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on-maars · 3 years ago

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The perks of being set up by a ten years old

This fic is inspired by this post (kudos to these people for being hilarious) because it made me laugh and also because I love Christopher Diaz with my whole heart.

Hope you’ll like it.

Read on AO3

Christopher sighs as he looks down at his hands.

There are a lot of Legos bricks around him. They’re all spilled on the carpet but Christopher can’t find the right one. The one he’s looking for is very small, it could maybe be hidden underneath his bed or maybe even behind his big firetruck but he looked everywhere and he can’t find it.

He tried to classify them logically like Buck does every time he plays with him but he doesn’t know how to do it as efficiently as him and his head is aching. He wants to ask his dad for help but he knows he probably doesn’t have the time to build this small castle with him. It’s a lot of work and his dad is already very busy today. He needs to do the cleaning, the laundry and the grocery shopping and when all of this is over, he also needs to help him with his homework.

Plus, his dad’s shoulder still hurts and he needs to rest. That’s what Buck told him before leaving two days ago. And if Buck said it, then it means he’s right. Because Buck cares about his dad a lot.

Christopher presses his small hands over his forehead and sighs a second time. He needs to fix this on his own. Or maybe he could ask Buck to help. Buck is always happy to spend time with him and if Chris goes to his dad and asks him to talk to Buck on the phone then maybe Buck would come? Yes – he decides. It’s worth a shot.

He stands up and takes a few steps toward the living-room but stops dead in his tracks when he sees his dad. He seems sad. He’s seated on the couch and he’s running his hands through his hair and Christopher knows he always does that when he’s nervous about something. He’s not the only one seated on the couch. Ms. Ana is with him. She seems sad, too. Christopher frowns.

He doesn’t really understand what’s going on but then his dad starts speaking, and Christopher knows he should probably go back to his room and close the door behind him because it seems to be an adult conversation but he does none of those things. He stays there and listens.

And Christopher is a good kid. Or at least he thinks he is. Sure, sometimes he does some bad things but doesn’t everyone? His dad does bad things too. Buck as well. If you don’t do them very often then maybe you’re okay – he thinks. And his dad is sad and if his dad is sad then doesn’t he deserve to know what it is about? To try and make him feel better? Yes. That’s the best thing to do. He takes another step and hides in the kitchen, listening carefully.

“Does he know?” It’s Ms. Ana who’s talking. She’s very quiet. She seems nervous. Christopher doesn’t like it.

“No. No, of course he doesn’t. It’s just me, I- I guess getting shot really put things into perspective, you know? And he didn’t- Don’t blame him, he’s never-”

He? Who’s he? Christopher thinks.

“Edmundo, I’m not blaming him.” She says and her voice is soft, like she’s smiling. “How could I? He’s been there for you every day since- since you got hurt.” Christopher closes his eyes and sniffles. He doesn’t like to be reminded of that day. That day was very scary and he’s lucky Buck was with him because he doesn’t know what he would have done without his best-friend.

“He took care of Chris. He drove him to school, cooked lunch, helped him with his homework, all of that while still working as a firefighter and processing what happened to you, I can’t even begin to realize how much energy that must have taken him.” Ana adds.

They’re talking about Bucky – He tells himself and can’t stop himself from quietly nodding to himself. Because Ms. Ana is right. Every time he was coming back home from school that week, Buck was here to welcome him. Except when he was working. When he was working, Carla was there until he came back. And even when it was late, Buck made sure to go see him in his room and tell him a story, using different voices for each character.

“He was exhausted. Carla and I could see it and we tried to help. I tried to help but it was like talking to a brick wall. He can be very stubborn, but I'm guessing you already know that, right?” Ms. Ana says and Christopher can hear his dad huff out a laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, that does sound like Buck.” He sighs. “I’m really sorry Ana, I really thought- I really thought I was doing the right thing but- but even then I think I was trying to prove something to myself. I mean, you’re- you’re everything I should want. Everything I should dream of but then I- then I saw him in the hospital and it’s like-”

“It’s like I didn’t exist anymore.” Ana finishes for him sadly. “Don’t try and deny it, Eddie. As soon as you saw him in that hospital, I knew that whatever we had wouldn’t last. You looked at him like he was your whole world, Edmundo.” She says. “You know, you always say you’re not very good with words and I have to admit- I quite agree with you. But you don’t need to be. You don’t need to be because your eyes always say it all.”

“I-” His dad starts but Ms. Ana cuts in. Christopher lowers his eyes to the ground and stares into space. He shouldn’t be here. This conversation is very private and Christopher almost feels bad for his dad.

“If you’re in love with him then you need to tell him, Eddie.”

Chris opens his eyes wide and a small smile stretches his lips. His dad is in love with Buck.

That’s not news, though. Christopher already knew that. That’s why he got so mad at his dad when he told him he was dating Ms. Flores. She was nice but she wasn’t the right person for his dad. Bucky was. He still is.

“I’ll try. I promise.” His dad says and Christopher’s smile only gets bigger.

“I hope he’ll make you happy.”

Of course he will – Christopher thinks. It’s Bucky.

“I’ll say goodbye to Christopher and head out.”

As soon as these words come out of her mouth, Christopher stands up as quick as he can and sneaks out of the kitchen, sitting back on his carpet to play with his Legos.

He only pretends, though. His mind is far, far away from that castle.

He even forgets about the missing brick.

***

The next time Christopher eavesdrop, it’s definitely not an accident. It’s a situation he willingly put himself into. And maybe he was feeling a little bit guilty the first time but he’s not anymore. He’s involved now, and if his dad’s happiness lies with Buck, then isn’t it his duty as his son to make sure that everything happens according to the plan? Surely, it is.

He’s reading a book about space on his bed. A book Buck bought him a few weeks ago. Christopher really likes it but he finds it very hard to focus. Still, he tries because he knows Buck has already finished it and he really wanted to discuss it with him this afternoon. But his attention span is short and five minutes later, someone is knocking on his door and Buck is peeking inside his room with a large smile.

“Superman! How are you doing?” Buck asks and Christopher smiles.

“Buck! I need your help with the castle.” He says, pointing at the amount of Legos bricks scattered on the carpet. “I tried to build it myself the other day but it was hard and I didn’t want to ask dad because he’s still tired and his shoulder hurts him.”

“Well I’m very happy you waited for me, superman, you can’t be having all the fun on your own, it’s not fair.” Buck pouts and Christopher huffs out a laugh. The smile doesn’t leave his face. “I’m just gonna go talk to your dad for a bit, he wants to tell me something very important but then I’ll- Why are you smiling like that? You know something I don’t?” Buck asks.

Christopher shakes his head frantically but his smile betrays him. This makes Buck smile and the next second he’s rolling his eyes at him. “Alright, you definitely know something I don't but I don’t want you to spoil me the surprise so I’m gonna head to the kitchen and I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Alright, Bucky.” He says and waits for a few minutes until he’s sure Buck cannot hear him. Only then, he steps out of his bed and tiptoes until he reaches the door. He opens it very carefully, making sure it doesn’t creak. He closes it behind him and crosses the hallway; he can hear voices coming from the kitchen but he needs to get closer if he wants to understand what they’re saying.

He steps in the living-room and makes sure his body is pressed against the wall. Otherwise his dad might see him. He’s closer now, close enough to hear the conversation but still mostly hidden so that his dad doesn’t notice him.

In the kitchen, Eddie is seated at the table, his fingers twitching. His body is buzzing with a nervous energy and this doesn’t go unnoticed by Buck. This one is leaning against the fridge and looking at him with a concerned expression plastered on his face. There’s a tension in the atmosphere, mixed with a sense of urgency that Eddie doesn’t like. It makes his heart flutter and his head aches and he wishes he could run away so he doesn’t have to look at his best-friend in the eye when he says these next few words.

“So what’s up, Eds? Is it serious?” Buck asks and Eddie huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I’d say it’s pretty serious.” He adds and bites his lower lip. Buck only frowns and takes a seat next to him, taking his hand in his. Eddie whirls his head around at the gesture and for a few seconds, his mind goes blank, the only thing he can feel being the way Buck’s thumb traces small circles on his skin. It’s too much. It’s too much but it also makes him hopeful. Because surely two friends wouldn’t act that way around each other?

Or maybe his definition of friendship is just completely outdated and tainted by all the stereotypes and the prejudices he had to face when he was young. He doesn't know anymore.

Either way, he takes a deep breath and squeezes Buck’s hand, in the hope that it gives him more courage.

“Huh I- There’s something you should know. About- about me.” He starts.

“Okay?” Buck says, and Eddie can feel that his best-friend is growing more confused by the minute. “It’s not bad, is it?” He asks. “Not another one of your weird urges to punch people in the face for fun?” He says, trying to lighten up the mood but Eddie only grimaces, not exactly glad to be reminded of that period of his life.

