#just going down the lists you can see what impressive “job security” they technically had. Also HIGH survival rate vs general 60s-70s ride | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

concussed-to-pieces · 4 years ago

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Late July Part Two

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit kinda' tame.

AN: Guess who was a fool and thought that they could leave Late July the way it was?! Me. Spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle abound in this chapter, so proceed only if you don't care about the movie being spoiled for you! I'll see you guys on Wednesday. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor @talesfromtheguild @absurdthirst @mostly-megan @pancakepike @88dragon06 @chibi-liz05 @iellaren-uodo-rian @heatherbel @ripleyafterdark @oloreaa @thesoftdumbass @okilover02 @renegademustelid

Alright, I think I got everyone! There will be one more part on Wednesday, so if you would like to be tagged please let me know!

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This chapter contains attempted purposeful triggering, frank discussion of character death, memory loss, regression and vivid flashbacks/allusions to post-trauma. Stay safe!]

He came back around slowly, still tasting the stale beer of last night's party like an unwanted echo in his mouth. But instead of waking up on the kitchen floor of his shared apartment, he was in a blindingly white room that looked suspiciously like an alien spacecraft. Jack's mind raced. Shit, maybe my roommate wasn't being a total spaz when he talked about getting probed, the young man realized with an undercurrent of fear.

Incomprehensible beakers of things lined the walls of the room. Alright, maybe he should have paid more attention in his chemistry classes, but he could hardly be blamed for assuming that none of it would have practical uses!

Jack rattled his hands in the cuffs that secured him to the table, clearing his throat. Man, his head ached. This was why he needed to remember to drink a glass of water before passing out!

"S'cuse me? Uh, hello?" He called hesitantly. "Look, if the guys from Theta Alpha Phi put you up to this-"

A beautiful older woman rounded the corner into the room, observing him over her glasses. "Welcome back." Her voice was steel, and Jack worried his lower lip nervously. "Wasn't sure if you were going to make it for a little while."

The restraints around his wrists and ankles abruptly retracted into the table, leaving Jack to awkwardly stumble forward onto the floor. He quickly regained his footing, reaching up to seize the lapels on his usually-open shirt and finding instead that he was wearing some sort of...ski suit? Jumpsuit? Top Gun, I can dig it.

God, she really was a good-looking woman. Ah, what the hell. Nothing ventured...

"Hello gorgeous. I'm Jack, what's your name?" He didn't give her any time to answer before he carried on with a disarming grin, "How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?" Jack ran a hand through his usually-unruly hair and found it...weirdly tame. "I've got a six pack on ice and my roomie is out for the night so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, sugar!" He continued, ambling forward. The cheesy, blatant approach usually worked well for him. Sixty/forty split, or thereabouts.

She kept retreating as he advanced, and then she reached into her pocket. Jack braced himself for the rebuff, confused when she pulled out a Polaroid instead. "I hate to do this to you, Jack." She sounded like she meant it. There was Blue-Tack on the back of the Polaroid and handwriting that some portion of his brain vaguely recognized as his own, but he didn't get the chance to read it before she was showing him the faded image.

It took him a moment to realize that it was a picture of one of the girls he had dated in high school, but it looked like she had grown into a legitimately stunning woman. She was smiling fondly at whoever was taking the picture, and the entire image radiated playful energy. Jack cocked his head, a buzz of foreign sadness churning briefly in his chest before he raised his eyes to meet the...scientist's? Teacher's? "Where'd you get this picture? I ain't seen her in years! Shee-it, she got beautiful." The young man drawled. "I have been thinkin' about visitin' my folks again. Maybe I'll go 'round to her place too for some catchin' up."

The woman seemed startled, her sculpted brows raising and then dropping as she studied him intently. "You...don't remember...?"

"I remember her, yeah, we dated for a while in high school." Jack insisted. "Broke up senior year because I was leavin' for college, y'know how it is."

"This is your wife, Jack. Or she was, rather."

His head throbbed, left temple lighting up with sudden agony. "Oh, shit." Jack grunted, holding the side of his head and grazing a bandage that he hadn't realized was there. "Damn, I must have hit my head real good when those pricks from Theta Alpha shoved me down the stairs. Hangover probably ain't helpin'." He grinned ruefully at her. "Guess you must be the one who patched me up. I ain't never asked out a doctor before, but there's a first time for everythin'. Can I pay you back with dinner?"

The woman appeared perturbed. "Jack. This is your wife." She repeated, waving the picture in his face.

"I'm real sorry ma'am, but I ain't the marryin' sort." Jack replied bluntly, "I would definitely remember if someone like her was still my girlfriend. Or uh, had become my wife."

"What do you remember happening, Jack? Before��" she gestured vaguely. "This?"

Jack chewed on his lower lip in thought, tilting his head back to stare up at the featureless ceiling. "Uh, I remember…well, before they pushed me down the stairs, them TAP boys crashed my roommate's party…"

…

"'Pressions, I need you down here in the reconstruction laboratory." Ginger Ale's voice issued abruptly through your earpiece and you sat up a little straighter at your desk.

"What's happened?" You asked softly, rising from your seat and making your way to the door. What with a majority of the population currently locked up in stacks of cages, enough to fill football arenas to their brim, you weren't doing much in the 'managing first impressions' area. Since you had fewer and fewer responsibilities, Ginger Ale had begun to lean upon you a bit more, especially as all able-bodied agents were deployed into the field to search for an antidote. With Tequila being incapacitated, it had made the assignment personal to many agents.

It had been fascinating to find out that Statesman was technically an offshoot from the now utterly-decimated Kingsman agency. When the two surviving members of their group had shown up to the Statesman headquarters, it had caused quite the stir.

"I need a favor." Ginger said, sounding tired.

"Anything." You agreed before she could elaborate further, picking your way through the gravel in the courtyard as you headed to the warehouse where the massive casks of Statesman Reserve were stored to age. Once inside, your heels clicked loudly in the stillness of the temperature-controlled storehouse and you were certain that Ginger Ale could tell your location just from the noise alone. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Don't promise me that until you know what I need."

Your brow furrowed. "Uh...okay."

Once you had made your way through the somewhat labyrinthine halls of the Statesman underground facility, you found Ginger Ale waiting for you directly outside the sick bay. She was rubbing her temples.

"Oh no, that's not a good sign." You quipped as you approached.

She looked up and her face bore an expression of long suffering. "You don't have to say yes to this, okay?"

"Ginger, talk to me. What's up?" You asked worriedly, taking her arm and leading her off to the side of the doorway.

"'Pressions, Whiskey may not be...one hundred percent." She said carefully. "He didn't snap back into 'Whiskey mode' even though the nanites-"

"Wait, what happened to Whiskey?" You interrupted in concern, your heart hammering a foreign, panicky tattoo on your ribcage. "He was with the Galahads, I thought?"

"He got caught by a sniper." Ginger Ale grimaced. "Clean shot to the head."

"Jesus, no." You gasped. "I'm assuming one of the Galahads used his alpha gel?"

"Yes, and the nanites did their job perfectly. So he's stable, and conscious. Better than that, I would hazard, considering that he took a bullet to the head and he's walking and talking. The issue is that he's not really...Whiskey. At the point he's regressed to, he thinks he's still a dropout living with his college roommate." Ginger Ale pulled a picture out of an inner pocket. "It used to be that we could just trigger him to resume where he left off using the memory of his wife and unborn son, but it doesn't appear to be working this time."

You stared at her, mainly because of how casually she stated the fact that they triggered their agents back to 'normal' with traumatic memories, but also because you had a sneaking suspicion that you might be the reason why the aforementioned trigger no longer held the same weight for the field agent.

You told yourself you would refuse to feel guilty about it. Whiskey had asked for your help and you had obliged. It was as simple as that.

"Now, I know your family has that rental cabin, and I also know that it's fairly secluded. If the Statesman organization could possibly, uh...commission the cabin and persuade you to take some paid leave until Jack is...himself again, or at least until the drug issue is sorted and we can devote more time and research to this situation, I…" Ginger Ale trailed off as Jack's head popped out around the doorway.

You were treated to a blatant once-over stare that seemed to last for a lifetime, his dark eyes studying you intently. "Have I...met you before?" Jack asked you, the hesitance in his tone making you briefly hopeful before he continued, "yeah, last night, in my dreams I think?"

You couldn't help your groan and eye-roll, laughing in spite of yourself. "Ugh, and how often does that line work for you?" You teased.

"So far, never." Jack admitted. "But I've always held true to the belief that the sexiest thing a fella' can wear is confidence." He continued with a grin, "That and a high-quality hat." He glanced down the hallway. "So, is it just you two lovely ladies on this alien spacecraft, or what?"

"Alien…?" You raised an eyebrow. "Okay Ginger, I'm convinced. I'll get the paperwork ready. But if you need anything-"

"I know. I'm glad that I can rely on you." She interrupted you gratefully, looking relieved.

"You gals got any Midrin on you? My head is killin' me." Jack grimaced, palming over the gauze square attached to his temple even as he shamelessly watched you walk past him to the lab's computer.

"Midrin was discontinued almost ten years ago." You replied absently while you punched in your login and searched for the proper documents to send to the nearby printer. Commission for resources...ah! There you are.

"What, really?" Jack gawked at you. "Hell, I should probably tell my roommate to chuck his then, it must be way outta' date."

"Somehow, I doubt that will be a problem."

…

Jack balked a little when you stated that you would be driving, but he quieted down once you implied that the world may look a bit different than he recalled and that he didn't have a choice in the matter.

"He's not the first one to get put back a little wrong. The process isn't perfect," Ginger had told you. Of course you knew about Galahad senior, the Kingsman agent who had been shot in the head and returned merely wishing to study butterflies. "But I'll send you informational packets that he can sift through. Hopefully something will jog his memory."

Just riding up in the cask elevator had Jack worryingly pale, though getting him outside into the fresh air and sunshine appeared to perk him right back up. He was obviously doing his best to roll with the punches. You thanked whatever gods were listening that Champ had given you permission to take Whiskey's Bronco. Despite the technological advancements of your own personal vehicle that made it miles more convenient to use (you kissed your Bluetooth phone sync goodbye with a woeful sigh), the last thing you wanted was to cause Jack even more distress. Whiskey was mercifully a classic, no frills, no fuss man when it came to his preferred vehicle, even for being a secret agent.

You grabbed your go-bag out of the trunk of your car and walked over to the Bronco in the lot, barely holding back a laugh at Jack's obvious approval of the vehicle. He was running his fingers reverently along the tiny red pinstripe on the exterior, back and forth.

"If I get enough money for one of these beauts someday, God, it will be a sight." He mused, sounding wistful. "Have to get a better job first, though." He continued, as if reciting an oft-repeated mantra.

"Ginger said you dropped out. What courses were you taking?" You asked curiously. Jack had never been very forthcoming with information about his past, so you seized the opportunity to glean a little insight into the normally tight-lipped agent.

"My parents want me to be a doctor." Jack answered you with a shrug. "I dropped out last semester. Still ain't sure how I'm gonna' break it to 'em." He bounded up into the passenger seat, drumming his fingers nervously on the edge of the door. "Can I ask for somethin' to eat? I'm fuckin' famished." He admitted, changing the subject.

"Yeah, what do you feel like?" You paused, wondering if visiting the establishment near your cabin would assist his memory. "Sandwiches? Pizza?"

"She drives a manual and she eats real food? Be still my goddamn heart!" Jack proclaimed dramatically.

"Easy now cowboy, flattery will get you everywhere!" You laughed.

He grinned back at you, but the smile soon faded. You noticed him studying himself in the side mirror, running a finger down his jaw and grimacing. "God, there's a lot more mileage on this face than I remember." He muttered, prodding the skin of his right temple to smooth out the pronounced crow's feet around his eye. As if working on muscle memory, he reached down without looking and popped open the glovebox to grab his sunglasses. He paused, like he noticed what he had done, then shrugged and slipped the glasses on. "How do I look, ma'am?"

"Perfect."

What with the drug situation ravaging the world right now, the normally-bustling joint you favored was downright sleepy. Aside from the muted television over the counter, the only sign of life was the lone waitress who ushered the two of you in to sit at the counter.

"I can turn that up if you'd like." She offered, nodding at the TV. "I just leave it silent when I'm alone because all the reports...well, they can grate on your nerves, y'know?"

"Nah, leave it off." You shook your head. "I'm full up on hearing about the topic at hand."

"'Topic at hand'?" Jack repeated, looking confused. He had taken his hat off and placed it on the countertop, his fingers back to worrying the bandage on his head.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Hey, cool it. You'll undo all of Ginger's hard work." You chided, and he jerked his hand away with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Whups, sorry." He looked up at the menu, and then asked the waitress, "Ma'am can I get a cup of coffee and a hot brown with chicken? I'm downright famished." His smile seemed more genuine, somehow. You realized after a moment that it actually reached his eyes, warming them even further. You weren't sure if you had ever seen him smile like that. Maybe he had forgotten how.

You began to explain in an undertone after the waitress had bustled off to the kitchen, "so there's this...problem going on in the world right now. Big drug problem."

"Yeah, no shit." Jack scoffed, taking a sip of the black coffee she had poured him. "Nixon started that shit, and Reagan's been on that shit for years. You ain't tellin' me nothin' I don't know."

"N...No, no no, this is different." You grimaced, leaning in a little closer. "I'm talking like, there was one person behind the whole thing and now a large chunk of the population is infected with a virus that will kill them because they used illegal drugs."

Jack stared at you, his coffee cup forgotten in midair between the counter and his mouth. "You...what, hell, all drugs?" He asked incredulously. "Weed? Coke? LSD? 'Shrooms? Everythin'?"

"Everything unregulated, yes."

"I...God." The mug met the counter with a thump and Jack put his head in his hands. "Fuck, you're serious about this, ain't you?"

This was a far cry from the boardroom Whiskey who had insisted that Champ "couldn't make this personal" after it had been revealed that Tequila was infected. But then, people changed over time. Things happened. You imagined a secret agent would grow into a fair amount of detachment through their career, if only for the sake of their sanity.

"So what's gonna' happen to them? Is anyone doin' anythin' to help? Or is everyone just sittin' on their damn hands again, watchin' shit happen?" Jack growled.

"Well, our friends are doing their best. I'm confident that they'll be able to pull off their mission." Even without the senior Statesman agent at their side, you added mentally. Jack stayed in his hunched-over position for several minutes after his food arrived and you finally nudged his elbow. "Hey, sour puss. C'mon, we only made this pit stop because you were hungry."

"I'm sorry, my head is...I'm havin' some trouble." He mumbled faintly, and you noticed that he had gone pale again. "Headache."

You felt a touch of remorse. Maybe it had been overly optimistic of you to assume that he might recall more clearly in this location that he had only visited once. "To go it is." You decided for him, tugging out your wallet. "Once we get up to the cabin, we'll settle in for however long. It'll be fine."

…

There was no power.

You cycled back through the last month's bills in your head. You had definitely paid the electricity. You huffed out an annoyed breath. "There must be a tree down somewhere." You said aloud.

Jack was already making a beeline for the table in the kitchen, the takeaway container quickly splayed open so he could dig into his food with newfound zeal. "So, what do we need to do?" He asked around his first mouthful. He hadn't even bothered to sit down.

"Well first, I'll call Ginger." You sighed, already dialing the reconnaissance specialist. "After that, I'll check the stove, the fridge--"

"What happened?" Ginger answered before it even had the chance to ring, her voice sharp.

"No no, nothing's wrong. Just the power is out. With everything being the way it is, it'll probably be down for a few days." You heard the rapid clicking of a keyboard. "Whoa hey, don't move stuff around, Ginger. We can survive just fine without power for a day or two." You assured her. It always made you feel guilty whenever Statesman resources were used on someone as inconsequential as yourself.

"Are...are you sure? I really should be working on getting more information from the drones in Cambodia-"

"Absolutely, you have way bigger fish to fry. We can wait our turn on the outage route." You interjected firmly. "I'll use the car charger for my phone, so if you need anything you can still get in touch."

…

Jack did his best to tune out your conversation with the woman from the lab, the young man scanning the inside of the cabin as he ate.

It was small, though not cramped. Behind him was the common room, separated from the deck by sliding glass doors. The ceiling overhead was simple untreated beams, interspersed with skylights that left sunny squares on the warm wood floors.

There was a hallway to his left that he assumed must lead to at least one bedroom and the bathroom, but he wasn't particularly interested in snooping down that direction.

His gaze landed on the wood stove that was tucked into the lone river-rock corner upon a sturdy pedestal of bricks, eyes tracing the stovepipe up to where it pierced the wall to the outdoors. Jack left the table and meandered to the stove, turning the handle and popping the door open after a brief struggle. It was still full of old ash from the last use and he grumbled under his breath, grabbing the shovel and bucket from their cobwebbed resting place against the wall so he could give the stove a proper seeing-to.

You would think people had never heard of a damn chimney fire, the young man griped to himself, eventually standing with the half-full bucket and making his way outside. "Hey!" He called to get your attention, "where's your trash?"

You waved a hand off in the direction of a waist-high wooden crate that no doubt housed the waste receptacles, out at the end of the rutted drive. On his way by, Jack slowed briefly to a halt to watch you talk into your...God, is that really what cellular phones looked like?

You shot him an absent smile when you seemed to notice that he had paused and the young man felt his stomach lurch, what the hell? This all seemed so familiar, like he had done it before.

His head hurt.

Waking up in a body that was damn near twenty years older, retrograde amnesia was what the...what Ginger Ale had called it. Jack scoffed to himself. The hell kind of name is Ginger Ale? Then, he winced. Jack Daniels, meet kettle.

So what had happened in between? Something must have happened to him. Ginger had implied that he and that girl he had dated in high school got married, which was...not something he had ever thought about having on his radar, if he was honest.

Unless…

A weird, uneasy suspicion began to take root in his chest. There was one scenario where he believed he would ask a woman to marry him, if only because it was the goddamn proper thing to do.

Oh God, he felt sick to his stomach again. Something, a memory, was lurking just out of the light and he couldn't shake the burgeoning sensation of dread. It was as if his brain was playing tug-of-war, both pushing him towards the realization and dragging him away from it in equal measure.

Jack shook his head and dug his fingers in beneath the heavy wooden lid that shielded the waste containers from the elements (and snooping animals), shoving it up so he could empty the bucket into the ash can. Later, he promised himself, we'll tackle that shit later.

...

Jack appeared to be deep in thought as he carried on the task of emptying out the wood stove, so you simply left him to it as you did a quick check of everything else in the cabin. It looked like the power hadn't been out for too long, as the small fridge hadn't defrosted just yet, so you made a note to head down the road and pick up some ice at the amenities store. You kept an 'emergency' cooler under the counter for such an occasion as this.

This cabin and the surrounding ones didn't lose power very often, but what with all the old trees around it tended to be inevitable once the winds got strong. Your parents had instilled the knowledge in you of how to properly maintain the property, and you were immensely grateful that no problem had cropped up yet that you hadn't been able to straighten out by yourself.

Most of the vacation cabins that littered the nearby woodlands had been booked up for the summer, due to the prolific population of affluent wealthy who enjoyed them as an 'isolated retreat from civilization'. You were hard-pressed to think of an 'isolated retreat' that included a convenience store within literal walking distance of one's residence, but any port in a storm.

Jack was oddly silent for nearly the entire walk down the road to the tiny store, his thumbs hooked through his belt loops as his fingers idly patted out an off-tempo rhythm on his thighs. "Penny for your thoughts?" You broke the quiet with your question, trying for a genial tone.

"I dunno', really. I've got a lot of 'em. How many pennies we talkin'?" He replied, his smile strained. "I just feel like I'm missin' somethin'...big. Obvious. And I...dunno' if I'll be happy about figurin' out what it is, y'know? Like there's somethin' in the back of my head, hollerin' at me, but I can't make out the damn words and I don't--I ain't sure if I really want to." Jack stared off ahead, his eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. "I've already been a fuck-up for most of my life, y'know. I can't imagine what bullshit I pulled later."

This uncertain man was a far cry from the usual cocksure attitude you had come to expect from Whiskey. In a way, you weren't exactly surprised that his attitude may have been mainly bravado. Or it might just be that he had played the part for so long he started to believe it. You reached out carefully and he met you halfway, almost absentminded, instinct kicking in before his brain as he wrapped his hand around your wrist.

It took a moment before Jack's fingers twitched, and then his shoulders went stiff. Just like Whiskey, you found yourself thinking. "Uh, sorry, I-" he began to awkwardly apologize.

"It's okay." You murmured, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. "If you're okay, this is okay."

"...okay." Jack's voice was barely a whisper, the man smiling gratefully and giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

...

It was a beautiful night.

Due to the lack of power in your cabin and the ones around it, the stars were clearly visible. You had brought the battery-powered radio out with you onto the deck, soft crackling static and faint music the backdrop to your after-dinner conversation.

Jack was more at peace than he could recall feeling recently, the man content to watch your expressions in the light of the lone citronella candle that you had lit on the table.

At ease, well-fed and comfortable, it was almost malicious how fast his mind began to twist everything for him. Jack Daniels, college dropout. Nothing to show for it at all. He'd crashed and burned so damn fast, there hadn't been time. And now, all of this, finding out that the world had gone to shit--

In the middle of his ruminations, something dragged him back to the present. A familiar song, jarring him out of his self-deprecating reverie. "You fill up my senses…"

His head aching again, Jack got a fleeting recollection of a kitchen in a tiny apartment. Faded, dingy gray subway tiles on the backsplash, yellow curtains framing the window over the sink, her yelling at him, "I hate it when we fight, Jack," eyes snapping with fury but resigned and no, no, something is wrong-

"What's wrong?"

It took him a minute to realize that it was you asking him aloud, not his brain screaming at him. Jack grimaced, pressing his fingers to the bandage. "This song, I...I know it."

"I mean, it's John Denver." You said in a deadpan tone. "The guy oozes questionable sweater choices, denim and radio-friendly vibes. I'd be more surprised if you didn't know it."

"When she and I...we had moved in together. And this…it was playin' while we were arguin'." Jack's head was pounding. The kitchen had always felt too small, though it was the perfect size for her. They fought. About little things, and then bigger things. His gambling, her drinking. What a couple. Jack shoved his chair back from the table on an impulse, getting to his feet. "C'mere." He ordered, extending a hand to you

You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. "Why?"

"Dammit woman, just-" Jack tangled his fingers with yours, giving your arm a light tug. "C'mere." He pleaded.

You obliged begrudgingly, obviously comfortable in your current position and unwilling to move. But once you were upright you didn't seem to have any reservations about him swaying you back and forth in time to the music, your head on his chest like it belonged there and your hands tucked into the sleeves of your large sweatshirt.

"...like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean…" the song carried on, sweet and calm. Jack rested his chin on the top of your head, closing his eyes and just letting the faded memories wash over him.

"...I can't do this shit anymore." He had whispered into her hair, his voice hoarse. "All we goddamn do is fight and neither of us change and I'm fuckin' sick of this shit." He had continued to rock the both of them to and fro in that tiny kitchen, as if to soothe her.

"Oh, you think I'm not sick? I've been sick!" She threw it right back at him hotly, her fists clenched on his chest like she wanted to beat the piss out of him. He probably deserved it. "Jack, you're the one who needs to change! You're the one who's the father of my fucking baby, why don't you start goddamn acting like it!"

Jack's eyes flew open. Baby? He scoured his mind frantically, every memory he turned up so frustratingly piecemeal!

Baby, a baby, son? Blue crib, blue walls, my son? Married, needed to get married, can't have a baby without getting married, her parents hate me, my parents are already disappointed, have to elope--

And then everything ground to a halt. It was like his memory hit a wall, leaving him confused and almost raw with uncertainty. He needed more, damn it! He exhaled raggedly, making you look up at him in concern.

"Jack? Are you okay?" Your query was so quiet, like you didn't want to disturb him..

"I just...my uh, my joints are complainin'. Guess I let myself sit for too long." He fibbed, smiling down at you in an attempt to distract you from his obvious turmoil. "Thanks for the dance," Jack hesitated, an unfamiliar pet name lingering on the tip of his tongue, "cherry pie."

...

Jack meandered to lean with his arms crossed on the porch railing, his head tipped back to look up at the sky for a time. "Have I...been here before?" He asked out of the blue. "I feel like...it's weird to ask, but I feel like you and I have...I feel like I've been here before. With you." He finally managed to get the words out.

"Well, yes." You admitted. "You came to me because you needed help."

"And did you?" Jack cocked his head to the side.

"Did I what?"

"Help."

You hesitated to answer him, mulling it over. Because in the moment, it seemed like you had. Whiskey had left your care an obviously happier man, but…

If the memory of his pregnant wife, the memory of losing her had been established as his failsafe, it was downright irresponsible of him to have removed that trigger without instating a new one first. Ginger Ale hadn't known, and now Statesman was down their senior field agent in the middle of an incredibly dangerous and tenuous maneuver. The health and safety of countless people hung in the balance and technically, technically (by your reasoning, anyway), it was your fault that Statesman was unable to put their best foot forward in this endeavor.

But…

"I think so." You said softly. "You hung onto something from your past that hurt you, Jack. Something that weighed your body down. I guess you finally got tired of carrying it with you."

Jack's smile was slow, but it lit up his face yet again in the way that Whiskey's never had. "Well good, then! I'm glad you helped me out." He shook his head ruefully. "I just feel like I've been here before. This point in time. It's like...like I'm gettin' the chance to do somethin' over, but I don't know what the hell it is. I'm scared, feel like I'm gonna' fuck somethin' up on accident." He admitted quietly. "It was here, wasn't it? Where you helped me?"

"Yes. This cabin is a safe environment for anyone that needs it."

"I can tell. It's...peaceful." He drawled, one boot hooked over the other as he shifted his weight against the railing. A hand wandered to your arm, his warm palm rubbing your shoulder absently. "I just hope that I can...do whatever it is folks need me to do." Jack murmured.

His hand stayed on your arm for a good long while, the two of you silently looking at the stars.

"Hey, uh," Jack spoke up suddenly, "your...helpin', I…"

You glanced over at him, the stark white bandage on his temple serving as a stern reminder that this was not Whiskey, but simply Jack Daniels. The man, not the senior agent. A college dropout in a dead-end situation.

"Do you help even if a person don't need helpin'?" He asked pointedly, an eyebrow hitched upwards as he observed you.

You opened your mouth, uncertain of what you would even say, but you were suddenly blinded by the motion sensor light blazing to life overhead. Jack pulled you into his body defensively, once again seeming to act on muscle memory. You watched through squinted eyes as he reached down for weapons that he didn't have, his hand flying to his hip. "Hey, don't worry." You mumbled against his chest. "The power just came back on, that's all."

"Jesus fuck that shit is bright!" Jack squawked, his voice pitched high. "Thought I was gettin' abducted by aliens again!"

"Again?" You couldn't help your laughter at how ridiculous he sounded. The man began to laugh along with you after a moment, his expression sheepish in the brilliant Illumination.

"Yeah, yeah, get your kicks." He growled good-naturedly, rumpling your hair. "You're lucky you're cute."

You grabbed hold of his hand, tugging him to follow you back inside. "C'mon, let's make sure nothing got overloaded." You urged.

Even when he could have let go of your hand, you noticed he continued to hang on.

Part Three

#agent whiskey/reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels/reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels #jack daniels imagine #kingsman: the golden circle #the golden circle #pedro pascal character #i just can't leave things alone #i know after the first chapter this may come off as dry or boring #please forgive me #i am but a man rendered base by my need to make characters safe and whole again

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kurokoros · 5 years ago

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some like it hot (2/4) | todoroki x reader x bakugou

Rated: T (bakugou’s dirty mouth, sexual humor)

Words: 9.2K

Pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader x katsuki bakugou

Summary: A Charity Fundraiser leads to you going home with not one, but two of the most popular Pro Heroes of your generation. They say some like it hot, and you certainly aren’t complaining.

AKA: a totally not self-indulgent threesome fic

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | AO3

AN: It’s been a terrible week, but I still managed to pump out a chapter, so I feel accomplished! Also available on AO3. Ask to be added to the tag-list. Chapters will be weekly until completion! Thanks in advance for reading! A note: the reader does have a name used only in dialogue because I hate using “Y/N” in fics. Both names are puns. “Yuna” = Y/N, and the kanji in “Hikai” means “fire time”.

Dubiously, you stare at the file Izuku is holding out to you. The look you send him is all but reproachful as you place your hands on your hips, your lips pressed into a tight line. Izuku fidgets under your gaze, sweat beading on his hairline, but his smile never falters for a second.

“Let me get this straight,” you start slowly. Maybe you didn’t hear him right. With all the muttering and nervous babbling he tends to do, it wouldn’t be a surprise for you to mishear a few things. Though, you have practically mastered the art of deciphering him at his most incoherent. Regardless, you press on, not even trying to mask the utter bewilderment in your voice. “You want me to run all the way to Shouto’s Agency to drop off a single file?”

It sounds even more bizarre when you say it out loud.

Izuku fiddles with the pen on his desk. “Yes?”

The questioning inflection of his reply only makes your frown deepen. Resisting the urge to rub your temples, you send him another hard look. “Aren’t you supposed to be seeing him and Bakugou tonight?” you ask, sure you heard him mention something about the three of them going out for dinner. “It can’t wait until then?”

“It’s important,” he tells you, only slightly more confident in his reply than he was before.

You know you shouldn’t roll your eyes at your boss, but you do so anyway. “I see. And you do realize I’ll be gone for at least two hours, right?”

“It’s very important?”

Your frown turns into a pout.

Any other day you might have agreed to go right away, always happy to see one of your favorite Heroes. But ever since that night at Momo’s, you’ve been doing your best to avoid both Shouto and Katsuki. It wasn’t on purpose at first. You planned on going out for drinks with Katsuki and Kirishima over the weekend like you always do, only to be slapped in the face with the reminder of what you told the girls. Mina’s jokes about a threesome came crashing back over you, and with the dirty fantasies floating through your head, you knew that being drunk around Katsuki would end in nothing but loose lips and an extremely awkward confrontation.

You didn’t even want to think about the possibility of rejection, so you called Kiri to cancel with excuses of planning the fundraiser—which wasn’t technically a lie.

Katsuki wasn’t happy about it, obviously, but you know how to handle him. You just need to make it through this fundraiser before making any life altering decisions including, but not limited to, trying to fuck two Pro Heroes that also happen to be two of your closest friends.

Avoidance was clearly the best answer to this.

Of course, your luck seems to have run out today thanks to Izuku. You have no idea where he’s going with this or why one of his sidekicks can’t bring Shouto this supposedly very important file, but seeing as the alternative is more phone calls and paperwork, you might as well go along with it. And you won’t lie and say you aren’t a little excited at the prospect of seeing Shouto today.

That being said, you aren’t above giving Izuku a little hell for it first.

“I don’t feel like I can leave you alone for that long without something terrible happening,” you say bluntly, careful to keep your mouth from twitching into a smile. Though you’re only teasing, a part of you does mean it. As great of a Hero as Izuku is, he’s also practically a walking safety hazard.

He really hasn’t changed all that much since UA.

The pout that forms on his face makes you feel like you’ve just kicked a puppy. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, sulking. Those big, green eyes of his stare down at you from the other side of his desk, only adding to the effect.

You aren’t so easily swayed. “The last time I left you alone here, you managed to dislocate your entire arm,” you remind him, casting a pointed glance at said arm. Even now, you aren’t entirely sure how he managed that in the time it took you to grab lunch at a cafe not even fifteen minutes from the agency. You’re never going to let him live it down.

“That was an accident!” Izuku defends himself, flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. The color clashes spectacularly with the green of his hero costume.

Your tone is beyond dry when you say, “I’m aware.”

Izuku’s expression melts into one of distress, and again you wonder why this file is such a big deal. Whatever it is, it’s making your boss more skittish and awkward than usual, something you didn’t even think was possible. “Please, Hikai? This is really, really important! I don’t trust anyone else to do this but you!”

“This is manipulation,” you tell him, crossing your arms. Even as you say that, your heart swells with the sheer level of trust he has in you. Izuku must realize it too. There’s something cunning behind those puppy dog eyes.

He blinks at you far too innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Well played, Deku.

Heaving an over-dramatic sigh, you hold out your hand and wiggle your fingers impatiently. “Give me the damn file.” A megawatt smile stretches across his face before the file is practically shoved into your hand. “Really, Midoriya, you have to stop leaving things until the last minute. One day it’s going to get you in trouble.”

He rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, ruffling the curly strands of his hair. “That’s what I have you for,” he tells you. The sincerity in his voice makes you soften. “Oh!” His eyes suddenly light up. “How’s everything been with planning the fundraiser?”

“About as well as you’d expect considering the short notice,” you muse, idly thumbing the edge of the file you’ve been handed. Surprisingly, you haven’t had too many issues beyond your less than friendly conversation with Mr. Fujikaze. Most other agencies have been understanding about the situation, and your contacts have been pulling through despite the time crunch. “I’ve contacted most of the agencies in the country like you asked and almost all have replied affirmatively, though some will only be making short appearances.” You glance at him. “Not everyone can leave the field for an entire night.”

Izuku nods, his brows furrowed in thought. “That makes sense,” he murmurs aloud, staring down at the surface of his desk. “Even with the crime rate dropping again, we can’t be too careful.”

Humming, you turn your gaze to the windows overlooking the city behind him. While not nearly as grandiose as some other agencies you’ve been in, you’ve always loved the view from Izuku’s office.

“Exactly.”

With the highly publicized nature of the fundraiser, you’re sure that some people will take the opportunity to commit crimes, violent or otherwise, but it’s nothing most Pros haven’t had to work around before. The event itself will have heightened security even with the amount of Pros attending. Frankly, you’re more worried about the general public, though you know they’ll be in good hands even without Heroes like Deku, Shouto, and Ground Zero. Izuku himself would probably insist on patrolling that night if he wasn’t the one hosting, but you know his sidekicks will be able to handle things for one night.

“How’s everything else going?” he asks. “I know you had to pull a lot of strings to make this work. Thank you, by the way.”

You wave him off and shrug, but offer him a small smile. “It’s my job.” And, hey, if this whole personal assistant gig falls through, at least you have a potential future as a wedding planner. “We have a venue and caterer lined up,” you explain to Izuku. “I’m hoping to hear back from my other contacts by the end of the day, but so far, everything seems to be going well.”

A look of relief appears on his face. “That’s good,” he says, breathing a sigh. At your raised eyebrow, he panics, thinking he’s said something wrong. “Not that I thought you couldn’t do it!” he’s quick to explain, quickly turning an even darker shade of red. “You’ve always been great at organizing things! Though this was super short notice, so I wouldn’t have been disappointed if you couldn’t put it together that fast. But I would never doubt you like that. You always go beyond! Plus—”

Mercifully, you hold up a hand to stop his rambling. You have work to do, and you know from experience that he would go on and on until someone stopped him or he ran out of air, and Izuku has quite the impressive set of lungs.

“Deep breaths, Midoriya,” you chide playfully, reaching out to pat him on the back. “I know what you meant. Thank you for having so much faith in me.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, going right back to beaming at you. “Thanks again for doing this—the event and the file, I mean.”

You gather your discarded purse and jacket, carefully tucking the file into your bag. “Well, it’s not like I had much of a choice,” you joke as he leads you to the door. “What would you do without me?”

“Apparently, I’d die.”

Your laughter cuts off as soon as you reach the door, your expression sobering as you remember the phone call you received shortly before Izuku called you into his office. You didn’t have the chance to tell him before he was practically shoving a folder in your hands and babbling something about you needing to see Shouto immediately.

Izuku stops beside you. His expression turns to one of concern as he notices the look on your face.

“There’s one more thing,” you tell him, lowering your voice though it’s only the two of you in the room. “I received an answer from Endeavor’s assistant this morning.”

The statement is heavy and laced with more meaning than so few words could typically hold. You can’t keep the bitterness from creeping in as you say the former Hero’s name, but Izuku either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it.

Somehow, he manages to keep his voice light when he asks, “Oh? And what did he say?” Izuku’s gaze slides to the door and refuses to move. You can only imagine what might be running through his head.

“He’ll be making an appearance at the gala.” Absently, your fingers clench around the strap of your purse, knuckles turning white from the pressure. As soon as you realize what you’re doing, you sigh through your nose, forcing yourself to release your grip. “He may be retired now, but it matters a lot to the public that the former number one Pro Hero makes an appearance at things like this. Not everyone may like Endeavor, but most people do respect him. It’s exactly the show of support we need right now.” You turn to Izuku, and his gaze finally rises to meet yours again. “Similarly, All Might will be there as well, even though he retired almost a decade ago.” Your lips quirk upwards. “Though, I’m sure you’re already aware of that,” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

It works. Izuku is always an easy target to fluster. He sputters and makes a vague excuse while awkwardly waving his arms around like he isn’t sure what to do with them. You wait patiently until he’s done, used to this kind of outburst after so many years. When he’s finally calmed down, his eyes widen a little as he looks at you.

“Does Todoroki know?”

The question makes your stomach churn. “Not yet.” Your admission is soft as you rock back on your heels. “I just found out. Besides,” you look past Izuku to stare out the window again, “I thought it would be better to tell him in person.”

When Izuku doesn’t respond, you clear your throat. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He snaps out of his thoughts quickly. “Right!” Izuku reaches around you to open the door, holding it for you politely as you step into the lobby. Your eyes immediately drift to your desk, and you’re more than a little surprised to see a familiar, nervous face sitting behind it. When you stop, Izuku follows your gaze and smiles. “Oh! I’m sending Nakamura with you!” he explains as the hero in training waves at you awkwardly. “He’ll be heading back to UA after and I want to make sure you get to Todoroki’s agency okay!”

It’s a poor excuse if you’ve ever heard one, but you don’t have time to question it. Your eyes follow Izuku as he darts back into his office. He’s not fast enough to hide his ever widening smile though.

He’s up to something, you decide as you make your way to the flustered intern behind your desk. You don’t know what he’s up to, but you’re going to find out.

The train ride across the city was nothing short of awkward between you and Seiji. The poor intern didn’t seem to know what to say to you outside of a professional setting. He kept squirming in his seat and wringing his hands, glancing at you occasionally in a way that wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was being. Clearly there was something on his mind, but you weren’t about to ask. You figured if it was important enough, he’d come out and say it when he was ready.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to get some additional work done. Izuku may have kicked you out of the office, but you did still have a job to complete. The fundraiser wasn’t going to plan itself, and the date was rapidly approaching. You’d made good progress so far, but that didn’t mean you could start slacking.

It isn’t until the two of you are within a block from Shouto’s agency that Seiji finally perks up. There’s an additional bounce to his step that reminds you of an overexcited puppy, and it makes your lips twitch in amusement.

It’s only then that you realize he’s so much taller than you, gangly with long limbs that carry him faster than you can walk. He keeps getting ahead of you, only to freeze up when he realizes you aren’t there, quickly glancing around almost frantically until he spots you again. It’s absolutely adorable the way his eyes light up and he visibly relaxes.

“Hey, Hikai?” he asks once you catch up to him for what must be the fifth time. “What’s Shouto like? You seem like you know each other pretty well.” Those blue eyes of his are too wide with innocence, and you school your expression before you can flush once you remember what Seiji saw last week.

“You met him last week,” you remind the teenager, adjusting your grip on your purse and double checking that the file is still tucked into place. “What do you think he’s like?” There’s something disconcerting about discussing one of your friends that you’ve thought about fucking on multiple occassions with your boss’s new student intern.

Seiji’s eyebrows furrow as he thinks over your question. “He was nice,” he decides, glancing down at you. “Just… really quiet.”

A low hum of agreement escapes you. “Don’t take it personally. Sho isn’t much of a talker.” Especially in comparison to Izuku’s excited ramblings and Katsuki’s loud presence. “If you stay with Deku for a while, I’m sure he’ll warm up to you though.” You smile up at Seiji and pat him on the arm.

He flushes at the attention. And there’s no hiding the pride shining in his eyes at the insinuation that the Deku would take him on as a sidekick after graduation. To cover his embarrassment, he sputters out, “So, you’ve known them for a long time then? Shouto and Ground Zero?”

“Almost as long as Izuku. I met them through him. Deku has a way of adopting people.” You sigh. “Neither of them have changed much since UA.”

“I see,” Seiji murmurs as you reach the front doors to the agency. He politely holds the door for you as you step inside, a look of deep contemplation on his face. His head cocks to one side as he stares at you, eyes narrowed just a tick before they widen. “That must mean you’re pretty close.” There’s an unexpectedly sly tinge to the statement, like he’s hinting at something more.

