popped in my vision, stars exploded left and right and nonsense voices babbled in the distance.

It was like the confusing scene in Dumbo with the pink elephants singing except I didn’t even get to be drunk for it. And then the scent of chemicals came wafting through my head space and I exhaled from somewhere deep inside of me and everything went as blank as a canvas.

There was no proper way to describe it except the unclenching of every muscle in my body after a long day or letting go of a kite and watching it sail away with the wind. I let go of thousands of jumbled images and sounds and then I blinked again and I was staring at the night sky.

It was hard to process for a long hard second and harder to come to grips with the cold air against my flushed cheeks and the crevice moon up above. My muscles complained at me dully, but besides that my body was limber and I noticed I could breathe again.

I inhaled through both nostrils and when I sat up I realized I was in some sort of barren field. I gawked at the empty rows and dirt on my hands and the fact I could barely make out any city lights in the distance.

I hadn’t left Boston in months and I didn’t remember getting off my couch that night. Or driving. Or walking. Or bundling myself up in my heavy pink coat and lying down in a field.

I flexed slightly and noticed a tingling in my fingers and dirt on my knees and palms. I had been doing something as well.

I searched my person for a moment and was relieved to find no injuries, but also no clues. My coat pockets were completely empty and my only guiding source of information was that I was in a field and I wasn’t sick anymore.

I even sniffed the air for chlorine, but there was nothing but faint winter chill.

I took a deep breath and stood up after a few minutes and began to walk toward the city lights. It was a long walk and I went back and forth in my head on whether to take myself to the hospital and ask about sleep walking disorders.

On the other hand I remembered my father’s long struggle with in-patient care, his empty gaze as more nurses talked to him in gentle tones, and wheeled him around the blank white halls. I remembered the tears as he seemed to lose my face and then my mom’s face and birthdays and places and names like party balloons being popped. The hospital smell made me nauseous just thinking about and it had only been one night. 

Just one night didn’t mean anything.

I ended up finding change in the back pocket of my jeans and taking the 6am bus home from Northampton all the way to my apartment. I didn’t sleep well for days after that.

--------------------- I chalked the first time up to a weird combination of flu medicine, stress at work, and maybe even losing my roommate that week. And for awhile it seemed like a dream that someone else had.

For awhile.

It was February when the feeling crept back in. I couldn’t explain it, but I started checking hallways before I turned the corner and examining strangers faces twice if they sat next to me. I put bowls of water by my door so I might step in them and wake myself if I started sleep walking again.

Or perhaps someone else would step in them on their way in. I tried not to dwell on that last thought- no matter how many times it nagged at me.

There was a sensation of sickness in my gut and I couldn’t get rid of it. It was February and I was sitting on my couch watching some nothing TV show my mom recommended to me and just like before, something unclenched.

The kite was released and I blinked and there was an absolute nothingness so fine that I could have drowned in it. Been eaten by it, been destroyed by it.

And I blinked once and I was standing in the grocery store holding an egg carton and practically gagging on chlorine stench lodged in my mouth. “Ack.” I dropped the eggs to the floor and they splattered like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

I started breathing heavily and clutching at my chest, several concerned shoppers stopped and looked my way as I leaned on my cart for support. The cart was completely filled with cartons of eggs.

I ran outside only to find I was just a few blocks from my apartment building. I sprinted home and when I tripped my way up my stairs, wheezing and eyes streaming, there was a single spilled bowl of water on the floor.

I melted into the carpet and shook slightly as I looked at it. Something had been in my apartment. Or else I had kicked it myself during the weird trance.

But it didn’t matter either way. I couldn’t remember.

---------------------

I finally went to the doctor with a complaint of memory problems and we met with a neurologist with iron-grey hair and a busy tie. He checked my pupil dilation and ability to track objects with my eyes. He tested my reflexes and had me remember colors and numbers in certain orders.

My mom came with me for the appointment and glanced at me every few minutes. She didn’t say anything, but I could read the thoughts on her face: it’s already got her too.

Maybe my mom thought she was cursed. But when all of my tests came back negative for any brain abnormalities she exhaled and I didn’t.

It got worse from there. I would wake up blocks from my house holding an umbrella I didn’t own, wake up with leaves and sticks in my hair, be walking down the street one second and then be in a completely different part of town on a park swing the next.

I started putting more bowls of water around my house and added bells and stacks of books and even a few stray mouse traps around the windows (one of which actually caught a mouse). Most nights there was nothing but gnawing silence and I waited and waited for the smell of ozone.

The smell of storms and pools and airplanes right when you get off. 

I blinked up at my dark ceiling and waited. It only happened once; I heard the bell: the chiming silver bell with all of my worst fears and highest anxieties pressed to it. I turned over in bed to grasp for my phone or a baseball bat or anything at all.

But then I unclenched. The world popped and the nothingness took hold with a profound sudden swallowing sensation.

And I blinked again and I was standing on the very top of a hotel building with cars honking down below and a fire exit open behind me. I looked down and I was holding a TV antenna in one hand and a spoon in the other.

“Goddammit!” I threw both of the items down on the ground and started pulling on my hair. “You can’t keep doing this to me!” I screamed at nothing, “I have a life! I never agreed to this.”

But somehow, I remembered I had.

---------------

I quit my job. I hated the endless spreadsheets and conference calls and management deadlines, so it wasn’t much of a loss. But everyone I knew asked “what’s next?” with big eager smiles and I stopped returning their calls after a while.

I stopped sleeping. I started prowling the streets like a cramped zoo animal with nowhere to go. It was late spring by then and the city was stinking with hot bodies and burning trash and my own simmering violent questions brewing under the surface.

What’s happening to me? I wanted to scream at someone, but didn’t want to have to return to the hospital. Why me?

There were no answers, only the endless strips of pavement and my red converse slapping against them. Fifth street: two young boys biking with matching helmets and noisily chewing gum that they blew into fat pink bubbles. Washington Street: cop pulling over a teacher with thick glasses and a hard look on her face as she got out of her vehicle.

South End: a busy farmers market with women in overalls selling backyard kimchi and a man with a beard almost down to his waist selling gourmet chocolates and homemade beer. Noisy, busy, yelling, laughing people that streamed past me and barely stopped to look at my blood-shot eyes and trembling hands.

I was well past the farmer’s market and on the seventh day of my trek when I heard it. A high, cricket voice that carried over the buzz of construction work nearby.

“No, no, not like that.” She spoke into a phone briskly. I turned on my heels and everything moved in slow motion and jerky fast images all at once. One second I was staring at an old woman with pleasing blue eyes and then I had her pinned up against the nearest wall with my forearm.

“Police!” She shouted without hesitation or even looking at me. “Police! Someone!”

I hissed through my clenched teeth. “Take it back.” I growled lowly. “Make it normal again.” Her lips peeled into a snarl and she leaned her head against the wall. “That’s not how it works.” And then the smell of chlorine slithered through me and I started to cough.

“No!” I held on with all my might- clenching and gripping and grasping for something I couldn’t name. “Not now! I need-” I gasped, “I need.” The old woman looked blankly at me, but with something that I might have classified as pity. Or despair. “Give it to someone else.” She said in a soft voice. “Pass it off.”

-----------------------

My hair was falling out in thin clumps and I kept wiggling one of my back teeth as it had seemed to have come loose. I had no idea what I had been doing for days by then and no matter how many traps I set it was always the same: crashing bowls and ringing bells and then nothing. Expansive, hungry nothing.

I stood at the train station platform and looked at my watch. I had forgotten to wind it and it had stopped ticking. I looked at it and I bounced on my heels and a young man in his very early twenties stood next to me.

He smelled strongly of aftershave and his suit seemed to swim around him despite being obviously tailored. He had coiffed golden hair and frantic eyes that darted back and forth over the platform.

He looked down at his watch.

I shot my hand out and took his wrist. “Excuse me,” I croaked and tried to get him to look me in the eye. “Can I borrow some of your time?”

[trickstercheebs]

fuck we have to CHOOSe one? Uuuuh "✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention" AGP sick Gordon and the team? and/or "+: being led back to bed with patient whispers" but they dont have bodies yet, just worry

YOU GOT IT! here we go

He had walked back in and half the team knew something was wrong. He looked flushed as hell despite it being 70 degrees outside..Half the time they tried talking to him he had to be called to attention multiple times, clearly something was wrong.

“Gordon..? Gordon are you okay? What’s wrong you never act like this....hello?”

Tommy was the first to try and get Gordon to explain what was going on, he brushed them off weakly saying he just felt a little light headed...But the way he talked sounded like he barely heard Tommy talking.

Coomer tried next, knowing his usual greeting always got a response, his normal smile fell when Gordon didn’t fully respond for several minutes, even Bubby had finally dropped the snark in favor of seeing what the hell was going on with their Gordon.

“Hey, hey what the fuck is actually going on Gordon...You’ve never acted like this before, are you dying on us or something? You fucking better not or else I’m going to fucking come out there...okay? Just...just dont fucking die on us for real Gordon.”

Gordon by now had slumped back into his chair watching the AI’s frantically figure out what’s wrong, the strongest of them now cracking with worry when their usual antics and nonsense got....nothing back.

“Guys....guys I’m not gonna die okay..? I’m...just a lil sick is all, just a lil fever nothing to worry about. “

“Bullshit bro, that...that doesnt look like a normal fever...Gordon you need to get into bed. Shit’s not good to just stay in the chair for...”

Benry had finally shown his own worry after watching Gordon just....sit there unmoving and staring off into space for a half hour, it wasn’t fun to watch him do that knowing he’s delirious and shit.

“Ben...ry? Shit since when did you become a mother hen..? heheh..I must be out of it then if I have you freaking out at me..”

The others were trying to figure out what to do, how to get Gordon to get better or at least fucking sleep..The fact they lacked bodies made this all entirely and unnecessarily harder to do. Tommy and Coomer combed over wikipedia and any health web pages on how to best combat a cold. Bubby kept on trying to berate and convince Gordon to go to sleep and rest with little to no success.

Benry though was wanting to try some other methods. If Gordon was this fucking out of it...maybe he could try the only method he had available left. 

Giving a quick word to the others on what the fuck was about to go down and getting the “Go ahead we have no fucking other ways.” he slipped into Gordons phone and tested the waters of Gordons mind.

Like Tommy and Coomer, Benry sometimes delved into the deep oceans of knowledge that Wikipedia offered, mostly on some stupid meme shit.. But as of late he had delved into the science of the mind and sleep. Mostly to figure out how he could slip into Gordons mind at night..and maybe how the whole subconscious worked.