“No” Eddie laughs. “No, nothing of the sort, that’s- no. I think I’ll stick to the punching-bag from now on.”

“Good.” Buck answers while huffing out a laugh. “Then what is it, Eds?” He asks and his voice is so soft it makes Eddie want to run away again.

“You’re not busy, right?” Eddie ensures. “I’m not keeping you from anything? Not… Not keeping you from… From Taylor?” He asks.

“Huh no.” Buck answers, motioning to the air around him. “I mean we do have a date tonight but that’s – you know – tonight. So go ahead. I’m all ears.” He says, signaling him to go on but Eddie’s entire body tensed at Buck’s words and his hand twitches and it’s like all the air has been knocked out of him.

“Date?” He says. “You- you’re dating?” He asks. “I thought- I thought she was just a friend? I mean that’s what you- that’s what you kept saying.”

“Yeah well… She kissed me. Back when you were in the hospital.” Buck says, looking down at the table with one of his sheepish smile that drives Eddie crazy. “So maybe – and I say maybe, don’t let that go to your head, man – maybe you were right about something, for once. I’m giving it a shot.”

Eddie huffs out a nervous laugh but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. How can it? How can it when he spent the entire week working himself up to telling his best-friend he’s in love with him while this one was starting a new relationship with that reporter? It can’t.

But Eddie’s heartbreak is quickly replaced by a deep sense of panic as his eyes urgently shuttle back and forth on his best-friend’s face, desperately trying to find something else to say and salvage whatever is left of that conversation.

On the other side of the wall, Christopher is frowning. He didn’t understand everything Buck said, especially the part about his dad hitting people. Christopher knows his dad and he wouldn’t hurt other people. He wouldn’t, and doesn’t. He saves people. That’s what he does, that’s why Christopher thinks his dad is a hero.

And usually, this would bother Christopher a lot but not this time. No, this time Christopher is angry with Buck. He’s angry with Buck for kissing another person than his dad. He doesn’t know who that Ms. Taylor is but surely she doesn’t measure up to his dad. She can’t.

He’s also angry with his dad for bringing that Ms. Taylor up because if he hadn’t then maybe he would’ve had the time to tell Buck he was in love with him and now that he did, it’s too late.

It’s too late and Christopher suddenly doesn’t care about the rest of their stupid talk. He steps out of the living-room and goes back to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He knows he shouldn’t because his dad is going to hear him but he doesn’t care. Buck ruined everything and it’s not fair. It’s not fair to his dad and it’s not fair to him either.

Christopher is sitting down by himself on the carpet when Buck opens the door slowly, peeking in just like the first time.

“Everything’s okay in here? Ready to play some Legos, superman?”

“No.” Christopher says, crossing his arms on his chest. “I don’t want to play with you anymore.” He adds, his tone cold.

“Okay.’ Buck says, carefully. “What do you wanna do, then?”

“Nothing. I’m very mad at you right now.”

“You are?” Buck asks, sitting down next to him. “Why is that? What did I do wrong, Christopher?” He inquires and Christopher doesn’t want Buck to be sad but he also doesn’t want to talk to him right now.

“You hurt my dad.” He explains. “You hurt my dad and I can’t tell you why but you did and he doesn’t deserve that. My dad is the best.”

“I know. I know he is. And I’d really like to fix what I did wrong because there’s nothing more I want than for your father to be happy buddy, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s going on inside your head, alright?” He adds. “So? You think you can tell me?”

“No.” Christopher only repeats. “I want you to leave.”

His tone doesn’t leave room for a choice.

***

“What’s going on in there?” Carla asks a few hours later after knocking on the door of Christopher’s room. “Your dad told me you were upset.” She adds, taking a seat on his bed.

Christopher is still mad and he doesn’t want to talk. He wants to stay in his room. In silence. But he knows Carla won’t stop until she knows what happened. She’s very convincing and she also has very great advice when he has a problem.

And this is certainly a big problem.

So maybe she can help after all – Christopher decides.

“He told me you got mad at Buck.” Carla adds and the way she frowns at him makes Christopher feel bad. It’s true he wasn’t very nice to Buck but he’s pretty sure he deserved it. At least, for now. He’s not going to stay mad at him forever. He can’t. He loves Buck too much for that.

“He hurt my dad.” Christopher only says, sticking two Legos bricks together.

“He hurt your dad?” Carla repeats. She seems confused and Christopher is not surprised. He would be too.

“Dad is in love with Buck.” Christopher explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Carla’s face softens. She doesn’t seem very reproachful anymore. Only concerned.

“How do you know that, Christopher?” She asks and that’s why Christopher loves Carla. She never tries to make him feel bad. She never acts like she doesn’t believe him like a lot of adults around him seem to do. She always takes him seriously even if he’s still a kid who doesn’t know as much stuff as grown-ups do.

“I heard him.” Christopher shrugs. “He was talking to Ms. Ana. I knows I probably shouldn’t have listened but I was too curious. I’m sorry. But I don’t think they’re together anymore and that’s because my dad is in love with Bucky. He told her. She seemed very sad and I was scared she would get mad at him but she didn’t. She was very kind. She told my dad he should tell Buck how he feels and I thought that was a great idea because you’re always telling me that when we love people, we should tell them.”

“And did he? Tell him?” Carla asks. “Is that why you’re mad at Buck? Because he didn’t react very well?”

“No.” Christopher shakes his head as he adjusts his glasses on his nose. “No, my dad didn’t tell him.” He exclaims. “He couldn’t. He wanted to but then Buck told him about his stupid girlfriend and now my dad can’t tell him anymore! I want him to but I know he’s not gonna do it.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Carla tells him, wrapping her arms around his back. Christopher sniffles and hide his face on her chest, closing his eyes. “That’s why you’re mad at Buck, then? Because you think he broke your dad’s heart?”

“I don’t think, I know.” Christopher clarifies. “And I also know Buck loves him too and I don’t understand why they can’t be together.” He complains. “They love each other. I know they do, they just don’t say it. It’s stupid. They’re stupid.”

Christopher moves away from Carla’s embrace and wipes his tears with the sleeve of his jacket. His glasses are all steamy and wet and so he takes them off to clean them, avoiding Carla’s gaze. He doesn’t like it, looking at her when he cries, because then she wants to comfort him and that only makes him want to cry harder.

“Can I tell you something very important?” She asks and Christopher nods. Because he wants it to make sense. He wants to understand why something so simple can be so complicated. “I know that sometimes adults can be very confusing.” Carla starts.

“Not sometimes.” Christopher whispers. “All the time.”

Carla lets out a small laugh and nods gently. She waits a few seconds and then she speaks again.

“Your dad and Buck love each other very much.” She adds. “You were right about that. But sometimes this kind of things can be very scary.”

“How so?” He asks. “They’re already very good friends. That must make it easier, right?”

“Yes and no.” Carla answers. “They’re very close, you’re right about that part. And Buck already spends a lot of time in here, doesn’t he?” Christopher only nods to that because it’s true and he doesn’t know what to add. “Your dad and Buck are probably just very scared to start something new because things are so simple right now and they don’t want to complicate everything.”

“But why them being together would complicate everything?”

“Because when you’re in a romantic relationship with someone, you have a lot of expectations and sometimes, things get very messy. And I’m not saying that it will be the case with your dad and Buck but-”

“It won’t.” Christopher shakes his head. “Buck won’t let that happen. And my dad won’t either. They’re already spending all their time together and they never fight. Sometimes I can hear my dad argue with Ms. Ana but he never does with Bucky. Never.”

“Yeah?” Carla asks, softly.

“Yes.” Christopher repeats. “I want Buck to stay here forever. But maybe they’re not ready yet.” He admits. “That’s okay. I’ll wait. I know they’ll figure it out.” He adds. “But you’re right about one thing.”

“What is it?”

“This is very messy. Being a kid is easier.”

***

Christopher knows he said he was going to wait. And he is. Waiting, that is. He is, but what if they need a little push in the right direction? What if they can’t do it on their own? What if they need some form of external help? It’s not forbidden. Christopher would even say it’s greatly recommended. After all, he’s doing it for the greater good. It’s not really cheating if it’s for a good cause, right? He promised Carla he would try and be patient but he never said anything about playing by the rules.

He’s seated on the couch in the fire station and Buck is with him, seemingly very engaged in a conversation with that Ms. Taylor everybody keeps talking about. Christopher doesn’t know what the big deal is anyway. She seems friendly, and she’s very nice with him but that ends here. And he knows his dad tries very hard to hide his sadness from everyone around him but Christopher is not easily duped.

He knows his dad well enough to notice that he looks miserable whenever Buck is with Ms. Taylor. He smiles less, he’s more withdrawn but more importantly his eyes are always sad. They certainly are, now. They don’t have the same glimmer of light. That makes Christopher upset. That’s why he decides it’s time to act.

“You wanna hang out at my place tomorrow?” He can hear Ms. Taylor say besides him.