Your breath catches at the statement. Seiji notices. “I suppose so,” you say before turning your attention to the receptionist in front of you.

After a short greeting, she lets you pass, recognizing you from previous visits. You’re told that Shouto just returned from a patrol and is already waiting for you in his office, and with a parting smile you and Seiji head for the elevator.

It’s only after the doors close behind you that you look at Seiji again, confusion clear on your face as you remember what Izuku told you earlier. “Shouldn’t you be heading back to the dorms by now? I don’t know how long this will take, and I don’t want you to have to wait for me. You should go enjoy your afternoon.”

“No!” Seiji protests a little too quickly, voice cracking. He shakes his head almost violently. You stare up at him in bewilderment as those big blue eyes meet yours seriously. “Deku told me to walk you to Shouto’s office,” he babbles, struggling for an excuse. “We aren’t in the office yet!”

“I—” You shake your head, decide it’s not worth questioning as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open. “Yeah, okay, sure.” If that’s what he wants to do, who are you to stop him?

An achingly familiar voice calls out your name as you and Seiji step into the top floor lobby. The smile that overtakes you in response is automatic once you see Shouto already waiting for you.

“Shouto.” You practically breathe his name, and it would be pathetic if there was anyone else around aside from Shouto, who’s, frankly, as dense as a brick at times, and Seiji, your boss’s dorky intern. Before you can do something stupid like staring at his toned forearms, you forcibly peel your eyes away from the sliver of skin at his throat left uncovered by his hero suit and look up at Seiji. “Can you make it to UA from here, Nakamura?” Your voice is higher than usual. “I don’t want you getting on the wrong train.”

Seiji smiles a little too wide. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Turning to Shouto again, you nod towards his office. “Should we…?” You could just as easily hand him the file and leave with Seiji, go back to work, return the dozen phone calls you still have to make, and check to see if everything is still going smoothly in your short absence, but you’re rooted in place under Shouto’s fond gaze. You’ve missed him more than you care to admit—Katsuki too—and now that he’s in front of you, you can’t just walk away.

More than that, there’s something you need to discuss. The thought makes your stomach flip anxiously.

Shouto seems to relax at your suggestion and gestures for you to follow him as he turns toward his office. You wave to Seiji over your shoulder and are vaguely aware of him taking a seat in one of the leather chairs situated in the lobby area.

You shut the door behind you.

“I believe this is yours,” you say as you pull the folder from your bag and hold it out for him.

Shouto gives you a small smile. “Thank you.”

“How’s the case going?” you ask, gesturing to the file you’ve handed over. The two of you easily slip into a familiar routine as Shouto settles himself behind his desk and you lean against the side of it before hoisting yourself up to sit on the glass surface. “I was a little surprised when you called in Izuku and Katsuki for help. The last time the three of you worked together like this was…”

“Operation Vermillion,” he finishes for you, thumbing through the stack of papers. “That was right after we opened our agencies. I remember you leading the briefing.” His blue-grey eyes flicker to yours, and his smile widens a fraction. “My old man tried to give you trouble, and you shut him down. I’d never seen him so shocked before.”

Humming, you start to smile as well. “He never did like me much.” It’s a perfect segway into what you need to discuss with him, though you wish it wasn’t.

You lean back on your hands, watching silently as he idly flips through the files from Izuku. That knot in your stomach tightens. Your gaze shifts to the aged burn scar covering his left eye. Just another reminder of Endeavor. It makes you sick to think about, and this is the last thing you want to talk about right now, but you know he deserves to hear it before Friday night. Even so, your tongue feels thick and heavy in your mouth.

Clearing your throat, you wait until he looks at you to speak. “I figured I should let you know that Endeavor will be at the charity gala.” Your gaze holds steady as you say it, gauging his reaction.

Predictably, Shouto stiffens. It’s slight. Anyone else probably wouldn’t notice it. Shouto’s always been good at burying his emotions and acting like he doesn’t care. But you can read him. And you’re close enough to hear him inhale sharper than normal. The tense line of his broad shoulders and the nearly imperceptible twitch of his fingers are your only warning before the temperature in the office drops drastically.

Goosebumps prickle across your bare arms, and you shiver reflexively. The ghost of your breath clouds the air as you exhale, but you don’t move from your spot on his desk even as frost begins to creep across the glass. It branches outward from his palm, slow and sluggish, and you wonder if he realizes he’s even using his quirk.

The ice stops just shy of your fingertips. A heavy sigh falls from his lips. Your eyes flicker back to his only to find him already staring at you apologetically.

“I expected as much,” he tells you, a bitter tinge to his voice. When Shouto smiles, it’s rueful and nothing short of sarcastic. “It would look bad in the eyes of the public for the former number one Hero not to be there.”

You hum your agreement, having said as much to Izuku earlier. The temperature begins to rise again, and the thin layer of frost on the desk melts and evaporates before it can make a mess. You watch him carefully as you pick at a spot of lint on your dress. “How have things been lately?” you ask casually. “Between you and him.”

Shouto is silent for a moment that seems to stretch on for hours, seemingly frozen behind his desk as he stares at his reflection in the glass. What he’s seeing there, you don’t know, but the torrent of emotions that flicker in his eyes makes your chest feel tight. It’s melancholy. Resignation. Bitterness. A dozen other things that come and disappear so quickly that you couldn’t put a name to them even if you tried.

An incessant need to pull him close buries itself inside you and takes root. You can feel it in your throat, choking you, urging you to move, but for now you ignore it.

“He’s… trying,” Shouto settles with. “But…” Those mismatched eyes hesitate before they meet yours, and you’re struck by just how exhausted he looks. Sighing, he stands and glances away from you, looking out the large window overlooking the city. “I don’t know,” he finishes bluntly, eyes finding you again. “It’s difficult. I understand that he’s trying, but I still…” he trails off again and shakes his head.

Shouto walks around the edge of his desk to stand in front of you, close enough that his leg brushes against your knee. His palms settle on either side of you, boxing you in, and heat creeps along your spine as you tilt your head to maintain eye contact with him.

Like last time, the scent of his cologne tickles at your senses. Automatically, you lean in closer, lulled by the heat rolling off of him in gentle waves. Shouto doesn’t pull away, and like always you’re pinned in place as those mesmerizing eyes stare down at you.

He wets his lips, and you unintentionally follow the movement with your eyes. “Izuku thinks I should forgive him,” Shouto tells you, voice lower than before. Deeper. His thumb brushes against your bare leg, just above your knee. It’s freezing to the touch and you swallow your gasp. “He says it would bring me peace.” The heat of his breath tickles your skin.

“Oh?” It takes more willpower than you thought to keep your voice even.

A low sound rumbles in the back of his throat. His thumb taps against your leg again, flirting with the hem of your skirt. Shouto’s eyes stay locked on yours. “Bakugou says I should tell him to shove it up his ass.” The faintest hint of a smile tugs at the edge of his mouth.

That doesn’t surprise you. Katsuki can be too blunt for his own good at times. He and Shouto are both like that. Clearly, you have a type, and it’s fogging your brain a little how close he is. A little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like Mina whispers how easy it would be to close that distance and pull him down to you, how good it would feel to have those hands of his sliding across your skin.

Now isn’t the time for that though.

“And what do you think?” you ask him in a voice barely above a whisper. His hand stills beside you, and the burning chill makes you shiver again. Surprise flickers in his eyes as he peers down at you through his bangs. “This isn’t about Izuku or Katsuki,” you remind him. “What do you want to do, Sho?”

Shouto inhales sharply as you move. Your fingers find his left hand, still pressed to the glass, and slowly your palm slides up his arm until you’re gripping his bicep just like the other day. An anchor. Like he did before, you allow your thumb to rub slow, soothing circles against the tense muscle beneath your fingertips. In response, his right hand shifts so that he’s gripping your thigh in his palm, long fingers wrapping around you and squeezing.

“I don’t think I’m ready to accept him,” he admits, voice just as soft as yours.

“And that’s okay,” you tell him, brushing his hair away from his eyes with your free hand. Gentle fingers ghost against his cheek and the curve of his jaw, and you allow your hand to linger there, tilting his chin to better meet his eyes. Shouto leans into you. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s not your job to forgive him.” When he looks like he wants to argue you squeeze his arm, pinning him with a harsh stare. “It doesn’t make you less of a Hero.”

That strikes a chord with him. Shouto’s eyes stay locked on yours, refusing to budge as he searches your gaze. For what, you don’t know, but you hope he finds it. His grip on your leg grows tighter, a little bit colder, and you think about the ice that covered his desk without him realizing it. But he’d never hurt you. You know that more than anything.

And then, quietly, “Okay.”

The tension slowly drains from his shoulders as the two of you stay like that. The soft pad of your thumb rubs against his cheek, and you absently stroke the high point of the bone just under his eye. Shouto leans into your hand, lips pressing against your palm in what isn’t quite a kiss, but something close. In response, you squeeze his upper arm before letting go. There’s a noise of protest bubbling in the back of his throat, but your hand reaching up to cradle the left side of his jaw silences him before it can slip out entirely.

With your finger you trace the edge of his scar, smooth with age and familiar under your gentle touch. You try not to think too hard about the way he’s looking at you or the heat of his breath on your forearm. Raw instinct begs you to do something—anything. To lean in. To draw him down to you. To sink your fingers into his hair and pull.

Instead you smile and hope he can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. “If you ever need to hide a body, you can call me,” you joke, because you aren’t sure what else to say. You just want to make him feel better.

Shouto’s chuckle is low and throaty and it sends a shock down your spine. “Oh? Is that so?” He shifts his weight to his other leg but is careful not to dislodge your hands from his face. And you can’t bring yourself to release him either.

Your thumb brushes against his scar again, and you say, “I know a guy.”

His head tilts to the side, and he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused. “You do remember what my occupation is, correct?”

You should stop holding him like this—intimately—but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you have the whole damn world in your hands, and how could you possibly let that go?

“Are you going to arrest me, Hero?”

Shouto shakes his head, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “You are so…” He sighs as he trails off, and you’re surprised when he releases your leg to wind his arm around you instead, pulling you into his chest. You go willingly. Tucking your head under his chin, your hands leave his face to wrap around him, returning the embrace. His heart beats loud beneath your ear, as strong and steady as his hands.

His lips find the crown of your head and his hand slides up your back so that he’s cupping the nape of your neck. “Thank you, love,” he murmurs against your hair, too quiet for you to hear.

You aren’t sure how long the two of you sit like that, but the next time you speak your lips brush against the cold buckle holding together the collar of his hero suit. “You don’t have to talk to him at the gala,” you remind him, returning to your initial conversation. The mention of Endeavor is sobering, and you hear him sigh above you. “And if he tries to talk to you, I can be your human shield.”

The offer makes him hum. “My human shield, huh? Will you have time for that on top of everything Izuku has you doing?” His thumb rubs against the back of your neck absentmindedly.

You shrug. “I can make time for one of my favorite Heroes,” you tease him, tightening your grip around his waist.

He stiffens. “I see,” Shouto murmurs. His fingers are still against the back of your neck, and you could swear you feel the heat of his hand begin to grow. “And what about Bakugou?” There’s an edge to his voice that you almost don’t notice, but when it registers, you pull your head from his chest with a small frown.

Jealousy. That’s what it is, you realize as your eyes seek out his.

Your traitor heart practically skips at the mere mention of the other hero. Right, Katsuki. That’s another thing you have to figure out. Not for the first time you think about Momo’s suggestion. This time, though, you don’t force it away just as quickly as it comes. A part of you is desperate to know if it would work between the three of you, if it’s worth the risk. Because you can’t keep holding Shouto like this if you won’t do something about it. It’s not fair to Shouto or Katsuki to keep dancing around things.

But then your thoughts go back to the gala, and your stomach drops when you remember how much you still have to do, how much pressure you’re under, and how important it is that this event goes as planned. No slip-ups. No disasters. And absolutely no messy relationship drama.

It just has to wait until after Friday night.

“What about him?” you ask, hoping your voice isn’t higher than usual.

His expression shifts, his brows furrowing as he looks down at you. “I thought—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. Your stomach drops as he starts to unwrap himself from your frame. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

You’re left overwhelmingly cold as he slips away, and you follow him without meaning to, sliding off the desk and landing back on your feet. “Shouto?”

He avoids your eyes as he reaches for the file sitting on his desk. “Thank you. For dropping this off.” Shouto hesitates before he looks at you again, swallowing thickly, but then his expression goes carefully blank. “You didn’t have to go out of your way.”

Your heels click against the tile as you take a step towards him. “What do you mean?” A frown forms on your lips, confusion sweeping through you at the turn in conversation.

Whatever was going through his head a moment ago seems to have disappeared. Shouto peers down at you with a puzzled look. “Midoriya was going to give this back to me tonight,” he explains. You nod, having already known that. “He called and told me you offered to drop it off on your way home. He said you have a half day.” Shouto’s expression softens. “That’s good. You’ve been working too hard.”

“Oh. Did he?” A half day. Amazing how Izuku neglected to mention that little detail to you earlier. It seems like you’re due to have a little chat with your boss. You glance at the door to see a familiar head of dark hair duck out of sight and your eyes narrow when you realize Seiji has been waiting here the entire time. So much for going back to the dorms. “Well, I should get going,” you say, gathering your things. “I don’t want to bother you.”

Besides, apparently it’s your day off.

He’s shaking his head before you’ve even finished, expression nothing but sincere. “You never do,” he says as he walks you to his office door. And then, softer, “I like when you stop by.”

Your chest tightens at the admission. “I’ll see you Friday,” you tell him as he opens the door for you. There’s so much more you want to tell him, but now just isn’t the right time.

Shouto’s palm presses against your lower back and you readily relax into his touch, glancing up at him. Heat sinks into your skin and radiates through you until you can feel it everywhere at once, all consuming. “Save me a dance?” he asks, his breath tickling your ear.

Smiling, you nod. “Of course.”

“I’m telling you, Ochako, Izuku is scheming something.” You glance at her from across the table, idly stirring your drink, and your eyes narrow when you notice she’s biting her lip to keep from laughing at your assertion. “This isn’t funny, I’m being serious!”

This time she does laugh. “This is Deku we’re talking about,” she reminds you, waving off your concerns as she picks at her food. “You really think he would do something like that?”

“If he thought it was the right thing to do, yes. He’s kind of nosy.”

You ended up calling Izuku directly after leaving Shouto’s office, only waiting until you saw Seiji racing around the corner to get to the train station and frantically texting on his phone to dial your boss. He picked up on the second ring, like he’d been waiting for your call. It wouldn’t surprise you if he was. You could barely get a word in before he was babbling something about you deserving the rest of the day off and to do something fun before you were abruptly hung up on, only furthering your suspicions.

Hence, you called Ochako. Though, you’re beginning to regret that decision.

“I don’t know,” she drawls, quirking a skeptical eyebrow. “You seem to think people are much more invested in your love life than they really are.”

You scowl. “Oh, don’t give me that bullshit when you and Mina interrogated me the other night.” Not invested in your love life, your ass. You were perfectly fine ignoring your feelings until they brought up a threesome. Now, it’s the only thing you can think about. “Besides, why else would Izuku have his intern spy on me while I was talking to Shouto today?”

“I seriously doubt he was spying on you.”

“Izuku told us two different stories about why I was dropping off that file. That’s not exactly subtle.” For a Pro Hero it was a pretty lame move, if you’re being honest. “And Nakamura sat outside Sho’s office for like fifteen minutes while we talked. And he insisted on walking me up to his office. That doesn’t seem odd to you?”

Ochako shrugs. “Maybe he has a crush on you?” The suggestion makes you blanche and she backtracks. “I just don’t think Izuku would actively try to spy on you and Todoroki. That’s a little weird, even for him.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you reply, propping your elbow up on the table and resting your chin in your palm.

“See?” Ochako reaches across the table to pat the back of your hand, offering you a sunny smile. “Besides, even if Deku was trying to spy on you guys, you know he’s only doing it because he cares about you guys. He’d never try to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“I know, I know. I just… I don’t get why, you know? According to you I’m incredibly obvious and Izuku already knows they like me, so I don’t understand why he’d go out of his way to make me see Shouto today unless—” Eyes wide, your gaze snaps to Ochako and you gasp, betrayed. “Did you tell him something about the other night?”

She almost chokes on her drink. “No!” she says just a little too loudly, drawing a few curious eyes their way. Ochako flushes and plays with her chopsticks as you continue to stare her down. “Maybe,” she relents, “but not on purpose! Like I told you the other night, Todoroki and Bakugou have been fighting because they’re jealous idiots, and Deku didn’t know what to do, and it just kind of slipped out, I’m sorry!” The apology in her eyes melts into a more curious look. “Anyway, have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

You sigh and shake your head, picking at your food. “Not yet.” Ochako makes a disgruntled sound, and you pout, glaring at her half-heartedly. “In case you don’t remember, I’ve been extremely busy planning a major event with little warning. I barely have time to eat, let alone seduce two men.”

Seducing just one of them seems like a daunting task. Katsuki is the more open flirt between the two of them, but he tends to clam up whenever you even hint at returning that affection, so actively trying anything could send him running. And Shouto can be difficult to pin down, if his open affection earlier today is anything to go by. He’s usually more reserved; the last thing you want is to scare him away.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d have much trouble trying to seduce them.” Across the table, Ochako’s smile becomes sly. “I mean, they’re both pretty blunt, right? So if you just went up and asked if they wanted to have sex they’d probably say yes. You’re just being a chicken!”

“I am not!” you argue, offended. “I just need this gala to be over before I worry about my love life. That’s all.” It’s been your mantra since girl’s night. Just a few more days. Everything will work out.

She snorts. “You keep saying that, but then you go and cuddle up with Todoroki in his office.”

“It wasn’t cuddling,” you correct her not for the first time today. “It was just a hug because we were talking about his dad.” A very long and intense hug that kind of made you want to let him have his way with you right then and there, but still a hug.

Ochako doesn’t look impressed. “Prolonged physical contact counts as cuddling.”

You throw down your chopsticks and cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. “Ugh, why did I call you?” You’re pouting, you know, but it’s hard not to when you can see her blatant amusement over your suffering. Why are all of your friends so mean to you?

She blows you a kiss. “You love me!”

Damn right you do.

Before she can keep heckling you over the complicated situation that is your love life, a familiar, gruff voice shouts, “Oi! Sweetcheeks!” from across the cafe. You stiffen in your seat as heat rushes through you, leaving you feeling uncomfortably hot. You blame it on the eyes that have shifted to look at you and not the disgustingly attractive Pro Hero stomping towards you.

You don’t dare to look at him as he approaches, sure you’ll turn into a stuttering fool if you do. “Katsuki, what have I told you about calling me that in public?” The correct answer is “not to.”

He scoffs, and you finally force yourself to look at him. He’s already glaring down at you. Why? You have no idea, but you match his look, holding his intense ruby gaze with a stare of your own. It’s a challenge. One he usually takes. But you’re surprised when he drops his gaze first and glares at the floor instead. “Whatever,” he grumbles, cheeks a little pink.

You’re a bit put out by the distinct lack of any flirty comments or obvious—according to Mina—bedroom eyes, but before you can ask what’s wrong, someone else cuts in.

“Oh, hey, guys!”

It’s only then that you realize Kirishima is there too, and you’re only a little embarrassed about that.

But Kiri, bless him, is either entirely oblivious to you not noticing his presence, or just decides to roll with it anyway. He really is too good for the rest of you. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, too!” His smile is wide and toothy as he rubs the back of his head, careful not to dislodge the bandana holding his hair back. “Midoriya suggested we stop by for lunch, what a coincidence, huh? I gotta say, it looks like a nice place. Hopefully we don’t get kicked out because of this guy.” He jerks a thumb in Katsuki’s direction, electing a sour look from the cranky man.

Your eyes widen as Kiri mentions Izuku, and you shoot Ochako a look that she ignores. Kirishima and Ochako begin to chat about the cafe, but you stop listening.

Okay, now you’re almost positive you’re being set up. The cafe isn’t anywhere near their agency, and it’s more than a little suspicious that they just happened to show up while you and Ochako are here. Coincidences, your ass. You should have known better than to trust Ochako. Of course, she and Izuku would be in cahoots. Assholes.

You glare at Ochako one more time before allowing yourself to stare unabashedly at Katsuki instead. He isn’t looking at any of you, instead choosing to glare at something across the cafe and pretend the rest of you don’t exist. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead using the rare moment to just look at him.

Katsuki is nothing short of eye-candy, though you never really get the chance to appreciate just how damn hot he is without the chance of being teased mercilessly in front of other people. Even now, you can see Ochako biting her lip to keep from laughing at you, but really who can blame you for just wanting to ogle him a little? Katsuki is by far one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen. Years of training and fighting have covered him in lean muscle, and his features have become sharper since you were teenagers.

He’s nothing short of someone’s wet dream, and he damn well knows it, too.

Your eyes drag down his bare biceps slowly, silently thanking whatever gods are out there for his aversion to anything with sleeves. You stare a little longer before your eyes trail back up, lingering a moment on those broad shoulders before moving higher.

Red eyes stare back at you, and you almost choke on your spit.

Katsuki’s eyes narrow.

Like the hero he is, Kiri chooses that exact moment to turn to you in excitement. “Hey, how has the event planning been going?” His interest is nothing but sincere, and you can’t help but smile. “It sucks that we missed you this weekend, but hopefully afterwards you’ll have more free time, yeah? It’s super manly of you to take on all of this by yourself!”

“It’s going well, Kiri. Thanks for—”

“I need to talk to you,” Katsuki cuts you off, scowling. He shoves his hands into his pockets, when you don’t move.

You blink back at him, baffled. “What?” He rolls his eyes at your confusion. “Katsuki, I’m kind of in the middle of—Katsuki!” You call after him, gaping as he just turns around and walks away from you, heading towards the back of the cafe.

“Hurry up, angel face!” he calls over his shoulder without stopping.

The pet name makes you flush. You glance at your friends, noticing their similarly dumbfounded yet amused expressions. “Ochako?” You aren’t sure if you should apologize or not as you cast another look at Katsuki just in time to see him round a corner.

She waves you off. “Take your time! Have fun!”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you slip out of your chair and hurry after Katsuki. If you take any longer, he’ll probably bitch about it. Though, you are curious about what he wants, especially if he decided it’s something he can’t say in front of Ochako and Kirishima.

A less than PG thought flashes in your mind, but you force it away just as quickly, fighting down a blush.

You turn the same corner that he did, finding yourself in a dim hallway that has you searching for your favorite head of spiky hair. A hand lashes out, grabbing you by the arm. You gasp as you’re suddenly spun around so that your back is pressed flush up against the nearest wall. Just as quickly, a large pair of hands slap against the wallpaper on either side of you, boxing you in.

A pair of red eyes glare down at you, closer than before. Your breath catches, and your hands press against a well-muscled chest automatically. There’s hardly any space left between the two of you, but Katsuki manages to close that short distance even more until your bodies are just barely brushing against each other. It sets your nerves on fire, all of your senses suddenly attune to him.

He speaks before you can ask him what the hell he’s doing. “Damn Deku said you went to see Icy Hot today,” he practically growls against your ear. His breath fans against your cheek and you shudder.

It takes you a second to collect yourself, overwhelmed by the feel of his chest rising and falling beneath your fingertips. “I dropped off a file with Shouto, yes,” your voice trembles a little, but not because of anything like fear. No, you’re just stupid and horny and he’s close enough for you to smell the heavy caramel scent that clings to him because of his quirk.

You were already more riled up than you’d ever dare to admit out loud, and the heat rolling off of his body paired with the way he’s pinning you between his broad chest and the wall is doing things to you.

Whatever you were expecting from him, it certainly wasn’t this.

He huffs. “Figures,” he sneers, lip curling back. His eyes shift from yours to glare at the wall, and without his gaze on you you find you can breathe again. It only makes you more aware of the knee that’s pressed against the outside of your thigh. “Bastard would do it first,” he grumbles under his breath. You wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t pressed up against you like this.

“Excuse me?” Your mouth is dry. Your tongue is thick and heavy. And the heat radiating from him is making you dizzy. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize that, just like Shouto earlier, he’s jealous. Though where it made Shouto pull away from you, it only made Katsuki bolder than usual.

“Ask you to be his date to this stupid fucking thing.” His eyes snap back to yours for just a second before they’re raking down your body just like the other day at the agency. He leans in a little closer. “Ask you to dance.”

How does he know about that? “Katsuki?”

When you don’t deny it, he makes a low sound in the back of his throat that has heat pooling low in your stomach. Your fingers fist in his tank top. Katsuki’s lips brush against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Guess, I’ll just have to remind you that I’m better than Icy Hot.”

As turned on as you are right now, the mention of their stupid rivalry makes you want to roll your eyes.

“Katsuki,” you say again. He’s so close that this time you notice the faintest hitch in his breathing at the way you say his name, sweet as honey. Despite the way your heart is pounding in your chest, you can’t resist the urge to tease him. “If you want me to save you a dance, all you have to do is ask.”

“Tch.” His lips brush against your jaw, barely grazing your skin. “Who’d wanna to dance with you anyway?” Katsuki is slow to lean back again, but only enough to meet your eyes.

You breathe a laugh. “You’re such a grouch.” Tilting your head to the side, you lean in close enough to press a sweet, fleeting kiss against his cheek. Katsuki freezes, sucking in a harsh breath. “I’ll see you Friday?” you ask, sliding your palms down his chest.

He lurches away just as your fingers reach his stomach, edging closer to his belt. “Whatever, sweetcheeks,” he huffs, not meeting your eyes.

Katsuki shoves away from the wall and stomps away without looking back at you once, but you still manage to catch a glimpse of his pink cheeks and the tiny smile he’s trying to hide as he disappears back into the main dining area. He’s flustered, and satisfaction floods through you at the mere thought of leaving him all hot and bothered.

Maybe Ochako was right. This seduction thing might be easier than you thought.

That night, Katsuki leans back in his chair, nursing a drink and only half-listening to Kirishima telling a story to Kaminari, Jirou, and Mina. He stopped paying attention after his first drink, annoyed at being the fifth wheel among his friends, but he only has himself to blame for it.

He was supposed to meet up with Midoriya and Todoroki tonight to go over a case—the same fucking one they went to talk about last week only for it to turn into an argument. That was his fault too, not that he’ll ever admit it. He shouldn’t have cancelled tonight either, but Icy Hot backed out first, and the last way he wanted to spend his night off was listening to fucking Deku give him relationship advice.

The memory of your lips on his cheek makes his skin itch, and he scowls over the rim of his drink as he thinks about that Icy Hot bastard asking you to save him a dance at the stupid party coming up.

The sound of his name draws him out of his stupor.

“Ugh, finally,” an intoxicated Mina slurs, cuddling up closer against Kirishima’s side. “It’s about time one of them made a move. I thought for sure she’d be the one to do it after what she said on girl’s night, but I’m proud of them for finally doing something about it. Usually Bakugou and Todoroki are more emotionally constipated than that.” Apparently, she doesn’t remember that one of said emotionally constipated men is sitting right across from her. Or maybe she doesn’t care. Mina tends to say whatever the hell she wants when she drinks. No filter at all. Mina heaves an over-dramatic sigh. “If those three would just fuck already.”

Katsuki chokes on his drink. Wild, red eyes lock on Mina across the table. “What the hell are you talkin’ about raccoon eyes?” he finally manages to sputter out.

Kirishima and Kaminari look equally as shocked, and Jirou’s face has gone pale, frozen in horror.

And Mina, with no filter or hesitation, looks Katsuki dead in the eyes and says, “Just how Yuna wants to fuck you and Todoroki.”

“Mina!” Jirou snaps, glaring at her furiously and shaking her head. A silent conversation passes between the girls and then Mina gasps, covering her mouth with her hands when her brain finally catches up with her mouth.

A very tipsy Kaminari glances down at his frazzled girlfriend before he blinks and turns to Mina instead. “Like… at the same time or…?” he trails off.

“Don’t answer that!” Jirou lurches forward and slaps a hand over Mina’s mouth as she starts to answer. Despite being unable to speak, the other girl nods behind Jirou’s hand, happily spilling her friend’s sexual fantasies.

Kaminari’s question is like a punch in the gut to Katsuki, but the wave of interest and arousal that crashes over him is unexpected.

Jirou groans and peels her hand away from Mina’s mouth. “Fuck, she’s gonna kill us later.” She shoots a withering glare at Katsuki. “Look, Bakugou, you can’t tease her about this, okay? She’s stressed enough about liking both of you dumb assholes, and if you make her feel bad for it, I’ll make sure Denki lights your ass up like a Christmas tree.”

“I will?” Kaminari asks. Jirou glares at him too. “I mean, yeah I will!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Katsuki grumbles, staring down at his drink. He’s never been shy about wanting to fuck you, and he’s known for years that Icy Hot wants to fuck you too, but he could never figure out which one of them you wanted to fuck. Apparently, it’s both of them.

He can work with that.

Katsuki waits until the conversation shifts to something else he’s not interested in to pull his phone out of his pocket and find a specific name in his recent texts. He keeps the message short and vague, glancing over it once before hitting send.

‘Yo, Icy Hot. We need to talk.'

#todoroki shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader x todoroki #todoroki x reader x bakugou #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #nbha #mha #fic: some like it hot

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leverage-ot3 · 5 years ago

Text

notable moments from The Nigerian Job

(PART ONE)

leverage 1.01

note: there are A LOT of scenes in this one, but they are all important in one way or another in terms of notability, character-building, etc

Dubenich: I’m sorry Mr. Ford, sorry, I know who you are I’ve, uh, excuse me. I’ve read all about you. I know for example that-that when you found that stolen Monet painting in Florence you probably saved your Insurance Company what 20-25 million dollars. Then there was that identity theft thing and you saved your insurance company I don’t even know how many millions of dollars but I just know that when you needed them… What happened to your family is the kind of thing--

Nate (slams glass down): You know that part of the conversation where I punch you in the neck nine or ten times? We’re coming up on that pretty quick.

- - - - -

Dubenich: I’m serious. Look, look at the people I’ve already hired. Do you recognize any of these names?

Nate (going through file): Uh, yeah, I’ve chased all of them at one time or anoth-- Parker? You have Parker?

Dubenich: Is there somebody better?

Nate: No, but Parker is insane.

Dubenich: Which is why I need you.

Nate (laughs): No. I’m not a thief. (closes file)

Dubenich: Thieves I got. What I need is one honest man to watch them.

- - - - -

Hardison: I’ve been doing this since high school, bro, I’m Captain Discipline.

[Flashback]

(New York City Hotel, Five Years Ago)

Manager: They came straight from the airport and up to their room.

Security: So you never actually saw any of them then.

Manager: No, but the credit card numbers checked out.

Security: Break it down!

(Doors open to reveal Hardison sitting on a couch drinking orange soda while three beautiful women dressed as Princess Leia fight with lightsabers)

Security: Does that look like Mick Jagger to you?

Hardison: This is not the room you’re looking for.

what a fucking GEEK oh my god

like, his flashback is so tame compared to the others???

like, his version of criminality is hanging out with cosplaying pretty girls and watching them fight with lightsabers, all under the guise of pretending to be mick jagger

- - - - -

Hardison (holding up an earpiece): It’s a bone-conduction earpiece mic, works off the vibrations in your jaw.

(Hardison tosses it to Eliot who holds it to his ear)

Hardison (whispering): You can hear everything.

Eliot: You’re not as useless as you look.

eliot being subtly impressed with hardison is my religion

- - - - -

Hardison: I don’t even know what you do.

[Flashback]

(3 Years Ago Eliot, wearing glasses and drinking from a mug of tea, enters a room full of men in Belgrade, Serbia)

Eliot: I’m here to collect the merchandise.

(Most of the men pull guns. Eliot takes a long sip of his drink. Outside, the windows flash with gunfire. Moans and the sound of a body falling fill the air. Inside, Eliot calmly takes another drink. One man sits at a table surrounded by bodies that litter the ground. He places a baseball card on the table. Eliot smiles)

am I the only one that wants to know the context of this???

- - - - -

(Parker drops down between Eliot and Hardison, hanging upside down from scaffolding)

Parker: Can I have one?

Hardison: You can have the whole box.

(Hardison holds the box of comms up for her. She takes one and pulls herself back up)

Eliot: What are you going to do when she finds out you live with your mom?

Hardison: Age of the geek, baby. We run the world.

Eliot: You keep telling yourself that.

(Parker puts the comm in her ear, smiling)

ot3 moments from day one baby

also eliot goes from ‘baby’ to ‘oh god, I’m baby’ in 0.0000005 seconds

- - - - -

[Flashback]

(19 Years Ago in Kansas City, a ten year old Parker stands in her living room watching her foster parents fight. The foster father turns to Parker, holding a stuffed bunny while the foster mother stands in the background, crying)

Bill: You thought I wouldn’t find this? You don’t get bunny until you do what I say. So be a good girl or, I don’t know, a better thief. (walks out of room)

Foster Mother: Bill!

(Parker walks outside and down the walk. Behind her, the house explodes. She hugs her bunny and smiles)

for the LONGEST time I thought she blew up the house with her foster parents until I saw that john rogers confirmed they weren’t home at the time

also this gives HEAVY insight as to how even the smallest part of Parker’s childhood was

abusive, emotionally manipulative, etc

- - - - -

(Parker adjusts her repelling gear, caressing it as if it were a lover)

Parker: Last time I used this rig, Paris, 2003

Nate: You talking about the Caravaggio? You stole that?

- - - - -

Eliot (examining earpiece): Is this thing safe?

Hardison: Yeah, it’s completely safe, it’s just, you know, you might experience nausea, weakness in your right side, stroke, strokiness.

Eliot (puts earpiece in): You’re precisely why I work alone.

shut up eliot you’re about to be so far gone for them it will be amazing

- - - - -

(Parker dives off the roof)

Parker: Yeehaaaa!!

(Eliot and Hardison run to the edge and watch her fall)

Eliot: That’s twenty pounds of crazy in a five pound bag.

what’s the opposite of foreshadowing? because I’m thinking about the long goodbye job and it’s reference to this (also the SIGNIFICANCE in that episode in how both hardison AND eliot repeat this line, finishing one another. because they both are on the same wavelength by that point, so in tune with one another and in constant awe of parker.)

- - - - -

parker just ??? drops the fucking glass ??? onto the sidewalk below ??? like ??? what if it hits someone ???

- - - - -

Nate: Okay, you got any chatter on their frequencies?

[Electrical Room]

Parker: No. Why?

[Unfinished Office]

(Nate checks records)

Nate: There’s eight listed on the duty roster, there’s only four at the guard post.

[Electrical Room]

Parker: I can’t even tell how many guys are in the room. How can you tell who’s who?

[Unfinished Office]

Nate: Haircuts Parker. Count the haircuts.

[Electrical Room]

Parker: I would have missed that.

[Unfinished Office]

Nate: What?

[Electrical Room]

Parker: Nothing.

mastermind father and daughter in episode ONE

- - - - -

we love to see eliot beat up four guys in the time it takes hardison’s bag to fall to the ground

- - - - -

Eliot (empties gun and smiles): That’s what I do.

(Hardison looks impressed. Behind him, the door clicks open. He and Eliot smile and enter the server room together)

the FLIRTING ENERGY in this scene

- - - - -

Eliot: Did you give them a virus?

Hardison: (chuckles) Dude, I gave them more than one virus.

hardison doesn’t half-ass, pass it on

- - - - -

Parker: Problem. Those guards you ganked?

[Electrical Room]

Parker (looking at monitor): They reset all the alarms on the roof and all the floors above us. We can’t go up.

[Hallway]

Eliot: Every man for himself then. (starts to move away)

Hardison: Go ahead I’m the one with the merchandise.

[Electrical Room]

Parker: Yeah, well I’m the one with an exit.

[Unfinished Office]

Nate: And I’m the one with a plan. Now I know you children don’t play well with others but I need you to hold it together for exactly seven more minutes. Now get to the elevator and head down. We’re going to the burn scam.

[Elevator]

(Eliot and Hardison enter an elevator and begin changing their clothes)

Hardison: Going to Plan B.

[Unfinished Office]

Nate (packing his things): Technically that would be Plan G.

[Elevator]

(elevator doors open and Parker runs in. She begins changing while the men look away)

Hardison: How many plans do we have? Is there like a Plan M?

[Unfinished Office]

Nate: Yeah, Hardison dies in Plan M.

[Elevator]

Eliot: I like Plan M.

there are SO MANY things about this scene I want to discuss but here are the top ones:

1- nate calling them out as children? amazing

2- eliot and hardison canonically changed in the elevator together BEFORE parker dropped in, but they weren’t necessarily looking away in a backs-turned way when she came in (when they were still getting finished getting dressed)

3- parker being completely nonchalant changing with two men in the elevator? she must not really care about being naked in front of other people (as seen later in what I think is the morning after job (?), for example)

4- the boys look away to be polite but there is definitely interest in BOTH of their faces

5- so this is what the burn scam entails

- - - - -

parker takes shotgun while the two boys are in the back. I need to see the scene of them awkwardly sitting together in the back. possibly bickering.

- - - - -

Nate: All right, all right. The money will be in all your accounts later today.

Hardison: Anybody else notice how hard we rocked last night?

Eliot: Yeah, well, one show only, no encores.

Parker: I already forgot your names.

Hardison: It was kind of cool, being on the same side.

Nate: No, we are not on the same side. I am not a thief.

Parker: You are now. Come on Nathan, tell the truth. Didn’t you have a little bit of fun playing the Black King instead of the White Knight, just this once?

(they all walk away in different directions)

smh you’re all 0.000005 seconds away from becoming a family

“no encores” my ass

+ I love how hardison is the FIRST one to (immediately) bring up how awesome they worked as a team

- - - - -

(Nate walks slowly down a toward a large room where voices are coming from)

Hardison (holding gun): You mind telling me what happened to the designs?

Eliot: What makes you think I know what happened? Stupid.

Hardison: Look, forget you man. You did it when we were coming down from the elevator.

Eliot: Yeah, that makes sense doesn’t it? You had the file every second.

Hardison: Hold up Kujo, I did my part, I transferred the files.

Eliot: You better get that gun out of my face...

Hardison: What did you do?

Eliot: …or else I’m gonna feed it to you.

Nate: Hey!

(the men turn, Hardison pointing the gun at Nate)

Eliot: Did you do it? You’re the only one that’s ever played both sides.

Nate: Yeah, you seem pretty relaxed for a guy with a gun pointed at him.

Eliot (looks at Hardison): Safety’s on.

Hardison: Like I’m gonna fall for that.

Nate: No, no, actually he’s right, the safety is on.

(Hardison looks at the gun and Nate grabs it)

Nate (to Eliot): You armed?

Eliot (shakes head): I don’t like guns.

(Eliot looks pointedly past Nate’s shoulder. Nate turns, pointing the gun at Parker who is holding a gun on him)

Parker: My money’s not in my account.

(She walks around Hardison, raising her gun as Nate lowers his)

Parker: That makes me cry inside in my special, angry place.

Nate: Okay, Parker. (slowly reaches out to lower Parker’s gun) Now did you come here to get paid?

Hardison: Hell no. Transfer of funds man. Global economy.

Eliot: It’s supposed to be a walk away. I’m never supposed to see you again.

eliot could have IMMEDIATELY taken the gun away but it made hardison feel safe so he was humoring him

and how easily nate took the gun away? interesting, for a former insurance agent

“you armed?” “no, I don’t like guns” eliot sweetie I love you

also parker’s entrance tho

- - - - -

Nate: Then the only reason you guys are here is because you didn’t get paid. And you’re pissed off. (laughs) As a matter of fact the only way to get us all in the same place at the same time is to tell us that we’re not. Getting. Paid.

(a look of realization goes through the group and they all start to run. Nate opens a garage door and directs them out. Hardison trips on the stairs and Eliot pulls him to his feet)

Nate: Come on, come on, get up. Let’s go, hustle. Go.

(the others exit and Nate looks back to see a ball of fire headed toward him)

eliot: I hate you all, I work alone, I don’t care about any of you

eliot 0.000005 seconds later: hauling hardison off the ground so he doesn’t die in an exploding building because ‘I guess he’s by boyfriend now’

- - - - -

Nate: Have we been processed?

(Eliot waves ink covered finger tips at him)

Eliot: They faxed our prints to the State Police.