He found nothing but stupid ass jargon but some of the things he learned were interesting...Like that at certain stages of delirium and sleep deprivation, the mind enters a sleep like state...or as close to it as possible. 

Benry smiled to himself as he felt himself slide into Gordons mind with practiced ease. The others wouldn’t know what was going on on this side of things...But if it worked like he hoped Gordon would be fine and in bed soon.

“Gordon...hey dumbass look at me for a second.. C’mon sleepy head, lil baby needs to be put down for a nap.”

“B....Benry? Issat you?”

“Yeah? C’mon I need you to get up, take the headphones off bro.”

Gordon blinked owlishly up at the guard now standing above him smiling softly...When did he get here? Was he always here...?

“When’d you get out here dude? ...what the shit’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it bro, c’mon get up outta the chair, bed’s alot better for baby time naps. I’ll join you even if you want Gordon....”

“...that sounds....actually kinda nice..? alright.”

Benry sighed softly in relief as Gordon pushed himself out of the chair at last, hearing the muted cheers from the rest of the science team as he stumbled towards the bed nearby.

Gordon all but collapsed onto the edge of said bed, and with some more prompting by Benry shuffled under the covers to sleep like a decent human being. Benry himself couldnt do much aside from mime sitting on the edge of the bed and talk to him until sleep finally claimed Gordon at long last a hour later.

The rest of the science team went about their day, checking up on Gordon via phone to see if he was still asleep or feeling at all better.. They didn’t entirely understand where Benry went, Coomer had one idea but that was something to discuss in private with Benry himself.

As for Benry, he stayed hidden in Gordon’s hazy fever dreams to keep him company. With the fever affecting him it made things ten times stranger....Not that he minded, he could gently shift things away from nightmarish topics and have a bit of fun with Gordon, who did not seem to know or mind whatever the hell was going on.

Of course he also indulged in some nonsense of his own at Gordon’s expense, he accompanied him on his feverish adventures and played along with whatever logic Gordon’s brain supplied... and of course using the cover of dreams to kiss and cuddle whenever possible with the poor man.

Several hours later, Benry slipped back into the computer to say Gordon had gone into a dreamless deeper sleep..But now all they had to do was wait and hope in the morning things would be better.

Morning came and went, and later into the afternoon Gordon finally managed to pull himself from sleeps loving embrace with a coughing yawn.

“Gordon?? Gordon you’re alive! Good morning!”

“Hello...Tommy? Tommy what time is it...? Where’s my phone at...”

Fumbling about with a slow groan he dug his phone out of the blanket nest he made in his sleep...When the hell did he get here? Christ he barely remembered yesterday even...it was four in the afternoon...Wow he was out cold for almost a full day.

“Holy fuck I must of been deadass...Sorry guys, I felt like utter shit yesterday, didn’t mean to scare you all if I did, I barely remember being conscious at all.”

“That’s all well and fine Gordon, but you must learn to take better care of yourself! You had us worried it was something much more dire.”

“Sorry Dr. Coomer...and you’re right I should take better care of myself from now on..I had some fucking weird dreams though..”

“Like what Gordon?”

“Well....”

He shifted in bed to get more comfortable, he still felt bad but...least he could talk to the others semi normally now. The dreams he had were strange as hell come to think of it, most of them he couldnt remember for shit aside from a handful.

“I could of sworn at some point Benry was yelling at me to get into bed and stop doing stupid shit...”

“Bro that wasn’t a dream I was yelling at you to take a lil baby nap for like...two hours. You’re a stubborn lil man.”

“No I mean...I mean like actually yelling at me, like face to face physically..”

“Wow bro, you dreamin me up out there with you? Shit sounds gay, if I was really there I’d just throw you into bed instead of just yelling.”

“Dude shut up..I guess I was probably hallucinating while you were all telling me to sleep..”

“That sounds about right, you were very very delirious all day Gordon. I’m glad to see you’re doing a bit better now.”

“Me too Dr. Coomer..I guess I should get some cold medicine now huh?”

“If you fucking dont im blowing your entire savings right here and now.”

“Alright alright jesus Bubby...I’m glad I have all of you to worry over me hahah”

Gordon laughed softly as he finally got out of bed to find his cold meds and get started on getting rid of this cold.

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 4)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed ™ with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

Chapters 1-6 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

WARNING: brief depiction of panic

Jon pulls the car in park as they return to the cottage, and once again, Martin bolts—slamming the door behind him with enough force to make Jon jump.  Left alone now, Jon sighs deeply and rests his forehead on the steering wheel.

Foolish. Foolish foolish foolish.

You knew better.

You knew.

He slams his hand on the steering wheel thrice before picking up his head.  Martin occupies his peripheral vision, still standing but doubled over, hands on his knees.

Jon does not want to get out of the car.

(two hours previous)

Driving through the countryside awakened emotions in Jon that he thought were long since dead.  The greenery of it all, the rolling hills, dotted with the occasional farmhouse or cottage—something about it made him feel…

Serene.

…I could actually see how Martin might want to write a poem about this.

Turning his head toward the passenger seat, he finds Martin gazing out the window, eyes crinkling at the corners to give away his hint of a smile.

Warm.

Jon turns on the CD player, and Martin’s “lo-fi charm” begins to play softly from the speakers.  Martin turns his head, eyebrows raised in surprise, before his face melts into a smile.

“You packed these?” he whispers, voice still ragged.

“I thought it might—just—you seemed out of it.  When we left, I mean.  I thought they might help…ground you.”

Jon can feel Martin’s eyes still on him, although his own gaze is focused on the road.  Peripherally, he sees Martin reach toward his burned left hand where it rests on the steering wheel, and takes it carefully.  He then begins a gentle massage, fingers working over where some soreness remains from his encounter this morning, then over the length of each finger, before kissing the back of Jon’s palm.

Jon is a puddle.

Martin looks extremely pleased with himself, and doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

As they enter the village, Jon can sense a shift in Martin’s mood.  Though he still has not let go of Jon’s hand, he sits up straighter now, eyes glued to the people walking along the narrow streets.   It’s not crowded by any means—especially compared to the streets of London—but Jon must admit, it is rather a shock to recognize that they are not fully isolated, not even here.

Looking up, Jon sees dark clouds rolling in from the east.

It will rain soon, the Eye tells him unhelpfully.

They drive around at a leisurely pace until Jon finally finds the shop.  It’s a tiny, cramped little thing, and the parking lot is filled with shoppers hastily unloading their groceries as the sky begins to weep.  Jon puts the car in park and turns to Martin, who is still staring out the window with an unhealthy flush.

“Twenty minutes maximum,” Jon says softly.  “Just twenty.  Will you be alright?”

His gaze remaining fixed, Martin nods determinedly before taking a grounding breath.  At last, he turns to Jon, eyes still glassy, but—

Warm.  So warm.

He leans forward, hesitating for just a moment before pecking Jon’s cheek.

Jon smiles then, placing his hands gently on Martin’s face, brushing his fringe back as he does.  They look deeply into each other’s’ eyes for a moment, unhurried, before Jon plants a kiss on Martin’s lips.  To his dismay, Martin jumps bodily, pushing Jon’s chest back in alarm.

Oh Christ what have I done?

Jon immediately leans away from Martin, eyes wide in horror.

“Oh god—I-I’m so sorry Martin, I should have asked—”

Martin hold his hands up, shaking his head.

“You’ll catch ill,” he whispers, eyes full of concern.

Jon freezes, momentarily blinded by relief, before exhaling a brief laugh.  Taking Martin’s hand in his, he says,

“If I do, then that’s alright.”

He kisses the back of Martin’s too-warm palm.

“You’ll just take care of me, then.”

Martin’s flush deepens, and a sunny smile creeps onto his face.  Placing a hand behind his head, Jon pulls Martin’s head forward and plants a soft kiss on his forehead before getting out of the car, leaving a blushing mess of a man in his wake.

Martin hides his face in his hands, more grey tendrils spilling out of him.  He giggles, of all things, which turns quickly into a punishing coughing fit.  But he hardly minds, giddy grin remaining fixed on his face.

I must look really daft.

Attempting to force his face into some semblance of normality, he turns to look out the window again, spending several minutes watching the shoppers with their trolleys and their bags and their children.  It strikes him, suddenly, that their greatest worry at this moment was the rain.  The rain.

Must be nice.

…

…are you really jealous of people just minding their own business?  Jesus, Martin.

With a sigh, Martin tips his head back against the seat, and notices absently that the rain is becoming steadier on the windshield.  It’s relaxing, gentle, calm.

Martin closes his eyes and drifts away.

He awakens with a start, some uncertain amount of time later.  The rain is pouring down in sheets now, thudding against the windshield so hard it echoes through his skull.  Trying desperately to see through the endless grey, he sees nothing, no one, not even a stranger.  Just him and the car and the grey.

Please just leave me be, please

His breath begins to come in ever-shortening gasps, and he leans forward onto his hands, head pounding.

I can’t see I can’t see I can’t see I can’t—

Jon glares at his watch impatiently, the bright green of his eyes reflecting back at him sharply.

Of course.  Of course it would be pouring the rain, and it’s been well over twenty minutes.

Of course.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, adjusting the heavy bags in his arms once again.  Next to him stands a young mother with one child seated in the overflowing trolley, another swaddled in a carrier slung over both her shoulders.

The Eye pulls at him, begging him to See what horrors the child in the trolley dreams of each night;  what hurt he has suffered, even as such a young thing.  Some sick part of Jon—or is it really Jon?—is desperately enticed by the meal before him—his mouth floods with saliva, he’ll do anything just to be satiated—

Jon squeezes his eyes shut, bowing his head.

You can’t have it.

It is not for us.

He attempts to direct his focus on the groceries in his arms, distracting himself by planning for their meal.  Some kind of soup is most definitely in order, he’ll make that first.  Unsure of what ought to be part of his vague notion of “soup,” he had purchased an array of vegetables and beans that he thought looked appetizing, and threw in some vegetable stock for good measure.  Thankfully, he had remembered a conversation he’d overheard years ago in which Martin had argued with Tim over the values of vegetarianism.

Jon smirks.

Always going on about “good cows.”

With any luck, after the meal, he could coax Martin into taking the mountain of medicines he’d purchased.  Something for the fever, at the very least.  Maybe then he’d be able to get some dreamless, healing sleep.

Feeling a bit steadier now, Jon looks back up, in the hopes that the rain has let up.  It hasn’t, of course, so he tries his best to see Martin through the curtain of rain.