“He can’t.” Christopher answers before Buck has the time to do so. “He’s already busy with me and my dad, tomorrow. We’re going to the space museum. Right, Bucky?”

“Huh yeah that’s true buddy. Sorry Taylor. I did promise him.” He confirms apologetically and Ms. Taylor only smiles. “Maybe on Sunday?”

“On Sunday, you’re also going to the house, Bucky. We’re building the Legos castle, remember?” He asks, and ignores the reproachful look his dad sends his way. “Maybe another time.” Christopher adds, looking at Ms. Taylor in the eye. “My Bucky spends a lot of time with me and my dad."

“Chris.” His dad says and Christopher knows he’s using his warning tone.

“Because we make a great team.” He goes on. “Right, dad?”

“Yeah we do superman, but Buck is also allowed to spend some time with Taylor, alright?”

“I guess.” Christopher agrees. “Ms. Taylor, when did you meet Bucky?”

“A little over two years ago.” She says with an amused tone.

“My dad knows him for a lot longer than that.” He argues and frowns when Buck huffs out a laugh next to him, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What’s gotten into you?” Buck asks him.

“I just think it’s very important for Ms. Taylor to know that.”

His dad is watching him again with that same knowing look on his face. I know what you’re doing and you need to stop right now, alright buddy? That’s what his father wants to say. Christopher knows that. He’s become an expert in knowing how to read his father’s face by now.

And that��s why he also knows that his dad isn’t really mad at him, deep down. Because he may have a disapproving look on his face and his voice may seem cautious but his eyes say a different story. There’s a flicker of pride shining in them, and his lips only slightly stretch up at the edges, the kind of smile you only see if you’re paying attention. And Christopher does pay attention. He pays attention a lot.

And so he decides it doesn’t matter. He gives him a large smile, making sure his dad notices how proud he is of himself, and when his dad huffs out a laugh while rolling his eyes at him, Christopher knows two things.

1. He’s not getting grounded tonight.

2. His dad knows he knows he’s in love with Buck.

Christopher gets up from the couch and takes a few steps towards him. He wraps his arms around his neck and lets his chin rest on the shoulder that doesn’t hurt. He knows Buck is busy talking with his girlfriend again and that’s why he whispers the next few words in his dad’s ear.

“It’s gonna be okay, dad.” He says. “He loves you too. I know he does. And soon we’re gonna be a happy family. The three of us.”

“Thanks god you’re my kid.” His dad whispers against him, running his hands through his blonde hair. “I have no idea how you managed to figure that out on your own and we’re gonna have a serious conversation about it later tonight but you’re too damn smart for your own good, Christopher.”

“I’ve known for months already.” Christopher simply answers.

“Of course you did.” His father laughs. “Don’t be too mean with Taylor, alright?” He asks, his voice even quieter than a few seconds ago. “She has nothing to do with it. And Buck seems to be happy with her, right?”

“Not as happy as you would make him, though.”

“Oh, definitely not.” His father answers cheekily and Christopher laughs against his shirt. “But we don’t have to tell him that just yet. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

***

The first time Christopher hears his dad and Bucky fight, he’s watching Scooby-Doo in the living-room. It’s a Saturday morning and Buck usually watches the episode with him but not today. Today, he’s in the kitchen with his dad and Christopher knows better than to ask him to join him. They seem to be having quite a serious conversation and he would usually be tempted to eavesdrop but Vera is about to reveal the identity of the villain and he doesn’t want to miss that. Plus, he also knows that Buck is going to ask him questions about the episode so he needs to follow everything going on on the screen if he wants to give him a detailed report.

It’s getting harder to focus, though. Not because it’s too complicated to understand. In fact, Christopher is pretty sure the villain is the owner of the big hotel where Fred and the rest of the team all chased ghosts the night before. He usually always guesses it right. Buck doesn’t, though. He gets it wrong every single time and that makes Christopher laugh a lot.

It’s hard to focus because the voices of his dad and Buck are becoming quite loud. He can’t understand what they’re saying though, because there’s also the sound of the TV.

Buck seems mad. Or maybe he’s just confused, Christopher doesn’t really know for sure, but he sounds just like his dad when he keeps asking him to pick up his Legos but he’s too lazy to do it.

“You don’t need to act so petty every single time I mention her, you know. Why do you hate her so much anyway? What did she ever do to you?” Buck says while stepping in the living-room. Christopher darts his eyes towards him but quickly focuses on the episode again. Vera just unmasked the Villain and Christopher smiles when he sees the face of the hotel’s owner. He’s been right about it again.

“I don’t- I don’t hate her.” His dad says.

“Oh cut the crap, Eds!” Buck exclaims and Christopher doesn’t like how loud his voice is. It sounds too serious, too intimidating. “You’re always making sure you’re not in the same room as her. You get so weird and quiet, so passive-aggressive. And the worst part is that she kept telling me she wanted to get to know you better because she knows you’re my best-friend but you never made it easy, man.”

They’re behind him, now. Christopher is pretty sure they both think he’s too engrossed in the episode to notice they’re fighting but they’re both really loud and he couldn’t focus on anything else even if he tried.

“I’m sorry.” He can hear his dad eventually say. “I’m sorry, I- I’ll try harder. I promise.”

“No need to try anymore, Eds. We broke up.” Buck answers and Christopher whirls his head around. His eyes fall on his dad and he seems to be just as surprised as he is.

And Christopher knows he probably shouldn’t be happy about that because Buck must be really sad but if Ms. Taylor is not around anymore then it means that his dad can finally tell him.

“When?” His dad says.

“Last week.” He answers. “I think we both realized we were better off as friends.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Buck looks down and Christopher can see his hands fidget with his keys, just like he does with his pen when he doesn’t understand his homework. “Whatever.” Buck adds. “I’m heading out Eddie, I’ll see you at the aquarium.”

“Buck-”

“Just drop it, Eds.” Buck cuts him off and he’s about to open the front door and Christopher suddenly panics. His dad can’t let Buck leave. He can’t let him leave without telling him why he doesn’t like Ms. Taylor very much. Buck would understand. Christopher knows he would. But his dad doesn't say anything. He stays silent and so Christopher does the only thing he can think of. He moves to action.

“You need to tell him, dad.” He says urgently, getting up from the couch.

“Not now, mijo.”

“Tell me what?” Buck asks and his voice is softer now. Christopher is pretty sure it’s because he noticed he was also in the room and he doesn’t want to scare him.

“Nothing.” His dad says, motioning to the air around him. “It’s not important.”

“But it is!” Christopher exclaims. “It’s important, dad. You waited three months and now you can tell him.” He adds, and ignores the way his dad shakes his head. "Tell him, dad." He repeats. "Please."

“If Christopher says it’s important then I’m pretty sure it is, Eds.” Buck argues and Christopher frantically nods.

Buck can't leave.

But his dad says nothing still. He stays quiet and then Buck sighs and turns toward Christopher instead, smiling warmly at him.

“I’ll see you at the aquarium superman, alright? Your dad and I are going to be okay. We always are.”

“But-”

“I’ll see you later, buddy.” Buck cuts him off and his fingers lower the handle.

“He’s in love with you, Bucky!” He blurts out, and from the way his dad opens his eyes wide and looks at him with a disapproving look on his face, Christopher knows he probably did a huge mistake. But at least Buck stopped moving. He's not leaving. That’s the most important part. It makes the 'being grounded later' part more bearable.

The room is very quiet now and for a few seconds Christopher thinks that maybe he just did something very bad but then Buck speaks and he doesn’t seem mad at all anymore. There’s even a small smile on his face and he looks at his dad and his eyes are shining. Christopher decides that it’s a good thing.

"I- what?" Buck only asks.

“Dios." His dad mutters under his breath. "I can’t believe I’ve been set up by a ten years old.” His dad says and Christopher watches Buck as he laughs.

“Well, he’s always been braver than you.”

“Yeah that’s- that’s an understatement.” His dad answers, looking at Christopher softly.

“How long?” Buck asks and Christopher thinks that maybe he shouldn’t be here anymore. But neither Buck or his dad tell him to go wait in his room and so he stays right there. He really wants to be there for that conversation because he knows it’s very important and also because it’s a bit thanks to him that they’re finally talking.

“I don’t know. A long time, probably. But I just- I didn’t realize until I woke up in this Hospital. That’s why I- That’s why I broke up with Ana.”

His dad doesn’t watch Buck when he talks. His eyes are fixed on the ground. He seems very nervous. Christopher wishes his dad could look at Buck though, because then he would see that there’s no reason to be scared. He would see that Buck is smiling and that he’s not mad. He even looks happy.

“I’m so stupid.” Buck eventually says, huffing out a laugh. That seems to catch his dad’s attention because he suddenly whirls his head around until his eyes fall on his friend. “Sorry. Sorry I- I know it’s not funny but-” Buck marks a pause, and speaks again. “Everything just makes sense, now.”