[Hospital Room B]

Hardison: Yo, if the staties run us man, we’re screwed.

Parker: How long?

Hardison: Thirty, thirty-five minutes depending on the software

- - - - -

Nate: Parker! Get me a phone. What we’re going to do is, we’re going to get out of here together.

Eliot: This was a onetime deal.

Nate: Look guys, here’s your problem. You all know what you can do, I know what all you can do, so that gives me the edge, gives me the plan.

[Hospital Room B]

Parker: I don’t trust these guys.

[Hospital Room A]

Nate: Do you trust me?

Eliot: Of course. You’re an honest man.

Nate: Parker, Phone.

[Hospital Room B]

Parker: This is gonna suck.

(she sticks her fingers down her throat and bends over)

Hardison: Oh. Hell no

the amount of times eliot brings up that it was supposed to be a one-time thing is HILARIOUS considering just how fast he imprints on them lmfao

also how they all immediately trust him, I’m soft

- - - - -

(Parker nods compliantly. The doctor and nurse leave the room. Officer checks her handcuffs then leaves. Parker and Hardison hold up the phones they stole. After a quick glance, they switch phones. Parker holds up the keys she stole and tosses them to Hardison before standing up and talking to the vent into the next room)

domestic pardison

- - - - -

(Hardison leads Eliot to a police cruiser that Nate and Parker are already inside of. As Hardison guides Eliot into the backseat he hits Eliot head on the top of the door frame. Eliot turns and growls at Hardison)

Hardison: Walk it off. Walk… get inside. Get inside.

(Eliot gets in the car)

I love chaotic (pre)boyfriends

- - - - -

Eliot: I’m gonna beat Dubenich so bad that even the people who look like him are gonna bleed.

Parker: You won’t get within 100 yards. He knows your face. He knows all our faces.

Eliot: He tried to kill us.

Parker: More importantly he didn’t pay us.

Eliot: How is that more important?

Parker: I take that personally.

Eliot: There’s something wrong with you.

okay to be fair eliot at least is open to and listens to parker’s reasoning before concluding she’s crazy

- - - - -

Eliot: What’s in it for me?

Nate: Payback, and if it goes right a lot of money.

Parker: What’s in it for me?

Nate: A lot of money, and if it goes right, payback. Hardison?

Hardison: I was just gonna send a thousand porno magazines to his office, but, hell yeah man, let’s kick him up.

these characterizations are so on point

- - - - -

SOPHIE’S INTRO LMFAO

+ how everyone else is horrified but nate just looks entranced

- - - - -

[Flashback]

(In Paris seven years ago, Sophie is cutting a painting out of a frame with several empty frames nearby. The door burst open and Nate enters with a gun in hand)

Nate: Freeze.

(Sophie grabs her gun and shoots Nate in the shoulder. He responds by shooting her in the back. They both clench at their wounds)

Sophie: You wanker!

so are we, as a fandom, EVER going to talk about this scene ???

- - - - -

(so apparently there’s a 250 text block limit for posts on tumblr so I guess I have to make more than one post for this now. the following part will be reblogged on this post immediately after. reblog that version instead please lol)

#leverage #notable moments #leverage season 1 #season 1 #leverage 1.01 #leverage 1x01 #the nigerian job #mine

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raiseyourcups · 4 years ago

Text

Cabur

Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC (Aili Verdella) Warnings: a lot of cursing (like up the rating to R movie because it’s a lot of cursing in this chapter and the next), Aili threatening people (what else is new), Unresolved (Sexual) Tension Word Count: 3.3k Also on AO3

Masterlist

Summary: The crew goes over the plan, Mando and Aili discover it's more than they signed up for but they don't have any other choice than to go through with it. Mayfeld still thinks Aili looks familiar and Zero brags about his piloting and later proves that he's not above being an asshole even for a droid.

Mando was tense as he watched the droid in the cockpit, barely paying attention as Mayfeld went over the plan. Aili sighed as she paid enough attention for the both of them knowing Mando wouldn’t catch half of it if he was more worried about a droid.

“So, the package is being moved on a fortified transport ship,” Mayfeld started, bringing up a holo of the transport ship. Aili narrowed her eyes at the sight of it, her head tilting in thought. “Now, we got a limited time to board, find our friend, get him outta there before they make their jump.”

Aili let out a sound of surprise before clearing her throat and pointing at the holo. “Is that a New Republic prison ship?”

“Is that gonna be a problem, princess?” Mayfeld asked, unsure about the short woman who he still thought looked familiar. He was going to figure it out by the time they made it to the prison ship though. He didn’t like unknowns on jobs he was running.

“No, but call me princess again and there will be.”

“Your man wasn’t taken by a rival syndicate,” Mando interrupted before either of them could say anything else. “He was arrested.”

“So what?” Mayfeld questioned, leaning against the table towards Mando.

“A job is a job,” Ran said, looking over at Mando with a look that was almost daring him to disagree with him.

“That’s a max security transport, we’re not looking for that kind of heat.” Aili stated, sparing a glance at Mando before looking back over at the holo. At least she wasn’t looking for that kind of heat.

“We? You’re bringing your girlfriend along?” Mayfeld asked, raising his brow in shock. He didn’t want to keep some random woman safe during a job because her Mando boyfriend didn’t trust her to be alone on the space station.

“Not his girlfriend,” Aili stated, her right hand clenching into a fist as her eyebrow twitched.

“Sorry, I meant bed warmer.”

This time Mando didn’t stop Aili from moving. He simply watched as she decked Mayfeld across the face who fell backwards and onto his ass from the force of her punch. “The next person who calls me a fuckin’ loth-cat or implies that I’m fucking Mando, I will shove a knife so far up your ass you’ll have to pull it out from your throat.”

“I guess we got a team of six then,” Ran spoke, not even fazed by Mayfeld pushing himself back up from the floor while Aili walked back over to Mando’s side. “And we’re not looking for heat either so just don’t mess up.”

“The good news is that the ship is manned by droids. Still hate the machines, Mando?” Xi’an asked, leaning in too close for Aili’s comfort and pointing at Zero with the knife she had yet to put away.

“Despite recent modifications, the ship is still quite a mess,” Zero said as he walked down the gangway. “The power lines are leaking, the navigation is intermittent, and the hyperdrive is only operating at 67.3% efficiency. We have much better ships, why are we using this one?”

“‘Cause the Razor Crest is off both the old Imperial and New Republic grid. It’s a ghost ship,” Ran answered with a shrug.

“And we need a ship that can get close enough to jam New Republic code. So when we drop out of hyperspace here,” Mayfeld pointed to a spot on the holo, one hand rubbing at his jaw where Aili had punched him. “And then immediately bank into this kinda attitude, we should be right in their blindspot which will give us just enough time for your ship to scramble our signal.”

“That’s not possible. Even for the Crest,” Mando stated, he wouldn’t be able to pull off that kind of maneuver.

“Actually, Mando...it is,” Aili said as she winced knowing that he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. She still remembered how he had reacted to the pit droids on Tatooine and she figured the need for a job was the only thing keeping him from shooting Zero.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is if he’s flying,” Aili said, nodding her head towards Zero.

“She’s right, he’s going to be flying.” Ran said, a little impressed that Aili had picked up on that part of the plan so quickly. Mayfeld burst out laughing when Mando tensed up and turned to stare at Zero. The rest of the crew was still laughing as they walked onto the ship and Aili let out an annoyed huff of breath, likening them to children again.

“Mando, I know you’re a pretty good pilot but we need you on the trigger not on the wheel,” Ran explained.

Mando turned to look down at Aili who immediately shook her head. “I can’t pilot the ship like that, the droid will be better than either of us.”

“She is correct. My response time is quicker than organics and I’m smarter too,” Zero said, tapping the side of his head.

“Okay, yeah, all right,” Ran said, patting Zero on his shoulder to get him to go to the ship before turning back to Mando. “Forgive the programming, he’s a little rough around the edges. But he is the best.”

“How can you trust it?” Mando questioned, pointing to where the droid had gone. Aili took note of the way that he was standing, shoulders tense and she figured it wasn’t just because of the droid.

“You know you me, Mando. I don’t trust anybody,” Ran chuckled before motioning for them to get to it. Mando and Aili walked up the gangway, Aili in front to get away from Ran quicker.

“Just like the good, old days, huh Mando?”

Mando hit the button to close the gangway without replying, still annoyed that a droid was going to be piloting his ship. Even more annoyed that they were heading for a New Republic prison ship. He waited until the door was closed all the way to turn to Aili and gently grab her wrist before she could walk further into the Crest. “Is this going to be a problem?” Mando asked quietly.

Aili glanced down at the hand on her wrist before looking back up at Mando. “What? Working with your ex who seems to think we do have something going on and has been threatening to gut me with her eyes?” Aili shrugged her shoulder. “No problem with me.”

“You know what I meant.” Mando said, trying to make sure that Aili knew he wasn’t joking right now. They were heading for a New Republic prison ship and she was technically ex-Imperial just like Mayfeld. But Mando didn’t care about what happened to Mayfeld if the job went south.

“I know what you meant but it’ll be fine.”

“You can still decide to stay on the ship.”

“And leave you with your ex who would just as soon gut you as fuck you? Or the Devaronian who’s been sizing you up? Or the ex-Imp who really doesn’t like you? Pass.” AIli pulled her wrist out of Mando’s grasp and headed for where everyone else was waiting. Mando watched as she left before sighing and heading for the cockpit to watch the droid.

Aili walked past everyone, leaning against the wall by the hatch where the cot was. Burg was pacing around like he couldn’t stop for a single second or he would die. Xi’an was balancing her knife on a fingertip while Mayfeld was showing her something on a datapad. She didn’t know what they were reading but Mayfeld looked up at her as she went past him with a look on his face that she wasn’t sure she liked.

“Will you sit down?” Xi’an said harshly when Burg passed in front of her again, leading the Devaronian to reach up and bang against the ceiling. Xi’an responded with a snarl, showing her teeth and making Burg laugh. Aili rolled her eyes from her spot and waited for them to go into hyperspace. She didn’t have to wait long, feeling the slight jolt that always went through the Crest when they made the jump.

Burg went over to the control panel beside the ladder. Aili felt herself go tense until she saw the weapons locker open. She had to shift over a bit to avoid being hit by a panel but other than that, the weapons now had Burg’s attention. She didn’t care as much as Mando probably would because any attention on anything other than the cot behind her was low on her priority list.

Just like he knew she was thinking of him, Mando dropped down from the ladder and turned just in time to see Burg going through his weapons. He wasted no time hitting the button on his vambrace that would close it back up, looking over at Aili who simply shrugged her shoulders as she moved back over, no longer covering the control panel of the hatch. A stupid mistake on her part.

Burg hit the weapons locker once, turning to face Mando in annoyance before trying to mess with the hatch panel by Aili. She blocked his hand at the same time as Mando and Burg didn’t seem to like that. He crowded up against Mando, forcing Aili further against the wall as well.

“If you don’t sit the kriff down now, I will make you sit down,” Aili growled, glaring up at Burg and uncaring that he was even bigger than Mando. It might take her a bit longer but she had taken down bigger targets. The only real challenges being the tight space and that she didn’t know how he fought.

“Alright, alright. Everyone calm down, I’m a little particular about my personal space too,” Mayfeld said in a sorry attempt to break up a fight. “Let’s just focus on the job. We get in, get out, and you two never have to see our faces again.”

“Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian or his tiny-”

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.” Aili threatened even as Mando put a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. There wasn’t enough room for anyone to fight even someone as small as Aili. The Devaronian was taking up all of the space with his large, imposing figure and had them both all but cornered.

“Apparently Mandos are the greatest warriors in the galaxy. So they say. And I guess that extends to the company they keep,” Mayfeld explained, a smirk on his face. Aili really didn’t like the look Mayfeld gave her now, like he knew who she was.

“Then why are they all dead?” Burg asked, finally moving away from the two of them to lean against the ladder. Everyone other than Aili and Mando started laughing at Burg’s comment. Aili clenched her hands into fists and planted her feet firmly on the ground because she was close to snapping.

“You flew with him, Xi’an. Is he as good as they say?” Mayfeld questioned, finally turning away from Mando and Aili.

“Ask him about the job on Alzoc III,” she replied, glancing over at Mando from the corner of her eyes before focusing on her knife again.

Mando tensed up, the hand he still had on Aili’s shoulder tightening for a fraction of a second. “I did what I had to.”

Xi’an chuckled, finally dropping the knife balancing on her fingertip. “Oh but you liked it. See, I know who you really are.”

“He never takes off the helmet?” Mayfeld asked, trying to work out the logistics of a lot of things at once.

“This is the Way,” Xi’an mocked, holding the hand with her knife to her chest. Aili looked over at the Twi’lek for a split second, knowing exactly where she wanted to stick that knife.

“Huh. I wonder what you look like under there. Maybe he’s a Gungan.” Mayfeld joked. “Is that why yousa don’t wanna show your face?”

They all laughed again and Aili felt her one eyebrow twitch, something that only happened when she was mad. She slowly shrugged Mando’s hand off her shoulder, still standing about as rigidly as he was. She just didn’t have the luxury of having her face hidden from everyone’s view so she tried to keep it blank.

“You ever seen his face?” Mayfeld asked Xi’an again.

“A lady never tells,” Xi’an gasped out, messing with one of her lekku now as she grinned over at Mando.

“I don’t see any ladies here, do you?” Aili finally spoke. She smirked at the snarl she got from Xi’an before raising a single eyebrow in a dare.

“Aw, come on you two. We all gotta trust each other here. You gotta show us something.”

Aili saw Burg stand back up to his full height and look over at Mando while Mayfeld kept egging him on. She quickly calculated exactly how to take Burg down in the small space available even as Mayfeld kept talking.

“Come on, lift the helmet up. Let us see your eyes.”

“I’ll do it.” Burg didn’t even make it half a step forward when AIli shoved Mando towards where Mayfeld was. She hooked an arm around Burg’s, pulling it down towards her body before punching him twice in the face, then she brought her other hand up to his shoulder to use his own body as leverage to lift herself up. She wrapped her legs around his neck and used the momentum to spin them and flip him onto the floor. She stood up again and flipped her hair back over her shoulder.

“Anyone else wanna try something stupid?” Aili asked, sidestepping over a groaning Burg. Both Mayfeld and Xi’an stared in shock while Mando stood from where he had stumbled to from Aili’s shove. Burg growled as he got up from the floor, one hand hitting the control panel to the hatch in his attempt to stand up. He still ended up falling into the vac tube.

“Kriff,” Aili hissed out when the hatch opened to reveal Little Green sitting there wide awake.

“Whoa, what is that?” Mayfeld asked in surprise, getting up from his seat to walk over to the hatch. “You get lonely up here, buddy? Wait a minute, did one of you two make that with him? What is it, like a pet or somethin’?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” Mando said stiffly.

“Didn’t take you for the type. Maybe that code of your has made you soft, or maybe she did.” Xi’an said, leaning in towards Mando before pointing her knife towards Aili for a quick second. Neither Mando or Aili said anything, both of their attention on Mayfeld who was now leaning in closer to the Child.

“Me? I was never really into pets. Didn’t have the temperament or patience, you know?” Mayfeld said, before looking back down at the kid. “But I’m thinking maybe I’ll try again with this little fella.”

Aili took in a breath while Mando drew his shoulders up as Mayfeld picked up the Child. She felt her stomach tense while Mando took half a step forward when Mayfeld pretended to drop him but other than that, she tried to keep her face as blank as Mando’s helmet. Mayfeld and Xi’an both chuckled at the two of them and Mayfeld went to say something when Zero’s voice came over the ship comms.

“Dropping out of hyperspace now.”

That was all the warning any of you got before the ride got more than a little bumpy. It was never that rough of a jump and Aili wondered just what that droid was doing up there. She wrapped one palm around a ladder rung while the other reached out to grab Mando’s shoulder, her hand clutching at the cape above his pauldron. He was slightly steadier on his feet than she was right now making him the ideal option for her to stay on her own feet.

“Commencing final approach, now.” Zero’s voice continued. “Cloaking signal, now.”

The Crest suddenly pulled into a spiral and everyone went flying towards the floor, Mayfeld dropping Little Green who let out a squeal before he hit the floor. Both Aili and Mando immediately dropped down to the floor to cover him from rolling anywhere else. Aili got there first and pulled him into her arms. She turned to lay on her back while Mando all but straddled her, his arms placed on either side of her head and his legs caging her in so she didn’t go rolling around herself.

“Engaging coupling now.”

“Shoot that droid once we’re out of here,” Aili said, looking up at Mando’s t-visor before having to look away. This was the closest she and Mando had been, even when they were back on Sorgan where they shared a single hut they had still never been this close to each other. She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t even look at the Mandalorian right now but she tried to put all her focus on keeping Little Green safe right now.

She felt the ship finally land and let out a quiet sigh of relief. Once they were steady, Mando got up and held a hand out for Aili to take. She took it and let him lift her and Little Green up from the floor. They went back over to the hatch where Aili put him down, looking over him to make sure that he hadn’t been hurt when Mayfeld dropped him.

“Coupling confirmed. We are down.” Zero’s voice came again. “And relax. Commence extraction now.”

“Useless droid, didn’t even give a proper countdown,” Xi’an snarled, still on the floor. Burg lifted two crates, tossing them aside while Mayfeld pulled out his comm.

“Z, you’re sure they can’t see us?”

Mando tapped AIli on the shoulder, pointing to his helmet when she looked up at him, and then pointed to the Child followed by a thumbs up. She finally relaxed a little, stopping her fussing over Little Green. She leaned in close to him while Mayfeld kept talking to the droid. “We’ll be right back, please stay here until we get you.”

Little Green let out a coo before scooting further back into the cot and watching as Aili moved away. Mando shut the hatch and they both turned to look at Mayfeld just in time to hear Zero’s reply.

“The Razor Crest is scrambling our signature and I am inside the prison system. It’s impressive that this gunship had survived the Empire without being impounded.”

“All right, we got a job to do. Mando, you’re up.”

Mando moved forward to open the floor hatch of the Crest, Aili kneeling beside him just in case he screwed something up. Not that there were many ways to do so in this case. It was a simple plug in and wait game. Neither she nor Mando saw the looks being exchanged by the rest of the crew as they waited for the light to turn green.

The hatch opened and Mando disconnected the cable, him and Aili standing afterwards. Everyone looked to Mayfeld who looked back with a stupid look on his face leaving Aili even more unimpressed. Mayfeld pointed at himself, “It’s me?”

“Always you,” Burg said. Mayfeld dropped down into the ship, followed by Xi’an and then Burg leaving Mando and Aili onboard.

“Last chance,” Mando said, tilting his helmet towards the hatch where the Child was. Aili shook her head, a smirk on her face now.

“Not gonna work,” she replied with a wink before dropping down onto the prison ship, Mando following after one last glance towards the hatch himself. Now they just had to get through a whole prison manned by droids that would shoot first and ask questions never.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x original character #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc

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chibinekochan · 4 years ago

Text

Business proposal ft. Victor (Mr. Love) x Fem. reader

aka Love and Producer aka Mr Love: Queen's Choice, aka Koi to Producer: EVOL×LOVE

*I don't know which of these names the fandom uses*

Written for my very lovely friend. *You know who you are.*

Reader isn't the canon Mc.

Fem. Reader x Victor

words 4.3k

*under the read more due to length*

After a long time you finally meet your very busy friend.

You are very happy about your meeting but still manage to be about 5 minutes late.

You meet in a coffeehouse. It's not super busy so you spot her right away.

She looks tired but as soon as she sees you a bright smile graces her face.

You wave at her and make your way over to her.

"Sorry, I made you wait." You apologize with a guilty smile.

"Don't worry about it. I arrived early anyway." She smiles at you. "By the way, I already ordered for you. They had your favorite cake." She easily forgives you.

Her kindness almost makes you cry.

"That's so sweet of you. You didn't have to do this." You sit down across from you.

"Don't worry about it. I rarely get to spoil you." She smiles in a truly kind way.

"You are too good to me." You bow lightly and give her a big smile.

The food and drinks arrive and your eyes begin to sparkle upon seeing the delicious food in front of you. You have to keep your drool under control.

She also looks pleased with her choice and you both eat without hesitation.

Soon your plates are empty. "This was so good." You sigh pleased but also think of the amount of calories you have just eaten.

"Yeah, I'm glad we finally got to do this. I have been way too busy lately but you know how my boss is with these quarterly reports. I swear he only has this business for them." She sighs, slightly exhausted.

"Is he really that bad?" You've heard stories about him before but it's still hard to wrap your head around it.

"You have no idea. The other day someone had a typo on page 210 and they had to rewrite the whole thing. I warned them too." She shakes her head at the memory. "They ended up crying and then ran away. This is the 6th time that happened. I really want a reliable assistant. It makes me cry." She looks very exhausted.

"Is this why you look so tired?" You feel bad for her.

"Yeah, now I not only have to do their workload but I also have to hire a replacement." She sounds seriously fed up.

"You know that I am still looking for an internship right? I surely could help you out." This would be such a great opportunity for you.

"I really appreciate it but it would be like feeding you to a lion." She just wants to protect you.

"I know he sounds scary but I could really use the job." You look at your friend with big puppy eyes.

"I guess I can't win against you." She smiles softly at you. I'm not against it from a professional standpoint. I just have to warn you that he will never forgive any mistakes and you can never show him fear. Just pretend that he is a wild animal and it will be fine." She tries to warn you and you wonder what kind of man her boss truly is.

Your friend described him as a vicious animal but also very good looking.

You wonder how he really is.

"Alright I will do my best. How can I make a good first impression with him?" You really want this job and you know that you can rely on your friend to have your back.

"Well first of you have to look very professional and then you have to look him in the eyes, no matter how scary it seems. Victor doesn't like mistakes but he also always leaves room for improvement. If you work hard to fix your mistakes he will approve of it." Your friend lists off a list of good advice.

You feel like taking notes.

" Alright. I hope I have something that I can wear." Think of the clothes that are in your shack.

Your friend thinks for a moment." The best you can wear is a blouse with stripes. He seems to like them." She smiles.

"Thank you so much for the recommendation and the chance. I swear I will make you proud." You pump yourself up.

"I didn't do much." Your friend gets a business card from her bag. She writes something on the back. "Here I wrote the time and room on the back. Just come about a half hour before the time, go to the front counter and tell them why you are there. They will let you in and then me and my boss Victor will interview you." She calmly explains the process to you.

This gives you some reassurance but your heart still beats like crazy. You take the card and carefully place it into your wallet.

You talk for a while longer with her and then head back home and prepare your outfit for the next day.

You can barely sleep tonight.

The next morning arrives.

You made sure to set the alert very early.

After doing your usual morning routine you carefully dress and make sure that you look the best way possible.

You motivate yourself once again and make your way to LFG.

Your heart pounds like crazy. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down.

Then you enter the building.

It's a very impressive entrance. Nervously you look around and find the counter.

With shaky legs you make your way in front of the Lady sitting there.

She quickly checks your credentials and gives you a visitor's pass.

You nervously put it around your neck and then you go through the security check. You truly feel like you are in a movie.

You walk until you reach the elevator door.

Suddenly you hear some commotion behind you. Curious, you look and then see a black haired male entering the building.

Everyone around you seems to be in awe and bows deeply.

The man does seem a bit intimidating with his large stature and menacing stare. You freeze like a deer in the headlight.

You can't help but stare at him. He comes closer and closer, walking at a fast pace through the entrance hall.

His steps are large and you have no time to collect your thoughts before he stands just in front of you.

He leaves you feeling like a rabbit that looks at a wolf or maybe a lion.

His aura is truly that of a king.

He looks at you with a cold gaze. "Not going to ride it?" His cold tone makes you shiver.

"What do you mean?" Your voice falters and your brain has frozen over.

"The elevator. Are you going to ride it?" With an inpatient tone he repeats his question.

"Yeah, I need to ride it… I mean I can wait for a bit if you want to ride alone…" You somehow feel like you offended him.

"There is no need for that. It's big enough." He says nonchalantly and steps into the elevator.

You can't help yourself but go after him. He is even taller now where he is so close to you.

You can even smell his cologne. It makes you a bit dizzy, or maybe it's his aura.

The elevator door closes behind you.

He stands right next to you, in front of the panel.

"What floor?" He looks coldly at you, making you shrink even more.

"Ummm." Nervously you look at your card. It falls right out of your hand.

You bend down to grab it, feeling slightly mortified.

The man is faster and grabs it. He takes a look at the card and then looks at you. "Hmm…" His expression seems to shift from indifference to something else. You aren't sure what it is.

He then presses a button on the panel and your ride starts.

The elevator is riding surprisingly smoothly and you can't bring yourself to utter another word.

The elevator door opens and it is your floor.

He steps out in front of you, like it's only natural for him to go first.

You follow after him, like a small puppy.

You are only relieved when you spot your friend. She is in her business attire and wears a business smile.

You almost wave at her, until you remember the tall man in front of you.

You really wonder who he is anyways.

"Sir, you are just in time. Please make haste and enter the conference room." Your friend faces the dark haired stranger. She doesn't seem scared but it's clear that he must be a higher up.

You just quietly stand behind the tall man, too scared to even breathe.

"I assume the interviewee has just arrived as well?" He glances at you.

Your heart beats very fast once again. It's unclear to you if it's from his good looks or the sudden attention.

"Yes sir. It's the girl I told you about yesterday. Shall we head to the conference room?" She smiles politely.

The tall man looks at you again, he is clearly gauging you. You wonder if you look like a tasty treat to him.

"There is no need for that. I have already decided." He speaks in a cold, matter-of-fact way.

You start to sweat. Have you messed up already somehow?

"Sir, please don't just judge people before you even talk to them. You know it's very hard to find good workers and I assure you…" Your friend is clearly frustrated.

He cuts her off with a hand wave. "What I meant to say is that I'm okay with hiring this one. She looks good on paper and I think it will work out. She hasn't fled after seeing me so I take that as a good sign. Now if there is nothing else I will go back to my office. There are reports to read." Without waiting for a response he already turns to leave.

You look at your friend in confusion.

She sighs." Alright then. Congratulations, you have the job. Normally I would complain but well there is a flood of papers on my desk and I'm glad that he likes you." She seems to be used to this behavior.

You still feel utterly confused. "What was that?"

"That my dear was the Ceo Victor and your new boss. I mean technically I'm your boss but he really is the boss." Your friend smiles in a slightly fed up manor.

You suddenly feel a strong sense of empathy for her.

Now all the stories you hear make sense.

"So that was Victor?" You are still baffled. You look in the corridor and then at your friend.

"Yeah I guess you passed your first test. It's known as the 'Lionsdentest' by the workers. If you don't run away on your first encounter you have passed." She giggles lightly and pats you on the shoulder.

Well at least you have a job now.

Maybe you are able to survive here after all.

Some weeks pass where you get used to your job. It's not easy but you work very hard and get along well with everyone.

Then one morning you get a call from your friend. Just before you need to leave.

"I'm so sorry to throw this upon you but I have caught a cold and have a high fever. I'm burning up. Victor already knows all about this but the thing is that he really needs papers from me. They are on my desk. Usually Victor would take them out himself but he is still on his plane and he needs them as soon as he lands. You need to bring them to him. So I beg you to go to my office and get him what he needs." Your friend sounds awful on the phone. You feel very bad for her.

"Of course, I will do it. Leave it to me!" You tell her full of confidence.

"Thank you so much I won't forget this." Your friend sighs with relief.

You quickly make your way to the office and find the requested papers. You thank your lucky stars.

A cab is already waiting for you to drive you to the airport.

The drive takes a few minutes, enough time to remember how your first meeting with Victor went. Enough to make you nervous.

Your heart beats like a drum when you make your way towards the gate. You sigh of relief when you see that you arrived just in time.

You look through the glass window of the luggage pickup. There is no sign of the black haired Victor no matter how much you look for him.

Now what? You don't have his phone number.

Desperate feelings build up inside of you. You might have no choice but to get an announcement, stating that you are looking for Victor.

The thought of him getting called out like a small child makes you slightly giggle.

You then turn and with a thud get stopped by something that has to be a human figure. You are about to mumble an apology when you notice who you just bumped into.

"Seems like you have just thought about something funny and that while I have been looking for you." You know this annoyed voice very well. It still hounds you in your dreams

It's Victor, you go pale in an instant and stumble backwards and almost trip over some luggage behind you.

Then suddenly everything slows down around you, it's like slow motion.

Before you can react Victor grabs your wrist and pulls you up towards him.

You look at him with wide eyes. "What just happened?" You look at him, confused. You don't feel any pain. Did time just slow down or was it in your head?

"From my point of view you were playing around, made me search for you and then you almost fell and made me save you." Victor states this like it's a matter of fact.

He isn't wrong but his tone still irritates you.

"I was looking for you but I couldn't see you in the luggage pick up area." You meekly defend yourself.

"That is no surprise since I didn't have any luggage with me. Well, regardless, we wasted enough time. Do you have the paperwork?" Victor looks at you with an expecting gaze.

"Of course, I have it all here." You pat your bag.

"Alright then let's go." Victor doesn't wait for your reply and turns around.

"Wait, where are we going?" You nervously stumble after him.

Victor barely slows down and looks over his shoulder at you. "Since you came with the papers you will be the replacement of my usual company. On top of that she is sick anyways." Victor says this like it's natural. "I hope you have something to take notes with." Victor almost glares at you for a moment.

"Ye-Yeah I have something for that but I wasn't informed of this?" Thank you for having a phone on you.

"I just informed you. Naturally you will be paid overtime. Now stop staring into space and let's move." Victor's patience seems nonexistent.

"Alright, sir." You don't dare to say anything against his orders and so you follow him to the car with a driver.

Once again like a puppy following her owner.

Victor doesn't talk your entire trip and just quietly reads through the papers. You steal small glances at him. He is pretty handsome, if only his words were sweeter.

Victor probably notices your glances but completely ignores them.

Once you arrive at the appointment, at a large building across town.

You do as Victor told you and take notes of everything. Unsure of what exactly Victor is looking for in your summary.

It takes all day until you finally get back into the car. You are very tired and also very hungry.

"That was pretty good work today. I hope to see your summary tomorrow evening on my desk." Victor seems to approve of your hard work.

You feel thankful for that. "Thank you and I will make sure you get it as soon as possible." You try to sound enthusiastic but frankly you are very beat.

You look outside of the car, it's really dark by now. You sigh it will be hard to make something decent to eat at this time of the day.

The car stops and you hear the door opening.

You look at Victor with question marks in your eyes.

"I will treat you to some food as thank you for today." Victor states this coldly, destroying every bit of niceness from this gesture.

"I can't possibly accept that." You wave your arms.

"You are clearly hungry, so come on hurry up." He gets out of the car. Leaving no room for refusal.

You wonder if he heard your stomach rumble earlier and feel embarrassed.

The door on your side opens and you get out. It surprises you to see that Victor opened the door for you.

Maybe he is a gentleman under his rough fassade?

You get out of the car and see the rather fancy restaurant in front of you.

"Wow, this is a fancy place. I wonder if I fit in?!" You look questioning at Victor.

"Nobody cares about you as long as I'm there. Now lets go before you faint from hunger or something like that." Victor seems inpatient.

Your stomach makes another grumbling nice and for a moment you swear you can hear Victor chuckle. When you look at him his face seems like always.

He doesn't wait and heads into the restaurant. You follow him pretty nervously.

Victor was right nobody seems to take notice of you.

They all grovel in front of Victor, it's pretty impressive.

You get lead to a table and sit across from Victor.

He doesn't even ask for a card and just orders something that you never heard of for both of you.

You stare at him in disbelief.

"What you don't like what I ordered?" Victor grins at you.

Like, your protest won't matter regardless. "No, I'd just rather order something on my own." You pout a little.

"I would feel deeply ashamed if I you were to order chicken nuggets or something similar." Victor seems very amused by the thought.

"I'm not a child you know." You feel pretty offended.

"You could have fooled me." Victor looks at you like he won some sort of price.

Unbelievable, this man!

You frown at least until your food arrives.

It looks really delicious, like a plate of delicious diamonds. Your mouth waters and you can't wait to dig in.

You quickly give thanks for the meal and then put a bite into your mouth. It tastes so great! It made today really worth it.

You can't help but smile and continue to eat. Then suddenly you feel a burning gaze on you. With a feeling of dread you look up.

Victor has an unusually kind expression on his face. He looks even more handsome when he doesn't glare at you. You blush.

“Seems like you really enjoy the food.” Victor gives you a small smile. It makes your heart skip a beat.

You swallow hard. This is very embarrassing, you could just sink right into the ground.

“I will remember this for future reference.” Victor keeps his intense gaze on you.

You feel cold sweat running down your back. Silently you pray for mercy and finish your meal very quickly.

Just before you head back to the car, Victor stops you and holds a business card out to you. “Why are you giving this to me?” You look confused at the card.

“This has my number on it. So you can call me if you can't find me again. Just don't loose it and only use it when there is an actual emergency.” Victor puts emphasis on both points.

“Alright, thank you sir.” You take his card with a feeling of gratefulness. “Do you want my number too?” You blurt the question out without much thought.

Victor raises his eyebrow. “Why would I need that? I don't see any need to call you dummy.” Victor shakes his head, he looks kind of amused.

You don't know if you should feel hurt or angry, so you just frown and puff your cheeks a bit.

This causes Victor to chuckle.

As glad as you are to hear him laugh, being the cause for this doesn't feel very nice.

After this you are brought home and basically fall into bed.

You kick your blankets very hard tonight.

The next morning comes without mercy. You still remember your dinner very vividly. Sadly time doesn't seem to slow down for you and you have to get ready for your work.

You work hard writing the summary. It's a very long report and it takes you almost all day to write it. You really took too many notes. Unsure what to leave out and unwilling to let Victor wait any longer you make your way to his office.

This is the first time you will see his office. Your hands are shaking when you knock at the door.

"Come in." Victor shouts through the closed door.

You take a breath and open the door.

"I have the summary for you." You hold it in front of you like a shield.

"Put it on my desk." Victor lifts his eyes and for a moment they meet yours.

You freeze on the spot.

He clears his throat, this snaps you out of your trance.

With a nervous smile you put the papers on his desk. You are about to bow down and leave but Victor stops you with a motion of his hand. Pointing you to the chair in front of his desk.

You start to sweat bullets and sit down.

Victor reads the whole summary at record speed.

Then he sighs. It feels like your whole life is flashing in front of your eyes.

You mentally prepare yourself for the scolding.

"This is basically a full retelling of every single detail. It even includes a thorough summary of my attire. I don't really understand that part. It's filled with unnecessary observations. I felt at points like reading your inner thoughts. Next time leave these out and make it an actual summary." Victor puts the papers back on his desk.

Is this all he has to add? You are baffled.

"That's all?" You can't help but to voice your thoughts.

"What were you expecting?" Victor raises his eyebrow.

" I just thought that you would yell at me…" You smile lightly.

"Do you want me to yell at you?" Victor seems confused.

"Of course not! I just thought you might be disappointed with my work." You feel relieved but this reaction is scary in its own way.

"Well, it's about as good as I expected from you. It can't be helped since you acted as a replacement." Victor doesn't sound like he expected anything at all from you.

It stings in its own way. You almost clench your heart.

"The next summary I write will be better." You feel a sudden burst of confidence. You want it to show Victor what you can do for him.

"Well in that case I want you to come with me tomorrow as well. It seems that my usual worker is still sick." Victor smirks lightly at you. Your heart skips another beat.

"Umm alright…" You suddenly feel like all strength left your body.

"Not so confident anymore? I can always ask someone else." Victor shrugs.

"No no, I will do it!" You can't back down, for some reason you want him to tell you that you did a good job.

"Well then I will pick you up tomorrow. Make sure you are ready in time." Victor seems to note something on his calendar.

"Do you even know where I live?" You are pretty surprised by this.

"Of course I don't. I will look into your file later." Victor just waves you off and with this the conversation is over.

You let out a huge sigh of relief once you exit his office. This man will definitely be the end of you.

Once again you head home feeling very nervous about the next day.

You want to cry and smile at the same time.

The next morning comes and you wait for Victor's car at the side of the road.

You then suddenly get hit by a gust of wind, caused by a sports car.

You see the car stopping just on the side of the road. It makes you a bit angry at least until you see it's Victor in the driving seat.

He let's the window down. "Get in, we have a busy schedule ahead of us." Victor only looks at you for a moment.

You open the door and get in the seat next to the driver's seat. "Good morning, Sir. I'm pretty surprised that you drive yourself."

"I like driving. Now fasten the seat belt we don't have time for small talk." Victor speaks matter of fact, as always.

You do as you are told.

"And by the way call me Victor from now on. All of my close workers do that." Victor doesn't even look at you.

Regardless, this makes you smile. "Alright Sir… I mean Victor." You feel a warmth spreading through your body. He must appreciate your work after all.

"This is no reason to smile like an idiot." Victor glances at you, you get bright pink and turn away from him.

He is a jerk after all.

~ I know this is different from my usual fandom but as you all know I play many of these games. I just don't usually write for anything that I'm not super obsessed with.

#mr.love #mr love #Mr Love: Queen's Choice #koi to producer: evol×love #mr. love victor #lp #fanfiction #love and producer #mr love queen's choice

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eternalcantarella · 5 years ago

Text

Entropy - Chapter 2: Horseman of The Apocalypse - Joker/Reader

Entropy

Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

Word count: 17.9k

A/N: Medical specifics - I know the rod of asclepius is more for professional healthcare usage and caduceus is for commercial usage, but I chose to use a hybridisation of both asclepius and caduceus rods instead because its symbolism was slightly more in line with what I want to portray. Sorry for the inconsistency with practical usage! This chapter took me a while to write, and I didn't expect it to turn out this long. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it!

Inspirations: Trafalgar Law’s speech on the new era (One Piece), Amaya & Aiko no Akatsuki's Deisaku writing - Pinky Bruiser (Deisaku fans should totally check this out), Town of Salem's Plaguebearer role.

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

###

He sat in the long corridor, his legs crossed. His posture was laid back, with his tablet propped up on his lap. He tried to get used to the stiff teal plastic seat, secured to the wall behind him, but it was extremely uncomfortable and he kept readjusting his position. He tried to distract himself with the forthcoming plans for the week ahead with Gotham Press Holdings, refreshing his email to check for updates from his superiors. Unfortunately, he could not find the urge to open those mails. He leaned forward in his seat, his hand instinctively searching for the familiar spot on his chin.

The thin and bitter smell of antiseptic and cleaning products was invasive, acrid and stinging as it caused him to look away and stare at his other hand, twisting and knotting it as if doing so would hold back the unrest threatening to break within him. A man was whisked on a hospital bed right past him down the narrow corridor, and he was greeted with the disturbance of coughing, hacking and wheezing in the Emergency Department waiting room. He found the closest antibacterial hand dispenser, which was fortunately right beside him, and started working it like a gambling addict hitting up a VLT machine.

In a disorienting ambulance ride earlier, claustrophobia had closed in on him. He stood hovering over the stretcher, trying to rationally articulate the details surrounding your predicament, trying to discard feelings of his rising worries for you. However, with every bump the ambulance made, his unease peaked higher. As expected, the paramedics had briefed him that prompt delivery to the Emergency Department should be a priority, and had administered their prehospital care procedure onto you.

While otherwise appearing to be asymptomatic, the fact that you lost consciousness was alarming. They had secured the airway as required, delivering high-flow oxygen by cupping a respirator mask over your face, obtaining IV access simultaneously. There was a tenseness to his muscles, his head a violent whirl of confusion, trying to organise the newly found chaos in his life. They had also administered a beta-antagonist as a nebulised treatment for bronchoconstriction, a paramedic explained to him as she spritzed short bursts of liquid spray up your nostrils.

And here he was, waiting. A suspense ate at him internally while he awaited the ED doctor’s examination results.

While he was willing himself to check on instructions from Gotham Press Holdings, his hands betrayed his line of thought, and he instead found himself looking through his archived emails. His eyes glossed over the subject title.

‘Application for Blake Accounting Consultancy - Junior Data Analyst Applicant; Resume Included’

He crinkled his eye, his lips stretching against his index finger resting against it. He always found himself unknowingly going back to this fateful letter, at different, random times with no real reason connecting them with each other. He didn’t like to express it, both visually and verbally, to you that he had come to care for you deeply. And he was wondering if he was regretting ever holding back and hiding his actions to show that care. With the current uncertainty, and your life at stake, it’s always easy to see in hindsight that there were many things he could do differently. He clicked onto the email he archived, going through the motions that took him back to simpler and more pleasant times. He indulged himself in the light breeze of familiarity and nostalgia. He would always have a sentimental longing and affection for the past, especially when it came to you.