Over thirty minutes now.

Jon Knows this without checking his watch.

Something is scratching it’s way out of his skull, and Jon can no longer hold it back.

T͉̟͇ͤͭ́̓h̥̟͚ͫͤ͊ͬḙ̲̞͑ͣ̍́ ̞̼͓̯͋͒̔r̖̮̙͑̓ͯͬa͙̹̭̘̳̺͐i͎ͤ̋̍̑̂̾n̞͕͕̞̅͆͛ ̪̥̥̻̇͒ͫî͎̰̖ͤ͒ͩs͚̱ͥ͗͊̈̓ ̤̪͋̽̇͂ͣw̙̙̟̰̃ͬ̈́r̺̤̙ͦ̈̂̆ȏ̳̗͈͛͛ͅn̽͂͗ͨͧ̉͒g̠̅̊͋ͭ̓ͅ,̦͍ͩ͊ͨ̚ͅ ͔̹̼̥̽͗̂J̫̖͙̳͊̇ͭo͎͖͓̥̫̒̎n̲̩͆ͧ̾̅̓.̘̼̲̬ͩ͂ͭ ͖͇̦̺͌ͧ̌ ͍͈̮͑̾ͪ͒C̮͖̝͊̄̐̽å̺̹̺ͤͧ̚n͚͉̰̘̫ͩ̃'̫͛̈́̅ͤ͐̚t̪͚̞̫͇̅́ ̥̗̩̙̻̿̌y͓̞̤̻̠ͮ̚ó̩̹̣̅͌͋u͓̤̝̘̹̒̋ ̙͓͙ͮ̾̽͛s͎͍̾̆ͧͦͮe͚͔̫̒ͪ͐̋e͖͕ͨͪ̈ͭ̄?͖͙̲̳̰͂̏

Static explodes through his mind, permeating every thought with anxiety, leaving him breathless.

I̯͕ͩͭͧͪͩt̗̹͉̽͗̄̂'̣̮̤̅ͣ̅͗s̞̣̃ͫ̏͐ͅ ̜͉͈̞̽͊̀w̗̯͔͋̏͆͊r̖̙̈́͐͂ͯ̉o̖͔̟ͩ̍ͨ̒n͕̮̪̐̎̏̑g͖̐̉̏̀͑̅.͇̺͓͒͆̾̏

It is, isn’t it.

D̟̹̫̽̅̓̚o̲̤̟̒ͧͨͅn̯͓͕̤̽̀ͭ'̻̋̍̏̂̔́t͙̬̙̰ͤ̉̎ ̱͙̯̝͑̑̾y̹̱̽͑̎ͅͅo̲̠͍̼̻ͯ̅û��̘̖̯͐ͅ ̯ͤ͆̂͌̏ͅN̫͚̺̫̞̅ͫĖ̯͚̠͈̤̇Ē̖̪̺͓̈́̚D̠͙̘̏̈́̇͂ ̤͇̭͕̻͋̄ẗ̙́ͮ̋͂̔̚o̤̲̻ͭ̌ͣ͐ ̙̖̬̖̓̄̐s̙̙͓̺͖̣̋e̯̦̱̳̗ͣͮe̮̲͖̪ͧ̇ͧ?̟͇̦͗͗͆͗

D̳̤̪͆̉͋̿o͈̮̥̿̆̐ͮn͓̺̽̄͋ͫ͆'̘̯͎̊́ͮͅt̠̟͉͗̓̀̃ ͉͐͒͗ͦͫ͂y̦̣̞̪̍̍͑o̥̫͍̒́͛̔ȕ̻̜̑ͫ͛̚ ̻̳̰̝̈ͪͨn̠͚̾̏̆͛͂e̒͒͆̋ͥ̐͐ë̤̻͎̘́ͦͤd̥̟̜ͣ̅̾̀ ̪͚̟̦̎̎̇t̯͓̻̱ͭ̾͛ŏ̖̠̫̇̍͋ ͔̑̄̿̋͋ͮp͉̬̲ͩ͛ͨ̂r̙̝̰̦͑̓̒o̫̤̤̜̍ͪ͌t͔̟͚̻̝̽̅e͚̲͙ͫ̑ͭ̂c̫̳̹̿͆̂͂ẗ̳̦̩̦̯́ͦ ̞̱̉ͭͨͦͯh̰̣̺̆ͯͪ̈i̤̘̬ͭͣͭ͛m̗ͫ̈̽̃ͪ́?̳̩͊̋̇ͨͩ

He doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want this.  He wants to refuse the Eye its every wish, but he has to Know if Martin is alright, he has to he has to he has to—

He does.

He sees Martin sitting in the car, head in his hands, trying to control his breathing, when suddenly—Martin jolts.  Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifts his head—

He looks directly at Jon.

Jon’s head begins to split.

He stumbles, back in the shop now, wincing and trying not to drop his bags.

“Alright there?”  he thinks he hears the woman next to him say.

He doesn’t respond.  He knows he has to make a run for it now.

Martin knows what he’s done.

He dashes through the parking lot, ignoring the rain soaking through his shoes, nearly slipping as he reaches the door.  As he throws it open, he hears a loud BANG as Martin slams his body into the passenger side door, eyes wide and terrified and—

Betrayed.

Jon slows his movements intentionally, setting the bags on the seat behind them before lowering himself to sitting, and closing the door.

“…Martin?”

Martin is still gaping at him with those wide eyes, beginning to hyperventilate.  Jon reaches out a hesitant, shaking hand toward him in a gesture of comfort, but—Martin slaps it away rather forcefully.  Jon inhales sharply at this, a bit shocked at his anger.

“I-I…sorry, I…what can I do?  How can I help?”

Gaze never leaving him, Martin shakes his head rapidly before doubling over into painful, gasping coughs that must be tearing his throat to shreds.  Tears gather in Jon’s eyes as he watches, utterly at a loss for what to do, Knowing how much joy the Eye is taking in this moment, drinking in all of their pooled sorrow.

Martin recovers some ability to breathe at last, but his eyes have not softened.

“Just—drive,” he chokes out between gasping breaths.

Jon complies without another word.

(present)

He has to get out eventually.

Might as well be now.

Glancing to his left again, Jon sees Martin standing up fully now, pacing back and forth in front of the cottage, and he makes his decision.  He lifts the groceries from where they had been knocked on their sides due to his speeding, and closes the car door softly—enough to alert Martin to his presence without startling him.

Again.

At the sound, Martin stops pacing, standing with his back to Jon, overlooking their neighbor’s field filled with cattle.  The gravel crunches under Jon’s feet as he approaches, careful to stop before getting too close.  They stand in silence for nearly a minute, and Jon takes some comfort in the fact that Martin has not sent him away.

At last, he turns, teary eyes boring into Jon’s.

“That? Cannot happen again,” he rasps, with as much force behind it as his voice will allow.

Jon nearly drops the grocery bags in astonishment, relieved that Martin seems to want to talk this out.

“Y-yes of—of course, Martin, I-I’m so sorry, I just—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Jon,” he hisses.

Jon snaps his mouth shut immediately.

Martin sighs, running a hand through his hair before replying with a slightly-softened tone.

“I just…don’t.  You can’t do that.  Not to me.  Understand?”

“Yes.  Yes, I..I’m sorry.”

“Good.  Let’s go then.”

Martin marches quickly toward the cottage, leaving Jon staring after him.  Jon knows that this is far from over, but makes a decision to be grateful for small progress.  Hitching the bags up on his hips, he follows Martin inside.

[jesusintheleast]

My Covid-19 Scare

   So I recently returned from a trip to Wisconsin, and that Monday evening started feeling sick.  I went to bed not feeling so good, and ended up shivering, and shaking all night.  

   In the middle of night, I began to think seriously about the possibility that I really might have been infected by Covid-19.   I even had a dream that confronted my status head on.  The dream said, “Hey Chris, what if you do have Covid-19… are you ready to go?”  

   Finding myself this ill I began to examine my thoughts, and I thought of the apostle Paul’s reasoning in Philippians 1:21-24:  “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.  If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me.  Yet what shall I choose?  I do not know!   I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body.”

   I thought of my wife, Sandy, and my two sons and their families.  And then I reasoned that they would miss me and maybe, just maybe, God did have some more work (living for him) for me to do.  

  Tuesday morning rolled in, and I was getting worse.  I was feeling just awful ,  hacking, and breathing hard.   Seeing this my wife said that we had better go over to our CCO shelter for a quick Covid-19 test.  So we did.  

   In about an hour,  our friend Andrew called, telling us that we both tested negative.   But since he had seen me hacking, and breathing so hard, he advised me to go the emergency room to really find out what was going on.  

   So my wife, Sandy, drove me to the emergency room.  I stumbled in and they started asking me the regular questions like “So why are you coming in, today?”  “And could you please show me your medical card?” in the midst of my throwing up, and dry heaves.  About all I could do was nod my head… and then they gave a plastic throw-up bag.  

   The medical staff was great. They took me right in, and they gave me another Covid-19 test. It was one which gave very quick results.  And in minutes, they were delighted to tell me that it was negative.  

   It was then what was it that had “attacked me?” I stumbled into the rest room to get some more relief  where they fed me with intravenous fluids, and checked everything else out and said I was fine.  

   Getting together with the doctors and nurses, I figured that it must have been something I ate, i.e. food poisoning, since I had stopped at a Subway on the way home from Wisconsin. 

   The doctor prescribed Zofran to help with my dry heaves, vomiting, and diarrhea. Once I got home and started taking this medicine.  And then things started to get really bad. Throughout the night, I couldn’t really sleep and I just kept on vomiting, dry heaving, and having diarrhea. You know, time goes so slowly, when you’re feeling as bad as I was.

   Wednesday morning rolled in…and then things just ramped up to another level. I was having nausea so constant and unrelenting that all I could do moan and groan-- and loudly, all thru out the day. It was so bad that all my wife Sandy could say, “I’m so sorry that you feel so bad. You sound just like you’re being tortured.”  

   Let me tell you I began to have lot of talks with the Lord. I was asking questions like, “Why, Lord, why does this have to be so grueling?” Of course, I was crying out with an untold number of supplications which all boiled down to… “Please, Lord, please have mercy on me.”      