“How... How come?” His dad asks, shyly. Christopher doesn't think he ever saw his dad being shy before. It's weird.

“I was going to ask you why you didn’t tell me before but that’s what you were trying to do that day, isn’t it? After the hospital. We were in the kitchen. You kept saying it was quite serious but then I mentioned Taylor and you just became really weird.” Buck adds. “I thought you were having a stroke.”

His dad huffs out a laugh. “Asshole.”

“Dad, that’s a bad word.” Christopher intervenes with a proud smile. But it quickly disappears when he thinks about that day. “I’m sorry I got mad at you, Bucky. I- I just knew that my dad wanted to tell you and I was angry. I didn’t mean to be rude with Ms. Taylor either. She was nice. And I also didn’t mean to make you sad but-”

“You were only concerned about your dad.” Buck finishes for him. “I get it, superman. But you should know that your dad is the most important person in my life, alright? After you, of course. And I’ll do my best to keep him happy from now on. I promise. I’m sorry I hurt him.”

“That’s okay, Buck.” Christopher smiles. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.” He adds. “But maybe you can tell him you love him too now because you promise we would make pancakes before going to the aquarium and I’m hungry.”

“Chris.” His dad warns him again but Christopher smiles cheekily at him.

“Nah you know what superman? I think that’s a great plan.” Buck agrees, taking a few steps towards his dad. “Eds." He says, smiling softly at his dad. "You're an idiot." He cups his cheeks with his hands and makes him look up. "I love you too, you goofball. I only dated Taylor as a vain attempt to get over you.” He says and Christopher has to look away when he finally sees Buck kiss his dad.

“Ew. Gross.” He grimaces, making his dad and Buck laugh.

“Alright, alright, let’s make some pancakes, superman.” Buck says, looking at him with a smile so big. “What are you the most excited to see in the aquarium today?”

“Sharks!” Christopher exclaims.

“That’s a good one, buddy” He answers excitedly and as Buck tells him all about the different kind of sharks that exist, Christopher also notices that he’s holding his dad’s hand the entire time. He only lets it go to prepare the pancakes but even then they stay close and Buck even kisses his cheek at some point. That makes his dad smile and that’s when Christopher knows that this day is just the very first day of the rest of their lives, as a family.

#buddie #9-1-1 #911 #buck x eddie #my writing #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz

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everything-withered · 5 years ago

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Aperture, an Ichiruki fic

For @darisu-chan‘s prompt below, special thanks to @aesthetic-virgo for helping me find it because tumblr hates me.

The shot is beautiful. Goes without saying. Ichigo's always had an eye for beautiful things, and as a photographer, it's practically a requirement of the job.

But his latest Instagram post has the industry abuzz for reasons that have as much to do with his year-long hiatus as it does the subject of the image itself.

It's a pair of legs; one crossed over the other, set in a slant of lazy nonchalance; toes pointed as if the model were mid-stretch. There's a slash of pale skin, raised higher in the frame implying movement of the upper body, the hint of a chin catching in the shadow as if tilted in challenge, or offering.

It's the absence of, that attracts attention.

There's no face to attach the model to, shrouded as she is in darkness, but it's provocative nonetheless; ripe with secrecy and innuendo, captured in perfect contrast of shadow and light.

The consensus is her beauty, her mystery, the untouchable allure of her.

There's no looking away. Ichigo agrees.

More pictures are posted, bit by bit. And the quality and stylistic choice of the images are the same.

Like breadcrumbs, Ichigo unveils who they agree must be his muse, in snapshots of similar, potent and frustratingly teasing photos.

Whoever she is, there's something otherworldly about her.

There are delicate pale hands clutching flannel sheets under the watercolor softness of the dawn, the retreating night hiding the softness of her forearms before tendrils of dark hair and a pale forehead graze the bottom of the frame like the trailing fingers of a caress.

In another, there's that same spill of dark hair, a pale temple from that same forehead, a sharp, cleverly arched brow with wrinkles at an eye they haven't been graced to meet yet; against an overexposed wall. The sun, like a spotlight, is merciless and harsh, but the dimple at her cheek is more amused rather than afraid.

They start to think that if Ichigo doesn't love her yet, he will.

Washed out in honeyed yellow light is her legs once more. One of them is hooked over the arm of a chair, a black pump dangling from the toes while the other foot is propped up, shoeless, against it. Her knee just kissing at her chest before it's interrupted by another strategic glare of darkness. It's the same casual sort of stretch; automatic, unthinking, intimate.

There's a suspicion that the shots have been made to look that way, that the intention had been to convey snatches of a romance, dreamlike and fleeting; that Ichigo's model is just a foil for a muse in a metaphor of voyeuristic suggestion.

But he's made use of the dark to so carefully shelter her from his gaze even as the little she bares tantalizes him for moremoremore that they second guess it all together.

Perhaps that's why he's holding back. Ichigo's letting them see what he sees begrudgingly, an idea made more clear at the announcement of his next photo gallery.

He hasn't replied to any of the comments that have bombarded each post with questions in the three months since it all began which isn't surprising given that every image thus far had been devoid of captions, explanatory or otherwise.

A management made post changes that to announce that Ichigo's next photo gallery show is called Lover, and the accompanying picture is taken overhead of a table, coffee rings, and chips in the wood with a professional camera and a host of unidentifiable reels of negatives. It's suitably impersonal and meaningless, but it's so out of character that people take notice immediately.

The floor chosen for Lover, unsurprisingly, is packed to the rafters, and while the announcement photo was bland, the host of posts Ichigo actually did make previously to it is more than enough of a draw.

Each canvas lovingly renders his mysterious muse, bathing her in light whilst cradling her desperately, jealously in the dark. She appears to the audience in parts and pieces as she has on Ichigo's Instagram page like she's beckoning them to puzzle her out as Ichigo has.

And they think they do as they catch glimpses of the defiant lift of her chin, the tease of her grin and the flirtatious wink of her eye.

There are glimpses of her life in the lightning strikes across her skin, the damaged elastic of her body around her thighs, her stomach. There are other scars that litter her, less obvious in origin, that have healed in different shades of pink and white and brown.

She has freckles; flecks of starbursts in snow on the outside of her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the tip of her nose.

She squints a lot, the lines around her eyes aren't just for the quickness of her smile, though that's obvious too.

Her lips are full, but chapped. She bites at them, an oral fixation which more than one photograph attests to; teases her for, with every exposure of her teeth mid twirl of a straw, spoon stretching her mouth and lollipop bobbing from rosebud lips.

And while there's a rigidity to her posture when she knows she's the subject, there's also a fluidity in the splay of her arms, the relieved arch of her neck, the slump of her shoulders.

She's not used to being the center of attention, but according to Ichigo, she deserves to be. And in his eyes, she is all he would want to pay attention to at all.

For all that this is his show, Ichigo is nowhere to be found, and his muse is not amongst them either; ethereal creature that she is, they're convinced they'd know it was her by her sheer presence alone.

The opening night of the gallery ends without either of them making an appearance.

The following morning, an Instagram post is uploaded, and most would think it's a simple thank-you from Ichigo's management for everyone's support of the event. Instead, what it actually is, is a video:

It's from the evening before. Most of the overhead lights have been switched off though, except for one, and the gallery is empty save for one woman, and one man. Ichigo.

Their backs are to the camera, but his bright hair is an easy enough identifier.

But for all that she's standing there before their eyes, his muse; she's hidden from them still with the comforting bulk of Ichigo's shadow to guard her. Still protecting her, still hoarding her for himself.

As she stares at the photograph illuminated by the only light in the gallery, she murmurs, soft and brittle and hopeful, "Do you mean it?"

"Rukia." It's an incantation, a plea. The single word trembles in the whisper it's encased in.

Her inhale is shaky, "Do you mean it, the way you see me?"

And they all hear the undercurrent of her question: like I'm precious, like I'm lovely, like I'm fragile, like I'm perfect, like I'm not; like I'm yours?

His reply is a ragged exhale.

The video stops.

The caption reads: I wouldn't look anywhere else if you let me.

Kudos | Ko-fi

#ichiruki #roses by another name #alternative universe - no shinigami #fanfic

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mayquita · 6 years ago

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Pictures of Reality (11/16)

Hi everyone! Here we go again. I’d like to express my gratitude to all those who have given this story a chance, thanks for your likes, comments, kudos and reblogs. It means the world to me.

Summary: Emma Swan returns to her birthplace, Storybrooke, in search of a fresh start after a life marked by abandonment and betrayal. After a year there, she finds the stability she needed and also the possibility of learning about one of her passions, photography. Killian Jones, a former British war reporter with a tragic past, establishes himself in the same town as an instructor of photography, following in the footsteps of his best friends, the Nolans. What will happen when their paths cross? Will their common passion for photography help them heal old wounds?

Rating: M (Language, mature themes, implied sex)

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, mentions of the loss of a limb in an armed conflict.