He remembered looking at your application and how absurd he thought it was at first glance. He vaguely recalled the contents of his job listing on Craigslist, having clearly stated that a bachelor’s degree in Computing or Data related fields was a prerequisite and lowest qualification one must have at the very least. Yet your highest form of education was trade school and coding bootcamps.

This was almost ludicrous in his eyes, that he found it to be amusing. He was about to dismiss your application to sift through the others, without even looking at your resume. However he felt compelled to click on it, probably out of some sick sense of curiosity and humour, he supposed. He wanted to see what laughs or kicks he could get out of this.

A condescending sense of jest bubbled in his chest when he started reading it. Perhaps this was just a joke applicant, he thought. Well, humour me. However, he found that the more he read into it, the more his smile started to falter. Being a data analyst requires very specific skills. You had recorded a very all-encompassing list of individual qualifications from courses painstakingly taken and they were all relevant to the job scope. Technical, analytical, math and creative skills. This was impressive for a non-uni graduate. You had also taken the initiative to contribute to opensource projects, demonstrating a fire and drive for the role. Not to mention the attention to detail and the amount of work put into organising this resume, to frame and market yourself in the best way possible. You had done a lot of research into this, evidently.

From this, he could sense that being a data analyst was something you wanted to be strongly at this point in time. And while strongly wanting to be one is often not enough for a data analyst, you had the puzzle pieces arranged and chops to back it up. Perhaps what sealed the deal to offer you an interview over coffee was the thing that set you apart from other applicants. Other candidates wrote about what they wanted from this job. No one cares what they want. No one cares that they want to “leverage their skills working with a highly effective team”. Yours was focused solely on the employer’s benefit, rather than for personal gain. And one thing in particular had caught his eyes to show you were perhaps a best fit for the company.

‘To build an ethical and positive culture for the company from the ground up and inspire change in Gotham.’

Given the current legal and political climate in Gotham, especially with the battles between parties of power going on, no one would care to write statements like this. No one even knew if they were submitting applications to companies deep within the mob, entrenched in corruption, or held hostage after having had debts to repay them. The mob had an iron grip on affairs at every nook and cranny of Gotham City. These types of statements were too fluffy, too idealistic, and often were not considered on job offers. However, things were changing. In a world where caped and masked vigilantes were jumping off roofs and Falcone was locked up in Arkham, he had hope. Politics were becoming more transparent, as candidates like Harvey Dent stepped up to the plate. And he would stop at nothing to make the most of this hope for a better Gotham. He had to believe in a better Gotham. He clenched his wrists and swallowed. He wanted to realise this idealistic vision he had.

“This mask for the anger I’ve been hiding… It’s not enough.”

“Then channel that anger to something good, I dunno. Frankly speaking, it’s not that hard.”

You two were sitting around a mahogany coffee table, with two plush sofas clad in burgundy fabric offering you two the luxury of sinking back into the comfort of its softness. However, you two were on the edge of your seats, not allowing yourselves to be lulled into its false sense of security and let your guards down. Your eyes were trained on each other, the air electrifying. You took a sip from the mug of your macchiato, eyes never leaving his as you tilted your coffee mug. You looked at him through your lashes, hiding behind a coy smile. Intrigued by your boldness, he quirked a brow in amusement. He sighed and pushed his laptop away from him on the table, finding no real need for it.

“Charming. If you’re so impressive, why don’t you tell me why you hadn’t attempted college?”

This definitely did not feel like a job interview. He leaned back, arms folded, a smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was challenging you. You sure as hell weren’t one to back down.

“Well, maybe it’s because some of us aren’t so lucky to have our parents afford our college fees, just so we can chase our dreams.”

In a saccharine voice, you leaned forward, tilting your head, no longer smiling. Your lips showed the hints of a pout. John Blake stared at you, slightly confused for a moment. Was this a personal attack or something?

“That’s very valiant of you. However, Miss, if I had to remind you of something,”

He maintained his composure, leaning forward with a slight tension in his jaw, his smirk not falling.

“You don’t know the first thing about me, darling.”

You remained neutral, staying in the same position.

“Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.”

He had been the one to poke you first, you thought, slightly indignant. You bit your lip and spoke again, treading dangerously.

“If I had to take a guess, I would say you feel threatened by me.”

John Blake raised his brows at you, possibly in disbelief at your brazenness. He lightly clenched through his teeth. Were you perhaps right?

“Far from it, kid.”

You glared at him for this obvious condescension. If you were anyone else, the blatant disrespect you showed him earlier would have immediately gotten you rejected. But the chemistry between you two was palpable, even then. His eyes looked at the laptop in front of him. His eyes avoided yours. He looked away, and nonchalantly he asked you.

“Don’t you think it’s impossible to really foster an ethical company in Gotham? I mean, it’s a pretty corrupt city.”

He stirred his coffee to feign apathy. This question wasn’t important to him. You furrowed your brows and shook your head, your voice raising in tone. You felt your indignancy rise. Affronted and outraged. What kind of question is this…?

“What? Gotham is full of people ready to believe in good and compassion.”

You had his attention now. And he stared at you, his eyes hard.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s pretty naive of you?”

“You can say that all you want about me. I don’t gain much from being an idealist, but I have to do the best I can.”

Your voice softened towards the end. This was perhaps the first time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable in this… “Interview”. The man in front of you shifted his weight in his chair and stood up. This prompted you to stand up as well, befuddled and just mindlessly mirroring his body language.

Satisfied with his find, he stared down his nose at you with an unreadable expression. He stuck his hand out towards you.

“Well then kid, I believe we have a deal.”

Dumbfounded, you took his hand hesitantly, and he gave your hand a firm squeeze, bobbing it lightly in the process. Your jaw was slightly ajar and you were confused. After all that, you were in a state of doubt. Did you really just pass this… interview?

“Check your email for updates.”

He picked up his coffee, downed the rest of it and held his cup up towards you, a last gesture signifying his leave. He set it down against the table with a clink and left swiftly with his laptop.

You will become my weapon. My tool. You will fight for me, and in exchange, I will ensure that you realise your vision, and sate your burning desires.

He smirked. A diamond in the rough indeed.

He was stirred out of his daze when he heard the sound of the sliding doors of the emergency ward. It revealed a doctor dressed in blue short-sleeved scrub top and pants, with a white lab coat. She held a clipboard and wore a surgical mask. The mask could not hide the sunkenness in her eyes, fatigued from being overworked during her residency. Blake stood up immediately seeing her, desperate to know the outcome of your medical evaluation.

“Sir, I’ll cut to the chase. She will have to remain under our observation for the next forty-eight hours, and we will periodically image her with serial chest radiographs.”

Taking a moment to take this news in, he nodded, signalling for the doctor to continue.

“We seek your understanding, patients may develop significant signs and symptoms for as long as thirty-six hours after exposure. We checked for burns in the nasal cavity and tested for particles.”

She sighed and stared at her clipboard, shifting her weight onto her other foot. Her tennis shoes squeaked.

“Burning was spotted, but minimal. Her airway functions are still relatively stable. Our test results revealed in her system a complex of zinc chloride and the fear gas toxin compound found in our water supply months back.”

“I understand. Her condition is stable enough and she will recover, right?”

He looked her in the eye, searching for any signs that would betray her jaded features.

“I’m afraid nothing in this world is certain, sir.”

Her voice was somber. His brows knitted. What was that supposed to mean? Realising what she uttered out, she quickly switched her expression to mask what she just said, to a more amicable one for professionalism.

“But of course, nothing is likely to happen to her. We have databases storing synthesised antidotes and counteragents to the compounds we found.”

He sank, his muscles losing their tension as he deflated. At least there was some solace in this situation.

“You can check back around the same time after two days, if you’d like. She will be placed under our care til then.”

He nodded and took that as a sign to take his leave. He grabbed the laptops from the seats and gave himself another couple of pumps of hand sanitiser solution. He sighed and felt the tension in his forehead subside a little. You always had to cause trouble for everyone involved, didn’t you? He turned his head and looked at you through the glass panes, lying unconscious on a hospital bed. He gave a snort and didn’t slow down his pace.

Luckily for you, you had someone who didn’t find you to be more trouble than you were worth.

###

He found the darkness strange. In the heart of Gotham city, he had grown used to having the warm, yellow-orange glow of streetlamps outside his window, light filtering in through the gaps in the curtains and seeing them whenever he walked down the street. It felt safe. Come to think of it, it was a privilege. When he took a first drive through the Narrows, there were no such safety blankets in the form of regularly spaced streetlamps. He continued staring up at the Bat-Signal, its rays projected an emblem.

It was shrouded in darkness. Gotham City is a bustling, urban metropolis. The signal was alone in the night sky, not a single star there to accompany it. Light pollution makes us unable to see stars in big cities. The bat was cursed to be alone in the dark. It was the only way he could exist, anyway. After all, most sightings of him caught on tape were filmed around the Narrows.

He combed a hand through his honey blond hair, while the balmy breeze smeared against his face. He heard footsteps. Immediately, he whipped his form around, hands affixed tightly on his hips.

“You’re a hard man to reach.”

He walked forward, trying to seem cordial, as much as he could be. His posture was strained, however, his neck craned forward from waiting too long. He walked forward, closer to the figure and swung one arm loose, by his side. He sized him up. This was the first time he had seen him up close, and he simply remained silent. They regarded each other for a cold moment. He couldn’t expect much from him, even a response would be too much, not without Gordon around.

He almost blended in with the darkness. His suit mirrored the plated armour of specialised jousters, but with a much more modern and practical design. He looked rigid and reminded him of a man from medieval times, a mounted warrior with ideals of chivalry and a code of conduct befitting for a nobleman. The difference was, he did not work with the state, and was in no way a perfect courtly Christian warrior.

I believe in Harvey Dent. People needed to believe in something, just as he believed in the Batman.

His presence, despite being mostly subdued and shadowed, did invoke a bearing to be idolised. If he weren’t Gotham’s District Attorney or the up-and-coming choice political candidate, he might have even been star-struck and giddy-headed at the sight of him. He scoffed at this. They were of the same standing in the city of Gotham, on equal footing, and they both knew it. He could feel it in his stare.

They waited.

The jarring sound of the door clicking open broke the uncomfortable silence. He studied Gordon, who looked just as miffed as he did. He tried to get Gordon’s attention.

“Lau’s halfway to Hong Kong.”

Gordon ignored him, storming forward to switch off the Bat-Signal. This rubbed Harvey Dent the wrong way. He was a little vexed.

“You’d asked. I could’ve taken his passport―I told you to keep me in the loop.”

Gordon was aggravated by his unpleasant overbearing insistence on being involved in the Gotham City Police Department’s investigations. He raised his voice.

“All that was left in the vaults were marked bills. They knew we were coming, as soon as your office got involved-”

Gordon was motioning with his hand. He waved it around temperamentally, emotion clearly clouding his judgement and choice of words. Dent felt his blood pressure rise and he definitely would not stand for these accusations against his team. He felt a vein jutting in his neck, tensing as he matched his voice level to reach Gordon’s.

“My office? You’re sitting there with scum like Wuertz and Ramirez and you’re talking-”

He jammed a strained finger at the ground as he stressed his words. He paused for a moment. Realisation in a recent finding gave him the upperhand. He sneered. This was turning into a full-blown argument.

“Oh yeah Gordon. I almost had your rookie cold on a racketeering beat.”

He jabbed more accusatory fingers directed at Gordon. God forbid his argumentative habits from the high court show through now. This was making things a lot worse.

“Don’t try and cloud the fact that clearly Maroni’s got people in your office, Dent.”

Gordon’s statement was final and harsh. They stared each other down. This was going nowhere. The night breeze blew against them. The Bat was silent. Quietly, he stood and analysed whether he could really trust both of these men to solve crime in Gotham together. The wariness and doubt was palpable. What makes them think they could make him trust them, when they couldn’t even trust each other?

Dent didn’t know how to respond to this. He went silent. He couldn’t dispute or disprove this. The Maronis’ got their reigns deep within all walks of this city.

Gordon sighed, giving up. If they couldn’t have transparency at this point, they could forget about asking for Batman’s help. He would not accept this if they were to only hinder his goal. It was embarrassing, to say the least. They would only appear to be a joke to the man. He had to relent, for starters.

“We couldn’t detain him. He has too much power. We can’t conclusively accuse Lau at this point, and we were denied prior warrants on him. We have no data on him aside from pure speculation.”

Looking down, Gordon bit on his bottom lip, his facial hair caught between his lip. He tugged at his pocket with exaggerated movements, looking like a jovial dad who thrived on telling dad jokes, pulling out a scrap of notes. He skimmed through it. Harvey Dent’s hands were still on his hips, gripping at his hipbone. He turned to look at the man in the dark suit.

The three of them stood in formation, on the rooftop of the Major Crimes Unit, circling each other. They formed the three pillars of justice in Gotham. All unyielding in their beliefs of their methods of crime fighting, and their ideals. Coming to a compromise seemed near impossible moments ago.

“We need Lau back. The Chinese won’t extradite a national under any circumstances. Not that we even have the right documents to prove his involvement with the mob.”

Batman took this chance to respond, for the first time.

“I have no jurisdiction. I believe I personally have enough proof to track that rat down.”

Harvey Dent raised his brows a fraction. The gall of him to talk about legal power or authority having no control over him, right in front of the DA no less. If he didn’t know better, he would say he was boasting about operating outside the law. Even if he was a vigilante, that was a bold statement. He liked that.

“If I get him to you, can you get him to talk?”

Batman’s voice was deep and raspy. Dent did not expect his voice to be like this. The corner of his mouths tugged a bit. This was his area of expertise.

“I’ll get him to sing.”

Nodding for further assertion and poise in confidence, he said so knowingly. Gordon unfolded the scrap of notes handed to him by his officers. They had brute-forced their way into the systems of the recent bank heist at Gotham National Bank. Apparently, they had digital tracks of code and graphs as potential sources of evidence for this case from a foreign system. The department, however, was not specialised enough to interpret this data definitively.

“The GCPD only recently uncovered leads to prove Lau’s dirty work in the mob, but I suppose it’s better late than never.”

This caught Harvey Dent’s attention. He signalled for him to elaborate.

“We traced the source to be devices registered under the Blake Accounting Consultancy company.”

Bringing a finger to his lip, Dent bit against it lightly. He pondered

“We can do this concurrently while Batman forcefully extradites Lau. We need to do this fast, however. Set up an interrogation with this company, as soon as possible.”

Dent and Gordon looked at each other. For once, they saw each other eye to eye. Gordon took in a deep breath, and nodded, this time with a lot less hesitation than before. The Bat looked at them, his focus flitting between the two, and pressed his lips together. Maybe there was hope in this after all.

“We’re going after the mob’s life savings, things will get ugly.”

Gordon inclined his head, indicating the urgency of this harsh truth. Gordon gave Dent a hard stare, a direct warning to the man. A pretty-boy working high up in the office, who had never gotten his hands dirty like that in the life of a city cop. He had to know what was in store for him, and Gordon wanted to see if he really was all that serious about this, rather than being purely concerned with racking political points.

“I knew the risk when I took this job, lieutenant.”

Harvey Dent leaned back, seeming a tad bit offended by his warning. As if he didn’t know already. Hell, someone had even pulled a gun on him in the courtroom. In Rachel’s words, as Gotham’s DA, if you’re not getting shot at, you’re not doing your job right. He decided to let it go.

“How are you getting back in-”

He directed his attention back onto Batman. He vanished into thin air. Dent was at a loss for words. How dysfunctional this agreement between the three of them seemed. He dared Gordon to give him an explanation. Do I really want to know, he scoffed. Gordon cocked his head derisively, a wry smile in place.

“He does that.”

Pretty crude sense of humour, even for someone flying from building to building with a cape. He relaxed his upper body, hands still on his hips. He looked at the ground. He gave an audible groan. He was going to need a cold shower after all this―This absolutely baffling and absurd confrontation. It almost seemed comical. Well, he couldn’t complain. After all, he did ask for it.

###

It had been a while since you’ve woken up from your blackout. You could only see darkness.

Distant static noises from the television muffled in and out through your ears. When you cracked open your eyes, they still felt raw and fluttered back shut repeatedly from your drugged up state. You had no idea where you were.

“-according to eyewitnesses, each man wore a clown mask.”

You gripped the bed sheets. This news was… unsettlingly familiar. You felt a mild stinging pain on top of your hand with the restricted movement. It felt like plastic taped against your hand.

“-used grenades to intimidate the hostages into submission.”

Suddenly everything came flooding back, the feeling of fear re-imagined. You tore your eyes which were sealed shut open. You remembered the clowns. And the clown beneath the clown mask. And the sight of a live grenade beside you. You stared up at the ceiling wide-eyed, the whirring sound of a ventilator a droning hum beside your ear. You reached up to your face and touched the plastic sterile respirator cupping over your nose and mouth.

Oh. You were in a hospital. It took a while for you to register this.

You looked at the television and saw Gotham Tonight News. Your thoughts immediately shifted to John Blake. He had saved your life. Your eyes desperately searched the room, darting around all corners. You only saw other patients as you were in a public ward, and in your movement you unknowingly hit a button on your hospital bed with your elbow. Distant beeping noises of machines could be heard, with the occasional coughing and hacking. The feeling of grogginess was slowly subsiding. You heard footsteps coming.

In your silent hope, you half-expected it to be John Blake. But much to your dismay, it was a doctor. She held a clipboard and wore a mask that was tucked under her chin, and a white clinical lab coat. She offered you a warm, hospitable smile, despite the tiredness that dragged down her sunken eyes.

“Miss, I see you have woken up. We can let you rest for a while before we discharge you, you slept for longer than we have expected.”

Longer than they had expected? How long were you out? You needed answers. You resisted and slowly tried to sit up. You gestured towards your respirator and flailed your hand around slightly. She seemed to understand you.

“Ah, I understand. Eager to get out?”

She continued smiling tiredly. She dislodged the mask from behind your head and took it off your face. You felt a drastic change in pressure as you tried to adjust to the current atmosphere, taking even deeper breaths and sputtering slightly. You suddenly felt breathless. She let you take a while to get used to this before working on the tube that went up your nose and down your throat. She pulled it straight from your nose, much to your horror, and you felt the friction of it sliding against your pharynx. You could have sworn you felt blood trickling down your throat. Excruciatingly, you let out a prolonged sob the more she pulled onto it. When she was done, you panted, using the back of a hand to wipe against the saliva that dribbled around your mouth.

She took your other hand in hers and tore off the IV access, effortlessly and with little pain around that area. You stared at her behind tearful eyes. Nurses and doctors were so amicable yet did actions like this with that much intention and precision. It was daring, courageous and you guessed it took a lot for them to not be squeamish. You licked your chapped lips and proceeded to thank her.

You looked at the golden badge pinned on her breast pocket. It was the Caduceus symbol. The omnipotent Staff of Hermes. A staff once carried by Hermes in Greek mythology, slender and splendid, entwined by a serpent coiling around the body of the staff in a downward spiral. The wand of healing. It was beautiful, magnificent, if not a bit eerie and otherworldly. You sucked in a breath. You were lost in thought. Must we really fall prey to the deceptive trickster of Eden in order to achieve greatness? Medicine is a holy tome, the all-encompassing, for the most glorious knowledge in the world.

Break the rules.

To achieve greatness, you must know the truth, and to know the truth, you must take the forbidden fruit for the knowledge of all things good and evil.

And that means walking away from the lies you were told your whole life.

Your eyes glazed over, starry-eyed over the dreams of a past life. You stared at the healthcare worker with eyes of green.

No, that dream simply isn’t possible.

Disillusionment tore at your eyes. No, it really wasn’t.

She returned you your set of clothes from before and you changed out of the hospital gown. You were given a brief rundown of your condition, as well as pictures and radiographs of chest scans. You had suffered minor burns down your air passages and suffered from acute zinc chloride and fear gas poisoning, but the counter-agents had already been administered. Luckily for you, the actions taken against the fear gas were swift and that prevented long-term effects from creeping into your system. You would hate to be plagued with images of that darned clown for life. Soon, you found yourself at the counter, ready to be discharged. You groaned inwardly at the hospital bills this stay would rack up. You would experience mild discomfort and difficulty breathing for a while, but it wouldn’t be anything serious. You guessed that you really did owe Blake one for this time.

Speaking of whom, you would have expected him to at least pay you a visit this one time, seeing as it was in fact a weekend. If you hadn’t gone through that terror that previous day, you would have felt a petty disappointment in him, for you felt that you were important enough for him to do that much for you. But this time, you felt a bit worried. You chewed at your cracked lips, hoping that nothing bad had happened to him while you were out.

You signed the relevant documents and walked towards the entrance, ready to head out when you suddenly saw a head of familiar, clean cut chestnut hair walking towards you. He wore a navy suit with a cool-toned pink tie. You felt a warmth bubble inside of you when you smiled at him. Boy were you glad to see him, and he had made it to visit you after all. You were about to reach out to him and say something, but he stopped you in your tracks only to turn you around and walk you in the same direction as him.

“Hey kid, glad to see you’re out and all, but we have no time right now. You’ll understand when we get there.”

His jaw had a greater tension to it than it did normally, and his dark features were serious and silent. He didn’t really have a smile gracing his lips, but his eyes showed a hint of relief seeing you well and recovered. You were confused by this and felt a slight dejection constricting at your chest. What was with him and wouldn’t he be happy seeing you? You furrowed your brows for a moment and avoided his gaze. He handed you your laptop he stowed hastily by thrusting it into your hands. You fumbled with it and nearly dropped it. You felt your blood boil slowly, you thought to yourself, oh no you’d better not expect me to work overtime like this. You stopped in your tracks.

“Hey―You really think I’m going to work for you at this hour, under these circumstances? You’re out of your mind.”

He simply continued walking, not slowing down his pace. He only turned his head behind indifferently, regarding you coldly, then returned his gaze in front of him.

“You’re not working for me today.”

Your jaw agape, you stared at his back that was getting smaller by the second, incredulous. You’ve had it with this caginess, he was tight-lipped. Why couldn’t he just tell you anything at all? You pulled at your hair and ran ahead to catch up with him, the heels of your pumps clacking against the hospital floor. At this, you felt a fiery burst pulsating down your throat and windpipe. You ran out of oxygen very quickly and sputtered for more, the friction of air against the burn marks up your nostrils raked mercilessly through your nerves. It was obvious you couldn’t do much physically for a while. Your footsteps slowed down, but Blake’s did not. You guys had perfect communication most of the time and today was one of the rare times you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You pleaded again, between agonising hacks, clearly vexxed.

“Could you... at LEAST tell me what’s going on-”

He stopped suddenly, at the west-wing entrance of Gotham General Hospital. You caught up to him, about to lose your mind at him. You gawked, your gaze landing on the sight in front of him. Your brain stutters for a moment and your eyes seem to betray you. To say that you were shocked was an understatement. You wanted to turn to Blake to confirm that you were indeed working for these people, but you couldn’t find it in you. There stood two of the most authoritative men in Gotham, hands on their hips, feet tapping impatiently. They weren’t facing each other. The vibe felt a little off. Gotham’s White Knight, Harvey Dent, and Lieutenant James Gordon.

“This is your Junior Data Analyst, Consultant Blake? I hope you had a speedy recovery, Miss.”

Jim Gordon adjusted his spectacles and nodded at you, his brows frowning, a sorry expression written on his face.

“We uh, apologise for bothering you on such short notice, but we hope you can understand.”

“Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Harvey Dent. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,”

Harvey Dent stuck a warm hand out, smiling affably as you took it to give it a firm shake, shifting his eyes onto Blake at the last sentence. He was charming, just like the clips of him you’ve seen on television. You expected no less, but this level of charisma was unprecedented. You introduced yourself and smiled hesitantly, unsure, before you turned to look at Blake, hoping for an explanation. He looked at you and nodded reassuringly, the first time he had shown any real emotion to you this whole time. That made you feel slightly more relieved. The two men still didn’t exactly look at each other. Did they have some kind of beef with each other…?

“We’re not going to waste your time and get to the point,”

Gordon ushered you out of the hospital and into a cop car. This was your first time in one, and you were sure that you weren’t in it for illicit reasons, after seeing how John nodded at you earlier. It still unsettled you a little bit, you couldn’t be too sure. You had a read on the atmosphere after your initial shock subsided, and it was grim and urgent. You did not like this energy, no one says anything unnecessarily, probably to save time. It’s no wonder Blake was acting so unusually secretive, and uncommunicative. You felt bad now for blaming him. Blake and Harvey Dent sat to your left. Gordon took the front passenger’s seat.

You looked up outside the windows. It was dark outside much like the way the cop car’s leather seats and roof were painted black. A return back into the concrete jungle was imminent.

“We need your combined efforts in decoding whatever work you had on Gotham National Bank.”

You loosened your grip on your laptop. At least you weren’t in trouble for anything. You tried to maintain eye contact with Jim Gordon through the rear-view mirror, his kind yet profound looking eyes looking deep into yours. You could almost feel his burdens undoing into you. He had a weight on his shoulders and immense responsibilities you could not even dream of imagining. Gordon was the open-book type of person, evidently.

“Oh, is it the one proving Lau-”

“Yes, Lau’s fraudulence and involvement with the mob. He’s still in Hong Kong. Your data could really help us with his case and get him to talk. We need to take out the big dogs.”

Harvey Dent interjected. You turned your head towards him, and you saw his profile with his strong nose and golden hair. The golden boy of Gotham. Normally, you would be rather bothered by someone who cuts you off like that, but it felt different with Dent. Even you would defer to such absolute authority and apparent righteousness at a pressing time like this. From all his campaigns and court hearings, you could tell he was sincere in his pursuit of goodness in Gotham, he just overflowed with integrity and honour. He embodied that All-American charm, handsome, deep blue eyes monumental with some form of knightly honour. A heroic presence, almost like the kind Robert Redford sort of had. He shifted his cleft chin in thought, a hand to his temple, before he looked at you.

“Can you present us a full analysis of your findings and write out a report by tonight?”

He raised his brows a fraction, looking at you pleadingly with his blue eyes, lips stretched slightly with a gentle half-smile.

How could you say no when he had asked you with such sincerity? While he appeared to be brash at times, it was a quality that came with the job of being the city’s persecutor. It couldn’t be helped, you supposed.

After all, wasn’t this a dream of yours? To serve in the movement for change in Gotham.

This city is dying. It’s rotting.

No, it was rich land for the seeds in the car sitting right beside you. And you had a part to play too, a golden opportunity had presented itself.

“I already planned to expose that little rat, I didn’t need to be told.”

You looked away, snorting. You felt a slight tightening in your chest, and you cursed at the breathing difficulties caused by the smoke bomb. Blake eyed you from the corner of his eyes, trying to hide that twinkle, and his cheeks aching from holding down the pull of the sides. Harvey Dent paused, lightly taken aback by your statement, quirked his lips downwards in an arc, nodding his head unexpectedly.

“Well then, the youth these days never fail to surprise me. Welcome aboard, Miss.”

“Listen Mr. Dent, you’re still considered a spring chicken compared to those insufferable old farts we tolerate on a daily basis.”

You smiled. Harvey Dent let out a hearty laugh within his chest at this joke you cracked. It did well to ease the tension for critical times like these. You did consider him to be part of your generation, at the forefront leading this revolution. John Blake looked over at Dent, adding onto your statement.

“She’s right, you’re cut from the same cloth as us, you’re our peer. And you are the cream of the crop, the very best of us. Gotham is changing because of you.”

“Well, I feel very flattered, but I’m not the only one. It’s all thanks to the Batman.”

You grunted, a rumble through your chest, ignoring the pain. You’d agree to a certain extent, Batman was just the beginning. However, Harvey Dent was the culmination of all this. He was the hero with the face, the hero grounded in reality and tangible change. Batman can only go so far without the help of Harvey Dent.

“This is inspiring stuff and all, but are we forgetting something? Or someone? Or an entire generation above you?”

All of you turned your heads to Jim Gordon in the front seat. On the rear view mirror, Gordon had an expectant look on his face, his lips underneath that mustache pressed together in a thin line. The three of you in the backseat felt a light feather ticking your insides, threatening to break free at your throats. You all chuckled weakly, subdued laughter as you all darted your gazes, looking away at all absent corners of the cop car. You hid the humour in your voice with a stinging cough. Heaven forbid you all make light of the situation at a time like this.

###

You cleared your throat, feeling the lingering effects of the smoke on your system, the noise resounding off the washed out concrete brick walls, frosted white with an almost steely-blue. The small room made you feel sick and oppressed, with its air-conditioner temperature set to an isolating sixty degrees fahrenheit. You stepped back, the soft clicks of your heels hitting the concrete, non-tiled floor as you brought up a finger. It shuddered slightly, and you raised it up to point to the projector screen fabric hoisted on the wall, the shadow of your hand looming over the makeshift light projector setup the GCPD had provided, sending ripples through the fabric.

The room felt like a prison cell, almost deliberately designed to make you feel alienated and scrutinised. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, a fluorescent lighting irradiating through the room with a cool toned jarring brightness that made you squint a little, yet not completely illuminating the dark shadowy corners of the squarish room. A grey rectangular table sat in front of you, with Harvey Dent and Lieutenant Jim Gordon sitting back cross legged in their foldable plastic chairs, while John Blake sat hunched over on the other end of the table, furiously typing out a report on his laptop. You guessed you couldn’t expect anything too fancy from the Major Crimes Unit of Gotham. You needed to push through this presentation, despite the building physical discomfort following your predicament from the day before.

You made eye contact with Jim Gordon, with a little bit of difficulty, but you still pressed on to make your point. He had his hands clasped together, sitting between his thighs, and avoided your gaze to favour studying the data presented on the screen. Harvey Dent had a hand wrapped around one side of his cheek, and an elbow propped on the table, resting his head against it and listening intently. You had been given unreasonable demands to give impromptu presentations rather frequently at work, but definitely not within an hour of getting discharged from the hospital. Your nerves fired off a little bit and you tried your best not to let your voice betray you. You tugged your blazer tighter around your waist, blaming the cold for this action.

“I think we have a pretty strong case here. This is all the information you need, reallyㅡto charge Lau, especially with the insights from Mr. Blake. He was a forensic accountant.”

Gordon and Dent shared a pointed look at each other, expressions unreadable, before Gordon turned back to you to nod a gentle ‘thank you’. You took this as a sign to give them ample space for their own discussion and consolidation, and you let out a huge sigh, walking swiftly over to John Blake after being granted the permission to be dismissed. You dragged another foldable chair and scooched over to sit beside him. You leaned over to look at his laptop, then at him expectantly. He ignored this and continued looking at his screen.

“Little nervous there, weren’t you kid?”

You puffed your cheeks and let a stream of air out. You were punished for this motion as you felt searing pain up your larynx and flaring at your nostrils. You were about to lose your mind on him but you remembered the presence of the other two justice hounds in the room. Blake snickered inwardly. You supposed two compliments in two consecutive days was unheard of from the man. You hadn’t been silly enough to hope for that. Yesterday, what he said to you at the bank was possibly the most acknowledgement you had ever gotten from him for your worth as his partner, and you will take that to your chest and run away with it.

“Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you try giving a presentation after literally being discharged from the hospital?”

He decided to let it go and brush this off, his smile still not withholding however. He scrolled down the document he had impressively typed out. It seemed he had been working on it while you were out. It was way too detailed to have been put together in the short amount of time you were here, while you gave the presentation. You raised your brows, he was on his A game tonight, more so than usual. Working behind the scenes, after hours. You wondered what sparked this escalation in work ethic and quality. This little rivalry between you two felt slightly more visceral.

Covertly, you stared over at Gordon and Dent, who looked cold and calculative under the subtle hue of blue-toned lighting. They seemed to be in some kind of disagreement, brows furrowed and stubborn towards each other. Did this happen often? You chewed your lips and tapped lightly at the table. You could see Blake at the corner of your eyes rubbing his chin again. While you two were confidently secure in your abilities as analysts and consultants, working with public servants required a different form of rigour. It required a different kind of convincing. Not one that was only concerned with profits and risk-bearings, like your previous clients, but something that held ethical weight and certainty. You two had done something that could be classified as immoral, and you weren’t sure if this level of convincing was enough to gloss over that fact. Judging from John Blake’s body language, he shared the same sentiments. You took in a deep breath, despite the pain, desperately needing the extra air to catch up on your shortness of breath.

Gordon and Dent signaled for the two of you to come over and show them the written report. You could feel your heart beating quickly, hammering against your chest. The desire to please the authorities made your senses go wild, and it would only serve as a testament to your abilities if you could help the highest forms of justice in the city in these respects. Blake took this chance to explain briefly the navigation of the report, and to bring focus to the more important details of your presentation highlighted in the report. This would allow them to utilise the information more effectively and constructively should they ever need to take this to court. This once was his area of expertise, after all. Gordon and Dent gave each other another look and they looked pleased. Well, at least they came to a consensus on something. They had their attention on you again after the mutual confirmation.

“Astounding work you two,”

Harvey Dent smiled politely at you. Your erratic heartbeat calmed as you felt heat radiate off your face like a hot pan. Slowly the high of authoritative validation crept within your system. His words definitely felt like honey.

“I’m gonna need you to come with me to County tomorrow, after hours, to account for certain data and ledgers regarding Lau’s case. Could you spare me some of your time, Miss?”

You gulped. It was extremely hard to say no to this man. You weren’t going to turn down a request like this anyway, if it meant one step closer to saving Gotham City. A little sacrifice for something you love was nothing. You nodded tentatively at first, charting a rough impression of your weekly schedule in your head. You had work the next day and it would be very hectic for you. Blake looked impassive. You couldn’t get a read on him. Harvey Dent leaned back in his chair, threw the documents on his lap back onto the table and stood up to be eye level with you.

“Well, that would be all for today. I need to rush back, so I thank you all for your hard work.”

After Harvey Dent promptly left the room, Gordon shifted the laptop in front of him and stood up. The room felt significantly emptier with Dent gone, he had quite the presence. You looked around the room again, eyes scanning the white brick walls, squinting as your gaze briefly landed on the bare LED light bulb. You silently waited for Gordon to collect his thoughts.

“Consultant Blake, you're not going off the hook so easily, I’m afraid. The GCPD needs your help in tracing the mob’s money while it is being stowed away indefinitely.”

Blake pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a single nod of understanding. Gordon shifted his weight to his other foot, pondering. He cast his eyes downwards, then back onto Blake and you.

“You know, you two enjoy fighting against crime, right? I see something very special in you youngsters. Well, I have a proposition for you... So, here’s some food for thought.”

Gordon looked a little more intently at you two.

“We really could use your skill sets for our ongoing and future investigations for our fight against organised crime. We-uh, don’t receive nearly as much funding as we need from the state… So our financial forensics department is not as developed as it should be.”

He paused. You saw those worn down eyes again, beaten down by the world around him. He was an old soul, and he made no effort to mask the worry in his eyes, his forehead grazed with permanent crease lines, perhaps from constant frowning. You could see however, the silver lining behind his dark irises. The one thing not jaded, remaining pure and undiluted, was his hope in enforcing justice for Gotham City. That is where his true passion lies.

“We don’t have enough people with the relevant technological or knowledge based capabilities. I know this is too much to ask of you… But the offer is always open―I could negotiate a permanent spot for you two on the team, if you were to change your mind in future. That is, if you want to, of course-”

Gordon fumbled a little with his words, his hand waving about slightly. John Blake held a hand out, saving Gordon from his apparent awkwardness as he felt it unbecoming. Cops should at least have some pride. It would not do well for a lieutenant to be appealing to two private sector workers for help like this, it was almost completely undignified. Had the cops really been pressed thin to the brink? Pushed into a corner? Here, he had thought that the state of Gotham was improving immensely. Evidently, the fine balance of all powers in Gotham has been knocked over. Something was brewing. There was a storm coming.

You interjected.

“We’re, uh, very flattered! Thank you, Lieutenant Gordon. We will definitely keep your words in our hearts, and keep your offer in consideration.”

You all regarded each other for a moment, unspeaking―completely aware of the implications of all this. This whole agreement, and Gordon’s open proposal to you. John Blake stared hard, his jaws fixed in position. You sensed the energy in this room and it held an excruciating weight. You didn’t even know what you all were waiting for. You clenched your fingers at the hem of your blazer. You looked discreetly at John Blake, not really knowing what to expect. As if you didn’t want him to catch you staring.

“It’s been nine months since the first appearance of Batman. Since Falcone’s incarceration.”

Blake started, his voice sure and certain.

“Did anyone actually accomplish anything?”

His voice echoed through the room, piercing through everyone that stood. He stepped forward slightly. His gaze flitting down to the laptop in his hand.

“All Batman did was end Falcone’s era. The Police Headquarters rounded up new forces. The mob replaced the figurehead at the top. Dent’s attempts to take down the top dogs have been, to no avail. The big-timers didn’t take any action.”

You adjusted your collar, uncomfortable and unable to stare at him for any longer.

“Sure, petty crimes have been reduced, one by one. Things have changed. But at the root of it all… Nothing’s been fixed.”

He pondered wistfully.

“It was like… everybody was just preparing for something.”

Blake adjusted his tie.

“...And now you’re here, Lieutenant Gordon―You and Harvey Dent. Asking us for help, knowing very well that this-”

He waved his laptop around in his hand.

“-data right here, was gained unscrupulously. And it’s not too far-fetched to believe you two are corroborating closely with the Bat, despite that official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight.”

John Blake tilted his chin downwards, looking up at Gordon, a purse evident on his lips. You flinched a little.

“You are resorting to outlawed measures to fight the outlaws. And you’re telling me.”

Gordon could not find the right words to this. He responded carefully. He would have to humble himself and swallow his pride for the sake of Gotham’s future, and he had in fact pitched you all a rather unreasonable request. He hoped to be able to earnestly appeal to the parts of your hearts, no matter how small, that cared deeply for the city of Gotham. It had to be there, he assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t have aided in the investigations as readily as you did, at the drop of a hat.

“The mob had… squeezed us to the point of desperation, as much as I hate to admit it. I realise the first step to having a successful collusion with all parties involved is to drop the act and acknowledge this.”

You gulped, and finally said something. At this point, the tension in the room had made you forget the slightly debilitating pain in your trachea.

“Frankly speaking, we crossed the line first. We aren’t the only ones, and soon they’ll be hammered to the point of desperation, Lieutenant Gordon.”

Gordon grunted, a hum low in his chest.

“I know very well.”

John Blake, for the first time in this confrontation, allowed a smirk to grace his lips. He looked over at you.

“You always told me, kid…”

His gaze on you was unnerving, and compelling.

“...that the new era of the daring ones is coming along with an unstoppable swell. Batman is just the beginning. He... broke the gear. And we’re not going to be the only side taking up arms, fighting back.”

He shifted his gaze back onto Gordon.

“Expect a storm. Expect escalation. Expect a resistance like we’ve never seen before. There’s no turning back.”

You watched as their eyes locked, their hard expressions unyielding. Gordon was obviously not new to this line of thought, but perhaps no one had been courteous enough to engage with him in discussing the implications of such. He was at a loss for words, but not caught by surprise. His deeply emotive eyes stirred, and he spoke quietly.

“I am well aware of all this Consultant Blake. It’s not anything new to me. But I am prepared for anything and will stop at nothing. I do the best I can with what I have.”

Blake’s eyes softened a little, but still retaining their edge, knowing fully well what all of you had gotten yourselves into. The very moment you had engaged in these investigations and accepted the request in lending your contributions, you had placed all of your lives at stake. He stuck a palm to him out of habit, always one for the conditioned nicety.

“We have a deal, then. We will lend you our tentative aid. ”

###

Your teeth gnawed slightly at your lips as you made your rounds around the main office room in the MCU. The administrative office had been closed long since you arrived here. You reorganised your datasets you gathered from Gotham National Bank, and printed out the required evidence for your visit to County the next day. It occurred to you, with the impromptu presentation you delivered earlier, that you needed to revise the formatting of your work before it was court-ready. You stood by the printer, listening to the squeaking of ink running across paper and the whir and buzz of the mechanism inside.