   Then about noon on Wednesday, I had a brilliant… and also “humbling” idea. I needed to send out an email to the community that I lived in for the past forty-five years clearly stating that “Hey, guys, I’ve never felt so sick in all my life.  And so I’m begging you to ‘Please pray for me….right now.’” Within the next couple of hours, I noticed that there were so many folks who had readily responded to my pleas.  And I had to ask myself, “Why was it so hard for me to ask for prayer? “  

   I felt the Lord speaking to me, “Aren’t you a part of this community?  Guess what, you have so many folks that would be happy to pray for you in all your misery, but there is one requirement, “You do have to ask.” Now, of course, I know this basic truth… and I’ve even believed it for the past forty-five years! So what was the big deal?  I reasoned that I’d just fallen into that just “cruising along spiritually” mode for the past few years.  In other words, I wasn’t going to ask for prayer from everyone and anyone… unless I was in a really, bad scary place.    

   That’s when I noticed that was exactly how I feeling right then. I was feeling  so bad that I didn’t care what anyone thought about me. And I told myself that I would be “stupid” not to ask for all the prayer and mercy I could get. I mean, what did I have to lose? Still, I continued feeling awful throughout the rest of that afternoon and into the evening.  And I forged on with my talks with the Lord. Some of those talks went like this: “Hey, Lord, I know you said that you would never leave me or forsake me, and you know I’ve believed it… but now, right now, it sure doesn’t feel like it?”

   The Lord’s response: He began by reminding me of the “oh so many people” that were in hospitals and prisons right now, and facing so much more pain and suffering than I could ever imagine… along with the truth that their misery was lasting a whole lot longer than a couple of days.  

   My response: I was prompted to pray “a little” for them. And it made me think of how “little” I pray for others with any kind of real “heart’ or deep compassion for those who are going through such all-consuming suffering. I thought of the Psalms where David was “moaning  and groaning,” really crying out to God to deliver him.    

   You bet, I hopped right on that wavelength. I wanted this nightmare to end.   “Lord, have mercy on me…and why, oh why, does this have to be so  excruciating?”

   I heard the Lord whisper to me the Scripture in Hebrews which says, “The Lord learned obedience through the things that he suffered.”  (Hebrews 5:8)

   Me:  “What?  You mean, Jesus , himself had to “learn” obedience through the things he suffered?”

   Holy Spirit:  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”  

   Me:  “So are you saying that since Jesus himself had to learn “obedience” by the things he suffered… why would I be exempt?”  

   Holy Spirit: “That’s exactly, right.”  

   And then a few more thoughts started to bounce around my head.  Thoughts like, “Hey Chris, if you’re really following me, well then, you need to listen to me, first and foremost, right?”

   Me: “Yeah, that’s true.”  

   Holy Spirit:  “So when I hear you say you still want to be used by me, well then, I have a couple of questions for you. “Are you really ready to finish your race?”  “And if you are…are you still willing to give of yourself to me, to really serve others and continue to care about the things I care about?”

   Me: “Ah, yeah, I believe so, Lord. “

   Holy Spirit:  “Well, that’s good. But I just felt that I really needed to get your undivided attention. And I did get it, didn’t I? “      

   Me: “Oh yeah, you got it, alright. But I still have question for you?  Why does all this sickness and disease ‘stuff’ have to be so torturous?”  

   Holy Spirit:  “Hey, do you think I like it?  All this suffering, this pain… of course not. But I did want you to see—ONLY A LOT MORE SO---that, guess what, you live in a fallen world, and circumstances are not all that good for so many folks across this world.  And so, all I’m asking of you is to continue to stand with, and pray for, and care about, and serve, and speak up for the least.”

   Me: “Oh, alright…I think I get it.”

   Holy Spirit: “I mean, after all, you wrote your book, ‘Discovering Jesus in the Least,’ and I’ll admit that you had some good stuff to say in it.  But I also believe that you know that if you hadn’t ‘hung in there’ and served all those years at the shelter, well then, you wouldn’t really have much to say at all.”

   Me: “Yeah, I do have to agree with that.”

   Holy Spirit: “So all I’m asking of you is to keep on going, keep on caring for the least in whatever way I put in front of you. But there is one thing that you ought to have learned by now… your work will never make headlines.  And you should also know that that is perfectly alright.  All I’m asking you and your brothers and sisters is to shine a light in a dark, dark world.  And you are already have been doing that for many, many years.  You’ve been a part of your Jesus People community for so many years.  And they’ve been shining their light in so many ways , through Cornerstone Magazine, through Rez band and all the GRR records bands, through the Cornerstone Festival, through  Lakefront Roofing Supply, Cornerstone Community Outreach, and through so many other ministries and services…too many too mention, and none any better  than any of the others.  And so, all I’m asking of all of  you is to just keep on doing  the plain, simple, but  dedicated work that I’ve called you all to.”    

   Me: “Whoa! I think I’m seeing a little more clearly what you’re calling all of us to.”  

  So what was the message that I needed to hear once again?

   Well, I must admit that I really do have to be honest with myself about where I’m at with the Lord ,now.   For you see after going into a sort of retirement from  our Cornerstone shelter world  (accelerated by Covid-19),  I did kind of  look forward to an easier, more laid-back life-style.   I even had thoughts like, “Hey, I gave it what I had all those years, and now I can sort of relax and just pray for my co-workers to continue on this amazing ministry.   I mean, we’ll never solve all the problems of the homeless… and didn’t Jesus say that the poor will always be with you, anyways?  (Matthew 26:11, Mark 14:7, John 12:8)

   But then I recalled two different interpretations of that saying. The first was like Jesus was saying, “Hey guys, the poor will always be with you… meaning there will be always be poor folks in this world. It’s just a fact.” But the second interpretation of this verse could be construed to mean that the true followers of Christ will always have the poor around them. I guess there’s much truth to be found in both interpretations. But then I had a few more thoughts flood my mind… like I was just so in so much pain (physically and mentally) that I just started to shed a few tears.  

   All this this brought to my memory something that I had heard from a “Transformation Intensive” class that I had just recently completed.   Our teacher, Valerie McIntyre, had told us that we could even “pray for the gift tears”  if we wanted to during our intimate times with the Lord.  But she cautioned us to not “overly seek it” because if you were granted this gift, well then, it was truly a gift… and you weren’t “working something up” on your own power.

   My experience made me come to a place where  I believe the Lord did give me “the gift of tears” during this night.   I have to  freely admit that it was a gift… because at the time I really didn’t want to be shedding tears in the midst of my misery.   I just wanted this “thing” to be over.

   But then I began to see a just “a touch more” of how much compassion for a lost and hurting world that the Lord was calling me to.  I mean, he’d always been challenging me throughout my last 45 years, and now he was simply saying that he did not want me to abandon that “calling.”

   It was like God was saying, “Hey, just cause some your outward duties have changed, that doesn’t mean your heart or your caring should “lessen” for the least of these.  On the contrary, it ought be continually expanding. And guess what, I’m still asking you to give “everything “ you have my purposes and plans”.  

   Me: So what ought my life look like now?

   Holy Spirit:  Hey Chris, if you feel I’ve led you all these last 45 years ---well then, what’s got to you to think that I’m going to stop now?    Don’t worry so much.   You know like the Mark Heard song says, “Somebody told me that I worry too much.”  

   Me: Yeah, I guess I can see that.  I mean, Mark did have so much penetrating insights to life on this planet,  but I’d have to agree with that someone that both he and I worry too much.

   Holy Spirit: So what, in heaven’s name, do you think I’m expecting of you?   Hey, here’s a brilliant idea… Why don’t you just leave that up to me.  Because if I’ve led you this far, you ought to know that you don’t have to worry that I won’t be doing my job.”

   It was about 9 PM Wednesday evening that some relief came…finally...and I started to take a turn for the better. And believe me, I was grateful… really grateful.  

   So what now?  Who knows?  And did I really learn anything?  I’m not sure. Only God knows. But there is one thing I learned… and that is not to be bashful, or embarrassed to ask for prayer. Why is that?  It’s because you see I’ve just realized once again… that I can use all the prayer I can get. Just pray that I’ll make use of all the love and care and prayers from my brothers and sisters around me. I was never meant to walk this road alone. Pray that I keep being reminded of how much Jesus loves me… whether I’m doing well or if I’m hanging my head over a toilet.  

Thanks for stopping by!

   - Chris

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Can you pretty please continue the fic where Claire is pregnant when Jamie saves her from BJR in Fort Will. ?

Mod Note: This one, I feel, has been completed. So here - have a similar but different new one

The clink of the chains rattled even in her dreams, but for now they were very real. Claire Randall passed the warm, wet washcloth through her fingers as she passed it to one of the soldiers.

“Thank you, ma’am…” the redcoat mumbled as he washed the grime from one of the prisoners festering wounds, “though I don’t see the need.”

“Well, Officer,” she spat back, in no mood for his dismissive attitude, “if we don’t care for the wounds, they’ll never be fit for the next round of their punishments. Understand?”

Clearing up the detritus from the latest flogging, Claire placed her herbs back in her medicine bag and collected the various blood soaked rags. “Just do as you’re asked, Smith, or I’ll see to it you’re the next one on the whipping post.”

The officer paled, standing a little straighter with fear. He’d forgotten himself in the presence of Mistress Randall before - and he had felt the harsh consequences of her wrath from such an action. The Scottish prisoner beneath him hissed a little as he pressed too hard and Claire turned, her eyes harsh on the soldier as he tried to avoid her gaze.

Claire rolled her eyes and slammed the jail door on her way out, her bag tucked neatly under her arm. She tired of the darkness, of the dank walls and the lingering odor of misery. Despite the constant fear and the hardship, she had learned to survive. It had been hard to adjust with her husband by her side, but with Frank's death had come an increased isolation. His brother, Jack, was not of the same temperament and had brought about an inexplicable harshness. Claire found herself adapting; instead of distancing herself, she adopted his characteristics in order to survive.

Electing to take a hard line with the men under her command, Claire had stricken fear into their heads and hearts. Neither the soldiers nor the prisoners got in her way. Claire prefered it that way. Locked away in her room once more, she shook the aches of her day from her shoulders as she undressed and crawled onto her small cot. Safely hidden, she buried her face into her clean pillow and screamed as loud as she could. Frustration, fear, anger and hopelessness burned heavy in her heart. Claire would cry bloody murder, but not a soul within the prison walls would hear her. It was easier to harden oneself against a dark reality than to drown amidst it.

---

The new day dawned, the sound of the bugle outside pulling Claire from her restless slumber. Steps echoed through the spiral corridor that led to her chambers, causing her to sit up quickly and cover herself. There was only one who dared venture this far, and if he was looking for her it meant trouble.

Putting her best game face on, Claire pulled the blanket up from the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders just in time for her door to be flung open.