Other ships / Characters: Although, obviously, this is a cs fic, Snowing plays a major role here, mainly David. In fact, the story contains three different points of view, those of Emma, Killian and David. Also, Henry appears in the story as Regina’s adopted son but he is not Emma’s biological son.

Beta: I’d like to express my gratitude, as always, to my beta @jarienn972 I’m aware that you have had to deal with a monster of more than 100k words and English is not my mother tongue, so I value your effort even more.

Artist / art: Go visit @imagnifika’s blog and enjoy her amazing art. The art that accompanies this chapter perfectly captures a decisive moment in the story.

Art for the prologue/ Art for chapter 1 / Art for chapter 2 and banner / Art for chapter 3/ Art for chapters 4-5 / Art for chapters 6-7/ Art for chapter 8 / Art for chapter 10

Special mention to @saraswans , thank you so much for your perpetual support, for believing in me when I doubted myself and for offering ideas to make this story grow.

Don’t forget to go read and enjoy the rest of the amazing csbb stories and art.

Word count: ~ 6400 (116k total in 16 chapters)

Also on (From the beginning): Ao3 / Ffnet (Current Chapter) Ao3 / Ffnet

Tumblr: Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

What to expect from this chapter? This chapter is going to be a bit intense... for reasons.

CHAPTER 10

My dearest Emma,

I still can't believe that we've finally been able to see you, actually see you, on your twenty-eighth birthday. Perhaps I could have left you this letter right there, along with the rest of the gifts you received on your special day, had the circumstances been different.

Maybe you wonder why, despite having been here for a few months, crossing paths each day with you through the streets of the town, or attending the same place for dinner, we haven't yet approached you. Or why we haven't told you the truth and we settle for observing you from a distance, to at least make sure that you are living the life that you deserve so much and that had been denied to you until now.

Well, maybe the answer is not the most satisfactory for you, or is it just a reflection of our cowardice, and I wouldn't blame you for thinking like that, but the reality is that the moment we arrived here and Regina told us about your past, we felt completely devastated and consumed by guilt.

Believe me, sweetheart, if we had the certainty that our confession would serve to alleviate your sorrows, we would willingly have bared our souls in front of you, although it would likely have meant that we would lose you forever.

But considering your traumatic experiences that have led you to run on more than one occasion and the history of abandonment and betrayals that you have suffered, we didn't want to risk ruining your life once more. I couldn't bear that because of our fault, you might lose everything you've achieved since you return to Storybrooke.

Because, as I see it from outside, you have become a strong and brave woman, ready to pursue your goals. You're also a caring person with the people you feel comfortable with, like Ruby, Graham, or Henry. And you have achieved all this without our help, so, if for you to maintain stability in your life we must stay away, so be it.

In addition, irony, or perhaps destiny, has decided to give us something beautiful and promising. We learned just yesterday that you will be one of the people who attend the course that Killian will start teaching in a few weeks.

Our Killian and our daughter, united by their passion for photography. I don't care if it's destiny or a simple coincidence, but the fact that you two are going to meet under such circumstances was unimaginable until a few weeks ago and now it has become a reality. You and Killian are going to cross paths and, fortunately, we are going to witness it even from the distance.

Who knows? Maybe Killian finds that hidden gem, that talented person that he always seeks, someone whom he can help develop full potential. Maybe I'm totally biased here, but I'm hoping it's you. Either way, you are already a gem for us, even though we aren't yet able to prove it to you.

Maybe some day...

Until then, your father who loves you and never forgets you,

David.

Emma Swan. Storybrooke - February 26, 2018

When Emma woke up that Monday, the light had barely begun to filter through the window of her bedroom. Still reluctant to get up and continue with her morning routine, she snuggled up between the sheets and let her thoughts wander for a while, bringing to mind the memories of the previous day.

Yesterday…

Emma had learned about Killian's birthday through his friends. The information had also come with a warning. He did not celebrate his birthday since his brother passed away. Even so, they always managed to spend the day with him and they hoped that this time she would join that kind of non-celebration.

Again, that feeling of belonging that was becoming habitual since she came to Storybrooke, settled in her stomach, spreading a warm feeling all over her body. Even so, she also felt some hesitation, not quite sure how to act in front of Killian, wondering if it was more appropriate to continue to respect his wishes or on the contrary, to subtly encourage him to move on with small details like being with him on that day or offer him a small gift.

The talk a few days ago with Mary Margaret had allowed her self-confidence to take hold, so she decided to let herself go, loosening the control she used to have over everything and instead be attentive to the little hints she would find along the way that would help her to follow the correct direction.

It was like that, quite literally, as she found the perfect gift for him. She was walking towards Killian's apartment when her gaze caught something that made her stop short in front of the pawn shop window. Right there, as if it were calling her, she found a vintage photo album bound in leather, with a small message engraved on the cover — ‘Collect Beautiful Moments’. That album definitely had Killian’s name on it so, without thinking twice, she went into the store and acquired it, writing inside a personalized note with the aim of explaining with her own words the symbolism of the present.

Sometime later, while waiting for Killian to arrive, she had a nice time with the Nolans while they showed her old photo albums full of memories. Unlike Christmas, she did not feel like an intruder at a family event, but rather included, as if she really belonged there, with this unconventional family, with these friends who really acted as proud parents of their son while offering to his girlfriend some embarrassing details of his youth, or remembered all the experiences they had lived together.

Although she longed to know more about Killian, to know everything about his origins, and she was more than grateful with the Nolans for offering her these happy glimpses of his past, she could not help feeling a little thorn in her heart since, again, she had to settle for witnessing the happiness of other people, while the craving to experience something similar washed over her.

Her mixed feelings faded into the background the moment she noticed Killian's presence. She had been so engrossed in the conversation with the Nolans and in her own thoughts that she had not heard him arrive. But now that he was there, everything around them seemed to vanish, her only goal to look up and make sure he was okay with that little surprise.

What she found did nothing but increase the endless feelings that danced within her. She detected how his body was tense although his troubled expression and his stormy gaze quickly morphed to an almost awe expression as his gaze softened when it met hers.

After a tentative first approach, he clung to her, as if he was afraid that she would disappear. Since she was not good with words, she chose to assure him through her acts and her displays of affection that she was not going anywhere.

Killian Jones was a complex man, no doubt, but also a challenge for her in the sense of trying to climb those walls that acted as a barrier and discover the real Killian behind all those layers that covered him. And she was more than willing to keep trying.

The tension did not completely disappear from Killian for the rest of the day. She sometimes detected a glimpse of something akin to resignation, but at least that stormy expression had softened, allowing them to enjoy a quiet and pleasant evening, the four of them together, adding up memories that would be immortalized both in the photographs they took and in her own album of memories that she kept in her heart.

She waited for his friends — maybe now it was appropriate to use the term ‘their’, at least she felt it, she hoped that the feeling was reciprocal — to leave to give him her humble gift since she preferred to do it in privacy, turning it into a moment just for them.

For a moment, she thought she had made a terrible mistake, holding her breath as she watched Killian's reaction intently. He stiffened, holding the object in an awkward way as he stared at her, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

After those first seconds of shock, his gaze fell on the album while his fingers slid delicately over the leather cover in an almost reverent way. After reading the handwritten note she had left inside, his gaze traveled back to her, staring at her in such a way that her head began to spin, her heart fluttering furiously against her chest.

"Thank you so much, Swan, you didn't need..." He reached up to scratch behind his ear, but his gaze never left hers. "I'm not sure I deserve this." His lips pressed together drawing the ghost of a smile.

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's just a photo album."

"Aye..." Killian remained pensive for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "but just for the record, I have every intention of you appearing on all these pages with me."

It was a simple phrase, innocuous enough, but she did not lose the intrinsic meaning. She had offered him the possibility of a future and he was offering her, in return, the possibility of being part of that future. That was the only thing she needed at the moment.

The alarm clock announcing the time to get up got her out of her reverie. Even so, she still remained a while longer in bed, lying on her back with her arms folded and her hands under the back of her head, allowing herself a few seconds more of introspection.

Even though her wounds from the past had not yet healed enough and Killian's still seemed to continue to bleed from time to time, she was going to hold on to any possible future that awaited them together. They were meant to be together, she felt it in the depths of her very soul and she was going to do everything possible to make that happen.

And that began by acting and fighting for what she wanted. And if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she wanted Killian, the charismatic teacher, the traumatized war reporter, the loyal friend, the glimpses of fiery lover she had gotten.

With a new goal in mind, she hurried out of bed feeling a surge of energy take over her body. She was not going to stand by letting the opportunity pass, she was going to cling to it. And if that meant starting to share breakfast with her boyfriend — yes, boyfriend, she was no longer afraid of that word — as a normal couple, so be it.