You exhaled, the first time this night since being discharged that you could take a brief moment of respite. You had a newfound respect for crime fighters in Gotham, if this was what their lifestyles consisted of. Gordon hadn’t even left the MCU, he resolved to return to his private workspace at the top floor of this building. Justice never sleeps, you supposed. You looked out the window, groaning then pinching the bridge of your nose. It was a special kind of blackness out there, one you would probably only see during the witching hours. You wouldn’t be able to get the rest you needed to recover properly, since you probably only had a couple hours of sleep at best before you had to wake up to head for work. Then, when you were done for the day, you would have to rush over to County, grab a bite on the go for dinner if you were lucky, and turn in late again.

Never would you have thought that you would find yourself working on the side of justice in this way, having a direct hand in adjusting things in Gotham for good. Although, it did seem like a sort of calling to you, in a way. Things were a little bit too convenient, and pieces fell into place together too easily. It was like a feasible chemical reaction in a way that was bound to happen at any given point in time, so long as time had stretched on. You tapped your fingers against your chapped lips, deliberating for a while.

You did always wish you had a reliable way of measuring what was guaranteed and what wasn’t. It would provide you with a greater control over your life than what you had over the past few years, one that you sought after.

Serendipity.

You weren’t exactly too sure if you could call it that.

Your thoughts wandered back to your coworker and boss, John Blake. He was pretty much done for the night and didn’t have much else to wrap up on. He would wait for you at the porch of the MCU. He had been acting rather strange. Ever since you first saw him, he had been pretty cold to you. But now, it was currently walking along a fine line of coldness and slight, dare you say, hostility. You supposed that he had always been pretty insufferable to you. God, since the start, he had been pretty provocative even when you were sitting round the coffee table at that one boujee cafe. But it had, well, mostly always been in playful jest, or friendly banter. You supposed you always did feel the strife of competition with him, always needing to prove something to him.

You groaned again, feeling a pinch behind your eyes. You had to save all this thinking for later when you weren’t exactly sleep deprived. You ran a final check through all your printouts, languidly flipping through them with an index finger. Satisfied, you tapped the width of the entire stack a couple times against the surface of the wooden table, aligning the sheets within. You slotted it in an empty file supplied by the GCPD, and headed to the entrance with the large front doors.

Harvey Dent and Gordon sure made the impression on you, though you did have your doubts towards them. Their relationship seemed… unnatural, kind of strained. You could even describe it as seeming dysfunctional. And it was obvious to you. You couldn’t really blame them, though. With corruption levels so high in this city, you wouldn’t know who to trust either. You would love to have faith in the system, but if they were so good, they wouldn’t be turning to you and Blake.

You stepped out into lights cast upon the porch by the warm streetlamps, lost in your thoughts.

John Blake.

You squinted upon the intrusion of the flaring streetlamps. You saw two streetlamps in the spot where there should only be one.

What the hell?

You rubbed your eyes with your free hand. You couldn’t hear anything.

Where is he… anyway?

You strained your eyes open again.

The streetlamps were like a desert mirage. You saw the two balls of light separate slightly, then start to converge.

Your hair stood on ends, from the back of your neck to the entirety of your arms. Something scraped along the inside of your ears, a high-pitched screeching that bounced within your ear canal.

You blinked, your shoulders tensing up. You took a step forward, your breath faltering.

Your feet wobbled slightly as you made your first descent down a step. You gripped onto your laptop and file even tighter.

No…

You broke into an all out sprint, almost nose diving down the long flight of stairs, the sensation pulling at your lungs disorientating.

Does it depress you? To know that your reality is based on comforting lies?

Poor little girl... You think a safe space will actually help.

You felt something black and long, emaciated fingertips reaching into your ear and scratching lightly. They were charred and felt like the bark of scorched trees. They were lanky and skinny like tree branches, about a foot long and grazed at the walls of your ear canals.

If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you.

It was a creature of the underworld. One of the most fearsome apparitions, not from the corporal realm. Then… What was he doing here? You bristled.

Judgement had been passed, and the final fight between good and evil awaits.

He was the plaguebearer, the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. He was the harbinger of the pestilence. When the time was right, he will besiege the world with pure pandemonium.

Flesh thudded against stone tiled floors. A strangled scream tore gutturally through the streets. These sounds were incredibly muffled to you.

He barely turned his head to give a brief, uninterested, side glance.

And all of a sudden, all your senses returned to you in one compounding moment, everything came crashing down dramatically upon you like a surging, symphonic orchestral blare, and you were met with your fears. The scratchy fingertips stabbed and pierced into your eardrums, and a sharp, debilitating throb pounded through your head. No amount of alcohol could make you forget the sight of his gruesome face.

Here he stood, in the corporeal world, insidious and spectral. The time had come, and his presence heralded the arrival of world’s end, the armageddon before Judgement Day.

You were unfortunate enough to be caught, dead in the center of this maelstrom.

You looked death in the eye, watching carefully as you anticipated his next course of action. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah, uninvited guests―Always a, uh, welcome surprise.”

He slurred the last word. You tried your hardest to react, to at least do something, anything at all really would do at this moment. Ounce by ounce, he filled every space and cavity your physical being had to offer, and then those your spiritual and mental being as well, for there seemed to not be enough space for this surreal and... grotesque thing. You couldn’t breathe, it felt as if his mere presence was asphyxiating. You wanted to move, you wanted to run, you wanted to curl up into a ball, you wanted to move at least one goddamned muscle in your body.

But you can’t.

Sighing exaggeratedly, as if the world owed him a living, he trudged forward slowly and expectantly towards you. He put both his palms up, facing you, stretching and spacing out all his gloved fingers, perhaps in mock concession, a friendly gesture showing that he had nothing to hide. He raised his brows at you with his lips in a sulk, derisive in his condolences. All at once, the air was knocked out of your lungs, and your torso was constricted. You could barely comprehend what was happening, and he seized you by warping behind you as quickly as his stature allowed for. You bit into your lips, tears pricking at your eyes that you could allow such a thing to happen without having the guts to put up a fight. You thrashed your head around, struggling against his grasp, his leather gloved hands muffling a yelp that escaped your lips.

He grumbled about something related to people minding their own businesses, but you were far too busy trying to pry away at his iron clasp around your figure to comprehend what he was really saying.

You couldn’t breathe properly. You sucked in as much air as you could through your scalded nostrils. Your lungs burned. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see his face, that you could muster the courage required for this display of resistance to his restraints. Your laptop and files were left forgotten, dropped by the pavement and driven into the soil.

“Kid, it’s fine, just relax and don’t―urgh! Don’t...don’t do anything rash.”

You peered down as he rasped, the side of his face pressed mercilessly down into the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. Your shaky pupils searched the scene in front of you. The darkness was illuminated by the mellow streetlamps. John Blake was pushed, head first into the ground with a big, pale, brown-haired man kneeling against his form, restraining his arm behind his back. He was armed. That put you slightly more on edge, and slightly more willing to comply. The wraith behind you removed his hand from your mouth, and just as you were about to let out an ear-curdling scream, you felt a cold smoothness of the point of a knife tickle you lightly at your neck, drawing circles around your pulse point gently. Stubbornly, you slackened your arms a little, but still maintained a hold on his forearms.

Let… Let go of John.

You saw another man a couple feet beside him, frightened out of his wits, held at gunpoint by another goon, this one wearing a clown mask. He was quivering slightly, both his arms behind his head, clad in a grey suit, a piece of paper duct-taped at its front with words scribbled sloppily―‘Please deliver to Lieutenant Gordon.’ You scrunch your nose a little, tracing your eyes up to look into his panic-stricken, beady eyes.

“Lau?”

You spit out in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the compromising position you were in. The phantom circled his arms around you tighter like a python, a ritual they performed before they devoured their prey. It was no use, your arms were wedged by your sides at this point. You tried one last time to fight it, but it was met with a mere chuckle.

“I see we’re all, uh, acquainted here?”

He gestured in sardonic formality with his fingers that weren’t latched onto the trigger. He had an incredibly erratic cadence to his voice. His intonations and inflections were completely irregular, he stressed words in a pattern that seemed completely… random. This made even the way he spoke instinctually threatening, for you didn’t know what to expect from him, a sort of jagged edge that laced his words. It granted him a heightened sense of unpredictability, and a malicious air of danger that felt even more tangible. You felt this, it was all too real.

“You’re working with the police to sell me out, is that how it is? You would betray your own company’s affiliate.”

Lau, with as much disdain he could gather within him in his sorry state, glared daggers at you. His hands shook more violently, unable to control the trepidation of fear and anger mixed together in a deadly concoction. The ghoulish man who held you shifted you in his grasp a little, pressing your head closer to his cheek, and you felt the stickiness of his greasepaint latch onto your hair. You cringed and recoiled, lips contorting in disgust. He swiped his tongue against the ridges along his bottom lip.

“I wouldn’t be so ah... concerned with that, if I were you. Seeing that our boy-o over here so valiantly jumped in to save your little-ol life.”

You snarled at this implication, how dare he mock John? You clawed at his forearm, digging your nails into the velvety textile of his purple sleeve, and jerked yourself against his grasp. Roughly, he tensed his arm against your body. He shifted his lips closer to your ear, his slimy breath stroking the shell of your ear, smearing some hot waxy face paint against your cheek.

“Ah-tatta… Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

He growled that last bit menacingly into your ear, pushing the slender tapered point of his blade deeper into your neck, sashaying side to side ominously as he adjusted his hold on you to expertly elude his arm from your long nails. He played around with the butt of the knife, tapping it and twisting it around absentmindedly. The blade slid against the delicate skin of your throat carelessly, with varying pressure. You froze. Just because you couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. As a grim reminder of his presence, he knowingly did this, intruding all boundaries of your personal space. Your blood ran cold, frosted by the chilling metal digging into your neck, and your sight remained trained on John Blake.

Events that happened at the bank flipped through your mind like the pages of a comic book.

Terrorist. Master-manipulator. Criminal. What the hell are you?

You weren’t sure if you should be more afraid of this more talkative version of the clown, or the dead silent dirt green-haired man under the frowning mask.

If there was one thing they had in common, you couldn’t fully understand either of them.

Your life was in the hands of a madman who treated it all like a game.

You saw John looking straight into you, seething underneath all that pressure. You tried to seek solace in him and calm him down at the same time, trying to convey your emotions through your eyes.

Tongue in cheek, the man behind you was clearly watching this interaction, unamused.

“For a couple of party crashers-ah? You guys sure are bor―ing.”

With a low rumble in his chest, he shoved you forward and seized your hands behind you, pressing the knife against the back of your neck. A gasp escaped your lips, not used to the crassness of which you were being handled.

“Ooh, I have an idea, something real fun. It wouldn’t do to do this at our, uh, current venue however…”

He gestured his goons towards the abandoned building in front of you.

Catching your breath, you twisted your head to the side to look at John Blake, your eyes widening and searching his face desperately. You had no choice but to be subjected to this… sick game of his.

“It’ll be okay, John. We’ll be okay.”

You only managed to catch a glimpse of his jaw clenching and his hard eyes looking back at you, before the clown in the purple suit pushed you forward again. The clown smacked his lips together.

“Make it fast, lovebirds.”

###

Your head spun feverishly. You were sleep-deprived, couldn’t breathe well, and in a… sticky situation. You were just slammed forcefully, thrown head first into a fiberboard office desk. Through a teary-eyed vision, for a moment it was pitchblack, with the dim light of the city at night filtering through the window. Then, you were blinded by the sting of office-grade LED strip lights arranged neatly on the ceilings above you. Your trachea was already burning from being forced to climb up a flight of stairs. You had just about enough. This debilitation and lightheadedness gave you a newfound strength, ironically.

You thought back on the 9/11 attacks, and on every other occasion you felt this similar genuine terror strike up in your heart. You vaguely remember some quote, to never negotiate with terrorists, or something like that. Terrible advice really, to anyone who was actually in a terror situation where it was life or death, but to hell with it. You were at your limit for the amount of bullshit you could tolerate. Being absolutely manhandled was not in your itinerary this night. You thought back on every good thing you’ve tried to do for Gotham, sickeningly undone by thugs like these. Your hunched form felt an animosity that was like acid, burning, slicing and extremely potent. And luck has it, you’re trying to stop me again.

Your forehead was propped against the desk for support. Your hands were free, but your world was spinning too much for you to do anything with them. You bared your teeth, and you swear you could feel fangs growing where your canines were rooted.

Violently, you hurled your voice against the desk.

“Haven’t you done enough to us at the bank?”

You squeezed your eyes shut and gritted your teeth, clenching your fists tightly. Your blood was hot, and you could no longer feel the coolness of the blade against your neck.

“I’m not afraid of you terrorists. Frankly speaking, I am absolutely sick of you little bastards.”

Venomously, you spit the excess saliva in your mouth against the desk, overwhelmed with emotion.

You felt him tugging at your white blazer sleeves, and an excruciating force wrenched at the crown of your head by the hair, lifting your body up slightly, with it still looming over the desk. You felt a suppressed rage as you ran out of ways to express your anger in this awkward position, and you prepared to resort to launching a spit at him to resolve this compulsion.

But the moment you were face to face with him, the hairs on the nape of your neck bristled. Trapped in your own psychosis, you were wheedled into a living nightmare tailor made for your own brain to play on your deepest fears. Two holes gouged out for eyes, and a bloodied smile carved in place of lips, all splotched onto a chalky white canvas. He looked like a corpse, and you felt the urge to puke. You felt your stomach lurch, and you clutched at your mouth to coax the acidic feeling back down your throat.

He studied you, frowning deeply and narrowing his eyes, straining his head sideways to get a better look at you. God, when he narrowed those eyes, his sclera disappeared and they looked like the eye sockets embedded within a skull. His greasy hair frayed around framing his head stiffly, lifeless with its strands starched and stiffened together with muck, as if it were dipped in formaldehyde, its proteins coagulated rigidly like it belonged to a cadaver that had long been embalmed. They were bleached off of their natural colour and a faded wash of pallid, acid pale green remained. The fact that he smelled strongly of a queasy mixture of many different chemicals definitely did nothing to help.

“Ah, so you are that little doctor girl back there. I remember you... Who else on earth wears a, uh, white blazer?”

He snorted at the end, pinched at your sleeve at the same time, causing your forearm to be lifted, before he let it go. Your wrist bone landed, smacking against the table with a loud snap. The bite was sharp and pointed. You quickly grabbed your hand and held it to your chest, rubbing over it soothingly. You had no idea why you felt offended by this.

“Glad you made it, little girl-”

“Doctor... What? And says you! You’re-you’re dressed in a purple trench-”

You cut him off. He regarded you with a slow lick of his lips, gliding languidly over the fringes of his scars. He gets even closer, up in your face. He stares down at you, looking directly into your very being. You try to look away, but you could only see ink black. You could even smell the greasepaint in this enclosed space. You felt the world spinning.

“C’mere―Hey. Look at me.”

He rasped, dragging the clipped point of the dagger against your cheek, pressing it against the corner of your lips.

“Y'know, whenever people say they’re... not afraid of me,”

He looked away, inflecting his voice. Then he pointed at his face with his gloved hands, gesturing at the distance between you two, etching even closer. You felt an internal score rising in pitch.

“I do this. I get all up in their face.”

He nodded at you. To this you sealed your eyes back together. You dared not look. The world had not stopped circling around you. He yanked your head.

“Hey―come on…”

Cooing, he sticks the blade in your mouth. It took all your strength in order to keep your eyes open, just to stare helplessly into back his cavernous ones. The straining notes were reaching an unbearable dissonance, tearing jarringly into your eardrums. It was excruciating. Your ears ached and bled. They reached a frequency that was no longer audible to you.

“And guess what? They’re always silent. Like you, right now.”

He smiled, patronisingly, with a sympathetic look on his face, shaking his head slightly.

“People that, uh, put on a show… are spineless, more often, than no-t.”

He patted your face gently with his leather finger tips, then rubbed loose patterns around. He had you in his trap. You were his prey, no more than a little mouse to a cold-blooded viper. He flicked his tongue rapidly out of his mouth, then retracts it. What he said wasn’t… false. You couldn’t take it any longer. The revolutions around you were excessive.

“Hey―Freakshow. Does it feel good intimidating someone smaller than you? Behind a mask?”

You saw his eyeballs shift to the side with the weight of a boulder, this time jarringly wide, and you could only see the white of his eyes. He really did not look amused. He shifted his bottom lips in a restrained tick, almost like a controlled form of madness. He leaned back slightly, his grip still firm on your hair, wobbling it around slightly. His body bent a little backwards from the hips, and he dramatically gesticulated his hand holding the knife into an open palm.

“Very well, your dashing knight in ah, shining armour has given us a great suggestion.”

Your body was pulled towards him and he faced it towards the center of the room, with that familiar careless grace you witnessed days ago. His arm was hooked suffocatingly around your neck, and you were face to face with the setting of an abandoned office room. The only furniture was the shabby office desk before you, and floorboards were uncovered, revealing nails sticking out of the ground. The wallpaper was partially torn, a pale beige staining at the edges with a rusted brown. A few slider windows were spruced along the walls surrounding the room.

John Blake and Lau were pushed all the way to the windows, both of them still held captive by the two goons, edging dangerously close to the borders. Lau stood on the left, and Blake on the right.

“Let’s extend this little… game between us,”

The grisly clown tongued along the scars on his inner cheek.

“To our guests here with us.”

He reached around beneath his coat, into his back pocket.

“You deranged fuck, what you’re doing here is sick-”

Bones cracked. A fist connected with John Blake’s skull.

Lau just stared on agitatedly, his tongue curling against his bottom lip as he inhaled deeply, his breathing rate increasing. His hands were still behind his head.

“Between one life or the other,”

The clown craned his head into your line of sight, to check if you were still listening. Your chest constricted, and your breathing picked up. The pain escalated.

“You’ll get to choose…”

Reaching around you, he presented a gun, glinting silver. You stared at it, horrified. He cackled scratchily, the sound of his voice grating to your ears like sandpaper. From behind, he wrapped his hands around yours as gingerly as he could at first, as if he were handling a delicate little child, teaching them a valuable life skill, such as tying their shoe laces. Soon he gave up on this idea and thrust it in your hand, then unceremoniously clasped his hands tightly around yours, fumbling slightly with the butt of the gun. He made a throaty noise. His varnished gloves rubbed mercilessly against the skin on your knuckles.

No, no, no, no....

You squeezed your eyes, an epileptic meditation amidst the prelude of a panic attack. He hunched over, jutting a sharp chin into the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder. You squirmed, and felt purple walls around you constricting further as his arms enclosed around you, your heart sinking further down and squished into a box. You did not like him pushing past your personal boundaries at all.

“You can’t make me do this.”

Your voice was barely a crack above a whisper, croaking silently.

He lifted his chin and pushed back down on your shoulder to get a closer look at your face, making a nasally grunt as he did so.

“You do know what’s gonna happen to you if ya don’t play along now, don’tcha?”

He bobbed your hand around slightly, the gleaming danger of the pistol hypnotic. You stay rooted to the spot, coercing your hands into relaxation. You were being lured into its spell, it was like a siren that serenaded, and the barrel of the gun looked like that of a deformed pipe. His arms were caged around you, you were locked in place.

You followed the sound of the pipe.

Your eyes were steely.

He turned his cheek a little, nudging the side of his cheek against yours to direct your attention to the left side. More wax was smeared on your face. You felt stifled.

“Your… corrupt boss who cares about nothing but money,”

Your gun was still pointed to the middle of Blake and Lau. But you were bewitched to keep your gaze on Lau, and he stared at you with the same flecks of red in his eyes as he did a couple days ago at the office.

“You know, my car is worth more than both of your entire life savings combined-”

“Or…”

He jerked his head slightly to the right and made another nasal sound to redirect you, along with the disgusting lick of his lips. The walls were slowly caving in.

“Your tall, dark and handsome squeeze over here.”

He crooned suggestively.

“Y’know, he is pretty gallant―Maybe he wouldn’t mind sacrificing his life so that little squealing rat could live.”

You watched John Blake as he was being jostled roughly by the brown-haired man. You didn’t know how to react, and you couldn’t find the right words to say. For some reason, that statement made you feel somehow… sorrowful. Why?

“He… We’re not attached.”

You silently blurted out. You felt a low rumble vibrating against your back, before the clown behind you burst into a fit of light, high-pitched giggles, incredulous. On top of his voice, even his nasal laughter sounded like a cynical, washed out clown who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, who put on a red nose and laughed derisively at childrens’ misery at their own birthday parties.

This was something you felt the need to clarify? Right before all of your untimely deaths? Oh, how entertaining this was to him. You were beyond foolish to the clown.

“Talk about ice cold, little girl.”

The clown scoffed in disbelief.

“My brother over there, I’m so sorry. Trust me, I feel for ya-”

He jeered, wiping a fake tear away from his eyes, letting the last waves of his laughter tide through. You frowned, puzzled and bewildered. You caught John Blake’s gaze, helplessly searching for answers from him. He tensed his jaw further, collecting his thoughts. Clearly, the clown’s antics were getting to him. You couldn’t blame him. You fared no better. He took a deep breath and calmed.

“It’s fine, just relax. Don’t fall for his twisted mind games.”

The clown pouted at him. He was pushed even further against the edge of the window, the brown-haired man pointing his gun underneath his chin and painstakingly shoved him further backward. His lower body was the only thing anchoring him to the floorboard. The corpse clown's hands clasped over yours tapped it impatiently a couple of times.

“We don’t have all day, y’know.”

He deadpanned. You inhaled slightly and closed your eyes. Your mind sifted through many memories, sharp and bright, of all your interactions with Lau. Of all the conversations you’ve had with John over Lau.

That man is nothing but scum. He has contributed to the steady crumble of Gotham, peddling drugs, perpetuating murders, and ensuring that the mob ruled the city with an iron fist.

It was scary how you were able to rationalise this.

No hard feelings Lau. An eye for an eye. That’s all it really is.

You slowly felt anger and vengeance bubbling in your stomach. You were overwhelmed with the savagery of the beast. You sought retribution, reprisal and revenge. This… was you. And you had all the power in the world to take the law into your hands, to play your own judge. You slowly traced the line of the sight of the gun to your left. The music of the pipe resounded melodically. It’s dangerous. But it was so… incredibly sweet. You looked up from the barrel to the man its sight landed on. Your eyes were glazed over. The clown behind you hummed in assent, pleased with the results. Your fingers hooked at the trigger, hesitating.

“Excellent choice, little girl.”

He licked his lips. He toyed around with the gun, playing and fiddling with its hammer, flicking it and letting go absentmindedly.

“If only it weren’t so, ah… pre-dictable.”

He rested his fingers atop of yours. Your hands shook a little.

“Is it because it goes ‘according to plan’? I mean, he’s the obvious baddie over here, and all you… do-gooders. You clearly deserve to live. To bring him to justice.”

He purred into your ear, his breath fanning you hotly. John Blake struggled further against the man holding him back. He had no hands to grip onto the frames of the window. His fall was imminent. He had to speak up now. There was no better time. Desperately, he wheezed.

“You know kid,”

He sputtered slightly.

“I always told you that you were like a… like a siege engine. I’m only saying this now because it’s a matter of life or death,”

His words were initially spat out at a fast pace, his voice was very strained from his extreme and awkward position, and his breath was laboured. Eventually, he slowed down to get his point across more clearly.

“You’re a fine weapon. A valuable asset to my company, and your work is remarkable. I’ve always entrusted you to make the right decisions as my junior analyst… But I’ve come to realise you’re so much more. ”

He tried to peer down at you from his obstructed view, toiling as his voice was weak from holding this position. For so long you worked so hard for him, and you barely got rewarded with words of confirmation. Your eyes went wide and you hastily looked at him, they were glossy and large like a puppy dog. Your heart squeezed gut wrenchingly, for months you pined for this truth. You yearned so deeply to now what he truly thought of you and everything you’ve done for him.

“You’re always by my… my side. It’s two of us against the world. You’re the only person I want to do this job with. You’re a bright girl, with so much flair for what you do. And that’s not the only part,”

You felt yourself drift higher and higher, and you were now a lightweight. Drunk on his words, you’ve never heard him speak so personally about you before. It was always sparse little words of affirmation sprinkled around sparingly. He was an incredibly stingy man. He was so ungenerous with praise. It was always snarky jabs at you. He always made you feel the need to prove yourself. But he was the first one who gave you the chance to.

“That’s not what makes you special. I want you to remember our vision-”

He implored earnestly.

“Our vision… has been tainted. But that doesn’t make it any more invalid. Sometimes... we do have to get our hands dirty, for-for the greater good.”

He breathed, in between jagged gasps. If this was what he truly thought of you...

“I’ll trust you again. To do the right thing.”

Intently, you listened to his words, your eyes watering slightly. You tried internalising the wealth of what he said to you. It was a lot to take in, it all happened so fast. This conversation was happening prematurely. You had no idea who was playing the pipe at this point. Where was the sound coming from…? The alluring music converged from all corners, all directing to the source of the instrument in your hand.

The clown behind you went uncharacteristically silent. He licked his lips slowly, studying the exchange between the two of you. Siege engine, huh? What a funny word to describe you with. Siege engines were colossal battering rams, castle forged and an exalted war machine that delivered victories to the warring states for centuries. Monumental goliaths, they were the front lines, the fortress breakers, the castle crashers, leading the furious charge on battlefields when zero hour arrived. They were medieval trebuchets of acclaim, a necessity for triumph in war. As glorious as they were, they could only be as great as their role allowed them to be. At the end of the day, they were nothing but a mere pawn of war.

You slowly looked at Lau, and he no longer looked at you with that malice from before. It was replaced by a look that was… strikingly familiar. He reminded you of the mob bank teller days prior. Pleading, frightened, like a cornered animal, desperate and fighting to survive. His gaze pierced right through to your heart. This struck a chord within you. You observed how his eyebrows knitted into the shape of a mountain, quivering lightly. His lips downturned and parted slightly. His eyes were large. The look of a man whose life flashed before his life.

Yes, he did cause you a lot of trouble at the office. He did utterly degrade and humiliate you. He made your job hard. The moment he stepped in, he made you hate your job. No actually, that’s the understatement of the century. He made you loathe your job, detest it, abhor it. Pretty much anything to do with a severe hateful feeling you felt for this job, where you used to feel joy or any small amount of excitement, he had killed it for you. But did he really deserve to die for this?

“I-”

A croak filed through your dry throat. It felt like a type of flesh eating insect was festering within your insides. Starting at your heart, they feasted at the tissue down into your stomach, and they were coming up through your gullet. The moral conscience weighed inside of you like a heavy pendulum, one swing away from breaking off from its support and crashing through to your very center. You couldn’t bear the moral weight of such a decision. This was not a burden you could carry for the rest of your life.

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

John Blake looked at you while he sucked in a breath, unreadable. Lau fell to his knees, a wash of relief coming over him. He continued being kicked and kneed in the face by the goon wearing a clown mask.

“Ah... you’ve already chosen unfortunate-ly. And you’re not backing out of this one, sweetheart.”

You flinched hearing the voice that you had forgotten was there. This stirred something within you, and you refused to give into his demands. You would rather die than make a choice like this.

“No, I am not giving into your stupid, twisted pseudo-social experiment-”

You twisted the gun barrel to face yourself, and for once, you heard no more music.

“It wouldn’t even matter who I chose anyway… would it?”

Shakily, you looked into the head of the barrel, and you felt… grief. It was cold and empty looking. For the second time that night, it felt like you were looking death in the eye. A knot twisted in your stomach. Your tears spilled over your cheeks, flowing hotly. You wept silently. You were stubborn, you would go to this extent just to prove something. Your ego knew no bounds. Your hearing blanked out for a moment, and you vaguely heard Blake shouting at you. You suddenly plunged into purgatory, existing solely on the plane between life and death. You teetered on the edge. Lau looked on from the ground, body tense and deeply perturbed. This turn of events was greeted by silence from the clown.

The clown stared, wide eyed. His face twitched. His lips quirked into a frown. Why… would you do something like that? His eyes narrowed a fraction. He couldn’t comprehend this. It wasn’t exactly easy to render him speechless. Why on earth would you throw your life away for another’s? This he could not understand. Humans are... selfish creatures. At the core of it, they were all rotten and purely motivated by self-interest. Then… then why? Why hadn’t he been able to predict this? This ate at him. Got under his skin. It grinded his gears. His arms wrung around you tighter. He observed the pistol pointed at your forehead. This was pathetic. Absolutely ridiculous. Confusion quickly dissipated in his chest and boiled into a seething, frothy rage. His jaw jutted forth and tensed, trembling slightly, his lips pursing together. He cackled through his nostrils, sounding a little manic. If you really wanted death, he wasn’t going to just give it to you, no. Ah, ah, ah… I’m not letting you get your satisfaction out of this. He couldn’t let you off the hook this easy.

“Well then, little girl. You can’t be a… a sore loser and quit playing our game now.”

His lilt sounded crazed. He gripped your hands tighter, you felt the leather skirting against your skin.

“I suppose-ah, I’ll have to finish your job for you.”

He spat, his words practically dripping with pure spite and malice. He wrenched your wrist to aim the gun away from you. Alarmed, your senses were heightened and you let out a sharp bark. At a speed you’ve never seen yourself move at before, you bent forward and locked your jaw around his fingers, chomping down forcefully. Your teeth sunk into his leather glove, and clamped down straight into his last finger. Squawking, he was caught off-guard. You heaved your foot and aimed a kick at his crotch. He let out a muffled noise of pain, and you tried your damndest to take advantage of this and get out of this situation.

You struggled in his grasp, elbowing around at the sides, hoping to worm your way out of it. Unfortunately, he was unrelenting. Your hands were still on the gun, your fingers idling at the trigger. He doubled over, sickling an arm around your neck and gripped tightly onto the pistol, a finger slotted between the gun hammer and the rear sight, pulling it back. While he was in his position bent over, he was looming over you, laughing slightly. You were choking, beyond freaked out at this point, not exactly getting the reaction you wanted from him, and now you were completely unsure as to what he would do. The feeling of confinement was too much and you were at your breaking point.

“Y’know, forget being a siege engine,”

He grabbed your jaw, forcefully burrowing his fingers into your cheek.

“I think she’s more of a, uh, pinky bruiser.”

He tore your head upwards, and latched his hands back onto yours. He yanked at them, and aimed the gun at Lau. Ready, aim... He fastened his index fingers around yours. You widen your eyes, panicked with alarm bells shrilling through your head. Fire!

“No!”

He pulled at the trigger. You jerked your arms violently to the left, frantic. Recoiling, you were sent careening further back into the clown. The sound of the gun shot pierced through the air like a firecracker. You saw the goon with the mask fallen to the ground, his denim jeans getting soaked through with a fresh, gurgling red dampness around his thigh.

Before anything else could be registered in your mind, the brown-haired man on the right side of the room displaced John Blake’s leg, and grabbed his lower torso, flinging him over the ledge of the window sill. You tried to lunge forward, demented and crazed, you were quickly becoming hysterical.

“Ohmygod John-”

Completely out of control, a scream tore through with your whole body like a shard of glass, you took no notice of the pain in your lungs as you were rapidly turning unhinged. The man who flipped John over like he was a light, airy pancake, faced you and you heard the click of a gun.

You saw the sight of a gun cocked in your direction. You felt tears well up in your eyes at this very fraction of time.

Bang!

You screwed your eyes shut, expecting the most intense agony you would ever feel in your life. But the pain never came. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and you saw the goon drop unconscious like a fly zapped through an electric swatter, most likely dead.

“Did I tell you to shoot her…”

The clown behind you muttered to himself, the smell of gunpowder burning your nostrils and you saw streaks of smoke smouldering and rising from the gun barrel in his hands. You tensed your shoulders, mouth slightly agape in bewilderment. You mouthed something soundlessly, but words could not form. What are you doing-

The crackle of wood being busted through splintered at your ears, the noise tearing through the room sickeningly. You didn’t even have time to decide whether you should feel relieved or not.

“Drop the weapon, now!”

Lieutenant Gordon came bursting through with a team of policemen, their pistols aiming at every figure present in the room. He looked at you and the clown, and kept his gun trained in your direction. He dared not edge closer, in case you got harmed.

The clown, with his hold still vice-like on you, stumbled backwards pulling you along ungracefully. He still kept you imprisoned under his reign for one final moment in time. You were at his mercy.

“Drop it now!”

A pair of lips pressed intimately into your ear. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

“You know pinky bruiser, you were a lot of fun today. Sorry for, uh, calling you a party pooper.”

He rasped. A chuckle rumbled lowly in his chest.

“I think... you and I both know―Fate wouldn’t have it if this was our last time together.”

He murmured and you were about to pass out from this lightheadedness and claustrophobia. You were constricted for far too long. You were way past your breaking point. A huge force tipped you backwards. You grabbed onto the ledge of the window sills, your veins popping from exerting such a strong force on your arms.

All of a sudden, the clown’s hold on you was relinquished.

Your lungs overflowed with air, and your body was dramatically jerked forward, pain flooding your systems as you dry-heaved. Gordon hurried over by your side, extending a tender hand to rest on your arm. Realisation dawned upon you, and you swiftly spun around, bending over the ledge, looking out the window. You craned your neck as far down as you could see, hunting down and examining the perimeter.

Gone.

Gordon was pulling you back, preventing you from falling out the window. He was trying to talk some sense into you, but quickly gave up when he realised your current, panicked state of mind. Your strength was fading, and you allowed Gordon to reel you back into safety. Why didn’t you just… kill me? You thumped, falling to your knees, grabbing your hands to your head, sobbing and whimpering your sorrows away. You finally allowed all the pent up emotions to crash, not that you could control it now, anyway. It felt like a mallet crashing through from behind your eyes and nose, the twinging sensation unbearable as you wailed. It should have been me, goddamn it.

Gordon knelt down, sighing and furrowing his brows in sympathy. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, then closed his mouth. He felt useless in this situation, clearly unable to help clear your head of any type of trauma that resulted from this unfortunate event. He was aware of this. He hated feeling this powerless, he hated not being able to help. He had perhaps felt this way his entire career, with a town like Gotham so rotten, the GCPD was basically made a mockery at this point.

Lau was about to be taken by the other cops back into custody. He ambled past you, and looked over you and your pathetic form. For once, his expression was not one of scorn. It wasn’t one of anything really, he just looked a shell of the person he was just moments ago. You were pushing it if you said he looked like he felt bad for you, and that he held a thankful expression at the same time. You weren’t sure if you believed him to be capable of that.

You were escorted out the abandoned office building, swaying and staggering around. You went to pick up the devices strewn all over the soil, with some help from Gordon. When you saw a glowing cop car with shattered windows and John Blake being supported by two cops, relieving pressure off his shoulders, you quickly rubbed at your tear stained face and hobbled over as quick as you could, relief pumping through your chest as you were hopeful that he survived the fall.

The paramedics were on their way, and from the looks of it, John had a mildly serious shoulder injury and got extremely lucky. He had fallen from a height of 1 story from the ground, but as luck would have it, his fall was broken by the cop car stationed coincidentally below the window. He also fell on his side, which allowed for the best chance of survival and led to the least immobilising injuries.

You couldn’t help yourself and gave John a quick hug and squeezed him lightly, after hearing him speak about what you were to him, and after experiencing the fright and grief of losing him. You were met with an involuntary wince. That probably felt soul-crushing to him, taking into account that he just fell out of a building. The ambulance finally arrived and they proceeded to bring down a stretcher. You were glad it was over. But something told you this was not the last of the clown you’d see. You thought, I mean… he practically promised you that you’d be seeing him again soon enough.

“I’ll be fine. Just go get some rest.”

He assured you, idling around, not really wanting to leave. He tried prolonging his stay with you before they eventually persuaded him to get onto the stretcher.

“Heh. This time you’re the one sending me off.”

You smiled, wanting to follow but he refused. You weren’t really sure why he wouldn’t allow that, feeling a pang of hurt in your chest. He quickly convinced you that it was too late and you had your own injuries to recover from, not wanting to disrupt the healing process. You were doubtful, but you shrugged away this nagging feeling and tried to take his word for it, mustering a final warm smile on your wary face. Your eyelids were starting to droop. You bid him farewell for the time being and watched as he was whisked away.

You hated to admit it, but your mind was still plagued by that sadistic clown. Your mind raced with questions, and you wanted answers. What did he mean by his parting speech?

You were disturbed from your thoughts as Gordon offered to send you home, but you couldn’t reject his sincere offer. You didn’t want to disappoint him any further. As much as you didn’t like to leech off his kindness, it was the least you could do to repay him with the validation of being able to do something right. You sat in the front seat of the car, preparing to be saddled with desultory conversations on the ride home. However, you realised perhaps things would be different with Lieutenant Gordon. He had a type of heartfelt presence within, and was incredibly perceptive. You rested assured in your car seat. Yeah, he was different.

You heard the revving of the engine after Gordon slammed his front door shut. You stared out the window. The moon cast a buttery glow over the town, dancing in the velvety black-blue sky. The thought of the clown flashed through your mind once again. You closed your eyes, dispelling the cursed imagery. The blast of the air conditioner was adjusted to a pleasant breeze brushing lightly against your neck. Gordon placed his hand on the gear and recalibrated it. He breathed in, turned his head and landed his gaze uncomfortably on you.

“So, you uh, from this town?”

You felt something pleasant blossoming inside of you, being humoured by this awkward attempt at starting a conversation from Gordon. You chuckled lightly. You appreciated the effort.

“Yes, yes I am. What about you?”

You looked back and smiled politely. He stepped on the pedal and accelerated the vehicle.

“Well, no. I moved here some decades ago with my wife…”

You guessed it would do well to get to know more about your partners in crime fighting. You hummed, patiently listening.

Yeah, this wasn’t too bad, you supposed.

Now, if only you could stop yourself from feeling like passing out in the front seat.

That would be great.

###

#joker #Heath Ledger Joker #ledger joker #ledger!joker x reader #the dark knight

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falloutmelody · 5 years ago

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“She’s the prettiest girl at the party, and she can prove it with a solid right hook”- Natasha Romanoff x reader

(GIF IS NOT MINE, FULL CREDIT TO THE PERSON WHO MADE IT!)

WARNINGS: None! This is meant to be set just after the events of the first Avengers but before Winter Soldier bc I felt like it fitted in best then! Also, the reader is supposed to be a sibling of Bruce Banner, as the requester asked for the reader to be a sibling of an Avenger, and I felt like Bruce worked best! This isn’t meant to attack those who ship Nat x Bruce, btw! I had a female reader in mind whilst writing this, but it’s gender neutral, so anyone can enjoy!

REQUESTED BY: anonymous! Thank you for being my second request, I hope you like it! Natasha is my favourite MCU character and has been for years, so I’m very hyped to write for her! Also, repeat it with me, NATASHA DESERVED BETTER THAN WHAT HAPPENED IN ENDGAME.

WORD COUNT: 2005! Again, I had a lot of ideas for this, so I managed to write a lot!

Requests are still 100% open! You can find my fandom list and rules here, and you can request here! Feel free to send me any requests you desire!

It was a cold Tuesday morning. The view out the window before you seem to reflect that fact, as you watched distant, unfamiliar people dashing quickly back and forth several miles below you. You’d observed that SHIELD personnel seemed to always have a strange way of walking with purpose, regardless of what the actual task was, and you weren’t entirely sure if you admired that ability or if it made you uncomfortable. Perhaps it was somewhere in the middle.

What were you doing here? The summoning letter and the person that had driven you over here hadn’t been the most forthcoming with information. Nor had the countless people that had vetted you before you’d been allowed to even set foot inside SHIELD HQ. You supposed you understood the need for security, given what this building was home to, but given how secretive everything was, you didn’t understand why they’d taken the risk in reaching out to you in the first place.

Yes, you missed your brother. Of course you did. Honestly, you couldn’t even remember the last time you saw him, it had been years ago, before everything had gone… wrong. The idea of reuniting with him was the sole reason you’d agreed to go through the solid, stressful months of SHIELD analysis and observation. You just… ugh, you didn’t know. The stress of that moment, and all the emotions you were experiencing in that moment were messing with your brain.

And then, in a single moment, all of your rambling, messy thoughts were silenced.

“Y/N?”

Your head quickly turned in the direction of the voice, your whole body soon following suit. There he was. Slightly dishevelled and tired looking, but still your brother. A warm smile immediately spread across your lips as you met his gaze, however, you fought the urge to run to him as you didn’t want to startle him.

“Hi, Bruce.” You finally responded to his greeting. For a few moments, neither of you seemed to know what to do, as you both stood completely still, awkwardly looking at each other. Eventually, however, you caved in, and made the first move, slowly making your way over to him. Your movements were intentionally slow. You’d lost count of the amount of times that you’d been warned not to emotionally overwhelm your brother, given what often happened when that occurred, you just… you supposed in that moment, you just couldn’t help yourself.