“You’re needed down in the cells, Claire,” he barked, no room for introduction. “I need him fit as soon as possible, lest he forget the seriousness of his situation.”

“Alright, Jack,” Claire snapped, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she gave him a good hard glare. Though Captain Jack Randall was feared throughout the fort, she wouldn’t let him see her in such a state. She wasn’t a soldier under his command, nor a prisoner at his mercy. “You don’t have to march up here and snap orders at me like a skivvy.”

“Careful, Claire,” he snarled, his eyes serious and downcast as he put a solid grip on the lash that was resting angrily at his hip. "You would do well to remember you are still in my care. Do not think for a moment I would not punish you as I do the men."

Claire sneered, flipping her head to free her forehead of the odd errant curl that had fallen from its binding during sleep. "I'll be down," she answered, ignoring his threat, "when I am dressed." She might have assumed fearlessness, but she wasn't stupid. Baiting him further would cause no end to his taunting.

The door closed without Jack saying another word, leaving Claire to herself once more.

She was down in the bowels of the fort before long, trudging with her shoulders back and her chin jutting out in defiance as she splashed through the mud and filth of the dankest cells in the prison wing. It smelt putrid; the foul wash of death, disease, putrefaction and rotten flesh clinging to the walls with the rain water.

The heavy clink of the lock reverberated along the corridors for a few moments before Claire reached where she had been summoned. Jack appeared from the shadows of the doorway, a look of pleasure plastered across his face as he wiped away fresh blood from his hands. Claire swallowed her disgust hard, nodding her head once at him before walking into the darkened room. Claire hid her disgust as she nodded her head once at him and slid past him into the darkened room.

Facing away from her, huddled in a ball on the shit-stained floor lay a rather broad man. Claire watched as he shivered violently, a coldness seeping through him that no heat could cure. As she stepped closer, the cause revealed itself and for the first time, she felt herself overcome with a blind nausea at the sight. Jack had flayed the lad to the bone, leaving his back in a tattered mess of bleeding flesh. And the malicious bastard had met her grinning at the sight of his handiwork.

“You’re going to need to fetch me bandages, do you hear? Fresh ones, not those mouldy excuses for rags that you usually supply me with!” She whisper-yelled at the commanding soldier on duty, giving him a piercing gaze that made the soldier half cower under it.

Steadying herself, Claire allowed herself to take one long breath, her hand resting over her heart as she tried not to startle the lad. She wasn’t usually affected by the prisoners. Claire was used to Randall’s less than clean technique but this was only the second time she’d seen him employ such a brutal flogging upon another human.

Memories of the first time she’d seen such a mess of human flesh darkened her visions and she had to steady herself for the second time in as many minutes. The last prisoner to experience Randall’s dark side had hung himself only days later. Claire had been privy to all of it, the whole sordid affair and it made her sick to think of it happening all over again.

“Christ what has he done to you?” She whispered, reaching tentatively for his face with her fingertips. “Can you hear me lad?”

"Aye," he answered, his raw voice barely audible even in the silence of the dungeon, "I hear ye..."

“I need to tend to your wounds. That means you’re going to have to stay still lest I catch you. Do you understand?” She said as the guard quietly returned, placing a bucket of water and a pile of rags by the door before leaving once more. Claire hadn’t meant to sound abrupt, this was the one situation where she didn’t wish to come across as unfeeling. For the first time in a long while, Claire was trying to be empathetic.

Unfortunately she missed the mark, unpractised as she was. Instead her words sounded callous and cold and the prisoner at her feet stilled under her words. She sounded just like Randall and he had heard the barbarousness in her tone.

Swallowing back the regret in sounding so brutal, Claire tried to switch off the white noise of thought in her head. She had a duty of care to this man, and care for him she would. Wringing out the cloth in warm water, she began to wipe away some of the residual grime from his skin.

He twitched, though only slightly, as she caught the edge of his flayed skin.

“I’m sorry,” Claire whispered, just a breath on the light breeze running through the cell. Her voice wavered with apology, filled with the absent sensitivity of her earlier words.

“Dinna fash, matron,” he replied, breathing heavier with each word. His fingers splayed across the crumbling mud beneath him, his broken nails digging into the floor suppressing any risk of anguished cries. “J-just get it over wi’.”

Claire’s eyebrow raised in surprise at his tone, but continued on with her task. She had to admit that he was brave - that or terribly stupid.

A sudden loud bang broke her concentration and she dropped the now bloodstained cloth on the floor at her feet.

“Ifrinn…” her patient cursed as he tried to turn, the stemmed areas of bleeding now streaming crimson again.

“Don’t you dare!” She scolded, shifting to see what he was up to. “You’ll tear yourself open doing that. Stay still!”

He continued to ignore her, instead twisting his mangled spine in a desperate attempt to push himself up. “Ye shouldna --”

Before he could finish his sentence the door flung open, a whoosh of air flowing into the room. Claire stood up straight, guarding the man against any intruder. Lit torches entered the room, and holding them were three ragtag, bearded Scots who had somehow acquired redcoat uniforms.

“Jesus...H…” She cursed, seeing the sight before her, “GUARDS!” She cried out, her militant call startling the men huddled in the open doorway in front of her. Clearly they hadn’t expected anyone else to be in the cell with the lad.

The smaller of the men launched himself forwards, intent on silencing Claire as he raised his hands to clamp over her mouth. Claire though was prepared for any dirty tricks they might have otherwise relied upon to get her out of the way. Part of her understood their actions; they were just trying to save their friend after all - but it was too late for sympathy now. Instinct had kicked in, and there was no way she was letting him out of her sight in the state he was in...even if that meant condemning him to more of Randall’s unsavory proclivities.

Reaching under her skirts at an unnerving speed, Claire slid her small dagger from her garter and swiped it towards the rugged Scots with rage in her eyes. She meant business and she wasn’t equipped for failure. “Stay where you are! I know how to use this, don’t mistake my gender for incapability,” she growled, her heels solidly ground into the floor as she readied herself for a fight.

“GUARDS, where ARE you?” She screamed again, rage burning in her veins as she sliced the knife forwards through the air.

“Ye dinna want to do that, mistress,” her would-be assailant warned, his voice low and threatening as he held his hands in mid-air. “Naybody is--”

As if to fall in Claire’s favour a scrambling sound came from above, the soldiers finally responding to her loud calls. She quirked an eyebrow at the collective, a smirk covering her face as she stalked forwards, pushing the disguised Scots backwards. “If I were you,” she whispered, lowly, threat lacing her words, “I’d hightail it out of here before they catch you and you find yourselves at the end of a rope, *ken*?”

The men began muttering to themselves in gaelic and Claire could tell that it wasn’t complementary. She didn’t care, adrenalin coursing through every inch of her as she took one more measured step forwards. Turning quickly on their heels, all three decided to heed her advice and dashed off just before a rabble of half-dressed soldiers skidded into the cell to join her.

“That way!” She yelled, pointing towards the corridor that the Scots had just rushed off down, “Quickly, you buffoons!” She castigated, her cheeks heating with rage as the incompetent infantry took one startled look at Claire, stood still with the knife in her hands, and then hurtled off in the same direction.

Her patient, his thoughts obviously still on the foiled escape, was pushed up on his elbow with a face awash with incomprehensible pain. The shaking had increased tenfold as he tried to raise himself upright. “N-no…” he sighed, a low sob settling in his throat and an accompanying sorrow alight in his eyes as he looked between Claire and the now closed door.

Claire's heart lurched in her chest with the realization that her actions may have been an egregious mistake. She had essentially sentenced this man to death herself, ruining his one chance at freedom.

He was slouched in a ball on the floor at his feet, mumbling through a wavering voice in Gaelic. She wasn't sure if it was pain or hopelessness that caused the anguish in his tone, but she had been a cause of it.

They were silent for a moment until Claire made the move for him again.

"I'll finish cleaning you up." She said, ignoring the twisting of her belly as she dipped a clean rag into the now clean water. He flinched under her touch, moving away from her attempts at remedying his back.

No more words were spoken, instead he lay quietly as she wiped away the dirt and blood from his back.

She was nearly finished her job before they were interrupted again. Claire knew instantly who it was, his calm yet predatory steps echoing down the hall long before the clink of the lock sounded out his arrival.

“Have you finished with him now?” He shot at Claire, his tone irritated as he signalled to his guards to enter. “I need the lad, it seems he has some intruders to answer for.”

Claire balked. The prisoner didn’t move but she could tell he was readying himself for further assaults upon his person.

“I have, but you’re not to touch him again, Captain. Do you hear me?”

Jack’s face hardened at her insubordination and he looked ready to throttle her. “Do you question me, madam?” He asked, his tone measured as he held the soldiers back with his hands. One word from him and Claire would be forcibly removed and she’d have no say what happened to the young man behind her. But she wasn’t afraid of Jack or the consequences of her outspoken nature.

“Of course I do! You,” she said, pointing a bunch of red rags in his direction as a matador waved red before a bull, “asked me down here, Captain. You requested that I tend to the boy. So here I am. If you now mean to come down here and take yet more flesh from his bones, you can wait until he’s in more of a fit state to answer for the actions of others...because I damn sure don’t see him going anywhere right now, do you?”

The redcoat soldiers stood either side of Randall looked horrified. Frightened of both Mistress Claire and of Captain Randall, the exchange had them nervously shifting from foot to foot. Torn between being ready for their next instructions and choosing which of the strong pair would win this verbal battle, the soldiers kept their feet splayed and their knees bent.

“Maybe,” Randall began, “if his *friends* see him trussed up, bleeding out all over my nice, clean gibbet,” he paused for effect, leaving an icy chill to settle on the room, “they will think twice about trying to fool me.”

“That may be true, Captain,” Claire sneered, “but I’m not in the business of allowing accusations meant for others to fall upon innocent parties. You may wield a lot of influence over these barracks, Captain Randall, but so do I.”

Randall chuckled, a deep ominous sound that made Claire shudder uncomfortably. She held his gaze, the fear masked under her hard expression. Jack in turn held her in his gaze, waiting for her to flinch, or to show some manner of intimidation. When she refused to crack, his dark smile widened.

Tipping his hat as he bowed sardonically, Randall smirked up at Claire before stepping backwards. “As you wish, madam. I shall make doubly sure I increase my efforts to find the men truly to blame for the abrupt invasion of the fort. But don’t get too comfortable, Mr Fraser,” he aimed at the prisoner on the floor, “I will be back for you...in time.” He took one last look at Claire and turned, clicking at the soldiers who followed behind him like lap dogs. The door closed with a swinging thump that thunderously echoed around the room.