Killian Jones. Storybrooke - February 26, 2018

The irony decided to show its face to Killian once more, as if it was laughing at his expense. He remembered having serious difficulties finding an available flight when he had needed to travel urgently because of some unforeseen event. However today, it only took him five minutes to acquire a plane ticket that would take him back to London tomorrow.

The moment his finger pressed the button that would allow him to finish the purchase, a wave of regret seized him. That sinking feeling accompanied him for the next few minutes, when he took the suitcase out of the closet and moved it to his living room.

The purchase of the ticket did not change anything, he could still decide not to take that plane. In addition, it was a round trip ticket with the return scheduled within five days. It was not like he was fleeing forever, he tried to convince himself - without much success, really.

If he himself wasn't convinced, he doubted that he would convince Emma and his friends. With Emma, he would have to resort to a small deception, adding one more weight to the burden of guilt he carried. In regards to David and Mary Margaret, he had decided to tell them that night during dinner.

He expected his friends to understand his reasons. He didn't do it as a desperate measure to force them to confess the truth to Emma, but rather the contrary, to allow them to experience some more time together, getting to know each other more. He only intended to give them more time to figure out how to approach the subject.

The image he had witnessed the day before had pierced his heart. It was undeniable that Emma should know the truth; it was unfair that she was involved in this game of lies. That was what was killing him inside, the helplessness and frustration of being between a rock and a hard place when all he wanted was for the three of them to achieve the happiness that had been denied to them before.

He was aware that he was carrying out an act of cowardice, at least in the eyes of the others, but he felt so pressured that he was no longer sure what he was supposed to do. Should he behave like the honorable man and confess the truth to Emma, even at the risk of betraying his friends? Should he keep the secret, knowing that this would mean the impossibility of maintaining a relationship with Emma?

There was something of which he had absolute certainty, though. He was not going to, under any circumstances, ignore that secret with the sole objective of keeping Emma by his side. If he already felt ashamed for his weakness, for not being able to resist her charms, for having fallen under her spell, he could not forgive himself continuing to take advantage of her ignorance.

The doorbell announcing the arrival of someone brought him back to reality. He realized that he had remained standing in the middle of the room, lost in thought while the empty suitcase was in front of him waiting to be filled.

He shook his head, brushing aside those thoughts for the moment as he wondered who was visiting him so early. David would probably already be in the newspaper office and Mary Margaret would have already arrived at school. Maybe it was Emma, on her way to the town hall. The corners of his lips instinctively rose at that thought, while his heart fluttered in anticipation, though her presence in his apartment at that moment would mean inflicting one more torture on his already battered heart.

"Hey," Indeed, it was Emma who had decided to pay him an unexpected visit. She was wearing a cute beanie, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her cheeks colored with a slight pink halo due to the cold and a wide smile pulling at her lips. She was a vision with the ability to take his breath away. "I brought breakfast." He forced his gaze away from her face, his eyes sliding to the paper bag with Granny's logo she was holding.

He swallowed hard as he managed a smile that he hoped was enough to hide his inner turmoil. "You've read my mind, love. I could do with a cup of coffee."

She grinned at him, gave him a peck on the lips and, without waiting to be invited to come in, she passed by his side in the direction of his kitchen. He could not help feeling somewhat marveled by the ease with which she seemed to move through his apartment, demonstrating how comfortable she felt not only with him, but with what surrounded him.

His satisfaction was short-lived, though. Just as she was walking through his living room, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixed on a particular point in the room. Holding his breath, he followed the direction of her gaze to find the empty suitcase on the coffee table. Bloody hell! He had completely forgotten the damn thing.

"Are you going somewhere?" Her head turned in his direction as she gave him an inquiring look, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

His hand reached out to rub the back of his neck while his brain began to scramble frantically for a convincing enough excuse. Bloody hell! He had thought he would see her later for lunch so he still hadn't had time to look for an explanation that might work.

"Aye... something has come up... I have to travel to London to make some arrangements before starting the new course." He managed to mumble a poor excuse that did not sound convincing, while he hated himself a little in the process.

"London?" Emma blinked a couple of times as if she were processing the information. Her previous carefree expression gave way to one of confusion. "When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon." Her eyes widened slightly, so Killian hurried to offer something that would help reassure her. "It will only be a couple of days."

Emma nodded subtly, pressing her lips together into a thin line as she made her way to the kitchen and deposited the paper bag on the counter. Then she turned, standing in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, her head tilted slightly.

"You know, if you had told me before, I could have accompanied you. I've never been to London… I could have taken a couple of days off…” A shadow of hurt crossed her gaze but she seemed to recover immediately, the corners of her lips twitching into a tiny smile as she shrugged. "Anyway... we better start breakfast or I'll be late and Regina will kill me."

He felt utterly miserable, a new wave of guilt tightened his gut, threatening to further weaken his fragile composure. The image of Emma discovering London through his eyes and his experiences was so damn tempting that for a fraction of a second he was about to send everything to hell, grabbing her by the hand and getting out of there, the two of them together, missing from the rest of the world for a while. He had no choice but to restrain himself, though, and instead, he offered her a poor substitute. "I apologize, Swan, the trip came somewhat unexpectedly, but I'd like to travel with you to London one day."

The faint smile she returned did not reach her eyes. He had to hold back a sigh of frustration as he approached her and began to pull the food out of the bag in an attempt to make breakfast distract him enough. It didn't work, she did not even bother to take off her coat, implying that her visit would be brief. Although they made the effort to keep a carefree talk, he could feel the tension in the atmosphere.

Ten minutes later, she got up, going to the front door. "I really have to go. See you later?" The hint of insecurity in her voice caused a new pang of guilt piercing his heart.

"Sure, I'll grab some lunch and go find you at the city hall." He affirmed in an attempt to reassure her.

She nodded, the corners of her lips moved slightly upward. "I... you know ... Do you want me to get you to the airport tomorrow?"

For all response, he pulled her to him in a tight embrace, the need to feel the warmth of her body against his too overwhelming. "Believe me, Swan, there's nothing I'd like more." He whispered in her ear. “I’ll come back to you in a couple of days.”

The moment the door closed behind her, Killian was aware that he was making a terrible mistake. Letting out a deep breath, he leaned his back and head against the door while pinching the bridge of his nose.

How could he have been so blind as to not realize the reason behind the vulnerability shown by Emma? How could he not only have neglected her abandonment issues, but feed them with his evasive attitude? He resisted the urge to bang his head against the wooden surface in frustration. Instead, he groaned inwardly while his hand curled into a fist.

He could not take that flight. Not when it meant leaving Emma, even for a couple of days. He would meet her for lunch and tell her that there had been a change of plans, that he could travel with her at another time. He had no choice but to regain the strength necessary to face what was to come. He only hoped that he would be able to protect Emma in some way.

Emma Swan. Storybrooke - February 26, 2018

He is leaving, leaving, leaving. Emma tried to block that thought, make it disappear from her mind, but she felt too weak or helpless, unable to cope with that sinking feeling that had settled in her stomach.

Deep down, she knew that she was being irrational, that Killian would never abandon her. But the suitcase, his evasive answers and his expression of ill-concealed guilt had awakened her old demons who soon emerged from their hiding corner and began tormenting her.

She did not even know how she got here to the office, too consumed by those disturbing sensations. Even so, she made the effort to get involved in her work with the goal of getting distracted enough. And she got it for half an hour. Until she had to talk on the phone with someone who, without her asking him, told her that he had just arrived from London.

Fucking London... He had to travel to the damn other side of the ocean... And to think that the morning had started well, with her determination to develop the next step in her relationship with Killian. And all that she found was a sudden trip sprinkled with evasiveness. She tried to find a logical explanation, though, still reluctant to think that she had been betrayed once again.

That spiral of sensations and thoughts did not disappear when Emma was called to Regina's office to deliver some reports. That's what happens when you lower your walls, that you risk being hurt, her inner voice reminded her...

"Emma!"

The unexpected shout caused her to flinch and wake up from her reverie. Feeling her cheeks flush, she looked up and found Regina staring at her through her narrow eyes.

"I pay you to do your job, not to be there absorbed, thinking God knows what and ignoring when I speak to you." Regina's authoritative voice caused her to straighten her back, as she tried to get Killian out of her mind for at least a few minutes.

"Sorry, I got distracted for a moment." Emma mumbled an excuse as she focused her gaze on the documents she was holding.

"Okay then, spit it out."

“What?” Emma looked up at Regina again, not sure that she understood correctly.

Regina rolled her eyes as she pursed her lips, she was losing patience, clearly. "Just tell me what's going on in your head. We'll deal with it and move on to what's really important, my job and this town. I'm a very busy person, in case you forgot."

Emma had to suppress a gasp of surprise. Was she being serious? No way was she going to confess her worries to Regina. She was not only not her friend but also her damn boss. But on the other hand, she had a point... Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat while appreciating Regina's proposal. She really needed to expel those thoughts, for someone to tell her that she was being ridiculous. And Regina was the person available right now...