Upon reaching him, you very, very gently embraced him, an action which seemed to catch Bruce off-guard as he didn’t immediately return or reject the gesture. “It’s really good to see you again,” you spoke quietly, not wanting your sibling’s awkward personality to ruin the moment. However, you only allowed the hug to linger for a few moments, soon beginning to slowly pull away. You went to talk as you did so, realising that there was so much that you needed to catch up on.

“So, I’m guessing this is the infamous Y/N?” A female voice caused you to quickly close your mouth and silence yourself, glancing over your shoulder in the direction of the voice. Stood there, a short distance away was a redhaired woman that it took you a few moments to mentally place.

Stood before you was the Black Widow.

You’d watched so many hours of news footage of the battle of New York since it had happened that you were genuinely surprised that it had taken you so long to recognise her. But, being stood there before her in real life, your brain couldn’t help but register just how beautiful she was. You were sure you were far from the first person to have that thought cross your mind, but still, she rendered you momentarily speechless as Natasha slowly made her way closer to both you and Bruce.

You finally regained the ability to snap yourself out of your appreciative thoughts when she got closer to you, forcing yourself to swallow down the nervous lump that had formed in your throat. Thankfully though, Natasha didn’t seem terribly phased by your response, because there was no way that she hadn’t picked up on it. If anything, it was the opposite, as a slightly coy, amused smile momentarily formed on her expression as she soon finally came to a stop, just in front of you. A couple of seconds passed, wherein you frantically tried to find your voice, finally managing to speak up. “U-Uh, yep. That’s me. It’s nice to meet you,” you stumbled over your words somewhat as anxiety once again got the better of you, something that only made the amused smile on Natasha’s expression grow somewhat.

Thankfully, Bruce took this moment to interject, something which caused a soft rush of gratitude to rush through you. “Y/N, this is Natasha. One of my…” Bruce began to talk, but soon trailed off, which you presumed was due to him not knowing what exact label to give the woman. You supposed they were technically colleagues, given that they both worked on the same team, but perhaps your brother was too hesitant to use that label. You had no idea, you weren’t actually in the Avengers, so how were you to know what the dynamic was actually like?

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve seen her on the news,” you softly took over from your sibling. Should you have said that? Would you now come across as creepy? You hadn’t intended it to, you’d just wanted to save your brother from floundering for his words for ages as you had just done.

“Nice to finally put a face to the stories,” Natasha continued, her attention still seemingly being solely on you. Her words took you aback somewhat. Presumably that meant that Bruce had mentioned you at some point in time, but you hadn’t been expecting that. But that was a nice thought, the idea that your brother had continued to mention and think of you, despite how separate you’d become in recent years due to everything that had happened with him. The confusion that had momentarily crossed over your expression at her words earned a small scoff of amusement from Natasha, before she once again continued to speak. “So, let me guess, you’re the knowledgeable type too, huh?” You weren’t entirely sure from her tone if her words were a question or a statement of what her impression of you was from what Bruce had told her, and so, you momentarily stayed silent as you tried to scramble up an answer that wouldn’t make you come across as being either cocky or an idiot.

“Um. Maybe. Kinda depends on your definition of knowledgeable. I know some things. Definitely don’t have seven PhDs though,” you spoke in your best attempt at a playful tone, giving a quick glance back in your brother’s direction to make it clear that was who you were referencing.

Natasha gave a small nod at your response. “I’m sure you’re more intelligent than you make yourself out to be. Fury doesn’t just request for people to be brought in for no reason.” Her oddly motivational words earned a genuine smile from you, as you soon gave a small shrug of your shoulders.

“Well, hopefully, I’ll get a chance to prove you right.” There you go. There was the confidence that you’d been badly looking for throughout this whole conversation. Nice of it to return once you’d gotten towards the end of the conversation, huh?

Once again, a look of amusement formed on the redhead’s expression, that coy smile appearing on her lips for a second time. “Well, I look forward to getting a chance to see that. Now, if you don’t mind, I have places to be.” Of course, you didn’t object to this, even though you did want to continue talking to her. Given what her job was, she probably had something important to be getting on with, something dangerous. Thus, you stayed quiet for a few moments, allowing her to walk around you and make it a few steps down the corridor before you mustered up the courage to call a goodbye after her.

“It was really nice to meet you, Natasha.” Your simple goodbye caused the redhead to briefly stop in her tracks once more, with her soon turning back to look at you. For a brief moment, you could have sworn that a genuine smile with a hint of real warmth formed on Natasha’s expression as she met your gaze.

“You too, Y/N. I’ll see you around,” she returned the farewell, giving a small nod before she turned back around once more and continued to walk off in the direction that she’d been heading in. Then, just as suddenly as she had arrived, she was gone from sight. However, despite her not being physically there, her effect on you didn’t immediately fade. The sound of your heart, which was racing at an absurdly fast rate, continued to echo up into your ears, and you soon anxiously pushed your slightly sweat-dampened hands into your pockets.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” And, just like that, you were once again snapped back into reality by your brother’s voice. Hoping that you hadn’t been staring at the end of the corridor for a creepy amount of time, you soon turned back to face Bruce, giving him a small nod in response to his question.

“Ye…“ You soon cut yourself off, needing a quick moment to clear your throat. “Yeah, yeah! I’m okay. Just a little starstruck, I wasn’t expecting to run into another Avenger today. Am I gonna run into Captain America today too?” Your words were playful, obviously intended to make your attraction to the female not seem obvious. Not that your brother was the type to playfully tease you for having a crush, or at least, he hadn’t been when you’d last seen him, but still. You didn’t want to make things awkward for him by making it clear that you found one of his co-workers attractive. You were supposed to be here to see him after all, that was why you’d agreed to be dragged here.

Bruce’s expression seemed to suggest that he didn’t entirely buy this explanation, as his face briefly scrunched up in confusion, but unsurprisingly, he chose not to question it. Instead, he merely nodded, allowing his expression to somewhat relax. “Okay,” he replied simply, softly smiling at you for a moment. “Um, I’m not busy at the moment, so do you wanna go find a place for us to talk? It’s been a while.” A soft but brief laugh momentarily escaped your lips at that understatement, before you soon nodded in agreement with his idea. You stayed still for a moment, allowing your brother to start walking and thereby lead the way to wherever he wanted to take you. Before you did so, however, you just couldn’t help yourself. You took a quick moment to once again glance back in the direction that Natasha had disappeared into, before quickly turning on your heel and walking quickly in order to catch up with your brother, the SHIELD agent that had been assigned to watch over you that had, until now been stood a short distance away, soon following after the pair of you. That didn’t bother you too much though, you knew they were just doing their job.

As you walked with your sibling, you found yourself hoping that Natasha’s parting words to you would turn out to be accurate. Whilst, of course, you were hoping that this event gave you a chance to properly reconnect with your brother, you couldn’t deny that more than a small part of you was looking forward to possibly getting a chance to see a certain redhaired agent once again, and getting another chance to have a longer conversation with her.

And perhaps, just perhaps, although you didn’t want to get your hopes up, you could possibly one day be friends. Or maybe, if you were extremely lucky, maybe a little bit more than that.

Only time would tell.

AN: And I’m gonna end it there! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! As mentioned above, my requests are still 100% open, so feel free to send me any requests if you have them!

Hope you’re all having a good day, and I’ll see you all next time!

#natsha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #marvel x reader #mcu x reader

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ansgar-martinsson · 5 years ago

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The Best Intentions - Part 3

The Best Intentions

Part 3

“It is no imposition, believe me,” Ansgar replied. “As much as I despise the fact that your building is suffering problems, I do enjoy solving them now and again.” He surreptitiously allowed his gaze to follow the path of her hands as they straightened out the denim of her skirt. He saw a strength in her movements, a power in the way her muscles shaped beneath the fabric - a power matched by her forthrightness. Not overwhelming, mind you… not false… not pretentious… just… present. This one - she knew what she wanted and how to get it, that much was obvious.

And admirable.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “you would like to change into something more suitable for structural investigations before we begin.” With his eyes, he indicated the Louboutin pumps, still lying discarded on the stage floor. “Why don’t I go take a look at the sprinkler heads installed backstage, and you tell me where to meet you when you’re done.”

Jo’s comfort came in the form of a pair of old broken in trainers (stained with paint from the tech shop), faded, ripped jeans (exposed knees from load-in from her last theatre job in Paris) and a ratty, old, black short-sleeved t-shirt (sprinkled with holes). She kept a wardrobe on hand in her office for days like this. Box office days, she dressed smartly, prim, proper for all the old biddies spending their pension on Puccini. Tech days, she wore black from head to toe. On opening and gala nights, she felt at home in a little black dress or a gown. Dressing for an office meeting felt like work.

The computer and its dancing screensaver called to her in the corner to research the lighting issue. The ramifications meant long hours of interviewing new candidates for her design or technical team. But that would have to wait… the rest of the repairs needed another pair of eyes, the haunted blue of the engineer. Something weighed on him, a brooding quiet, a dark hurt, a something that she couldn’t quite read yet.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the oh-so-soft denim whispered against her skin. She blew a kiss at her borrowed Louboutins, promising another night in them… soon-ish. She returned to find Ansgar wandering around backstage, making notes on a clipboard, knocking on walls with his fist, shining his torch this way and that, and testing the pulley system for the flies.

“Thank you,” Jo said announcing her presence, “I… this works.” She threw her arms out beside her palms out, displaying a tattoo on her left forearm. “Much more me for days like this.”

“Where do you need me?” he tucked his notes under his arm. His gaze followed her arm and the flash of color he saw.

“Ah, under the stage.” She pointed below her feet. “The sprinklers may have caused water damage? The hydraulics for the turn table works only when it wants.”

“Temperamental,” he commented with a chuckled grunt. He took control, leading them off stage right to the staircase for the other area. “Have you used the pyrotechnics down there?”

Jo followed closely at his elbow, anticipating questions about the integrity of the areas she showed him. “Not since… not last season.”

“Any of the directors turn in specs for it for the upcoming?”

She shook her head though he didn’t look at her. “Not yet. The designers haven’t either. We still need to find a team for The Flying Dutchman.”

Jo asked Ansgar to look over the box seats and the arrangement of it. The dip of the seats had started scaring some of the older audience members, fearing they’d fall into the orchestra below. The wall between dressing rooms seven and eight had begun to warp. The floor in the rehearsals spaces needed patching and sanding. She toured through with a careful ear listening to his tips and concerns, and possible hidden agendas amongst her crew.

When they were through the laundry list of items, Jo found some relief. She stood at the top of the orchestra, hands gripping the back of a red velvet seat. “I love my work, Herr Martinsson. I haven’t an ounce of talent of my own, but I love this place. I’d love to see it sparkle again. And so would Harold.”

Ansgar stared, his focus narrowing on her. “I’m sorry. Harold?”

“The opera ghost,” she teased. “He’s been with us the entire time.”

He humored her and offered her a good natured laugh, stepping in to stand beside her, looking over the sea of red. He placed his hands on the seat beside her. “Well, Joline… and Harold… I think I can help.”

She looked down and quieted the tiniest of swells of disappointment in her belly when she saw a wedding ring on Ansgar’s left hand. Attractive men were always married; she should know, she’d married one. “We both appreciate it. Harold and me.” She pushed a smile to her lips and brushed his shoulder with hers.

“Well,” he said, “we’ve a duty to our ghosts; to make sure they’re happy with the things they’ve left behind, don’t we?” Ansgar’s speech slowed as he spoke, the impact of his own statement not lost upon him.

His thumb, in an autonomic motion, tucked into his palm, the tip of it rubbing against the underside of the golden band that remained around his finger.

“I’m sure Harold will be supremely happy,” the woman by his side quipped. Ansgar’s lips quirked into a small smile, partly at her praise, partly at the fact that she had missed his passing discomfiture altogether. Or so he’d hoped.

In further hope of distraction, he raised his clipboard, running his finger down the list he’d made. “Well, Froken Lindberg,” he said, “if that is all of the issues, then, I think I ought to get back to the office and get this to my project manager. Get her on contacting the subs and suppliers immediately, get warranty claims made and bond claims if need be.”

“You mean Froken Wiessing?”

“No,” Ansgar shook his head. “But I think… well, Julia and I will have some other things to discuss.”

“Anything I need to worry about?”

Ansgar looked down at her and smiled. “Not anymore. Listen,” he said, “I apologise for all of this happening, I apologise for my company being so unresponsive, it’s… it’s not like us… not like me at all. Quite the opposite.”

“I know,” she shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s all being sorted now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he affirmed. “Are you sure?”

“Well,” she grinned up at him. “There is one more thing you can do.”

“Name it,” he challenged.

“Take me to lunch. I’m starving.”

Ansgar laughed. It felt good to laugh again… very good. Truly, honestly good. “Of course,” he bowed his head, smiling. “You name the place. It’s the least I can do.”

Jo discovered Carousel her first week as House Manager. The Mediterranean outdoor café suited her low-key wardrobe and Ansgar’s higher end threads. The grilled rib-eye tasted of heaven on a plate but Jo loved making a meal of the appetizers instead of gorging herself on mains. As she angled into the wooden bench, she wiggled-slid behind the oblong table, “The gazpacho and watermelon should be a sin.”

Ansgar folded himself into the chair at the head of the table, to her left. Grinning at her, he took in the colorful and lively atmosphere. It all seemed so… normal. So ordinary. Comforting normality of his home.

Her voice dropped to a sensual moan. “The sweet and the savory…” She rolled her eyes skyward. The grumble in her stomach wasn’t just hunger but curiosity about her lunch companion and this need to prove herself worthy as House Manager. After months of chasing attention at Martinsson Construction, she now felt consumed by this mad drive to show him that the house and how it ran remained safe in her hands.

“I brought the mockup of our final mailing and advert campaign… the last push to get asses in the seats for the new season.” Ticket sales and revenue secured her position. As it was her first full season as manager, it was final examinations on her worth. “We open in September with The Marriage of Figaro.”

His finger traced along the glossy production photographs of women in wide elaborate frocks and taller wigs. The text read clean and concise, listing titles of the upcoming operas, dates, the box office website, and other means to purchase tickets or sponsor levels. “Impressive,” he nodded.

“Did you get your invitation to the opening night gala? My staff sent them round to all the executives at your company.”

“Uh… no… no. I’ve been away,” he repeated his mantra from earlier. “I’ve not caught up on correspondences. I assume that Britta has added it to my calendar.”

Jo wrinkled her nose, “This is boring to you.”

“Not at all. Your… passion is admirable actually.”

Her wide blue eyes met his and kicked herself for flirting with him. She shouldn’t encourage this. She couldn’t.

But it was one lunch. One lunch couldn’t hurt.

It’s only lunch, Ansgar thought.

But it was true what he’d said, he admired her passion. it seemed to permate every inch of her, seep from her pores. Passion - well, it was extremely attractive. Her passion for her job, her passion for her art - for it was her art, he knew. Even if she wasn’t the Prima Donna, or a visual artist or a composer or even if she wasn’t a musician or a set designer or a lighting designer, it was still her art.

Like his work with steel and glass in structural engineering, he knew her expression of her self came with the craft of engineering logistics.

“Tell me,” he said, stabbing up a forkful of spinach salad, “what’s your talent utilisation style?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him over the rim of her water glass. “My what?”

Ansgar swallowed and nodded. “I mean… your management style. How do you… how do you manage to keep all those….”

“Artistic types in line?” She chuckled. “Sometimes it’s like herding cats… cats who have been rolling in catnip and have eaten an entire bag of Smarties. You just have to know how to use the right toys to fiddle them out and get them to pay nicely together.”

“Oh.” Ansgar laughed. “Sounds a bit like my situation, except sometimes my cats have been chewing on the Valium tablets or tippling at the brandy. Most sluggish, and they simply do not want to come out of their hidey holes.”

She inhaled through her nose. “So I’ve noticed.” She flashed him a closed-mouthed grin followed by a slight cringe at the brazenness of her words.

Which again made Ansgar laugh. “Touche,” he tossed. “Okay, change of subject,” he smirked. “This Gala of yours, this opening night do you’re organising.”

She shrugged. “What of it?”

“Well, I suppose I’d like to know when it is.”

“Why, do you want to go?” Her sudden burst of eagnerness made her grimace. “I mean,” she composed herself. “Do you plan to attend?”

Here goes nothing, Ansgar thought.

“I believe I do,” he said, plainly. “That is, if you will allow me to accompany you for that evening. It’s the very least I can do.”

Jo pushed her spoon through what was left of her gazpacho, watching the bits swirling round the bottom of the bowl. She smirked, her head bounced slightly on the sound of humor. “When I stormed your castle this morning…” She chanced her gaze back up, “I… well, uh… I didn’t think…” she spread her hands wide and circled around the half eaten dishes they’d consumed, “this would happen.”

Ansgar laughed with her, matching her mirth. The exaggerated and animated gesture unexpected but none the less amusing. He dipped his head in an almost bow. “Admittedly, this wasn’t my agenda for the day.”

She pointed upwards and nodded, dropping the last of her pride, and then shrugged, “It was the least I could do.”

The imitation of him was spot on and he gave into a good-natured chuckle at his own expense. He’d extended that precise statement to her more than once, to assuage his guilt, to be the attentive and present CEO that he should’ve been, to be the man he believed himself to be. “Fair play, fair play.”

As their laughter faded, Jo addressed the elephant that sat between them, pink and plump and ripe for a tickle. She chose her words carefully, mincing them so as not to wound or offend. “I don’t want your obligation.”

Then she waited, stealing another glance at the ring on his left hand, curled around a pint.

Don’t entertain it, Jo. Not for a breath, not for an afternoon, not for a thought or some scorching hot sexual fantasy. Your mother had a sense of humor, naming you after Dolly Parton’s other woman, but don’t be that woman, Jo.

You’re not that woman.

Clearing her throat, she covered her pause and stray thought. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I do actually want your obligation.”

This was met with a furrow of his brow and his fingers brushed the sexier than sin stubble at his chin.

“My professional self would feel satisfied… I’d get off—I’d celebrate it!”

Pull it together… Jesus, Jo!

“As CEO of the company that built my building,” she carefully spoke without a trace of arrogance, “I absolutely want your obligation. But me? Jo, me?” To illustrate her point, she splayed her hand over her heart, inadvertently accentuating her breasts. “She… she doesn’t want your obligation.”

Ansgar lowered his pint from his lips, his movement slow and controlled. He seemed to consider her words as if each one were a bead of condensation that hung on the glass. “I think you’ve misunderstood me…” That was the moment he struggled with a way to address her.

“I understand it. Your company and your name are in jeopardy, but I’m not looking for that kind of publicity. I won’t say anything to the press. As long as the work in the theatre is fixed by opening,” she waved her finger between them, “we’re sorted. Hell, make it a restoration special, to the press if you want… your good deed for the community, for Stockholm. We’re square.”

Ansgar couldn’t help but smile at her take on his invitation. A diplomatic and thoughtful, perhaps even pragmatic solution to the complication that brought this woman trampling down the door to his office. If he read her correctly, he’s piqued her interest, if the lack of drink thrown in his face were a sign. She remained his lunch companion, another indication that he hadn’t piqued her anger. He couldn’t use work obligations to spend an evening with her.

Using a different tactic, he began, as his grin intensified, “Well, as long as we’re square—“

Before he could say anymore, she cut him off, “Hey! I got an obligatory lunch for my efforts.” She grinned over a piece of seasoned bread she shoved into her mouth. “That was the least you could do. My gala,” she shook her head, her speech muffled by bread, “would go above ‘the least.’”

#the best intentions

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verai-marcel · 5 years ago

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Breaking Habits (RDR2 Fanfic, Charles x Vet!Reader, Prisoner AU, 18+)

Summary: Charles and you have been wanting to do a camping trip for a while, but work always seems to get in your way. Finally, your boss insists that you take the four day weekend, and Charles tells you not to check your email. When he finds you sneaking away on your phone, how will he punish you? Because you know you’ve been bad.

Author’s Notes: WORK LIFE BALANCE, DAMMIT. *gets off soapbox* Also, this is Part 11 (can you believe it!?) of the Corrections series, AKA Prisoner AU. To my new followers, you could technically read this on its own, but there’s been some relationship progression throughout the series, so I highly recommend starting from the beginning; it’s the first series listed on my Masterlist.

Tags: D/s, rough sex, spanking, ball gag, mild bondage, overstimulation, aftercare

AO3 link is here, wildcat.

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You had been working 16 hour shifts for three days straight, and as strong as you were, the physical toll wasn't as bad as the emotional drain. You had to put down two cats and one dog, and each time, the owners would cry and hold their pet until the very end. You knew it was better to release them from their misery, but you felt so much sympathy for the humans left behind.

"You've done a really great job," your manager said softly as you packed up for the night. "Go enjoy your vacation, you've earned it."

"Thank you Susan," you said as you got up and picked up your purse, about to hit the shut down command on your computer. You heard a ding go off on your work email, and started to sit back down.

“Nope,” Susan said, reaching over you to take the mouse from your hand. She shut down your computer. “It’ll be there when you get back. Go take a break. We got you covered, honey.”

You smiled, feeling relieved and more tired than you realized. “Thank you,” you said again as you got up and finally left the building.

***

You stood in front of your apartment, feeling overwhelmed by all the packing you needed to do for your camping trip in the desert, and hesitated in opening the door.

To your surprise, the door opened on its own.

“Wildcat?” Charles asked with a hint of concern when he saw you. Glancing past him to the living room, you saw two camping backpacks, ready to go.

“I’ve packed everything we need,” he said to your unasked question. “Do you want to check your bag, make sure I got everything for you?”

You stepped inside, hugged Charles tight, and cried.

He gently picked you up with one muscular arm and closed the front door. Carrying you to the bed, he held you close and rocked you, humming softly as you let out the stress and tiredness of this past week. Charles was patient with you, not trying to cheer you up; he just let you drain your negative emotions away with a good cry.

After some time, you took a deep breath, feeling much better. He let you get up and wash your face, then patted his knee as you came back into the room. Taking the silent invitation, you sat in his lap and leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

He nodded and kissed your forehead. “You’ve been working hard. Much harder than you should.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he gently placed a finger on your lips.

“I know. But if you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll be too tired to take care of others to the best of your ability.”

You knew he was right.

He took your chin in his fingers. “Understand?” His tone brooked no argument.

“Yeah, I understand.”

He kissed your cheek. “Good. Now, go take a shower. I’ll make dinner.”

***

After a scrumptious dinner of rosemary chicken and chickpea salad, he cleaned the dishes while you checked your bag. He had packed everything immaculately; you were thoroughly impressed. Most of your past boyfriends and flings had zero interest in camping, so you had very little experience with it. The most wilderness you had experienced was a day hike at a nearby state park, or the one time you went glamping with your ex.

When Charles had mentioned camping for a couple of nights in the desert, you had cringed at first. But he described the experience to you, what he had done in the past, and you were intrigued. And you trusted Charles to take care of you. He even said that if you didn’t like it after the first night, he’d take you home and the two of you could have a little staycation instead.

Now, seeing his preparations, you were excited. You had Googled pictures of the sky at night in the desert, so you were looking forward to seeing the stars with no light pollution.

“I have one rule for you.” His tone was serious, which made your back go straighter on instinct.

“What is it?”

“No email.”

You bit your lip. He had noticed your compulsion to checking your work email. He had chastised you often enough during dinner, had tied you up and spanked you if you continued, and one time, had denied your orgasm for two days because you couldn’t stop sending responses.

You knew you needed to place a hard line between work and off time. But it was so hard with your phone tied to your work email, so you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to help people, wanted to answer their questions.

But you were so damn tired. It was draining you, and Charles saw that. He was helping you. But sometimes you snapped at him and felt bad immediately afterwards, knowing that he only wanted the best for you, for your mental health.

Charles stood before you, staring you down. He put his hands on your shoulders and stepped closer to you. “Kitten.” His voice had dipped lower, his tone more commanding. You knew who you were speaking with now.

“Master.”

“You know everything I do is for you.”

“Yes.”

“And you know that I tell you these things to keep you healthy.”

“Yes.”

“Do as I say. No email.”

You let out a deep sigh. “Yes, Master.”

He held his hand out to you. Unlocking your phone, you put it in his hand. You watched as he changed the notification settings of your work email to silent, and handed it back to you.

Putting your phone back in your pocket, you wondered if you would have the willpower to follow his command. You hoped so, for you had grown so addicted to the pleasure that Charles could bring, that you didn't want anything to get in the way of that. Especially yourself.

***

Out in the desert, surrounded by wildflowers, Joshua trees, and saguaro cacti, you marveled at the clear blue sky, the wide open expanses, but most impressive to you was the silence. The two of you arrived during the off season, and there was no one at the visitor's center when you arrived to reserve your camp spot.

The two of you spent the day hiking, climbing rocks to get great views, which you naturally Instagrammed, and enjoying each other's company. You would chatter away about your favorite topics, and Charles would quietly listen to you, asking you a few questions here and there, but mostly let you lead the conversation.

But when you were at a great viewing point, you'd stop and silently look out at the landscape. It was at those moments that Charles would take your hand and squeeze it gently as he stood beside you, his quiet strength permeating the air, healing your soul.

"We should head back and set up," he said as the two of you hiked back down the hillside towards the main road. Following him to a small clearing next to a few cacti and a boulder formation, the two of you set up camp as the sun started to set. You finished just as the stars started to fill the sky, as if a pin was pricking holes in the twilight.

"We can watch the stars come out from on top of the rocks," he said, holding his hand out to you.

Charles shut off the lantern as you took his hand. He led you up the boulders to sit at the top, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you. He nuzzled your neck while you leaned your head back and relaxed.

You weren't sure how much time passed as you and he sat in the quiet night, but eventually you yawned.

"C'mon, let's get some rest."

Charles took the lead back down the rocks, shining his lantern so you could see. He was sure footed and graceful, while you scrambled down like a monkey. Nearing the bottom, your foot slipped.

"Got you. Hold onto me," he said, his tone softly weaving its way around your heart as he caught you swiftly, pulling you gently into his arms and lifting you with hardly any effort at all. He helped you to the ground, and held your hand as you and he went back to the tent.

"It's colder than I thought a desert could be," you commented as you peeled off your hiking gear, getting down to your underwear. You pulled on your super soft sleeping socks and pajama pants, and grabbed your night shirt, pulling it over your head before turning around to see Charles, shirtless and in his pajama pants, watching you.

"How are you not freezing?" you asked as you crawled into his arms.

"I'm used to the cold," he replied casually as he wrapped the thick sleeping bag around the two of you. He kissed the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep, the warmth of his body and the scent of him making you feel safe and secure.

***

In the middle of the night, you awoke with the need to relieve yourself. You carefully rolled out of the sleeping bag and crawled out of the tent, using your phone to light the way to the pit toilet in the center of the camping area.

On your way back, you could not resist the urge to peek at your phone; you were using it for light anyway, what harm could it be?

You were engrossed in an email when you looked up to see that you were back at your tent.

And Charles was standing outside, staring at you, his arms crossed.

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you waved meekly at him. “Had to go pee.”

“You were looking down at your phone,” he said in a low tone.

You gulped. “I, uh, was using it for light.”

He stepped closer to you. “Funny way of using it.” He gripped your jaw, firmly enough to let you know that he was not happy with you, but not painfully. He’d never hurt you.

“Charles—”

“Kitten.”

You noted the change in his tone, the look in his eyes. Master was back in charge.

“Did you disobey me?”

You couldn’t lie to Master. “Yes.”

“Did you gain anything from looking at your emails?”

You thought about it. Sure, you knew what you had to face when you got back to the office, but could you do anything about it now? No. And now that knowledge was wracking around in your head. “No, I didn’t gain anything.”

Charles nodded. “You know what needs to happen now.”

Your shoulders drooped. “Yes, Master.”

“Get in the tent.”

You crawled into the tent and started removing your clothes. Charles crawled in after you, zipping the tent closed. Going to his bag, he pulled out a ball gag and your velvet collar. Crooking a finger at you, he sat on his haunches as you crawled over to him.

“Sit up.”

You did so immediately. He put the collar around your neck, and the ball gag in your mouth, clasping it around your head snugly.

“Is it too tight?”

You shook your head.

“Good.” He took hold of the chain connected to your collar and tugged on it, forcing you close to his chest. He pet your head gently, his fingers running over your scalp in a sensual massage. “Now, kitten. You’ve been very, very bad,” he crooned in a very low voice. “You need to learn to obey.”

You shivered.

He turned you around and bent you over, moving your arms behind your back and your ass in the air. His fingers skimmed your skin, running up and down your back leisurely. You braced yourself anyway; you knew what was coming.

A loud smack accompanied the sting of his hand on your bottom.

“One,” Charles said. As he slowly counted to ten, each spanking landed in a different location. By the time he was done, your ass was burning with heat; his punishment was making you puff heavily around the ball gag.

“Have you learned?”

You nodded and grunted an affirmative.

“Hmm, I don’t think that’ll be enough. I’ve done this to you before, and you still do it.”

That was true, you couldn’t deny it.

You felt him cover your body as he bent over you, resting his weight on one forearm as he reached around you to finger your clit. He pressed his lips to the back of your neck and mumbled. “Maybe you need a different method.”

He knew exactly how to touch you, how to bring you to the edge, and as he lovingly kissed your neck, he shoved you off that edge, pressing and rubbing your clit as you came in his arms, moaning around your gag, shaking as you tried to keep your ass in the air.

You whimpered when you realized that he wasn’t letting go of you. You tried to wriggle away from his fingers, but he held you still, maneuvering his legs between yours so you couldn’t close them as he continued to stroke your core, making you writhe uncontrollably under him. You knew your safe word was three taps for stop, two for slow down. But you also knew that he was doing this to teach you a lesson. You could handle this. You needed this.

Then he let go of you, letting you slump down on the sleeping bag.

Your relief was short-lived, as you heard him pulling off his pajama pants. Feeling him lift your hips up once more, you squirmed away from him as he touched your center once again, this time with the head of his cock.

“Don’t run, kitten,” he ordered. “Take your punishment.”

Then he slid his cock inside of you, his hand on the back of your head, holding you down as he pushed in, slowly but unrelenting in his need to take you.

Your sounds were muffled, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt him stretch you out. He reached down to stroke your center again, over and over as he started to fuck you hard. You knew he was upset with you; he had never been this rough with you, even when you begged for it.

Charles made you come again with his shaft deep within you, pounding you into a wreck. You sobbed around your gag, drooling as you came a third time, his fingers wringing out every last bit of stimulation from you until you collapsed under him.

He still didn’t stop; his hips were like a machine, ravishing you as he dropped down with you, continuing his pace with no intention of giving you a break. Sweat broke out on both your bodies, the heat in the tent rising as he rolled over with you draped over his body. He spread your legs, re-angled his hips, and kept pumping into you from below. Your arms reached down, touching his legs in a weak attempt to slow him down, but he just grabbed your arms, put your wrists together, and held them with one big hand.

“We’re not done yet.”

Reaching down to stroke you again, you squealed into your gag when he made you come a fourth time, your throat growing raw from all the desperate sounds you had been making, tears forming in your eyes from how overly sensitive he had made you. At this point, you were starting to go from deliciously sore to actual pain. You tapped his hand twice.

Charles let go of your wrists and stopped stroking your core, but his cock kept pistoning in and out of you. He grabbed onto your hips.

“Can you take me, kitten?”

You hummed a yes.

Charles moaned, the grip on your hips tightening. “You learned your lesson?”

“Mmm-hmmm!”

“Good kitten,” he moaned, pumping hard a few more times before he came inside of you with a low bellow.

You both lay silently, just the sounds of the two of you catching your breath filling the tent for a few minutes. Then Charles took off your ball gag.

“Was I too rough?” he asked, sounding like his gentle self once more.

You laughed, but it turned into a cough towards the end of it. Charles sat both of you up and grabbed your water bottle, handing it to you immediately.

After taking a few gulps, you shook your head. “You were perfect, Charles. I’ve been asking you to be rougher for weeks and you never do it.”

He held you tight. “I know. I… I don’t like to be rough.”

You turned in his arms and looked at him, really looked at him. “I’m sorry. Are you only being rough because I asked? If you don’t enjoy it, you don’t have to.”

Charles cupped your cheek. “I still enjoy it, I just… worry. About hurting you on accident.”

You wondered if something had happened to him in the past. This wasn’t the first time he’d expressed this concern to you. You thought about what to say for a moment before you spoke. “I can’t make you stop worrying. I love it when you’re rough. I love the animalistic intensity of it. But if you’re not comfortable doing it, I’ll understand.”

He sighed into your neck, a soul-heavy sound. “I want you to be happy, wildcat. I can be comfortable with what you need.” Charles leaned in to gently kiss your cheek, then pulled back to look you in the eyes. “Will you do the same for me? Will you do what I need you to do?”

Oh. He wasn’t going to let go of your little issue of email addiction. You dropped your head. You really did need to stop.

Charles lifted your head with his hands, dipping his head down to maintain eye contact. “Please. I know it sounds like I’m being controlling, but I’ve seen you wear yourself out too many times to let you keep doing it to yourself.”

You told yourself you’d stop crying so much every time he showed so much care for your health. You were a filthy liar. The tears fell from your eyes before you let out a single sound.

“Charles, why are you so damn kind to me?” you sobbed as he held you close.

“Because you deserve it,” he whispered in your ear. “And… because I love you.”

Your heart did a flip. “E-even though I’m a crybaby and a nervous wreck sometimes?” you asked, your voice wavering like a flame in the wind.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Yes, wildcat. I love all of you.”

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End Notes: I realized in the previous parts that neither of them had said they loved the other yet. This was a good time to further their relationship. Hope you enjoyed this story! Back to Arthur & Prison Guard!Reader next time!

#corrections AU #Prisoner AU #charles x fem!reader #rdr2 fanfic #fanfic #writing #nsft #modern au #lemon fanfic #charles x reader

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vernonfielding · 5 years ago

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They say it’s lonely at the top

What’s that? We don’t have a trailer from NBC yet? Maybe you want to read some weird Jorm-POV B99 fanfic instead?? (ie Here is story No. 9 of my Season 7 Countdown Project!)

Summary: “Hey, everyone, just want to introduce you to our new assistant manager, Larry Sherbet.”

Taylor, manager of the Fun Zone, needs to hire a new assistant – but does he go with the known stoner or the new guy with the unbelievable resume? Takes place during Coral Palms Part 1. (Read on AO3.)

Taylor’s plucking disgustedly at the front of his shirt, muttering to himself about what jerks pre-schoolers can be, as he ducks into his office and closes the door behind him. The purple slushee is sticky and icy cold through the thin blue polo, and he quickly shucks his shirt and trashes it – he knows from experience that it’s already ruined. Fun Zone slushees eat right through the polyester blend.

He pulls the tub of disinfectant wipes out of the bottom drawer of his file cabinet and starts to clean himself up. It’s barely 11, they’ve only been open an hour, and already he’s fielded complaints about: gum in the ball pit; a feral possum growling at players on the eighth hole; the French fries tasting suspiciously like weed; and a child using toilet water to wash his hands in the restroom because the sink that Greg recommended they install is broken again (probably because someone shoved a hot dog down the drain yesterday).

It’s too much for one man, Taylor thinks to himself, as he tosses the wad of used wipes into the trash, on top of his shirt. He needs an assistant.

Taylor grabs a new polo out of the top drawer of his file cabinet and tugs it over his head as he drops into his desk chair, which wobbles precariously under his weight. He steadies himself on the desk, and his hand lands on a slip of paper – on Greg Stickney’s resume.

Greg’s was the first resume Taylor had ever seen for a job at the Fun Zone, and Taylor had been impressed. It’s even typed up, with his name and phone number on the top and a list of previous jobs, mostly a lot of retail stuff, just like Taylor. Greg was a good hire. He comes to work when he’s supposed to, he doesn’t smack the kids when they swear at him, and he hasn’t spit in the food even once, as far as Taylor knows.

But he just can’t shake the image of Greg in that Count Bluntula T-shirt. He knew something was funny about that guy – he was always so calm and laid-back, but also really hard to read, like if Matthew McConaughey were a robot. But he couldn’t pin it down until he saw the shirt and everything clicked. Now he worries that a full-time stoner would be a bigger problem than no assistant manager at all.

Still, he can’t keep doing this alone. Taylor slumps in his chair and scratches at his chin. Maybe he should give the guy a shot.

A knock on his door startles him, and Carly pops her head in. “Hey, some guy’s out here about a job.”

They’re not technically hiring – he was given orders from the owner to promote the assistant from the current staff – but before Taylor can tell Carly to send him away, the door swings open further and reveals a man with a wide, welcoming smile and gloriously frosted blond tips in his hair.

“Hey,” the man says, stepping forward and thrusting out a hand to shake. “I’m Larry. Larry Sherbet. I understand you might be looking for an assistant manager.”

+++

Larry is perfect. He, too, has a resume, and it’s even more impressive that Greg’s.

“You were a pilot?” Taylor says, reading over his work experience.

Larry nods and gives him another big grin. He’s sitting on a folding chair that Taylor usually keeps wedged between the file cabinet and the table with security cameras. He can’t remember the last time anyone actually sat in it.

“Yeah, remember that plane that hit a bird in New York? Pilot had to land in the Hudson?”

Taylor nods, then frowns. “I think so?”

“That was me,” Larry says, kicking his feet out in front of him and leaning back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head. “I saved like 300 people.”

“Wasn’t that guy super old?”

Larry rubs at his chin. “Shaved the mustache last year. It took off like 10 years.”

Taylor squints at him, and he can kind of see it. Larry looks like he’s in his late 20s, maybe early 30s, but he could be 60 – Taylor’s always been bad with ages.

“And it says here,” Taylor says, pointing at the next line, “that you took down a surfer bank robbery ring. That’s so dope, man. Isn’t there a TV show, or like a movie like that?”

“Point Break,” Larry says, smirking at him. “They based the movie off me. Had to retire from the FBI after that. Cover blown and all, you know how it is.”

He shrugs, like “what’re you gonna do?” and Taylor respects the guy’s no regrets attitude.

Taylor hates to ask the next question, but: “Aren’t you a little over-qualified for this position?”

For the first time, the grin slips off Larry’s face, and he eases forward in his chair, eyes darting to the office door, and beckons Taylor toward him. It’s all very conspiratorial and Taylor’s loving it. He leans over his desk and raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to say to you,” Larry says, his voice low and serious and seductive.

A chill runs up Taylor’s spine and he swallows thickly, nods. “I won’t.”

Larry looks toward the door again and licks his lips. When he turns back to Taylor, they lock eyes, and Taylor holds his breath.

“I’m in witness protection,” Larry says. “I tangled with a mob boss and now I have to lie low until the feds catch him, or until I lose my freakin’ mind in this dump-hole state and run away with my girlfriend to Bermuda. Is Bermuda nice this time of year?”

“I think Bermuda’s nice any time of year,” Taylor says.

“Anyway,” Larry says, “I just need a job to keep my cover, and I don’t want to sell ATVs because those things’ll kill you and I don’t need more blood on my hands, you know?”

Taylor does not know.

“So-” Taylor says.

“To recap,” Larry interrupts, and holds up a hand, counting out on his fingers: “Witness protection, running from the mob, need a job.”

Taylor leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. Beyond his office door, he can hear a child sob-screaming and a woman shouting profanities at whoever’s behind the snack counter. Taylor glances at the two resumes now sitting on his desk, side by side.

“You’re full of shit, Larry,” Taylor says, as he stands up. He grins and thrusts out a hand. “And I dig it. How’d you like to be my new assistant manager?”

“I would like nothing better,” Larry says. They shake on it.

They’re going to be best friends now. Taylor’s sure of it. He throws an arm around Larry’s shoulder and leads him outside to meet the staff.

End Notes:

Title is from Feed the Beast (Bash Brothers).

I like writing outside perspectives of the main characters and the idea of writing “Jorm” was too much fun! (Might there be an Akiva one sometime this month? Only time will tell.)