Waiting until silence enveloped them once more, Claire knelt beside her patient and reached out once more.

“Dinna,” he spoke, his teeth clenched as he shifted his whole body away from her once more. “Just leave me here to die. It’s one kindness ye could lend to me now.”

Taken aback by the defeat in his words, Claire held her hand steady not yet shying away from him. “I’m here to help you, Mr Fraser,” she said, using his name or at least what she knew of it, for the first time. “I won’t leave you to rot so be quiet and let me do what I’m here for.”

“I’m going to die here,” he repeated, “now ye’ve scared off my rescue party..” His voice fell short again, thick with emotion. “I get the feeling ye ken what fate awaits me should ye heal my scratches. So dinna bother. Have mercy on me and leave me to die from my wounds instead.”

“I’m not in the business of granting wishes, Mr Fraser.” She replied, clenching her jaw tight as she finished covering his back in damp, clean bandages.

When the final piece of bandage was placed, Claire stood and brushed the dirt off her skirts before collecting the rest of her belongings to leave. She had this gnawing sensation in her gut, one she hadn’t had for a good while and she didn’t like it one bit.

Looking to his shadowed figure, she saw a broken man whose hope of escape had been destroyed by her actions. This young man who had fallen ill of Jack Randall… She sighed heavily. Balancing her supplies in her arms, she made two knocks to the door, prompting the soldiers to allow her to leave. With a final glance, she whispered a parting word she knew he’d likely not hear.

“I’m sorry, Mr Fraser.”

…TBC

[sethmacsexy20]

Different Worlds Know More Then One Thought

Seth's POV

I went to check on Damien, he was still out, so I went to my office.  I went to work.  I learned had to limit my work as it pushed away the woman I loved away once and my children didn't see their father.  I was working for a while when I heard, "Dad?"

I looked away from my laptop and saw Damien standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes.  I smiled.  "Morning."

"What are you doing?"  He asked.

"Just getting some work done."  I told him.

Then he asked, "Can I sit with you?"

I smiled.  "Of course."  He was definitely a momma's boy, so for him to want to hang warmed my heart.  He moved over to me and I expected him to move a chair over.  Instead, what he did shocked me, he crawled into my lap and curled up to me.  I smiled at this as I sat back in my seat as my son cuddled up to me for the first time in years.  Then he said, softly, "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Is mom okay now?"  He asked me.

I was a little taken back by this.  But I answered, "Yeah."

"I know mom wasn't really sick, sick.  I know she was sick like I was."  He said to me.

I was taken a back and asked, "What do you mean, Damien?"

"Mom is like me.  I saw she came home with medicine like I have to take.  Her brain is like mine but still different.  It isn't my fault but it's not mom's either."  I was shocked by this.  He understood more then I gave him credit for.

Then I asked him, "Does your brother or sisters understand this?"

He looked up at me and shook his head.  "They think mom was really sick.  But I know."  Then he looked a little guilty.  "If I tell you something, dad, you promise not to get mad?"  I just nodded.  "I heard you tell Aunt Rachael about mom being in the hospital that she tried to hurt herself."

"Christ."  I breathed.

"You aren't mad, are you dad?"  He asked, concerned.

"No,"  I felt at a lost knowing my son knew.  "You really shouldn't listen into adult conversations though."

"I didn't mean to.  I came downstairs to ask you for a drink and I heard you crying.  I heard you tell Aunt Rachael that mom almost died and that you had to put her away cause she tried to hurt herself bad."  He informed me.

"Why didn't you say anything?"  I asked, in shock.

"Cause I was afraid you would get mad and I knew I wasn't suppose to hear that."  He admitted.  Then he asked, "Is the man that hurt mom the reason she did it?"

I quickly held Damien tightly and said as I teared up, "Son, don't concern yourself with that.  Mom is okay now and better.  She is happier and home with us.  That is what matters."  I pulled away and looked at him.  "Do you understand me?"  He nodded and I then said, "Look, what you told me, don't tell your mother, okay?"

"Why?"  He seemed confused.

"Cause it will make mom very sad if she knew that you knew.  She and I want to protect you kids from all the bad stuff.  If she knew that you knew, she would get very sad as she felt like she didn't protect you enough.  Do you understand?"  I told him.

He nodded.  "Yes, dad."

"Good."  I gave him a small smile.  I kissed the top of his head and held him close.  I was worried now that one of my children knew what really happened to his mother.  I tried to protect my children from all the stuff that was going on.  I hated they saw what happened to their mother, but her trying to kill herself, I tried to keep from them as it would be too much.  But Damien knew for some time and kept it to himself.  I felt for my son.  This was a heavy burden for a child to keep.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I walked back into the house with Christian and the girls.  The service was wonderful and the kids seemed to like church.  I walked to the living room as the other three ran in.  Kids instantly went to talking a mile a minute to Seth, who was sitting on the couch with Damien, about church.  I laughed as I saw it was torture for Seth and quickly intervene.  "Okay, kids, go get out of your church clothes and get into some play clothes."

They quickly obeyed and ran off.  I then said to Damien, "I am surprise you are awake."

He smiled.  "I got up to hang with dad."

"Did you two have fun?"  I asked him.

He nodded.  Then he looked at Seth and said, "I'm going to go play."

"Okay, buddy."  He said, sweetly to Damien.

He ran off and I smiled as I watched him run off.  Then Seth looked at me.  "Kids seem to like church."

I smiled as I walked to the couch and sat next to him.  "They did.  They want to go back."

He groaned and I laughed.  He then said, "If they keep coming in here, telling me the fun things they learned at church, I will give you hell."

"They are just excited, Seth."  I told him.

"I know, but you know how I feel."  He reminded me.

"I know, but this is what they want."  I reminded him then.

He just exhaled and then asked, "What about you?  Did you like it?"

"Was a wonderful service."  I told him.

Then he looked at me and rolled his eyes.  I laughed.  "Don't be an ass."

"I can't help it.  Religion brings it out of me."  He cracked.

I just lightly slapped him and chuckled.  He smiled at me.  Then he said as he held an arm out, "Come here, baby."

I smiled at him and quickly moved over to him.  I was in his arms where it felt right.  I almost hummed to myself as I closed my eyes.  "This feels great to be here.  I have missed this.  All of it."

"So have I and the kids.  We missed it all.  The last several months have been horrible for all of us.  With everything.  I am glad we are finally back to where we are like this again.  This time, I am not taking this for granted."  He said, softly.

I just smiled, then it slowly disappeared as I pressed my lips and said, "I know I was angry at you for putting me in that place."  I turned and looked at him.  "But thank you for making such a hard decision.  You forced me to get help and I needed to.  Not just for me but for our kids and you.  I am happier now and that is caused you made one difficult decision.  I am glad you did."  Then I became more somber.  "I'm also sorry."

"For what, love?"  He asked me.

I said, softly, "For what you had to go through.  Everything.  Especially being the one to find me.  I know that probably was very hard on you."

"But I am glad I did.  Even doctors told me if I didn't, you wouldn't be here now.  I got to you in time and I rather it been me then the kids.  I am grateful that I was able to get to you in time."  He told me, sincerely.

"But you should have never found me like that at all.  I shouldn't have done what I did.  I can't even imagine what it was like for you, to find me like that.  To think the worse."  I said, sadly.

He moved his hand to my cheek and cupped it.  "I won't lie.  It still haunts me.  Seeing you in that tub, filled with water and blood.  I can't shake the image.  I thought I was going to lose you that day."  He moved his other hand to my arm, down to my wrist and ran his thumb over my scar as he looked at it.  Then he looked at me.  "It's something I don't want to go through again.  I don't want to feel like I lost the love of my life ever again."

I moved in and almost whispered, "I promise, you will never feel like that again."

Then I took his lips gently and kissed him deeply.  Our kisses got more intense and his hand moved from my cheek and his other from my wrist and both moved around my waist.  He pulled me to him where I was almost on top of him.  We kept kissing, then we heard Christian yell, "Mom!  Damien won't share the xbox!"

Seth and I broke the kiss and I chuckled. "I think I should handle that."

He smiled.  "Okay, baby."

I gave him another small kiss and stood up.  I walked away and went to handle my twins from arguing.

That night, Seth and I were getting ready for bed.  We already got all the kids down for the night and we were tired.  I was getting changed and ready, when I felt Seth move behind me and wrap his arms around me.  He moved his lips to my neck and gently began to kiss it.  I smiled at this.  "I swear, since I have been home, we have been at it like two horny teenagers."

"Is that a bad thing?"  He asked against my neck.

I smirked and turned to him.  "Definitely not."

I moved in and took his lips.  We moved to the bed and he pushed me on the bed.  He kept kissing me as his hand moved to the hem of my shirt and started to move it under it when we heard Sophia screaming.  It wasn't normal and I was startled by it.  Seth got up as did I.  I raced out of the room to her room as Seth was close behind.  I opened her door as saw her thrasting in her bed as she yelled out, "Stop it!  Stop it!"

I rushed over to her bed and sat on it as I quickly went to wake her.  "Honey, wake up. It's a bad dream."

Her eyes snapped open and she looked at me.  Her eyes filled with tears and she sat up and hugged me as she choked out, "Mommy."

She clung onto me as she cried.  I looked at Seth, helpless, as I held my daughter.  Then I looked back at my little girl and said, softly, "It's okay, baby.  I got you."

Seth and I stayed with her till she calmed and finally went back to sleep.  We both slipped out and I was floored by this.  I haven't seen her have a night terror since we first got her.  This was a first.  I walked to my room feeling tired.  Seth followed as we walked in and he closed the door.  I walked over to the bed and sat down.  "Jesus, she hasn't had one of those in forever."

"Actually."  Seth informed me.  "She had them shortly after the kids saw what happened to you.  The therapist said the event was so traumatic to trigger the night terrors again."

"Oh, god.  I did this."  I felt horrible.

Seth quickly moved to me.  "No!  You didn't.  That asshole did.  You didn't do any of this."

"Our family has been fucked by all this.  If I never slept with him in the first place, this would have never happened."  I felt ashamed as I teared up.

He cupped my cheek.  "Stop doing that, love.  You didn't asked for this.  He was a monster and did something to you that you didn't deserve.  And our kids happened to witness this.  None of this is your fault, do you understand me."

I nodded as a few tears fell.  Seth quickly wiped them away and said, "Come on, baby.  We should get some sleep."

"Okay."  I was drained now.  