"He's leaving." To her horror, the words came out of her mouth without her having had time to process it.

"He? Who?"

Emma groaned inwardly, wishing she were anywhere else instead of here, feeling like a student in the principal's office. "Killian, he's leaving for London." The way Regina was looking at her did nothing to alleviate her inner turmoil. Something flashing in her gaze as her features darkened slightly. "Look, I know it's stupid - he's coming back in a couple of days, so can we continue with the meeting and forget all this?"

Luck was not on her side that day because, after remaining pensive for a few seconds, Regina muttered almost to herself, "So that boyfriend of yours is also a coward - just like his friends."

Emma felt her stomach drop to her toes as her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Far from reassuring her, her boss's words had left her even more uneasy. "What are you talking about?"

She held Regina's gaze for a few seconds studying her features in an attempt to find out what was happening. Regina’s face remained impassive, but Emma did detect a shadow crossing her gaze, perhaps shame, maybe regret, she was not sure. After what seemed like an eternity, Regina let out a deep sigh as her shoulders slumped a bit. "Taking into account that the photographer hasn’t managed to handle the situation and has decided to flee instead, I guess it's only fair that it's me who tells you the truth. I brought you here in the first place, after all."

The truth? What truth? A myriad of thoughts, each more disturbing, crowded in her head causing it to start spinning. What do Killian’s friends have to do with all this? And what about Regina herself? A wave of panic began to creep from her stomach to her throat, as the desire to run away from there became more intense. In the end, her curiosity won, "Just tell me what's going on." She hissed in a tone perhaps sharper than she intended but this whole situation was getting on her nerves.

Regina's features softened and even Emma detected a glimpse of something akin to pity. That could not mean anything good. She didn't want pity, she didn't need it, did she? She felt a strange sensation taking over her, like a bad omen approaching unstoppable. She held her breath as her stomach tightened into knots.

"It's about your parents, Emma."

My parents ... Her blood froze as she clung to the desk with such force that her knuckles turned white. "What about them?" She managed to mumble in a trembling voice.

"Let me clarify something before continuing, if I'm telling you this, it's because I don't get why after all that they have gone through... and also all of what you have gone through... they still prefer to keep hiding..."

"Just tell me." Emma cut her abruptly, causing Regina to flinch slightly in her seat. At the moment, she didn't want explanations or excuses, she just wanted to know what the hell was happening.

"Killian... well, both he and I know who your parents are." Regina finally admitted in an apologetic tone.

Far from bringing some light to the situation, Regina's confession left her even more confused. How was it possible? Killian had been in Storybrooke for only four months, there was no way he knew this information when he had been living all this time in London... The only contact he had ever had with anyone from here was with…

"No!" It can't be! No no no. She felt all the air leaving her lungs while she refused to accept that possibility, trying to block her mind. Her attempts were in vain though since her brain began to act on its own, tying up loose ends and processing all the information. Killian was the one who had introduced them to her, he had also been the one who had propitiated the first encounters, who had talked to her constantly about his friends...

Any doubts she might have had disappeared when Regina confirmed in words what she had already deduced. "I'm afraid so, Emma. David and Mary Margaret are your parents. They..."

"No!" Emma raised a finger in warning. She did not want to hear anything else. It was as if someone had ripped her heart from her chest and was squeezing it slowly with every memory that came to her mind, with every moment shared with them, inflicting even more suffering.

"Emma, let me explain..."

She shook her head as she rose abruptly and headed for the door, unable to look Regina in the eye. "I gotta go." Emma said, her voice even, though she felt her blood boiling. The weight of the betrayal was so high that she was not sure she could maintain the little composure she still had left. She should get out of there immediately. Ignoring one last call from Regina, she went to her desk, grabbed her purse and coat and then walked to the exit.

A raw rage began to bubble inside her. Unable to handle everything that was happening, she blocked the thoughts about Regina's involvement and completely ignored the revelation about the Nolans. Instead, she focused all her fury on one target - on the person she had blindly trusted. To whom she had given her heart.

The ride to Killian's apartment, far from appeasing her anger, increased that sinking feeling that had settled low in her stomach as she was assimilating all the information received. Tears of humiliation threatened to slide down her cheeks, but she blinked stubbornly holding them back.

Gradually, she realized that she had remained oblivious to a whole plot that had been hatched around her. Emma wondered bitterly how far the threads of these machinations would reach, while the bubble of stability she had lived in when she came to Storybrooke exploded, splashing her with a whole series of questions to which she hoped —or maybe feared— to find an answer.

It was as if everything she had experienced since arriving in the town was part of a huge farce, from her job, the photography course, or even Killian's feelings. A wave of shame and rejection washed over her when she remembered the conversation she had had with Mary Margaret a few days ago, causing her anger to boil again in her veins.

Fortunately, the arrival at the building where Killian's apartment was located stopped that escalation of feelings. Instead, she directed all her energy and anger into a single target. She would have time to deal with everything else, later.

There was a brief moment of hesitation when she reached his door. She felt all her emotions radiating off of her, like a volcano about to erupt. Maybe if she went home and tried to calm down enough she would be able to keep a cool head when the inevitable conversation with Killian took place. She rejected that idea almost at the same instant it crossed her mind. The need to expel those feelings that bubbled inside her was too tempting, although, in the brief lapses of lucidity that dared to appear among so much contained anger, she was aware that she was opting for the easy way. "I don't care." She muttered to herself as she pounded on the door hard.

The moment the door opened, she marched directly towards Killian poking a finger into his chest. "You damn asshole - how dare you?"

He recoiled at her advance, his eyes widening in surprise. "What are you talking about, love? What's wrong?"

"You don't have to keep pretending, I already know the truth about your friends." She threw the last words with contempt, knowing the impact they would have on him. She wasn't wrong. His face suddenly paled, his mouth fell open on a gasp.

"They told you?" He asked in a small whimper.

She huffed, while shaking her head, "It was Regina." She placed her hands on her hips in a defiant attitude. "It seems that your friends are just cowards like you."

To his credit, he seemed genuinely affected, his face contorted in an expression reflecting a mixture of hurt and shame. But she didn't let herself be daunted, hardening her features as she continued her verbal attack without even waiting for a reply. "I trusted you, Killian! How could you do this to me?"

"Emma, let me explain, please." He almost begged, tentatively advancing towards her.

She jumped back instinctively, raising a hand in front of her, thereby avoiding the possibility of her body betraying her due to his proximity. "You lost your chance to explain yourself at the same moment you decided to lie to me. How could you take advantage of me like that?" Emma forced herself to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat. In no way was she going to break in front of him, although the truth was that she was dying inside. She repressed those feelings though, leaving them for the privacy of her apartment.

To her surprise, he did not try to defend himself or repel the attack. He simply dropped himself on the couch, breathing out on a shaky exhale, his shoulders slumped, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He seemed defeated. "I'm so sorry, Emma." He muttered as he ran his hand through his hair.

Emma hesitated for a moment. She needed to fight, to expel these feelings that were threatening to drown her, but she couldn't do it with someone who was already defeated. He wasn't even going to try to hit back. "That's all you have to say? That you are sorry? Are you aware that you've ruined my life? That I don't know what is real in my life anymore?" Frustration and impotence began to take their toll, her voice slid between her lips in a broken murmur.

This time Killian did seem to react. He looked up, seeking her gaze. "I assure you, Swan, that my feelings towards you have always been real." For a moment, she was lost in the intensity of his eyes, they had always had a hypnotic effect on her, even in this moment of such tension. But she shook her head breaking the spell. She was not going to be distracted by two pretty blue eyes.

"You have a strange way of showing it, don't you?" He flinched at the harshness of her tone and the sarcasm of her voice. Something caught her attention at that moment. The suitcase, the original cause of this situation, was no longer on the coffee table. Still, that didn't prevent the pain of a possible abandonment for being more bearable. "And you know what is the worst of all? That in spite of my abandonment issues, you were willing to do just that. At the moment when things get tough, you leave, don't you? Maybe you couldn't bear the pressure of lying to me? Or did you decide it wasn't even worth the effort?" This time Emma had to suppress a sob, but she could not stop thick tears from starting to run down her cheeks.

"I was coming back to you, Emma. The return trip was scheduled for next Saturday." He defended himself in a weak voice. It wasn't enough for her, because she still did not know the reasons that had made him travel in the first place. She was about to reply when he continued. "I wasn't abandoning you. I just needed a few days to think about all this. I also know what it is to lose someone. I could never do that to you, Emma, I promise."

Emma hesitated again, her heart beating frantically in her chest. The hurt was evident both in his broken voice and in his expression. But when she processed his words, she felt a new twinge go through her. "It's not the same and you know it. Your mother, Liam, Milah, they all died. They're dead." She was aware of the damage he was inflicting with her words, but she was unable to stop, a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings swirling inside her, struggling to surface. She did not have the strength to fight against them. "They didn't choose to leave you. But what about me? Starting with your friends, they all chose and decided that I wasn't enough. Everyone - even you."