I toggled back and forth between writing Taylor as really dumb or just really not giving a shit, but I feel like that could apply to a lot of the random characters in the Florida eps. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#b99 fic #b99 season 7 countdown project #jake peralta #larry sherbet #missing scene #coral palms #fun zone #jorma taccone

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rorykillmore · 5 years ago

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it’s @spearitsandmonsters‘ birthday today!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY SPEAR. as a gift, they requested an au fic for a dynamic we’ve been developing quite a bit lately, which we’ve affectionately dubbed villabeth. i picked “baby assassin villanelle breaks elizabeth out of her tower instead of booker”, which is an idea we’ve only loosely talked about, but something about it STUCK with me. so i hope i did it justice and i hope you enjoy, spear!!

and here’s wishing you a wonderful birthday <3 i know basically everything is difficult right now and while it goes without saying that i wish that wasn’t the case... i know that one of the things that helps me get through it and remember the good parts is talking to you and writing with you and having you for a friend. so i hope i can provide that same support and escape for you. if nothing else, knowing you for another year is absolutely worth celebrating in my book!!!

Oksana had expected someone pampered and spoiled, who might have turned up her nose or screamed at someone as rogueish-looking as her. Instead, Elizabeth is acting like she’s never spoken to another human being before in her life, and looking at her as if Oksana has suddenly become the center of her universe.

It’s a ridiculous thought, but it spurs another excited little flutter in her chest.

She doesn’t ask what her employers want with the city in the sky, or why it’s so important to them that Comstock’s heir doesn’t live long enough to succeed him. This had been one of the first in the long list of rules Dasha had taught her: never make your employers think you are interested in their plans or motives. Makes them nervous.

It’s Oksana’s first official job on her own, too, so she’s not about to fuck things up the second the Twelve have actually stopped breathing down her neck for five minutes.

A part of her wonders, though, if they’ve changed her minds about wanting her. Because for a first official assignment, the risk involved almost makes her think that her employers are trying to get rid of her.

She’s good, of course -- good enough to sneak through Columbia and up into Monument Tower without incident, but it had been far from easy. And now that she’s in, she feels like she’s breaching the site of a nuclear meltdown, or the cage of a bloodthirsty monster. When they had told her that the city’s heir needed to die, Oksana had assumed she would have to snatch her away from a life of luxury. She had allowed herself to begin to resent the other girl without even having met her, entertaining the image of some wealthy, ultra-religious, spoiled little brat who’d enjoyed so many things Oksana had never been allowed to even touch, had dreamt about stealing into some preposterously frilly and extravagant bedroom and smothering her with a pillow in the dead of night.

But this?

This is like a prison, or a laboratory, or something worse than both. Oksana fights to keep her hackles from raising as she stealths her way towards the last heavy steel door. What sort of person have they sent her to deal with?

She draws from her bag the replica key that one of the Twelve’s Columbia contacts had provided, and hesitates, weighing her options. She’d have liked to find a less direct method of entry, but her employers have cautioned her from making too much noise or disruption, lest she alert the tower’s unique security system.

So she’s going in through the heavy, reinforced door that looks virtually impossible to open subtly. Practically blind.

She doesn’t like that.

Oksana reloads her weapon. Whatever her mark might be capable of, whatever the reason she’s been locked up so tightly, it’s nothing that a quick shot to the head won’t take care of, surely. With her free hand, she inserts the key, which seems to trigger several other mechanisms within the door to whir and unlock, and then - carefully - she steps inside.

If it is a prison cell, it is the most impressive one she has ever seen. Oksana is standing in the doorway of something resembling a well-furbished library, like the kind you’d find in old castles or government buildings. It seems empty, so Oksana supposes that her target could be in one of the other rooms. Maybe the noise from the door opening will draw her out. Hopefully. Oksana does not fancy a game of hide and seek in unfamiliar territory.

Despite her mission, though, and despite the dedication and focus she is supposed to feel, curiosity tugs at the corners of her thoughts. She is not supposed to ask questions, and yet the pieces of a puzzle are set before her, and when she tries to put them together they do not quite make sense. Why keep the Lamb of Columbia here? Why go to all this trouble? What was with all the charts and laboratory equipment Oksana had passed on her way in, and why did they make her sound like some kind of monster in need of containment?

If she’s such a monster, why do they need her?

Perhaps it’s a terribly ironic question for Oksana to be asking. But she is an assassin, a perfectly crafted weapon, and that’s one thing.

She ventures a little further into the room, her pistol lowered but still held firmly in front of her. It’s only when she passes the staircase that she realizes something is wrong. A shadow moves out of the corner of her eye, and Oksana turns before she can process anything else, instinctual and immediate the way her mentors have always praised her for as she closes her hand around the girl’s wrist.

The girl cries out, and tries to jerk away from her grip. Once. Twice -- Oksana lets go the second time, so that she stumbles backwards and falls back against the bannister of the staircase she’d just hidden herself behind. Oksana is on her again in a second, pinning her easily and letting the barrel of the pistol dig into her ribs, her free hand now clamped over the girl’s mouth to keep her from screaming.

“Shh,” Oksana tells her, and she should end it right then.

Except --

The ‘monster’ has a much prettier face than Oksana had anticipated. Her eyes are a shade of blue Oksana can’t remember ever seeing for in her life, a little brighter and clearer than even Columbia’s skies, and presently blazing with rage or fear or probably both. She might be the around the same age as Oksana, or just a year or two younger, she has lovely dark hair that’s now just a little disheveled by their brief struggle, and she seems to be trying to bite the hand Oksana is holding against her mouth. Oksana feels her lips twitch briefly, despite herself.

“Shh,” she tells the other girl again. “Do not scream.”

Satisfying her growing curiosity is a bad idea. It will complicate things unnecessarily. Oksana knows Dasha would tell her to get the job done and then get out, but...

The questions do not count if nobody ever finds out she asks them, right?

“I did not come here to hurt you. You just startled me.” Oksana continues, softening her voice. It’s a lie, of course, but she takes a little bit of pride in how earnest she makes it sound. “If I take my hand away, you promise you won’t scream?”

The girl’s pretty eyes bore into hers, but they look less angry now, less scared, more... disbelieving? As if she isn’t quite convinced Oksana is real.

“Please?” Oksana tries, all but batting her eyelashes, and finally the girl nods. Oksana supposes she will just have to trust her. She lowers her hand and steps back, putting about a meter or so between them both, close enough that she can still move in if --

“How did you get in here?” the girl asks breathlessly.

Oksana blinks at the question. Then nods to the way she came in. “Through the door?”

She would find it funny, the way the girl gapes at her suspiciously in response, if she wasn’t also so confused. “You can’t just come in through the door, there’s no way -- no one ever --”

“They put a door there, then told you you can’t use it?” Oksana widens her eyes deliberately. “Wow. Really cheap con.”

“It’s not exactly like I have a key on hand.” The girl crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes, though she also doesn’t take them off Oksana for a second. “Who are you?”

Oksana opens her mouth to answer -- then remembers herself midway.

“Villanelle. My name is Villanelle.” A name new enough that it doesn’t quite feel like hers yet, but it will. Oksana already likes the way it rolls off her tongue. “What is your name?”

“I’m Elizabeth,” Elizabeth tells her breathlessly, a bit too trusting for someone talking to a stranger who’s just broken into her home. And for someone locked up like a high-security prisoner. The longer Oksana talks to her, the more bemused she becomes. Elizabeth seems so... normal. “You -- you’re so --”

Oksana is not sure what she was going to say, but all speculation flies out of her head when Elizabeth seems to lose all impulse control and places her hands on either side of Oksana’s face. “-- Real.”

As a rule, Oksana does not like people touching her face. Bad memories, and all -- from more than just one source. But this touch is gentle (and confusing) enough to give her pause, to cause a strange flutter in her chest at the softness of it.

She should be wary, perhaps. Anna had once touched her this way, and Anna... had not been what Oksana expected. Elizabeth is not what Oksana had expected either, but in a different way. Oksana had expected someone pampered and spoiled, who might have turned up her nose or screamed at someone as rogueish-looking as her. Instead, Elizabeth is acting like she’s never spoken to another human being before in her life, and looking at her as if Oksana has suddenly become the center of her universe.

It’s a ridiculous thought, but it spurs another excited little flutter in her chest. “Yeah?” she answers belatedly, uselessly, to break the silence.

As if she’s suddenly become aware that she’s violated some social norm, Elizabeth drops her hands and steps back, slightly abashed but no less curious. “Where do you come from? You sound like you’re from far away. Your name -- it’s French, isn’t it?”

“Latin, technically,” Oksana says, composing herself and quirking an eyebrow. “Like the poem? You must have time to read a lot of poetry.”

“You have no idea.” Furtively, longingly, Elizabeth glances towards the door like she’s readying herself to bolt. Then her gaze snaps back to Oksana, like no matter how taken she may or may not be by the appearance of a pretty stranger in her tower, she’s abruptly remembered that it’s a good idea to be at least a little suspicious. Her eyes drop to the pistol in Oksana’s left hand. “Why are you here?”

This is it, Oksana thinks. The moment where she shrugs as casually as anything in the world, answers ‘to kill you’, and finishes the job point blank. But she doesn’t move. The hand on the pistol doesn’t even twitch.

“Uh,” she answers instead, grasping idly for something that makes sense. “To rescue you?”

Wouldn’t that be hilarious. If Oksana decided suddenly that she would whisk this girl away with her, and then they’d spend the rest of their probably-short lives dodging not only Columbia’s forces, but the Twelve’s if they ever made it out. Oksana knows - has been warned over and over again - what the Twelve do to traitors.

Elizabeth seems speechless beyond words, so Oksana adds quickly, “Why do they keep you locked up in here, anyway? Did you do something bad?”

Elizabeth opens her mouth uncertainly. Then closes it again. Then laughs. “You mean someone sent you here to rescue me and they didn’t tell you that?”

“I didn’t say anyone sent me,” Oksana corrects her. “I decided to.”

Has she really? She watches Elizabeth closely, as though Elizabeth is the one who can answer that for her. “The security measures outside this room -- you would think they had locked up a mass murderer, or a radioactive mutant, or something,” she adds, a humorous way of prodding for answers while she thinks.

“I guess --” Hesitation laces Elizabeth’s tone as she answers. “I guess it’s because of what I can do.”

What can you do? Is the obvious question. But the one Oksana asks instead is: “People think you are dangerous?”

Elizabeth shrugs minutely, the look in her eyes unreadable.

And Oksana feels something in her soften a fraction. “I was locked up once.” Albeit in not nearly as spacious a cell as this. “People think I’m dangerous too.”

The seconds pass as Elizabeth watches her, until Oksana almost itches under her searching gaze.

“Will you leave with me?” Elizabeth asks finally.

Oksana gives her a rueful smile. “Where do you want to go?”

This had not been the plan. Can she risk what she’s made for herself for the sake of her own curiosity? For a pretty face?

Elizabeth exhales quietly, shakily, like she still can’t believe she isn’t dreaming. “I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”

How about for someone who’s a little like she is? Who, in only the span of a few moments of knowing one another, has made Oksana feel a little less alone?

“I have been to Paris many times.” Oksana steps forward, closing most of the distance between them, her gaze intense. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Soft,” she remembers Dasha spitting at her, “You are too soft for them, still. You need to work harder, try harder, show them how lethal you are.”

Oksana grins a faint sharp grin. Dasha would never have the guts - or perhaps the reckless stupidity - to do what she is about to do. She reaches out and touches Elizabeth’s hair, tempted to pull it out of his ribbon. Instead, she simply twirls a lock of it around her finger. Despite the unchecked contact Elizabeth initiated only moments ago, she freezes under Oksana’s touch, and Oksana’s grin softens into an ever-so-slightly smug smile. “Once we leave, you know... you would not be able to come back.”

She waits to see what Elizabeth will do, but Elizabeth doesn’t flinch or pull away or even waver. Her eyes locked with Oksana’s, she just breathes, “Why would I want to?”

“You haven’t seen the world outside yet.” Oksana takes another step. It’s another challenge, but Elizabeth does not back away, and now they’re so close that they practically breathe the same air. “You might find you would prefer your cage.”

“Did you?” Elizabeth challenges her, and Oksana laughs breathily. It’s a good response. She thinks maybe she will enjoy this, no matter the consequences in the end.

“Okay,” she says suddenly, and pulls away. Elizabeth’s expression dims slightly -- maybe with uncertainty, or even disappointment. Oksana wonders for a moment if Elizabeth had expected her to kiss her. Would she have been Elizabeth’s first kiss?

She somehow likes the idea of that, but... perhaps not here. So she offers her hand instead. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Elizabeth’s hand is soft in her own as she takes it, but there’s something about the recklessness of her smile that makes Oksana wonder if it’s the rest of the world that needs a warning.

#i wrote this operating under the assumption of #'elizabeth wouldnt be as immediately hostile towards a pretty girl as she was towards booker'#i hope i was correct.#also villanelle is a useless bisexual but what else is new #guess how many times i almost typed 'villanelle' instead of oksana. it was a lot.#anyway HAPPY BIRTH!!!!#i figured i might as WELL post this early since i had it done #and i figured you might be busyish tomorrow #fic

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cryptid-bloodhound · 5 years ago

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Legends Crime AU

After some great suggestions from: @daughterofthewinedude, @sunflower-key, @ajays-lullaby, and @unsightedjoker I decided to expand upon the Crime AU and fill in the blanks thanks to them! If there are more suggestions, let me know! I’m always open to them (:

So, again thank you for the suggestions, they’re a huuuge help!

Basic Roles

under the cut bcus I rambled again, oops. If yall want to know more, just hmu! I might make individual character ‘profiles’ if there’s interest. Also, if anyone wants to use this for their own crime setting/au then feel free! (i’d totally love to be tagged in stuff bcus im a hoe for crime aus)

Bloodhound - Unknown Assassin - They're independent and usually can’t be hired as they seem to be working down some sort of list. They aren’t in it for the money, clearly. However, if you plead your case and it’s a good one (in their eyes) the person you’re targeting might just disappear one day. Occasionally they’ll play the silent, scary backup if one of their associates/friends needs it. Nobody knows who they are, where they came from, how to contact them, or what the hell is up with them. It’s been noted that whenever they stop by a city, notoriously nasty criminals happen to go missing. All that’s known about them is that nobody escapes Bloodhound once they start their hunt.

Lifeline - Ex-Mob Princess/Mob Doc - Ajay Che would have been considered a Mob Princess if she had stayed within her Family Ranks. Her parents made very little effort to hide the truth of their profits from her. Disgusted, she left as soon as she could and swore to never join the life. Instead, she became a doctor in an effort to help people and make up for what her family has done. However, her childhood friend Octavio drug her back into the life unintentionally. He’d get hurt and show up at her doorstep again and again. Soon enough, other mobsters and criminals started arriving, earning her the unspoken title of Mob Doc. Now it’s not uncommon to find random Family members just lounging around her place. She decided to just say ‘to hell with it’ and try to act as some sort of Moral Compass for the crew.

Octane - Ex-Mob Prince/Demolitionist/Arsonist - His family and Ajay’s are closely intertwined. They grew up together thanks to the meetings between his parents and hers. However, unlike Ajay, he didn’t feel a moral repulsion at what their families were doing. If anything, he was bored. They weren’t extreme enough. It was almost all Blue Collar crimes, nothing explosive or violent. So, in typical Octavio fashion, he jumped ship and looked for something faster, flashier, more dangerous. It landed him in the ranks of his current Family as their Demolitions and Arson guy. He managed to drag Ajay back into their lifestyle after blowing off his own legs when he blew up the building of someone who pissed him off. He may not be the smartest or most level-headed member, but there’s no one more willing to jump into a fight or play with explosives than him.

Mirage - Jack of Trades - runs the ‘Cosa Nostra’-esque bar called the Paradise Lounge. It’s a neutral meeting grounds for the varying Families and it is an unwritten rule that nobody is allowed to fight in its premise. It’s the only ‘safe spot’ in the city. He has several different jobs for the Family. Aside from running the bar and helping to launder money, he is a document forger, a con artist, tech expert and is capable of talking people out of trouble one way or another. Basically, if someone needs to ‘disappear’ or get out of trouble, they come to ‘Mirage’.

Bangalore - Ground Enforcer/Collector - An ex-spec ops soldier who left the service after the mysterious ‘disappearance’ of her brother when he was on leave. She is certain it was a rival gang who did something to him. So, she’s started a crusade to find out what happened to him and avenge him one way or another. She joined the Family after crossing paths with them on more than one occasion. After witnessing her impressive skills, they offered her whatever resources she needed to finish her quest in exchange for her services leading and training their ‘troops’. She also isn’t shy on collecting the debts owed to the family.

Gibraltar - Allied Boss - Makoa Gibraltar isn’t your typical Crime Lord. For starters, he doesn’t actively harm innocent people. If anything, he is closer to a vigilante than an evil mobster. He started his biker gang after witnessing one too many hate crimes and seeing too many horrible people walk free from a corrupt system. He protects victims from their attackers during tenuous things like court trials and breaks up hate crimes he sees in progress. He’s become affectionately noted throughout the city by its citizens and even the police like to turn a blind eye when they can when he’s seen protecting someone (or beating the ever-loving shit out of some asshole). He has a shaky alliance with The Family. At the moment, they haven’t done anything notably horrible and have helped fund his growing group. They even slip him some info every now and again about places and people who might need a ‘meeting’ with Gibraltar.

Crypto - Double Agent Hacker - Tae Joon Park is technically ‘dead’. After being framed by The Family for the murder of his adopted sister Mila, he decided it was best to stick with the idea of being dead and created a new identity for himself. Filled with a searing need for revenge, he’s entered into the Family under the guise of being their expert Hacker and pro at Espionage. There’s no code he can’t crack and no information he can’t find. He’s capable of bringing empires down from behind his keyboard and screen. That’s exactly what he plans on doing to The Family. Only, he’s starting to notice a very strange pattern. Not everyone in the Family seems to be aware of the shady business going on. Some appear to be victims themselves that are being played. Now, he also has to decide who is guilty and who’s just like him - a pawn.

Caustic - Wild Card Killer - Considered an Associate as he refuses to formally join The Family as a Made Man. Alexander Nox is also technically ‘dead’. After a run-in with the law (and a subsequent escape from prison), he had the local forger Mirage falsify evidence of his death and craft him a new identity. He functions as an interrogator and a cleaner when he feels the fancy. He’s made it very clear that he is, under no circumstance, beholden to what the Boss wants. He helps because the Boss offers him a practically endless supply of test subjects in exchange for extracting information from the people and disposing of the bodies. He also mentors Wattson in the ways of proper disposal. What his end goals are, nobody really knows and nobody wants to ask.

Wraith - Shadow Broker/Assassin - Renee Blasey is something of an enigma. Few people know her name beyond ‘Wraith’ and fewer still know what she looks like. She hides in the shadows, gathering information and eliminating targets with precision. There’s a rumor that she’s the one who brought the newcomer Crypto into the fold and that they’ve worked together in the past. Perhaps he was the one who freed her from a rival gang’s clutches. Due to her apparent connections all over the place and an almost unending supply of information, she was held captive and tortured for information. After her violent and bloody escape, she stumbled across the Family and they welcomed the notable information broker with open arms. How she gets the information she does, no one knows. She is always elusive about it. ‘A little birdy told me.’ ‘The voices knew’.

Pathfinder - Transport Expert - A ‘defective’ MRVN unit because he was too free-thinking and asked too many questions, namely: ‘what happened to my creator?’ He was going to be decommissioned and shut down permanently when a group of strangers broke into the facility and ransacked the place. After they saved him from being decommissioned, he followed them around like a puppy and unintentionally joined the Family. He functions somewhere between ‘getaway/transport expert’ and ‘team mascot’. It’s thought that he might have witnessed some damning things and that’s why he was going to be decommissioned. In the process, his memories were corrupted so it’s almost impossible to truly tell. They’ve begun proper work on restoring his memories now that the technical geniuses Wattson and Crypto have joined up alongside Mirage.

Wattson - Security/Business Front/Cleaner- Daughter of an Associate. She didn’t know her dad worked with the mob until she was older. After the initial surprise, she joined in on the business, going so far as to becoming Made. She runs the security service front known as ‘Apex Protection’ that also doubles as their money laundering business. Nobody gets past her defenses to get to Family. (It helps that her dad was rather close with the notoriously effective cleaner Caustic. She’s picked up a few tips from him and now helps with the cleaning when needed)

#Apex Legends #Crime AU #this was longer than expected huh

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aidanchaser · 5 years ago

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Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero, @magic713m, @ccboomer, @somebodyswatson, and Aubs

Chapter Twelve Silver and Opals

As soon as the door to the cell closed behind her, Tonks slumped against the cold stone wall. She breathed out a silent prayer of gratitude that at least she did not have to deal with dementors on this trip to Azkaban. As horrifying as it was that the dementors had left and were loose around England, she was not sure she could have survived this visit otherwise.

“Alright?” Proudfoot asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tonks gave him a wan smile. “Alright. Except that the guy doesn’t know anything. Don’t know why Scrimgeour’s insisting we keep him.”

Tonks pushed herself off against the wall and followed Proudfoot down the stairs of Azkaban’s western tower. Her interrogation with Stan Shunpike had gone exactly as she’d expected. Stan had pleaded innocence, said he didn’t know anything, he’d been exaggerating, he’d been trying to impress people.

“I suppose even people who pretend to have associations with Death Eaters ought to be taken seriously. Prevents people from….” Proudfoot rubbed the side of his head and winced. Tonks didn’t think he noticed it anymore, but it had become a tick of his whenever he thought too hard about something, a remnant of his duel with Pyrites last spring. “Sorry. I guess I just mean we’ve got to take any threat seriously.”

“I don’t blame Scrimgeour and Robards for having him brought in,” Tonks said, and tightened the scarf around her neck as they reached the large doors leading out of Azkaban, “but I think he’s learned his lesson, don’t you? He’s not going to give us anything useful.”

The doors out of Azkaban stood nearly as tall as the castle wall itself. They were each a meter thick, crafted out of ironwood and reinforced with bands of steel that were then reinforced with enchantments that left the metal glowing an eerie silver. On either side of the doors were two security trolls who towered twelve-feet high, nearly as high as the door, and beneath them stood two burly wizards, arms folded over their chest. As Tonks and Proudfoot approached, one whipped out a Secrecy Sensor and the other a Probity Probe. Without further prompting, Tonks and Proudfoot raised their arms over their heads and waited until they were cleared. They’d done this a hundred times. It was standard practice before going into the office these days — so Tonks went in as little as possible.

When the guards seemed satisfied that Tonks and Proudfoot were exactly who they said they were, they ordered the trolls to open the doors.

Each troll grabbed the enormous handles attached to a wheel and chain and pulled. With a loud clanking and a low-pitched creaking, the doors to Azkaban opened, just enough for Tonks and Proudfoot to squeeze out, and then they slammed closed behind them.

The North Sea crashed around them, drenching Tonks’s hair and clothes. She pulled her cloak tighter and shivered, and reminded herself to be grateful that it was not her job to stand out here as a guard.

The two wizards who did have the unfortunate duty of protecting the gates outside of Azkaban handed them their wands, for no wands were allowed inside Azkaban. Finally, she and Proudfoot were able to Apparate back to the Ministry. It was not quiet, at least not as quiet as the late night hours usually were. A pair of witches waited at the golden gates for Security to let them in. Another wizard stood by someone in bright green healer’s robes, having a whispered discussion. Several Hit Wizards lined the Floo Network entrances, prepared to detain and interrogate anyone who appeared suspicious. They were not far from the new, gaping hole in the Atrium, while the Ministry figured out how they would replace the Fountain of Magical Brethren that had been destroyed in Voldemort and Dumbledore’s duel.

Exhaustion kept the two of them quiet as they headed through security and up to the Auror offices. Anne Scrimgeour was there, ready with their assignments for tomorrow. Just seeing the scroll in Anne’s hand made Tonks’ exhaustion level increase twofold. She hadn’t even finished her day, and already tomorrow’s task was looming in front of her.

She slumped into her chair and carefully flattened the scroll out over her desk. Part of her hoped it might be hunting down Fenrir Greyback, though she knew that Marcy had been put on that trail weeks ago. Instead, she discovered she was scheduled to be at Hogwarts for the weekend.

The Ministry had, of course, insisted on extra security for Hogwarts. They wanted round-the-clock Auror patrols of the corridors and grounds in addition to all the extra protections Dumbledore and the Ministry had already placed on the school. Dumbledore had, in turn, submitted a list of Aurors he deemed appropriate to patrol Hogwarts — meaning, Aurors who were also in the Order.

Shacklebolt was still working with the Muggle Prime Minister, and the Longbottoms were in charge of the recently added Dark Wizard Detection and Detainment Task Force, so it was mostly her, the Prewetts, and Moody. Moody was still technically retired, but he at least helped guard Hogwarts when he was needed. Tonks did not think there was any favour Dumbledore could ask of Moody that Moody would not give, and that was a hard level of respect to earn from Moody.

Padfoot leaned on her desk and craned his neck to get a look at her assignment. “Hogwarts? I got Knockturn Alley rounds this weekend with Savage. How did you even get on the Hogwarts list? You’re still the youngest of the Aurors — Diggory doesn’t count, and don’t tell me he does. He’s got three years of training to get through, just like we all did.”

Tonks tucked the new orders into her coat pocket. “You were still out for your injury when Dumbledore made his list. I’m sure that’s all it is. Did you write your report yet or are you just harassing me to procrastinate?”

When their reports were finally done, and they’d approved each other’s account of their interrogation of Stan Shunpike, they finally left the Ministry of Magic. Proudfoot, while not his usual cheery self, was his usual chatty self. He talked about his sister’s plans for a holiday in Florida in an effort to escape what was likely to be a harsh winter, the strange smell that had started to creep into his flat that he hadn’t had time to investigate fully, and a half-dozen other things on their wait in the lift and their walk out of the Ministry.

The night sky over London was dark, not a single star visible. Tonks was only able to find the moon, a vague, silvery light behind the cloud cover, because it was nearly full. Tomorrow night it would reach the peak of its cycle, and someone she loved very deeply would endure a lot of pain.

“I know a great twenty-four hour place,” Proudfoot said, pulling Tonks out of her staring contest with the hidden moon.

“What?”

“I thought you just said you were hungry.”

Perhaps she had murmured an agreement accidentally. And, as she thought about it, she actually was hungry.

Tonks checked her pocketwatch and groaned. “I can’t. I’ve got to be at Hogwarts first thing in the morning.”

“Hogwarts patrol is easy enough. Dumbledore’s got all the security in place, hasn’t he? You’ll wander around, get yourself an excellent meal, and be done with the day.”

Tonks did not think a Hogwarts patrol would be as simple as all that, but she agreed with him that it would be easier than today had been.

“Fine, but I need to let my mum know I’m alright. Hopefully she’ll believe me.” With a muttered incantation, Tonks summoned her Patronus and sent it off to deliver her hasty apology and promises she was alright.

It wasn’t until she saw Proudfoot staring at her, dumbfounded and scratching the side of his head, that she realized he was only familiar with her quick rabbit, not the lumbering silver wolf. An apology leapt to the tip of her tongue, but she held it back, unsure what she was to apologize for. Not telling him she’d fallen in love?

Proudfoot was the one to apologize. “Sorry. I thought — I dunno what I thought.” He continued running his hand through his thick brown curls and let out a long, slow breath. “A wolf, huh?” His patronus was a Kneazle, a far cry from the one she’d just revealed.

“Yeah — a wolf.”

“Used to be…?”

“A rabbit.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He frowned, eyes still on the space where her wolf had vanished. “It’s the old legend, isn’t it? Patronus changing to match someone you love?”

“I didn’t ask the wolf, but — well, I ‘spect so.”

“And I haven’t heard about them because…?”

“Because it’s complicated.”

“Well, my food offer still stands. Tell me all about him. Or her.”

Tonks, who knew how hard it could be to extend friendship to someone you wished would love you, appreciated his offer more than she could put into words.

Proudfoot led Tonks towards a caff around the bend of the Thames. It was a few miles to walk, but the cold, fresh air felt good after so many hours in Azkaban. It also made it easier to talk.

“Start with their name,” Proudfoot prodded.

Tonks thought that was the last place she wanted to start. It would be easier if Proudfoot didn’t know who she was talking about and didn’t make a number of assumptions based on Lupin’s previous run-ins with the Ministry.

“He’s a friend of my cousin. So I knew him growing up. Always thought he was sweet, y’know? And funny. I mean, I really looked up to my cousin — Mum always thought he was a bad influence, but you know my Mum.”

“In concept,” Proudfoot laughed. “Just promise me the cousin you’re talking about is Sirius Black and not Regulus Black? Or Draco Malfoy?”

Tonks had never been more grateful for Proudfoot’s sense of humor. It was why the two of them got on so well. “Of course I’m talking about Sirius.”

“And the friend isn’t James Potter, is it? Because I think I can point out some quick problems with that relationship.”

“I do not have a crush on James Potter! Stop — did you want to hear about him or not?”

“You didn’t give me his name, Tonks! I’m just making sure the reason you’re keeping him secret isn’t because he’s already married to a very powerful and terrifying witch who has it in for the Ministry.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was sudden, uncontrolled, and brief. She couldn’t remember if she’d laughed in the last month. She couldn’t remember if she’d laughed at all since Voldemort’s return was finally public. Since she’d had a real conversation with Remus. But it was funny to hear how the Ministry felt about Lily Potter.

“I’m not in love with Potter. Promise.”

“Alright, alright, carry on.”

Proudfoot led her through a garden along the bank of the Thames. On any other day, Tonks might have worried he was trying to make this walk romantic, but she found it so much easier to breathe, now that he knew she wasn’t interested in him. She wished she had tried to talk to him about it all sooner, but they’d danced around the line between friendly and flirty for so long, she hadn’t known how to bring it up. Perhaps an accidental discovery like this was the only way for them to move forward.

“So I always sort of liked him,” she said, “but it was just a silly crush, you know? I dated at school and everything, but, well, I dunno, after I finished at Hogwarts I saw him at a party and I just — it all hit me all over again. My heart got all jittery, and I didn’t want to leave, even when my mum and dad left. I just wanted to keep talking to him. But then there was Auror training, and I was so busy and exhausted all the time —”

“I remember Moody ran you hard.”

“Yes! It was miserable, but worth it… Anyway, this past year, we’ve spent a lot of time together and — I dunno, I thought he finally saw me as an adult, not as his friend’s kid cousin. I thought that maybe he liked me too.” Tonks felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes and she instead latched onto her anger at herself for being so upset. She shouldn’t be reacting this way. Unrequited love hurt, but it was nothing worth crying to a co-worker about.

“I’m sorry.” And Proudfoot sounded like he meant it. There was no relief in his voice that Tonks wasn’t actually taken. There was no hope that because her love was unrequited she might turn her feelings to him. He was just sympathetic.

“When I tried to talk to him about it, he said there was nothing to talk about. It hurt, but I knew I could be alright with it. Even if he did have feelings for me and just wanted to be stubborn and deny it, fine. If he wanted to date someone else, fine. If he was content with his own company, fine. I could make my peace with that. But he….” She sighed and ran a hand through her thin, mousy brown hair, wishing that she could turn it back to her favourite vibrant pink. “It’s just a lot more complicated.”

Proudfoot considered this. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, following the occasional Muggle automobile that passed them along the embankment. His hands were in his pockets, presumably one on his wand, and Tonks hastily shoved her wand hand into her pocket. She’d been using her hands to assist her talking, but she knew Moody would have criticized her for taking her hand off her wand for even a moment.

“What reasons has he given you for not wanting a relationship?” Proudfoot finally asked.

“He says I don’t deserve him because he’s old and… and sick. He thinks I ought to fall in love with some young attractive Auror instead of him — his words, not mine.”

Proudfoot’s face flushed and a grin spread across it. “So he knows me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. But yes, he’s seen you before. He knows we’ve worked together. And it just makes me angry that he thinks he can tell me who I should fall in love with!”

Proudfoot nodded. “Yeah, I see that. Has he admitted that he shares your feelings? It almost sounds like he’s making excuses to avoid hurting your feelings — and failing spectacularly, I might add.”

“I thought that for a bit, but then I talked it over with Sirius, who knows him best. Sirius said he does have feelings for me, that Sirius is sure of it. Sirius seems to think the problem is that Remus doesn’t want to deal with his own feelings and insecurities, so he’s running from them.”

“Oh. This is about Remus Lupin. I see.”

The tone of Proudfoot’s voice turned from as comforting as her mother’s homegrown herbal teas to as cold and icy as a dementor’s chill. Tonks felt her hurt and anger stunned into temporary submission as her brain tried to work out which part of Remus Lupin it was that made Proudfoot so angry. Was it that he finally had a name and a face for Tonks’ love? Was it the werewolf thing?

Tonks did as she did best: tried to brush it off with a joke. “What? Would you be less upset if I’d said it was Emmeline Vance?”

Proudfoot did not see the humor. “I just think what he is matters. You can’t have a serious relationship with someone like that.”

So it was the werewolf. “Glad to have your opinion on it,” she said coolly.

“I just mean that you ought to think about it practically. He certainly is. You can’t live with someone with that kind of condition — it’s dangerous! You know he never registered himself? And imagine what might happen to your children —”

“Merlin’s merchant, Proudfoot, where do you get off talking about me having kids?”

“I’m just looking at it in the long-term. That’s all.”

“And I was so glad to have a friend to talk to about it.” Tonks rolled her eyes, embarrassed by the gratitude she’d felt just moments ago. “You’re unbelievable. Sirius is in love with the man and he’s a better comfort about all of this than you are.”

Without checking for Muggles and without waiting for another poor, insensitive explanation from Proudfoot, Tonks Disapparated, leaving the man she had — until just a moment ago — considered her best friend standing alone on the roadside in London. She Apparated into her mother’s garden, with no care for the mint plant she trod over, and stomped into the house.

Despite the late hour, Andromeda Tonks was still up with a book in her lap, and looked relieved to see Tonks. Her relief turned into concern when she actually took in Tonks’ expression.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing. It’s fine, Mum,” she grunted, and stomped up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door closed.

“Nymphadora!” her mother shrieked, with the same strength and indignation she’d used throughout Tonks’ teenage years.

As another set of footsteps stomped up the stairs behind Tonks, the house seemed to groan with weariness. It had endured hundreds of similar arguments as Tonks had passed through puberty and into adulthood; it was likely to endure a hundred more.

Tonks was barely out of her coat when her mother threw the door open.

“Nymphadora!”

“What, Mum?” She was so tired of every adult treating her like a child, and she wished she knew how to stop herself from responding as if she still were a child.

“You know better than to come barging into this house at ungodly hours making that kind of noise —”

“Because you haven’t just woken half of the neighborhood yourself —”

“Don’t interrupt me! I’ve been up half the night, worried sick about you, and you brush me off like I’m little more than a house-elf —”

“I’m sorry, Mum. I’m tired. It was a long day.” Tonks hung her coat in her wardrobe, simply because her mother was still standing in her doorway and she knew she’d get another scolding if she left it on the floor.

There was a heavier set of footsteps in the hallway, joined by a loud yawn, and her father came stumbling down the hall, dressed in his nightclothes. He joined her mother in the doorway. “Dromeda, Dora, must we do this now?”

“She’s the unreasonable one!” Tonks said, raising her voice more than she meant to, an old habit of an oft-repeated phrase growing up. “Shouting like it’s the end of the world at Merlin knows what hour of the night!”

“I’m the unreasonable one? I’m just asking for the bare minimum — the absolute least you can do is say hello when you come home. Some basic decency is all I ask for in this house.”

“I’ve said I’m sorry, Mum. What else do you want? I’ll remember to send my Patronus earlier next time.”

“You have no idea what it’s like, waiting up with worry while you’re only child is off fighting who-knows-what and who-knows-who and —”

“Yeah, and I ‘spect I never will. I was at Azkaban half the day, and I’ve got to be at Hogwarts in the morning, and I’d like to get just an hour of good sleep in, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Ah,” Ted Tonks said, and stifled another yawn. “There it is. Did you have another run-in with Lupin?”

“No! Dad — just go back to bed.” Her cheeks flushed, and had she been thirteen instead of twenty three, her hair would have burned bright red with embarrassment.

“Are you really still interested in him, Nymphadora?” asked Andromeda. “It’s been nearly six months since you’ve even spoken to him.”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mum, I’m aware. You say it like I can help it.”

“Oh, please. You are not the protagonist of some Russian novel who can stand around waiting for him to reform bad habits and realize he’s been in love with you all this time. You cannot mope about —”

“I’m not moping!”

“Then change your hair. Fix your nose. As much as I love seeing my face on my daughter for once, I miss seeing your father’s. You’ve let this man take a wonderful gift from you, and it’s growing ridiculous.”

“Dromeda,” Ted said, and put his arm around his wife, “don’t pretend you were any less romantic about love when you were her age. I recall several impassioned speeches about what you thought of your family’s philosophy, and how you didn’t care what it cost you, you would have me no matter what.”

Andromeda’s face grew red. “That was different! We had each other — and we had a plan —”

“It’s not the same, but it’s not that different,” Ted said. “Come on, let’s get to bed before any of us say something we’ll regret in the morning. Will you be home tomorrow night, Dora?”

Tonks, still furious with her mother shook her head. “No. I’m at Hogwarts this weekend. I expect I’ll be home on Monday.”

Andromeda’s face was shrewd. “Why not come home tomorrow night? London’s no closer to Hogwarts than we are.”

“Let it go, Dromeda,” Ted said. “She’s an adult, and if she wants to keep throwing herself at this, that’s her choice.”

Andromeda did not look like she was going to let it go. “This conversation isn’t over, Nymphadora.”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Brilliant. Can’t wait until we pick it up again.” She considered never coming home again, but the last thing she needed was her mother pounding on the Potters’ or Weasleys’ doors, demanding to know where she was and how to get to the Order’s headquarters in London. As her bedroom door closed, and she was finally alone, she reminded herself that her parents were simply looking out for her. Her mother cared, as difficult as that could be to see. Tonks tried, as she tried every night in the middle of this war, to count the things she was grateful for, and having two living parents who loved her was at the top of the list.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

At the bottom of Tonks’ list of things to be grateful for was the weather. Though she’d been glad to have the dementors out of Azkaban just yesterday, she was already wishing them back. Hogwarts was bitterly cold, and it wasn’t even November.

Tonks doubled her scarf around her face to shield herself from the biting cold atop the Astronomy Tower. She leaned over the edge of the parapets and watched the students file out, all successfully passing Filch’s Secrecy Sensor. She thought about how many times she’d tricked Filch during her time as a student, and wondered if his Secrecy Sensor was as reliable as he’d insisted.

Tonks watched until she saw a group of four wrapped in Gryffindor scarves — one with short, messy dark hair, another with long untidy red hair, someone with dusty blonde hair, and someone with long, thick, curly hair — set out from the castle to brave the icy cold wind that blew down the path to Hogsmeade. Tonks was, as her Auror assignment said, guarding Hogwarts in Dumbledore’s absence. But more than that, she was guarding Harry.

And she’d expected him to head out into Hogsmeade, which is why she was up here on the Astronomy Tower, watching to make sure he’d gone, though she’d been hoping he wouldn’t bother to brave the weather. With a disappointed sigh and a curse on courageous Gryffindors, Tonks cast a simple Disillusionment Charm on herself and mounted her Comet Two Sixty. She wasn’t used to having to resort to spells for Disguise, but she’d gained a lot of practice these last few months.

Her gift hadn’t vanished right away. It had been slow, like exhaustion creeping in as the day grew longer. At first, she’d thought it simply was exhaustion. Changing her appearance became like stretching an over-extended muscle. It hurt, and she could do it, but not for long. Then the things she did without a second thought seemed to take all of her concentration. Her hair, her eyes, her nose, her jaw — the things about her that mirrored her mother that she had spent her whole life disguising, first out of spite and then out of habit — all relaxed into their natural shape. Until one morning, she found she was unable to shrink her nose or soften her cheekbones. She could not grow her nails into claws or turn her hair from brown to pink.

She’d thought it was the war that had worn her out, but when she had seen Remus after his transformation last July, she had known exactly why she was so tired, so exhausted. The war was something she had trained for, and she’d been trained well for it by Mad-Eye Moody. Falling in love with someone who repeatedly tormented himself — not just on the full moon but on each night of his life — had never been something she’d prepared for.

Tonks landed her broom just outside the Three Broomsticks and tucked it away in a shed behind Rosmerta’s pub. She’d retrieve it later.