We both moved to the bed and laid down.  Seth quickly pulled me to him as we laid there.  I still felt guilty.  I think Seth knew cause he said, "Don't ever blame yourself for what happened to you.  You were just as affected to what happened to you as the rest of us.  He forced himself on you and you cannot blame yourself for that."

I just stayed silent and I laid with him.  Slowly, I drifted off as I knew that I was lucky to have him and my kids.  But now I was planning on trying to make this right with all of them.

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[literarypsychobabble]

How It All Began

"This is Alice Smith?" I blearily wondered if I should have never answered the call. Strange things had started happening and I was busy enough as it was and very starved of sleep so everything felt like another jarring blow to my head. Somewhere nearby the wolves had started howling. A long, loud, melodic and mournful howl that kept making something beautifully painful grow inside me. There was something soothing about their disdainful howls for a moon that probably had no idea. I never blamed them though because the moon had become a constant in my life as well, punctuated by sleepless nights and bleary, sickly mornings. "Yes...I am Alice Smith." I glanced across from me at my own shaggy haired reflection that looked a lot more rock n roll than I felt myself. My name hardly made things better. "How may I help you?" Probably another prank call. If I could have slit throats with words she would have been bleeding through the phone, whoever she was... "I'm nurse Wendy. You brought an injured-" "-Wolf-" my eyes widened as I remembered hearing the clattering sounds of a heavy body being dragged along outside along the wooden walkway separating my room from the forest, his soft tawny fur and how much blood there had been. I had struggled to heave his body into my car with no idea why and how anyone would help me help an injured wolf but Wendy had agreed to try to help me by pretending the wolf was my pet dog. "Yes." A pause that made something cold tighten around my throat. "We need you to come in and collect Mr Liam Walters from our office." I jerked upright, heaving myself away from the wall, eyes wide. "What do you mean?! Liam is dead-" I almost started laughing "-look Wendy you SICK SICK FUCK I am in NO MOOD to deal with this shitty joke ok?! My FRIEND LIAM WALTERS RECENTLY DIED OF CANCER AND I AM IN NO MOOD TO HEAR-" "Jesus Christ woman calm down, I'm sure you would have deafened her by now!!" Liam's calm voice almost tore a scream out of my mouth. "FUCKING FUCK WHAT IS WHAT AM I WHO HOW WHAT-" "Alice...calm down." "I CAN'T CALM DOWN MY DEAD FRIEND IS TALKING TO ME ON THE PHONE!" "Can we not talk about me like I'm not here?" "Sorry-" "Look...Alice....I don't know what's happening or....WHAT happened but I'm here. I'm STARVING and I REALLY need to talk to you because something is happening and it's important for you to know..." I had melted against the wall again. "I'm coming ok? I'll meet you there." I croaked before I shakily hung up, shoved the phone into my pocket and grabbed my coat. Tripping out of my room, I stepped straight into my boots, ignoring the sleepy amber eyes of the confused black cat who stared at me owlishly from where he was curled up on the mantle piece like a dark sphinx. I ran back to quickly kiss his sweet snout, letting him lick me once with his warm rough tongue. "Jaggers!" I peered plaintively into his amber moon eyes, "I think I'm going crazy and I'm about to go out and pick up a dead person who is alive and I need you to make sure everything is ok here and if I don't return soon you have my permission to meow and pee on everything around you!" He meowed as if in agreement as I turned to trip out of the room, into the shadows and out of the front door. * A singular light flickered and buzzed blearily like a confused stirring sleeper as it dreamed, possibly of day time when it could rest and be turned off. Three sleepy cats stared blankly at me from their makeshift beds on the floor under signs declaring them rescues. A dog barked somewhere as if it had sensed me and was calling out to welcome me. I looked around me at the medicated cat and dog food, the various collars and random treats and glanced into the darkened grooming room that homed a funny little lopsided and empty cage that was rusting slightly and what looked like a small hoover but was actually a drier. It smelt like meat and medicine. "Hello!" I started slightly at the sound of Wendy's voice and was amused to see that she still looked wide awake behind her rounded spectacles and frizzy black hair. "Wendy," I offered. What was I meant to do? What if this was just a joke and she wanted to see what I did? What if I had taken something that had made me start hallucinating? Or-I glanced up at the flickering light and the white washed walls-what if I was dead? Of course that would make Wendy an Angel? Or a guardian...small and Asian was the only thing I thought of her and smiled despite how confused I felt. "Sorry if I kept you waiting." I wanted to slap myself-maybe I would wake up and realise this was a dream-and Wendy would be confusedly staring at the person who had fallen asleep instead of just doing what everyone else did; take in their pet cat or dog for a check up or something. "He's-" "You took your time." I almost choked on my own breath as I heard his voice and my mouth twitched into a ridiculously wobbly smile as I felt my eyes burn. Liam looked as ridiculously tall and lanky as he always did, just a bit more scrawnier. His dark blonde hair was also longer and more rumpled, accentuating his now enhanced dark brown eyes and gaunter face. His hair actually looked healthier than it had in a very long time and he no longer had the faint wrinkle like lines that had appeared around his mouth that had somehow been linked to the cancer growing silently within him for so long. "Liam!!" I became a ridiculous three year old and hurled myself at him, tripping at the last second so that he had no choice but to wrap his arms around me tightly and hold onto me to steady us both. I felt the tinkling laugh rumble through him, almost crying as I felt how real and warm he felt before he I finally let him go and almost collapsed. He looked worried when I stumbled slightly. "I'm fine!" I offered almost squeakily and could have hugged Wendy but stopped myself just on time. "How are you though?" I quickly looked him over, despite how scrawny he seemed he also seemed...to glow with an odd wildness that made no sense to me but was maybe because he smelt slightly like forest; sweet wet earth and pine. "Starving." He offered. "I could kill for normal food for once!" He glanced apologetically, almost at Wendy. "Your sandwiches were amazing but I can't seem to not feel hungry..." he trailed off almost dreamily. "Is that fish and chip shop open?" "Why?" "Because I could do with a baked potato with every bloody thing they offer I don't even care anymore." I smiled despite myself. "Sure...I guess I may as well take you home..." * Liam had not been joking when he said he was hungry and I was slightly amused by how fast but cleanly he managed to eat the potato with countless sauces and various other things in the cramped space of my car without covering us both and everything around us in potato or cheese and sauce or beans. We had decided to keep him in the car because despite him looking scrawnier than himself he was still an easy face to pick up and I wanted to hear what was happening from him before the whole world did. "Thank you." He finally offered as he stuffed everything into the bag and knotted it. "I swear I would get rid of this if I could-" "It's fine...we'll take it home just put it somewhere....and...." I kept driving in silence over eerily empty roads as the moon stared at us blankly from its black velvet home. "And?" He asked. My car smelt like baked beans now, which made me think of rainy mornings and toast for some reason. "What exactly happened? I mean you're...meant to be dead?" He was quiet, almost thoughtfully and then he shrugged. "I woke up in the forest and everything hurt." He glanced at me almost wearily. "And then I couldn't stop shifting back and forth. And I know that I was shot by someone who came in to try to stop the wolves." "So......you're telling me werewolves are real and you are one?" I sounded crazier than I felt. "I'm telling you I'm a science experiment gone terribly wrong." A pause as an agitated bat squealed as it darted around almost blindly outside like a broken puppet caught on strings before the night jerked it away restlessly to show us the moon again. "You know they inject bodies with this.....thing that's supposed to make them into proper fertiliser? Well it seems it doesn't do that really it just means that....we're kind of not dead and stuck shifting back and forth repeatedly." Liam had leaned back now, the moonlight making his face pale and his mouth look almost garish and blood stained. "There's an entire pack of us. Anyone and everyone from the last ten years. But there's a point when we stop shifting back." I had no use of words and was wondering if I would wake up and realise I had been drugged by some random bloke who had then forgotten me. "So there's a...a pack of....you..." "Yes." I glanced at him almost warily. "I know it all seems really sudden but it's the reality here and it's becoming an issue. I mean we can't control ourselves and we can't control the blood lust and we suddenly end up with guns pointed at us and it's aggravating because we never even did anything...just following instincts." He closed his eyes; dark, spiky eyelashes casting ridiculous spider leg shadows over his face. "What changes you?" "Right now it seems what changes us or me is a range of things...pain, feeling....anything we feel that's out of place for wolves I guess but what I'm trying to say is human emotion." I would have laughed in any other situation. "I don't exactly understand what you mean." "You know when you feel too much?" "Yes." "Imagine that happening all the time no matter what the feeling was or is you just feel too much all the time." "Ok." I watched the distant flashing lights of a plane gliding dreamily through the sky. "So you're saying a bunch of extremely emotional men is...are...I...I guess running through the forest howling at the moon, accidentally attacking people and getting shot?" "Something like that yes." He sounded tired and then shrugged. "Speaking of which a part of me thinks I should go." "What do you mean?" My heart spluttered. "I want to get back out there so when and if I change back there's no danger and we're all safe...it's the least I can actually do right now so I may as well do it-" he opened the door that groaned as cold air whistled on its way in, carrying in a dead brown leaf. I found myself grabbing his arm, staring at him almost manically. "Don't go. Please?" He looked at me, smiling wearily and then glanced outside. "I'll be back ok? I'll be back very soon..." he ruffled my hair, smirking when I cringed. I felt my heart sink as I watched him slink towards the shadows, moonlight gold gilding his dark blonde hair before the dark shadows swallowed him whole. I watched, and waited. The cold wailing wind stabbed sharp fingers into my eyes and filled my lungs with shattered glass until I had no choice but to reach out and drag the door shut after him. It groaned again, annoyed at me for being yanked out of its easy slumber. The world outside was a blurred blank tapestry with splotches of greys, greens, whites and the occasional red. Bleats, squeals and tooting horns would occasionally break out from other rushing night cars around me and the wet road would sigh wearily as the world raced all over it. The bag and smell of beans and potato lingered to remind me of my companion as my brain worked to try to digest all of the thoughts and ideas, churning through images of how Liam had looked, felt and sounded as I accepted that it was all a rattling part of reality. My brain slipped into a autopilot so I never realised when I got home, or when my numb hands grabbed my keys, jangling them to fill in the gaping silence as I strode towards the door that would lead me out of the night. Asian music weighted by drums, sirens and the stench of petrol and fish and chips trailed me to the front door until my eyes fell on the figure clad in dark there and I stopped moving. "Thank GOD you finally returned!" There was a woman on my doorstep with sleek dark hair and bright green eyes. Her skin was pale and ghostly and she looked like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine even though she was wearing a huge blue hoodie, tracksuit bottoms and random flip flops. Her bare pale feet were surprisingly not frozen off and her eyes seemed blood shot and red rimmed. "Cora." I found her name rattling around inside my head and almost started laughing as I wondered how she would feel if she realised who I had been with. I decided to swallow that truth and keep it hidden; I did not know her well enough just yet to tell her I had just picked up her dead fiancé from the vet and that he was a science experiment gone horribly wrong. They all were, really. She rose slowly and gave me a sweet sad smile, her lips were dark. "Come in. It's really cold outside." I found myself looking around us for no reason before unlocking the door and letting her in to the dark where I knew Jaggers was asleep and probably dreaming about sardines. She kicked off her flip flops as she looked all around us and I felt ridiculous because she belonged in a posh eatery, not in my vintage-hippie-esque living room. I wondered if she smelt cat or if she smelt the sharp almond and coffee scent that I had decided should permeate the inside of my humble abode. She looked a bit green and sickly when I turned on the light. "Why don't you sit down." I heard myself offering as I realised she was wearing Liam's hoodie. "And tell me what you want and I'll-" She smiled wearily as she sat down, seeming slightly hunched over and shook her head sadly. "Oh it's fine I don't want or need anything....I can't really deal with food nowadays..." Had she lost weight? She seemed tired and as though an invisible leech was sucking the life out of her as well as as though she would shatter and fall apart at any second. I contemplated telling her about Liam. Howls punctuated my thoughts and jarringly wrenched me back to reality as the wolves started up a mournful orchestra for the moon. I sat down and ignored the awkward silence that tightened like a noose around my neck. She ran a hand through her hair before splaying her hands, palm side down on her thighs, focusing on a spot by my toes, which made me feel self conscious. "Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?" I asked as the wolves kept howling and I wondered how they felt; grown emotional men trapped to howl at the moon in vain. "I can't keep anything down, at all." She mumbled, playing with her hair. "Maybe you should have that looked at, it doesn't seem fun-" She closed her eyes and seemed to sigh soundlessly as I realised her hands were shaking. Jaggers stirred behind her but I ignored him for a bit, focusing only on her. "Alice I......" I felt myself frown worriedly as the first plump tear rolled down her ashen face. "I'm......I'm sorry because I didn't want it to be like this...but it is and I loved Liam so much more than you can think...I...he....he meant so much to me....a-and....so I....I've been looked at.....and I just.....I left Roger....today I told him I couldn't be with him anymore so soon after Liam....but.....but....I....I'm.....pregnant." My mind drifted back to Liam earlier on before I blanched and then was wrangled through a fire of thoughts and feelings. "Cora-" I was dying to tell her Liam was still alive. She had dissolved into messy tears. I sighed to myself. "Cora it's late...." "You're right...sorry....I'm a huge mess nowadays." I opened my mouth to speak but seemed to freeze maybe out of exhaustion, confusion and shock so I hardly noticed when she finally did leave. * LIAM I watched her walk away from the house with windows leaking light like orange juice and was painfully aware of how she smelt. Still my favourite infusion of sweet blossoms but with a new undertone, something that compelled and scared me but made me want to follow her around and make sure she was ok. My hands were tied. I had spent so many nights watching her and the new man. The other man who had once been my friend and silently hoping that she would be ok. She was mine. It was crazy I still thirsted for her and I was stuck, trapped and lost beneath my new skin and the need to howl like an idiot at a bloated orb that would never even respond or react. I wanted my life back. Badly. * ALICE I was aimlessly attempting to read, my mind many miles away when the feeling that I was being watched made a shudder jolt down my spine. My eyes flew open and I grimaced at the sickly yellow sun that tried to warm me up before I turned towards the rain soaked trees. And froze. Two huge green eyes flecked by gold watched me from the trees. He had dark brown fur bejewelled by flecks of water and dew that made him gleam in the sickly sunlight and he sat close to the edge of the forest and stared at me, or rather stared through my soul and ripped holes through me. My heart started pounding as I wondered what I should do. "Hi Alice." I jumped slightly before I registered Liam standing next to him, smiling. "Liam." I managed. Was he going to feed me to the regal beast beside him? The wolf opened its mouth in a huge yawn and the sun shone off his sharp fangs and teeth that glistened with saliva before he looked up at Liam and blinked slowly. "Um...why have you brought....a wolf to me?" I finally managed to ask. Liam was quiet for some time before he managed a smile. "What about him stands out the most to you?" "Apart from size?" "Apart from size." The eyes drew me in again and my mind lit up the memory of a tinkling laugh that made me feel warm. "He has green eyes." I managed dumbly. Liam waited for me to remember something and then looked down at the wolf that seemed close to sleep. I blinked dumbly again. "Sorry Liam you have totally lost me now." * SPENCER I had watched her grow up from afar; the tiny girl who liked waking up to play with me when she was younger. There had even been a time when I had managed to walk through her life on two legs. It had been a kaleidoscope of her sincere affection, the sweet sound of her laughter, the sun on her pale face and her big, brown eyes full of mystery. Her parents had never quite realised their precious princess ran out in the morning and hid from school bullies to play with the small and ratty wolf cub who waited almost eagerly for her, letting her yank on his tail and ears and feed him strips of meat and whatever else she wanted to. I held tightly to the memory of the day she had found me; me on two legs, a small scruffy waif with twigs in his hair sneakily watching her through the trees. She had seen me and her eyes had widened; orbs of shock and amusement. And I had felt my heart break when she had run into the house, away from me. The suffocating cold had pressed even tighter against me, rattling me in my thin clothes and I had considered running away. "Here you go!" My eyes had widened on the piece of buttered bread held out to me on the palm of a tiny hand that seemed so promising warmth and comfort and peace. "You must be hungry so I thought you might like some bread?" I had taken it, biting into the chewy, soft, salty bread that scorched my taste buds with a wild explosion of tastes that had etched a ridiculous smile onto my face as I felt the warmth of the sun for the first time in a very long time. The hunger had been burning inside me like a fire for so long I had forgotten what it was. One day I had found her crying over a boy, her broken heart obviously causing her a lot of pain judging by the huge sharp sobs that struck me like shrapnel as I worriedly watched her from the fringe of closely intertwined trees, their connections older than time. I had found a bright red sparkly plastic flower on the ground outside a playground and my pulse sang to me as did birds as I held it in my mouth and struggled to refrain from accidentally chewing it to a mushy pulp. I could smell the sweet, warm scent of her skin and hear the subtle thumping of her broken heart. Her tears smelt like dissolved salt when I finally bolted out and ran up to her, almost wagging my tail in excitement and walked up to drop the shiny plastic flower in her lap. She froze at the sight of me, startled as she gawked at me. I had grown since last time. And I had forgotten. I realised I had probably scared her with the flower and moved back, ears down. "Don't go-" her long fingered, delicate hands suddenly reached out to scratch between my ears. And then she actually laughed through her tears. And it sounded like music to my alien ears. "Thank you for this.." She picked up the shiny flower and I really did end up wagging my tail, albeit sheepishly as I realised how soggy it was from being in my mouth. "It's....quite a thoughtful gift..." She chuckled again, her whole face lighting up at the musical sound that I watched in awe, struggling to somehow show her more to make her keep laughing. Her laugh, the gentle feel of her hands and fingers, the occasional glimpse of her face in a crowd of many others always made me smile and filled me with joy when I had nothing else to hold onto. I had no choice but to watch her speed through life at what felt like break neck speed, longing to chase away the boys who played with and shattered her heart and the unkind eyes that glared at her frail body that I felt must always feel cold. And now I sat in front of her. A huge lumbering lump of fur. So sleepy and tired. She has forgotten me. She is taller now. Her eyes are wilder but sadder; the sadness haunting. ALICE I felt myself almost smile as I broke free of my stupid daydream. Liam stayed quiet, watching me as though he expected me to save the world. "I know you!" I finally stepped forward and extended a hand to the wolf that kept watching me with gold flecked green eyes, before the reality of what he was made something weird twist inside me and I looked at Liam, aware that my eyes were slightly wide. "You're kidding me!" Liam managed to smile. "I might have told him about how you helped me..." I glanced back at the wolf. "So...what now then? I mean...he's basically still a wolf..." She gave me an apologetic look. Liam looked down at the wolf. "Spencer you need to change back bruv she can't exactly have a huge wolf trotting around her house I don't think..." The wolf yawned wildly again before trotting away to a thick growth of bushes and trees that he seemed to melt into almost entirely, eerily. I took the time to study Liam; he looked a lot more rested today and seemed to have attempted to wash his hair. I wanted to tell him about Cora but wondered if he could deal with the truth, especially after what he had told me earlier. I bit my tongue instead, focusing on the citrusy scent of the forest and the faint birdsong. "We need to find a new place to dispose of our clothes when we don't need them because they smell a lot like nuts and forest in there than anything else and I'm not sure that's a good thing..." A voice that was deep but high somehow at the same time, rolled into poshly pronounced tones and smoothed into a fluidly gentle and haunting sound accentuated further by a subtle raspiness made me turn away from Luke to the other man in the clearing. The first thing I thought about him was that he was some kind of ridiculously tall and lanky giant. He had badly rumpled brown hair and pale skin pulled tight over sharp, high cheekbones and a long thin nose. His eyes were big and green but outlined by bruise like dark circles, his lips were blue tinged and he had a faint scar on his lower lip. He had an eerily haunting androgynous sharpness to his features that hinted at haughtiness and walked with the sureness of a man who had spent a very long time getting used to his body and understanding exactly how to refrain from anything awkward or clumsy. Liam rolled his eyes. "Alice this is Spencer. He's a total cunt and he's our alpha. No one knows where he came from but he's just always been there." Spencer suppressed another yawn. "You do realise I still have my ability to talk don't you Walters?" His lips curled into a mocking smirk before he looked at me and smiled. "Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance..." he held out a huge long fingered hand for me to shake without looking away from me. I found myself taking it and shaking it; of course his hand felt warm and oddly human because of course he was as human as Liam was. Spencer looked all around us with the air of someone who knew his way around and I realised he actually did, and that was unnerving. "Everything is still the same as it was a few years ago...." He walked over to look at the birdbath and ran a finger along its lip as the wind showered us all in leaves and reminded me how painfully cold I was. "You two should come in for tea." My body somehow offered. "It's awfully cold outside and I'm sure you're both probably hungry..." Spencer kept staring at the birdbath, the sunlight turning to flames in his hair. I looked at Liam. "Of course," Liam smiled at me warmly. "You lead the way and we'll follow you."