For now, Tonks walked the streets of Hogsmeade. She was familiar with its layout, having visited enough times as a student. It wasn’t particularly crowded, with how terrible the weather was. Still, she found it strange to watch the clusters of students hurry from shop to shop. It wasn’t too long ago that she had been one of them, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago. The only students she could possibly know were the seventh years, who had only been bitty firsties when she’d been in her final year. She didn’t think she’d recognize any names.

The students she did know — Harry, Hermione, Neville, and the Weasleys — were nowhere to be seen. Tonks tried to think of where Harry might go. She knew he’d been to the Hog’s Head before, but from what she understood it had been a special occasion. She wondered if he was continuing Dumbledore’s Army now that Umbridge had been deposed, if he’d decided it was still necessary with Snape in charge of Defense.

Tonks wandered the path down to the Hog’s Head, but it didn’t seem like any students were particularly interested in braving the long walk to the edge of town, away from the warm, inviting shops. When Tonks did open the door to the Hog’s Head, she was greeted by the smell of animal dung and an unwelcoming grunt from the barkeep. The place itself was empty.

“Wotcher, Aberforth,” she said as she approached the counter.

Aberforth half-growled. “Don’t have time for your funny business, Nymphadora.”

Tonks wished she felt anything like funny business. With the loss of Proudfoot, Aberforth was the last person left in her life she could joke around with. “I’ve outgrown all that,” she said with a shrug. “Just checkin’ to make sure you aren’t serving Firewhiskey to firsties.”

“Not unless they’re as wrinkled as shrivelfigs. Or if you’ve got another student that can make their face look as weathered as mine.”

“Just me, far’s I know. Any interesting shrivelfigs come through?”

“In this weather?” Aberforth stroked his beard. “‘Dung came in here, tried to sell me something. I gave him a firm reminder he was banned. Are you going to buy something or did you just come to annoy me?”

A drink sounded tempting. “Sorry, but I’m working. Maybe tonight.”

“Butterbeer for the road, then?”

Tonks could not resist something warm in this terrible weather. As grumpy as he was, Aberforth was an excellent salesman. Or maybe he was just trying to unload his dusty collection of butterbeers on unsuspecting Aurors. Tonks’ lips curled back in disgust as he handed her the glass bottle coated in a quarter inch of muck, as if he’d unearthed it from the floor.

“Cheers,” she said, and tucked the glass bottle into her coat. At least it was warm.

She left Aberforth, cheered by the interaction. She’d once made the mistake of impersonating Dumbledore in her third year in order to get herself a drink at the Hog’s Head. It had gone terribly, but how was she to know that the barkeep was the Headmaster’s estranged brother? Aberforth had promised not to tell the school what she’d done as long as she promised not to let everyone know who he was. It had been a fine arrangement, one Tonks had leaned on and abused to get the occasional free drink in her later years.

As Tonks headed back to the shops in the center of Hogsmeade, she wished she’d spent time practicing warming charms instead of Disillusionment Charms. The wind was picking up, and she was pretty sure there was a storm coming.

She caught sight of Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione exiting Zonko’s and hurrying across the street towards the Three Broomsticks. They didn’t seem to notice her, which she was grateful for, though disappointed they’d chosen the Three Broomsticks. She couldn’t very well go in and have Harry recognize her, but she did very much want to get warm.

She ducked into Gladrags. Though most of the window was plastered with Death Eater wanted posters, there was a space in the corner where she had a good view of the Three Broomsticks. Tonks settled into the corner and when the shop owner asked her to buy something or leave, she simply flashed her Auror badge. He ignored her after that.

Harry and his friends stayed in the Three Broomsticks just long enough to enjoy a nice, warm butterbeer before heading back into the cold. She waited until they’d passed by Gladrags before heading out into the cold herself. The butterbeer in her pocket wasn’t especially warm anymore, and she pulled her coat closer to stave off the bite of the windchill.

She squinted up at the castle, and wondered if she ought to take her broom back. The wind was picking up, and she didn’t have any desire for her Comet to get caught in a gale and have the both of them into the Whomping Willow. She also had no desire to walk into the wind. In the end, Tonks chose the lesser of two evils. She pulled her collar tight and trudged up the path towards the castle. She had barely crested the first hill and taken in the vision of the Black Lake, with white caps on its traditionally mirror-smooth waters, when a blood-curdling scream cut through the air.

Tonks bolted into a run. The glass bottle in her coat pocket swung like a pendulum as she hurried towards the sound, wand out, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of distress. The scream continued, even as she ran, and as she mounted the ridge where she had last seen Harry, she saw a young girl, hovering six feet in the air just at the end of the bridge that crossed the Black Lake, screaming with all her might as the wind whipped around her. Tonks had barely taken two more steps when the girl collapsed to the ground in a heap. Five students clustered around her. Tonks saw the one she thought was Harry run towards Hagrid’s hut. That was good; Tonks was still far enough away that Harry might reach Hagrid first.

Tonks searched for more strength to put into her sprint, but it felt like no matter how hard she tried, she could not run fast enough. Then, as her feet left the well-worn path and hit the hard, stone bridge, she tripped and sprawled onto the ground. She heard the glass in her coat pocket shatter, and the left side of her chest grew wet and warm. She did not even stop to consider the sensation; she only cursed her clumsiness and picked herself back up.

When she finally reached the end of the bridge, she skidded to the young girl’s side, this time intentionally slamming her knees into the bridge. Hagrid and Harry were just steps away.

“Get back,” Hagrid shouted at the students as Tonks ran her wand over the girl on the ground.

The girl was still screaming and writhing in pain. Tonks hated these kinds of curses, the ones you could neither see nor defend yourself against. She was not very good at treating them, either. Snape was better. And Hagrid was faster.

“Get her to Madam Pomfrey,” she said, though Hagrid had knelt down to scoop her up as soon as Tonks pulled her wand away. “And get Snape!” she added as he ran off with the still-screaming girl in his arms.

“Is anyone else hurt?” Tonks looked at the five students — Harry, Ron, Neville, Hermione, and a girl she’d never met.

They all shook their heads.

“Did someone attack her? What happened?”

The girl Tonks did not know pointed at some brown wrappings on the ground. “It — it was when that package tore,” she sobbed.

The wrappings were nearly soaked through, and as the wind whipped the loose edges around, Tonks saw something glittering underneath.

Ron knelt down and reached for the package.

“Don’t —” A jinx shot from the end of Tonks’ wand and knocked Ron backwards. She hadn’t meant to use the Knockback Jinx, but she’d been so determined to keep Ron away from whatever was in that package, she’d reacted without thinking.

Harry knelt next and, before she could even open her mouth, said, “I’m not going to touch it!” Instead he reached for the wrapping, and pulled it back to reveal a stunning opal necklace, glittering with iridescent greens and blues and whites.

“I’ve seen that before,” Hermione gasped. “Or one just like it. It was on display in Borgin and Burkes this summer. The label said it was cursed. Katie must’ve touched it.”

“Where’d your friend get this necklace?” Tonks looked at the group of students. They all looked at the girl.

“That’s why we were arguing.” The girl started to shake, and Hermione put an arm around her. “She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for someone at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it…. Oh! Oh no — she must have been Imperiused and I didn’t realize!”

“She didn’t say who’d given it to her, Leanne?” Hermione asked.

“No —” Leanne hiccuped on another sob. “She wouldn’t tell me. I said she — I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to the school, but she wouldn’t listen, and then I tried to grab it from her and —” Leanne let out another heaving sob and buried her face into her hands.

Tonks appreciated how calm Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Harry were as Hermione patted Leanne’s shoulder, and how carefully Harry and Neville examined the necklace. They had what it took to be Aurors, or maybe they’d just been through enough to make them that way.

Tonks took off her wet cloak and tossed it to Ron. The warm butterbeer had quickly grown cold, and Tonks thought she’d be better off with no cloak than a cold one. “Wrap it in this. Do not touch it — do you understand?”

Ron nodded solemnly and used her cloak to scoop up the necklace. “Why is it sticky?”

“Hippogriff piss,” Tonks said, and didn’t feel any urge to even smile at her own humor. “I need you to run on ahead and get that to Snape. It’ll help him treat Katie.”

Ron, though he looked pale, did not ask questions. He did as Tonks said and hurried on ahead.

“Come on,” Tonks said to the rest of them. “Let’s get out of this wind and get somewhere warm.”

Hermione kept her arm around Leanne’s shoulder as they walked up to the castle. Harry fell into step beside Tonks.

“Do you think Katie will be alright?” Harry asked as they trudged into the wind.

“I don’t know,” Tonks answered honestly. “You lot were in the Three Broomsticks just now, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me everyone who was in the Three Broomsticks.”

Harry frowned. “I dunno — Ron, Neville, Hermione, and me. A Slytherin from our class. A couple of warlocks… Katie and Leanne…. I dunno who else. It was kind of full with the weather so bad.”

“I thought Mad-Eye would’ve taught you better.”

“What do you mean?”

Had Tonks been her usual self, she would have scrunched up her face into her wizened mentor’s shape. As it was, she simply mimicked his voice. “Constant vigilance!”

Harry looked appropriately reprimanded. “I didn’t think about it in Hogsmeade. It’s so close to Hogwarts, I thought it was — I don’t know, safe?”

“Doesn’t matter where you are. How many times have you been attacked in places you’ve felt safe?”

Harry didn’t answer, and Tonks didn’t need him to. She could tell from his face it was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

“I think it was Draco Malfoy,” he said suddenly.

Tonks raised an eyebrow at him. “You sound certain.”

“He saw the necklace in Borgin and Burkes this summer,” Harry said. “Remember I told you we tailed him?”

“You didn’t tell me he purchased something. You told me he bullied Borgin into repairing something for him.”

“Right but — he could’ve purchased it. Or he could’ve gone back and purchased it.”

“Did you see Malfoy in the Three Broomsticks?”

“No, but there were a lot of people there.”

“And you think a lot of people would not have noticed a young man in a Hogwarts uniform slip into the girls’ bathroom?”

Harry considered this. “Leanne didn’t say Katie got it in the bathroom, just on her way back from the bathroom.”

“Alright, that’s a fair point, but I’ve got one more question.”

“Okay.”

“Katie — she looked like she’s a sixth or seventh year?”

“Seventh.”

“She a good duelist?”

“Yeah. She was in the D.A. She’s on the Quidditch team, too, ever since she was in second year. Good reflexes.”

“You think if Malfoy so much as approached her in the girls’ bathroom or anywhere in the Three Broomsticks with his wand out she wouldn’t Stun him or even shout?”

Harry didn’t answer, as they climbed the steps into Hogwarts. Filch growled at them and waved his Secrecy Sensor, but McGonagall came running down the stairs and waved him away.

“Let them in, Filch,” she said. “My office, all of you.”

Tonks could not help but feel like a student again as she trooped into McGonagall’s office. Ron was already there, with Tonks’ wet and sticky coat draped over the back of a chair. The necklace was nowhere to be seen.

“Well!” McGonagall said, and shut her office door firmly behind her. “Hagrid says you are the ones who saw what happened. Mr Weasley, I hope you’ve caught your breath enough to tell us what’s happened.”

“Leanne’s the one who saw it all,” Ron said. He still sounded short of breath, and Tonks was proud of him for putting in so much effort.

Leanne, between sobs and hiccups, was able to tell McGonagall what she had told Tonks: Katie had entered the bathroom at the Three Broomsticks and come out with a strange parcel and acting very odd, and they’d argue over delivering the strange package, until they’d torn the package in their argument. At this point, Leanne became inconsolable, and neither McGonagall’s stern demands nor Hermione’s gentle coaxing could convince her to finish her story.

“Go up to the hospital wing, then, Leanne,” said McGonagall in a kinder voice than Tonks had ever heard from her, “and have Madam Pomfrey give you something for shock.”

Leanne rubbed her eyes and obediently left the office.

“What happened when Katie touched the necklace?” McGonagall asked. She was looking to Tonks for answers, but Tonks did not have any. She looked at Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Neville.

It was Harry who hurried to answer. “She rose up in the air,” he said, “and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore please?”

McGonagall frowned, clearly uninterested in this change in topic. “The headmaster is away until Monday, Potter.”

“Away?”

“Yes, Potter, away. But I assure you, we are in quite capable hands regardless. Now, is there anything else you have to say about today’s incident? I believe I am most needed in the hospital wing.”

“That’s about it, Professor,” said Tonks. “I’ll see these four back to their common room.”

“Thank you,” McGonagall hurried out of the office without another word. Tonks could see Harry burning with frustration, but she ignored it, instead looking at the Quidditch Cup sitting on a shelf in McGonagall’s office. She felt bitter at seeing it here, especially after so many years of Charlie Weasley crushing her team in Quidditch.

“Who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?” Ron asked as he handed Tonks her cloak.

Tonks shook her head. “I doubt we’ll know unless Katie can tell us.”

“Whoever it was has had a narrow escape,” said Hermione. “No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace.”

Tonks led the four Gryffindors out of McGonagall’s office and towards the stairs to Gryffindor tower.

“It could’ve been meant for loads of people,” said Harry. “Dumbledore — the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him. Or Slughorn — Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can’t be pleased that he’s sided with Dumbledore. Or —”

“Or you,” Neville whispered.

Tonks raised an eyebrow, prepared to comfort Harry, but Harry only shrugged.

“Couldn’t have been, or Katie would’ve just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn’t she? I was behind her all the way out of the Three Broomsticks. It would have made much more sense to deliver the parcel outside Hogwarts, what with Filch searching everyone who goes in and out. I wonder why Malfoy told her to take it into the castle?”

Tonks sighed. “Harry, the Malfoys have been searched as thoroughly as anyone has ever been searched. And I find it far more likely that a woman cursed Katie with the Imperius Curse and had her deliver the parcel.”

“He could’ve asked Pansy Parkinson,” Harry said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Pansy couldn’t curse a toad to sing.”

“Whoever it was,” Ron said as they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, “wasn’t very slick, were they? The necklace didn’t even make it into the castle. Not what you’d call foolproof.”

“You’re right,” Hermione agreed. “It wasn’t very well thought out at all.”

Tonks examined each of the brave Gryffindors and considered her own Auror training. They all had the temperament for it, if nothing else. And they were asking all the right questions, the ones she’d been asking herself since she’d seen what had happened.

“What was it about the plan that went so wrong?” she asked them, curious to hear what they’d noticed.

“Even if Leanne hadn’t thought it strange, Filch would’ve caught the necklace with his Secrecy Sensor when they walked in,” said Neville.

“And no one’s really traveling alone these days,” said Hermione. “Someone like Leanne being suspicious was practically guaranteed.”

“Anyone could have opened the package,” said Ron. “Or like what happened — it opened accidentally and Katie got cursed.”

“The possibility for collateral damage was high, and the chance of success slim,” Tonks agreed. “So what does that tell us about the culprit?”

“Someone not very bright,” said Harry, “like Malfoy.”

Three pairs of eyes rolled in unison. Tonks sighed and shook her head.

“Not necessarily. What happened to Katie requires a certain level of skill. And brilliant people can make foolish mistakes. But it does tell us she’s definitely inexperienced. You four thought quickly today and reacted coolly in a stressful situation. That’s something to be proud of. Stay vigilant, alright?”

They each nodded and Hermione said, “Dilligrout.” The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open. Ron helped Hermione inside, then followed. Neville scrambled over the large step into the common room. Harry, though, hesitated.

Tonks thought he was going to give another argument for why Draco Malfoy had been the one to curse Katie, but instead he said, “How long are you staying at Hogwarts for?”

“As long as I can be useful. Mad-Eye should be here ‘round supper time. He might be a better help for Katie, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Are you… Are you going to see my parents at all tomorrow?”

Tonks wished she had control over her Metamorphmagus ability if only so she could hide the blush creeping up her neck. “I’m supposed to spend the night with your mother, actually. I hope she won’t worry too much if I’m late.”

“Oh — does that mean… does that mean he’s coming home tonight?”

“As far as I know, he’s planning to, yes.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“I’m glad someone can keep Mum company, too.”

“I’m happy to do it. Your Mum’s cool. You’re lucky, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Go on, before your friends worry that you’re having a tryst with a mature, older woman.”

Harry pantomimed searching high and low, and even peered around the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Huh. I don’t see one around.”

Tonks stuck her tongue out at him and playfully shoved him into the short tunnel into the Gryffindor common room.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

That night, when Mad-Eye relieved Tonks of her duty, she trudged back down the path to Hogsmeade. The wind had died down, but it was still bitterly cold, and she didn’t have a cloak. She had her butterbeer soaked cloak draped over one arm, and the only thing really protecting her from the cold was the knit scarf around her neck.

Though Tonks would have loved to stop in the Three Broomsticks for a proper warm butterbeer, to make up for the broken, dirty one, but she was expected at the Potters’ Hogsmeade cottage, and she didn’t dare delay any more than she already had filling Moody in on the events at Hogwarts.

Remus Lupin had not come home for the full moon at the end of August, but he had returned for September, of his own accord. Lily had said he was reluctant and sullen about it, but regardless, he’d finally come home.

Unfortunately, all of that bitterness and irritation that Remus brought home with him carried over into the full moon. It wasn’t just that he’d surprised Lily by showing up on their fireplace hearth an hour before sunset, asking if it was alright to stay the night. It wasn’t just that Lily had needed to put together a half-dozen potions on little notice. Whatever it was that Remus carried with him into the full moon had nearly ripped both him and James to shreds, and Lily, with the help of the Potters’ house-elves, had barely managed to keep the two of them alive.

So this month, she’d asked Tonks to help.

When Tonks reached the cottage, she knocked, and was surprised when one of the Potter house-elves answered. Tonks hadn’t really been properly introduced to them, but she thought this one was called Picksie.

“Miss Tonks!” the house-elf squeaked. “A moment —” The small elf squeezed her large, purple eyes closed and snapped her fingers. There was a blue spark, and Tonks felt a shock run from her head to her toes. She jumped back, startled, and fumbled for her wand.

The elf, however, opened her eyes and smiled. “It is you! Come in, come in.” She stepped aside and motioned for Tonks to enter. “Picksie has been practicing, detecting Polyjuices and hidden curses! But you is you, so come in, come in!”

Tonks could not help but smile as she walked in. Picksie’s pride in her success was contagious. “Impressive. House-elves might make better guards than trolls if they practice as hard as you.”

Tonks was not certain whether house-elves could blush — the only one she’d had any real interaction with had been Kreacher — but she thought that Picksie was glowing with pride.

“Thank you, Miss Tonks! You is very kind. Mistress Potter is in the kitchen, finishing a potion.”

Tonks let Picksie show her the way. She’d never actually been to the Potters’ cottage. She knew James had purchased it to be closer to Lily during her brief stint as a Hogwarts professor, but she wasn’t sure why they’d held onto it all these years. It certainly came in handy on a night like tonight, when their house was occupied by a bloodthirsty werewolf, and the Order’s headquarters were little more than a way-station for overworked Aurors these days. The life that had returned to Grimmauld Place when the Order had needed a London base had all but vanished after the Ministry was no longer the primary battle ground. Even Regulus wasn’t around as much. Tonks had heard he was on a special mission for Dumbledore, separate from the Order’s task, but she couldn’t recall who had said it to her.

Tonks didn’t find this cottage much more homely than Grimmauld Place as she looked around. The fireplace was empty, and the furniture was covered. It was clear that the Potters didn’t spend much time here.

The kitchen Picksie led her to was smaller than Styncon Garden’s, which said a lot, considering that their kitchen there was not especially large, not compared with homes like Grimmauld Place or the Burrow. There was enough room for a woodstove and a hand-pump sink. It seemed that James hadn’t been looking for grandeur or comfort when he’d bought the house. He’d only been looking for somewhere close to Lily.

Lily stood over the wood fire, waving her wand over a cauldron. Picksie waited in the doorway until Lily had finished her spell and used her wand to siphon the potion into a bottle before announcing Tonks.

“Mistress Potter — Miss Tonks is arrived. Picksie is doing the checking of her myself. Miss Tonks is who Miss Tonks says.”

Lily smiled. “Thank you, Picksie. I don’t know what I’d do without your help. Tonks can help me with the last of the Blood-Replenishing Potions. Why don’t you check on Mellie and get some rest?”

Picksie bowed and disappeared with a pop.

“Is Mellie alright?” Tonks asked.

“She’s old, and more and more tired these days…. But we all are, so maybe it’s nothing.” Lily corked the bottle of thick red liquid and set it into a box. “One more should do the trick. I wish I could brew these in advance, but they only last about forty-two hours, and I never know how much I’ll need.”

“Depends on his mood, doesn’t it? How was he tonight?”

“Better with Sirius gone, I think.” Lily rubbed her eyes and leaned against the sink. “You haven’t heard from Sirius or Emmeline, have you?”

“I read his report about two weeks ago. It seemed like they had a lead.”

“I’m just worried that she threw herself back into the field too soon after her recovery… and for Sirius to take a mission that would take him so far from us for so long….”

Tonks worried, too. But she had a feeling Sirius had run to give Remus less excuses. The last thing he’d said to her in July had been, “Whatever I’ve been doing to help him hasn’t worked in all the years I’ve known him. Maybe I’ve mucked up too many times to make it right. I don’t know….”

Lily stared at the fire as it slowly burned itself out. The dim, flickering light danced in her green eyes, and it made it hard for Tonks to tell if she was near tears or not. “If Sirius isn’t back next month, he’ll miss Harry’s Quidditch game.”

“No one ever said any of this would be easy,” said Tonks.

“No, but I don’t understand why Remus has to make it harder on everyone.” Lily shook her head. “Sorry — I know that isn’t fair to say. I just….”

Tonks knew what she meant, though. They couldn’t blame Remus for going through something difficult, any more than Tonks could blame herself for not being able to use her Metamorphmagus ability. They each had their own boggarts to confront, and all of it happening in the middle of a war only made things more difficult on everyone.

So Tonks didn’t press Lily to explain. She simply began to help clean up the cauldron Lily had abandoned on the fire. She wasn’t the best at cleaning, and she fumbled each time Lily handed her a glass vial, but Tonks did her best to help Lily prepare another bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion. Lily didn’t seem interested in talking while they worked, and that was okay. Tonks focused herself on the task at hand, making sure not to break anything or accidentally drop anything into the potion. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d passed Potions at N.E.W.T. level with her consistent clumsiness, other than through sheer determination to become an Auror.

When the potion was safely sealed and labeled, Tonks put it in the box with the others. There was one potion glowing light blue — a fresh batch of Burning Bitterroot Balm, she guessed — and the rest were red potions with dates and times scrawled on them, going back to noon yesterday.

Lily made them a quick cup of tea, using her wand to heat the water instantly. Tonks took a moment to be in awe of Lily, who seemed a master of the house-keeping charms that had eluded Tonks, Potions, which had always been a challenge, and dueling, which was the only thing Tonks had ever shown a talent for. Tonks had spent her life mastering one thing and working hard to be passable at others; Lily seemed to have it all under control. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Harry his mum was cool.

“Thanks again for helping me.” Lily led Tonks back into the sitting room and pulled a cover off of the sofa so that they could sit. “It’s nice not to sit up alone, praying everyone’s alright.”

Tonks carried the warm mugs, and was careful not to spill as she handed one to Lily. “I think you’re doing me a favour just as much. It’s nice to know that I can do a little something for him, even if it isn’t a lot, even if he won’t talk to me.”

Lily used her wand to light the fireplace, then curled herself up into the corner of the sofa, hands wrapped tightly around her mug. “I can’t understand it, really. But I’ve never been good at understanding Remus.”

“I thought you two were close.”

“Close, yes — we tell each other almost everything. We spent a lot of time together as prefects. I almost made him my chief bridesmaid,” she laughed, “but I don’t understand him. I was rather harsh with him last July.” Lily blew on her tea and took a sip. Her gaze was not on Tonks as she spoke; she seemed to be staring at something much farther away.

“I didn’t know about his condition until our seventh year. I’d always assumed he understood what I was going through because he had a Muggle mother. I’d never dreamed it was because he knew better than I did what it was to be persecuted by wizards. But I always fought to prove myself. I was loud, angry, and maybe not willing to hex someone who mocked me, but I’d certainly outshine them in class. Remus was always quiet, secretive, and avoided people as much as he could. If he hadn’t been roommates with Sirius and James, or at least with people like them, I don’t know that he would’ve ever made friends.”

“It’s a bit different, though, isn’t it?” said Tonks. She flinched as she took a sip of tea and found it still too hot. “I just mean — being Muggle-born. You had ten years at least of a normal life.”

“I suppose. Though I always knew I was a witch. I had… a friend who was a wizard, who knew all about Hogwarts. But he never — well, while we were children — he never did treat me differently because I was Muggle-born. I suppose Remus never knew anything like that, not until he met James and Sirius. But we’ve all been friends for twenty-five years now. And I know what he goes through isn’t easy, but I’m so tired of him tearing himself up over it. I don’t know how to make him understand that we love him, not despite what he is but including what he is.” Lily closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa.

Tonks ran her thumb along the edge of her mug. She took a moment to let the steam warm her face before blowing on her tea and taking a sip. It didn’t hurt so badly as her first sip, but maybe she’d just burned the feeling out of her tongue. “Sirius says he’s just using the werewolf bit as an excuse so he doesn’t have to deal with his feelings.”

Lily hummed in agreement. “I’m sure that’s part of it. James described you as a catalyst, and I think that’s the best way to put it.”

“I don’t want to be anything — I just want to be me. And part of being me is loving him. But that part of me is making it harder to be myself, to be the person I know that I am.” Tonks bit down on her lip, realizing her words were heading dangerously close to thoughts she had been trying so desperately to avoid.

“Love changes us.” Lily’s smile was fond and distant. “You should’ve seen the way it changed James. I changed, too. James made me learn patience and humility, two things I’d never bothered with before. The love that makes you better is the one you want to keep around.”

Tonks was not sure she had changed for the better, at least not in these last six months. She liked spending time with Remus. She thought he made her more empathetic, more considerate, and more careful. Lately, though, she wasn’t happy with the ways she’d changed. She didn’t joke the way she used to, and she knew the loss of her Metamorphmagus abilities was an unfortunate effect. She supposed those losses weren’t because of her relationship with Remus, but because of how he had shut her out.

“What do you do when parts of him are good for you and other parts aren’t?”

Lily was quiet. Tonks wondered if she’d fallen asleep, and her question had gone unheard. She thought if she closed her eyes for even a moment, she might slip away too.

But then Lily said, “I think that’s why relationships are hard work.”

Tonks added emotional wisdom to the list of things Lily excelled at.

Tonks watched the fire as it slowly burnt out, intent on keeping a vigil all night, but at some point, Lily was shaking her shoulder gently. Tonks looked out of the window to find gray daylight creeping in. She stretched and groaned, stiff and sore from sitting on the sofa for so long. It was a familiar feeling after a life full of naps in odd places.

“Time to go already?”

“Just about.” Lily’s eyes were rimmed red and puffy. Her long red hair was a tangled mess. Tonks decided that she had no interest in looking at her own reflection.

They gathered up the potions and the house-elves. Tonks belatedly remembered her broom was still tucked away in Madam Rosmerta’s shed, but there would not be time to grab it. There was no telling what state Remus and James would be in. She just had to hope it would go unnoticed a bit longer.

Picksie, as a house-elf, had the ability to Apparate into Styncon Garden, and Tonks found it incredibly convenient, having made several uncomfortable Floo trips herself. She disliked traveling by Floo. She was always nervous that she would step into the wrong sitting room. Apparating was far more efficient.

Picksie’s ability also allowed her to Apparate around the grounds of Styncon Garden, which meant they did not have to waste time looking for James and Remus. Picksie was able to check the grounds quickly and return them to the kitchen for Tonks and Lily to treat immediately. With a pop, the house-elf was gone, and with another, she had returned to the kitchen with two very beat up and bloodied men.

As they had discussed beforehand, Lily prioritized the bite marks in James, and Tonks was to heal as many of Remus’s injuries as she could.

What caught her attention first were several punctures in his chest and abdomen that dripped blood. What worried her more than the blood was the way Remus gasped for air. Something, whatever it was that had gored him — Tonks couldn’t imagine what — had probably punctured a lung. Or if it hadn’t, any internal bleeding could be pressing on his lungs and even keeping his heart from beating properly. He may have had both a punctured lung and internal bleeding, judging by the pair of dark purple, heart-shaped bruises on Remus’s chest. Quickly, Tonks ran her wand over Remus’s abdomen, focused first on repairing the deepest of his wounds. Blue light pulsed at the tip of her wand, and she concentrated on that combination of Charms and Transfiguration that made up the root of healing magic. Her father’s voice filled her mind, reminding her of the basics of healing injuries. “The body wants to be fixed, and knows what to do; you’re just helping it along,” he had always said.

She did not have a lot of experience with internal wounds, and found it challenging to work on what she could not see, but she trusted in her own skill, and when his breathing was no longer strangled gasps, she dragged her wand over each of his external wounds, drawing blood away from cavities and knitting together open veins.

Once the immediate danger was settled, and she was certain Remus’s heart and lungs were working appropriately, she took an assessment of everything else. He seemed to have several misaligned joints, which Tonks thought odd injuries, but they were easy enough to set straight. There were also several superficial cuts and scrapes that she left alone, and three breaks in one of his legs that she set, but did not heal for fear of overtaxing his body. When she was confident she had done all that she could, she Levitated his body into the sitting room.

The last time Tonks had been to Styncon Garden, the sitting room had served as a make-shift hospital room for Remus and Sirius, and it looked as if it had not changed. Lily had thrown down towels and padding over both the floor and the furniture, then covered the entire room in white sheets.

Tonks gently set Remus down on the sofa and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. He was cold and clammy. She hurried back into the kitchen, careful to step around Picksie and Lily, who were still at work on James — Tonks glimpsed a deep bite mark in his stomach as Picksie lifted a cloth so Lily could drip dittany over the wound — and dug a Blood-Replenishing Potion out from the box. She hurried back to Remus’s side and woke him just enough to get him to drink. Some of the potion spilled as she uncorked the bottle, staining the white sheets with bright red blooms, but Tonks had not expected to be perfect at this. She hadn’t been doing this for years the way Lily had.

Once Remus had finished the potion, with minimal loss down his chin, Tonks helped him lay back down. His eyes closed and he immediately slipped back into sleep. Not only was the transformation itself taxing, and running around at night exhausting, Tonks had needed to draw on his body’s own stores of energy for the healing. It was likely that he would be asleep for a while.

Tonks turned to help Lily, only to find Picksie lifting James with her own wandless magic and setting him down on a set of cushions not far from the sofa Remus rested on. Lily was two steps behind her, uncorking a Blood-Replenishing Potion. “Tonks, please get me another one,” she said, and Tonks rushed to follow instructions.

By the time Tonks returned with another potion, Lily had already gotten James to drink the first one without spilling a drop. Tonks made sure to uncork the second one before handing it to Lily. She thought she saw tear streaks on Lily’s face, which startled her, but she forgot as James coughed and spluttered.

“Hold him still, please —”

Tonks rushed forward and helped hold James’s shoulders still. She realized she was staring at the scarred half of his face and quickly focused on Lily instead.

“No,” he mumbled, half-awake. “I can’t do another —”

“James, please, you lost so much blood.”

It took a bit more coaxing, but Lily was able to convince James to finish the second bottle. Tonks helped him lay back down and pulled a blanket over him. Lily recorked the bottle and pushed herself back to her feet, but James grabbed her hand.

“Lily —”

She knelt back down and squeezed his hand.

“Lily, I can’t do another full moon. Not with him like this. Not without Sirius.”

“I know,” she said. She brushed some of his dark, messy hair out of his face and tears fell from her cheeks onto his. “We’ll talk to them both. We’ll make it work.”

Tonks looked away, embarrassed to be intruding on this private moment. She did not know what had happened during September’s full moon, but she knew that in July, Sirius had been the one to take the brunt of Remus’s anger, and James had largely been unscathed. She wondered if something had changed between them, or if James had simply become a surrogate for Remus’s anger.

Her eyes caught on something familiar on the mantelpiece. There, tucked among photographs of James and Lily, Remus and Sirius, and Harry, was a wand. Curiosity seized practicality and Tonks crossed the room to examine it more closely. She estimated it was just over ten inches, with a darkly polished handle, and a fine twist to the wood before it tapered off into the end of the wand.

“It’s Remus’s,” Lily said softly.

Tonks turned. Lily was still seated at James’s side, holding his hand, but James appeared to be asleep. Lily wiped her cheeks with the heel of her free hand.

“Remus left it here last May.”

“I thought he broke his wand dueling Bellatrix.”

“Yes, his first wand. He got a new one when Barty Crouch stole his wand a few years ago, the one you’re holding now. He used it for about a year, until Regulus took his old wand back when he killed Barty. It was that one he was using to duel Bellatrix. He never did care for the replacement wand, and hasn’t picked it up since his duel. Says he doesn’t need it when he’s talking to other werewolves.”

“Doesn’t he Apparate?”

“I suppose he doesn’t.”

Tonks set the wand back down carefully beside the jar of Floo powder. Lily extricated her hand from James’s with similar care.

“Watch them for me, will you?” Lily asked. “I’m going to help Picksie take care of the kitchen. I think James left half his blood in the floorboards.”

“Is it always this bad?” Tonks asked.

Lily shook her head. “I think it’s a lot harder, not just because Sirius is gone, and what that means to the both of them but — well, I think simply it is much harder for a deer to manage a wolf than for a dog to manage a wolf.”

Tonks suddenly understood all of Remus’s wounds. She imagined what it must have been like for James, who maintained his reasonable senses during the full moon, to have to corral a wolf in the body of a prey animal, to know he could defend himself but not in any way that might injure Remus too terribly until it was nearly sunrise, and help would be on the way. Tonks could see why he was so desperate to not let another full moon pass in this fashion.

She walked back to Remus’s side and settled herself into the small space between him and James, listening to their steady breathing. Though she knew Remus had passed a violent night, and those violent feelings were still trapped inside of him, he looked peaceful like this. Worn down in the corners of his eyes and in the grey in his hair, and gaunt just hours after a transformation, but peaceful. There was a thin scar that split his lower lip in two, and a striking set of stripes across his nose, but she did not think they made him any less attractive. She’d always been intrigued by her cousin’s best friend, this man who was quiet, respectful, and yet had somehow managed to capture the attention of someone as wild and loud as Sirius Black.

Remus’s breathing changed, and Tonks was pulled from her reverie. She pressed two fingers against Remus’s neck and checked his pulse. It was steady. She let out a sigh of relief, and, just to be sure, took her wand and ran it over his chest again. She saw no sign that anything had torn or open, felt no injury she had not repaired. Her own heartbeat slowed as she realized Remus was alright.

Then his eyes fluttered open and her heart rate picked up once more. They were green like Lily’s though not as striking, and they seemed strangely unfocused. They settled onto Tonks’s eyes and she wondered for a moment what colour they were. Were they her more usual warm brown? Had they settled into her mother’s grey eyes? Were they something else entirely? Something out of her control?

“Well this is a cruel trick,” Remus whispered, and smiled wryly.

Tonks’ mind whirred like a Snitch desperate to be free of a Seeker’s grasp, but she found no answer, no way to interpret the strange words and expression. Remus only made it worse as he reached up and pressed his hand to her cheek.

“I always knew I hated myself but I didn’t think I’d punish myself with a vision of you with his face.”

Before Tonks could protest that she was not a vision and that this was her face, just her unaffected face, Remus pulled her close and kissed her.

He tasted like blood. He smelled like morning dew. She had not expected to feel the raised scar on his lower lip, but she did. For a moment — the briefest of moments — she closed her eyes and allowed herself to believe this was real, and that she wasn’t going to pretend, for his sake, that he truly had been dreaming.

She pulled herself away and swallowed down the tears that swelled in her throat. “You should rest,” she said.

“You won’t be here when I wake up,” he protested.

“No,” she said. “I won’t.”

Despite her honesty, it seemed that the brief attempt at wakefulness was all he had, and he returned to his proper dreams. Tonks wondered if she would continue to feature in them. It was unfortunate she had never mastered Legilimency. There had been a special course for Aurors, but it required the steadiness of a one-track mind. Tonks may have been stubborn enough to succeed at difficult challenges, but focusing on one thing alone was too much for her.

Which is why her mind was still spinning down several different paths, spiraling out of control. Remus had kissed her. He had not thought she was Sirius. He had not thought she was someone else. He had known who she was, and had only noted she looked like a Black, that she looked like Sirius. He had known who she was and he had kissed her.

But he had thought it was a dream. Did it make a difference?

She wondered if that moment was the only one she would ever get.

She wondered if that moment made everything better or worse.

“Everything alright?” Lily asked. “Tonks?”

Tonks still had her wand on Remus’s chest. Though her mind was running at a hundred miles an hour, she had not moved an inch.

“Fine,” she said, though she could feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She shoved her wand into her pocket and rubbed her eyes until she did not feel like she was about to break. “He’s alright — I just had a little…. It was nothing.”

“Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve got to go back to Hogwarts soon, don’t you?”

“Twelve on, twelve off,” she sighed. She was supposed to be there by nine in the morning, but Mad-Eye had made her swear not to come back until noon. She’d overworked her shift to make sure Katie was cared for, and he’d made her promise to take her entire break. She checked her watch. It was nearly eight am now. She might have fallen asleep on her feet or curled up under the portrait of Sir Cadogan if she’d had to be at the castle by nine.

“I have a few hours,” she said.

“I made a room ready for you yesterday, just in case.”

“Thanks.”

Lily warned her to skip the fourth step on her way upstairs. Tonks thought remembering on her way up was simple enough. Remembering on her way back down would be harder.

Tonks collapsed into bed, not even positive it was the right bed. She could be in Harry’s bed for all she knew, but she didn’t care. Even her worries over Remus vanished when her head hit the pillow, and she knew nothing but sleep.

When her pocketwatch alarm did finally chirp at her, reminding her it was time to return to Hogwarts, the warm afternoon sun was spilling over the bed. It was warm, and she did not want to leave it for the brisk wind of Hogsmeade. Why did Hogwarts have to be so far north anyway?

But she had a job to do. Tonks pulled herself out of bed with a lot of grunting and groaning and stumbled downstairs. She skipped the fourth step largely by accident, after nearly tripping over the fifth, and returned to the sitting room.

Lily was there, but she had fallen asleep on the floor, not far from where James had been laying. She did not see James, but she noted that the door to James and Lily’s bedroom was open. She was glad James was awake and on his feet. She ought to be polite and say goodbyes, but she didn’t want to disturb any of them.

That, of course, all fell apart when she reached for the Floo Powder and dropped it to the floor. The ceramic bowl crashed into the stone hearth and Tonks swore under her breath. It was easy enough to repair, but the damage had been done. She heard movement behind her, the rustling of sheets. She prayed it was Lily. Her prayers went unheard.

“Tonks?” Remus said in a quiet, groggy voice. It was such a raw tone, and Tonks wished he would repeat her name that way over and over again. That prayer went unheard, too.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

As she scooped Floo into the newly fixed jar, she reminded herself not to turn around. She could not let him see her face. She could not let him realise his mistake.

“I just came to make sure you were alright,” she said. “Sirius and the Potters aren’t the only ones who get to worry about you.”

He was quiet as she replaced the jar of Floo Powder on the mantle. She told herself not to turn around. She told herself to throw the powder in and just go. He was alright, he was awake, and she did not need him to know that he had really kissed her. It would only hurt him.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what? Shouldn’t be here?”

“You shouldn’t care.” It was such a vulnerable whisper, Tonks wondered if he still thought he was dreaming.

“But I do,” she said, with as much of her own vulnerability as she could muster.

“Well don’t,” he snapped.

Remus was the most reasonable and empathetic person Tonks had ever met, but in this one thing he was proving to be so unreasonably stubborn. She couldn’t understand how he could tell her to simply stop caring, when surely he, of all people, knew how little control you had over who you fell in love with.

She turned around, and it brought her no joy to see his tired, defeated face slacken into shock then twist into horror as he saw the proud Black family cheekbones and her strong jawline, so like Sirius’s. She knew the horror was not at how she looked but at the realisation of what he’d done.

“Fine,” she said. “If you don’t want to talk like adults, we won’t talk like adults. When you’ve decided that you’re ready to be friends again, and actually talk to me like another human being, let me know.” Tonks threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace and stepped through the green flames into the Potters’ cottage in Hogsmeade. She let the cold, brisk wind dry her tears as she continued her solitary walk back up to Hogwarts castle.

#harry potter and the half-blood prince #nymphadora tonks #remus lupin #harry potter everyone lives au #hp everyone lives #hbp

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