"That's not true, Emma, they chose to come back for you." Killian got up trying to reach her.

"No!" She stopped his advance, feeling an extreme exhaustion overtake her. "I can't continue with this." Her voice trailed off as she wiped her tears and began to walk in the direction of the front door. She felt again a lost girl, confused and adrift, without anyone to turn to, without knowing who to trust anymore.

"Emma, wait!" She stopped but didn't turn around, unable to hold his gaze and his stormy expression again, "I understand and accept that you are mad at me, but they are your parents. They love you. Please, Emma, I'm begging you, give them at least an opportunity to explain themselves."

A new wave of tears began to slide down her cheeks. Parents... She not only hadn't been enough for them when she was born, but neither was her when they found her, choosing not to confess the truth.

There was something even more painful, something that squeezed her stomach to the point of feeling almost physically sick. They, her parents, had chosen to act as substitute parents of another person, precisely the person she had fallen in love with and who had betrayed her in a cruel way. Because of them. They had chosen Killian over her - taking care of him instead of doing it with her when she needed them the most.

"My parents died in a traffic accident when I was three years old." She muttered before finally leaving his apartment.

Killian Jones. Storybrooke - February 26, 2018

Killian watched helplessly as Emma left his apartment without him being able to do anything about it. The moment she disappeared from view, he felt as if all his energy had been drained from his body, noticing how a sense of emptiness invaded him and left him dazed. Before dropping back onto the couch, he grabbed his phone and typed a quick text.

She already knows. I'm deeply sorry, Dave. KJ

Then he switched off the device and left it on the coffee table. The feeling of despair was so intense that his body began to tremble slightly. He closed his eyes resting his head against the back of the sofa, but that did not alleviate his internal agitation. He had failed not only Emma but his friends. He could never forgive himself.

TheLadySwan .........

I'm sorry, again... Thanks for reading. Let me know what did you all think :)

What to expect from the next chapter? As many of you had already imagined, Emma hasn't taken well to know the truth. We will see how she feels after her confrontation with Killian and how Killian and the Nolans deal with this new unfortunate situation.

#cs ff #cs au #csbb #captain swan #captain swan ff #pictures of reality #mayquita writes #my cs writings #cs au ff #csbb 2018

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the-stray-liger · 6 years ago

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Walls

I wrote another Gundam 00 character study thingy like the one I wrote of Ian a bit ago? It’s mostly me projecting my personal garbage onto my favorite character lmao? Anyway I hope you guys enjoy it and again all feedback is appreciated!!

I also posted it on ao3 if you want to drop by and leave kudos or something!

Neil knows, has always known, that his biggest addiction isn’t cigarettes, or cheap whisky, or the stupid gummy bears he keeps stashed in the cockpit (he started taking them on missions, after Ian announced, much to his dismay, that if he smoked again inside the Dynames he would throw him out of the airlock).

No, what Neil’s truly addicted to, the one thing he can’t live without, is anger.

Pure, unadulterated anger. Red hot, searing anger, something that he learned he possessed when he was a lanky, weird looking twelve year old with bones that were still setting in their places and hormones that had just started to make things he’d considered solid and unwavering blur like a road in a heated afternoon. He never asked for it, but he had it. His father used to say that “he had a temper”, but Neil disliked it deeply.

He hated the way it made everything look red, took the air out of his lungs and made his fists shake. The way Amy seemed to sense it before it happened, like cats do with storms, and avoided him. And mostly, the fact that Lyle never seemed to have that problem-even when angry, his twin brother seemed calm. It wasn’t in his personality to lose his cool, apparently. Unlike Neil, Lyle didn’t seem to have to make physical efforts to avoid raising his voice or punch walls.

How everyone ended up thinking so highly of him, Neil will never understand. As far as he’s concerned, Lyle is the only one of the two who ever had it together.

Now, as an adult, he is better at hiding it. Not controlling it-how do you control something so big and primordial as the feeling of being burned alive from the inside?-but hiding it. Neil Dylandy, now Lockon Stratos, is a master at building walls, and in them he keeps hidden, locked in an air-tight compartment, the rage that sometimes manages still to make him grit his teeth so hard it makes them squeak, like when he was a kid. Inside his chest, anger swells constantly, beating like another heart-an infected, feverish heart that pumps sickness through his veins.

He has grown used to it enough that people around him legitimately believe he’s a cool, laid back guy. It’s almost funny.

Almost.

He hates that he can’t get rid of it. As much as he dislikes it, it’s part of him. No, not only part of him. He is his anger, as much as the ocean is water. He hates that as much as he despises his anger, he can’t imagine himself without it, because it’s been there always, and when he lost everything and pushed everyone away, it was the only thing that remained. Like a haunted home, in which a poltergeist continues to throw things around even after the family is gone.

Shortly after the explosion that reduced their family to ashes, Neil and Lyle had been forced to see a therapist. They went to two sessions, of two hours each, before they both found excuses to stop going, unable to withstand having their feelings thrown at their faces and dissected like frogs on a tray. Neil only remembered one thing, something about stages of grief. One of them was anger. It was easier than to move on, it gave him something to hang on to, and he kept it for the rest of his life.

When he started to feel comfortable with the low gravity on the Ptolemy, and stopped missing the earth under his feet, when Sumeragi observed that his thick accent has started disappearing, when he realized that he couldn’t recall Amy’s face without looking at the pictures he kept stashed away in his drawer, when he noticed that his brain insisted on responding to Lockon Stratos and he felt everything he used to be starting to be washed away-anger was everything he had left.

(After Sumeragi’s comment, he pretends to laugh, speaks for a bit in an exaggerated irish accent to make Feldt laugh, and when he comes back to his cabin -airtight, soundproof, isolated-, he punches the wall until his knuckles bleed, until there’s a visible dent on the matte aluminum.)

Neil has always known that he’s good at pretending, and he’s particularly good at pretending he can contain his anger; but it takes less than a second for the walls he’s built to come down, and even less for the anger that he thinks he has controlled to absolutely take over.

He understands something now.

It’s something he wishes he had realized long before, preferably not during a fight with his life on the line, missing one eye and with a haro for only support. But it’s already too late. It’s always like that, with anger: always too late to try and hold back, to think before speaking, to apologize for it.

All he needs to let go, he realizes then, is an excuse, a scapegoat: his parents, Amy, the KPSA, his brother, Tieria, Setsuna, Sumeragi, Ali Al-Saachez.

How ridiculous, he thinks. How could a man that couldn’t even change that about himself change the world? As he floats upside down in the void, feeling darkness creep around the edge of his vision, and points his finger at the blue sphere that floats in space like an eyeball, he understands.

The person he is angriest at, in the end, the reason why he couldn’t let go, was himself all along.

#Gundam 00 #Liger writes words #hhhh

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archiveofolives · 8 years ago

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Ring of Keys and Other Stories VII

A/N/SUMMARY last fic! this has been fun. celebrations is set post-movie in the canon timeline which is prolly a giant spoiler lmfao. and that’s all you really need to know so enjoy maybe! and thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged, and left encouraging comments and kudos ❤️ this one’s for all of you!

RATING/WARNINGS ~pg or ~pg-13 i think idk/n/a

WORD COUNT 3,840

AO3 here

—

When Baze died, he thought he would never see Scarif, again.

But there it was when he opened his eyes, all fine sands and shoals and blue water and swaying trees like arachnids in the skies. The air was awfully quiet—no striking beams or screams of explosions, fighters swerving overhead and the filtered voices of the Empire’s Troopers. And it smelled clean, crisp and fresh, a relief from the stink of burnt air and burnt flesh. So was this Death all along?

With a sudden realization, he gasped sharply, like he was gutting himself, and flew up to stare and gape all around him. He sat where he’d died and he was alone.

He stared at the last place where he saw Chirrut lay supine, and saw only sand.

“No,” he whispered, quickly getting to his feet, racing the beating of his heart. “No, no, no!” Where was Chirrut? He was just there, he’d said that if he looked for the Force…!

“Chirrut!” Baze’s scream was a coarse anger burning through the silence. He flung his voice out to the emptiness, spinning like a drunk man in search of it. Why was he alone?! “Chirrut!!” Chirrut had said that if he looked for the Force, he would always find him there. And the Force connected all layers of life to each other. So where was he? Was he brought to the right place?

If this was Death, how could he live again? Was there a way to die again?

“Chirruuut!!” He yelled, doubling over as if that would carry his voice farther.

The responding silence was more than he could take. It was like a cruel deity mocking him. Fear came quickly to him like an unwanted lover, wrapping him in cold, unforgiving arms, suffocating him like an obsession. His breath shook, knees quivering. Where was he—

“Baze?”

It was like an echo that never existed, supplied by his imagination. But Baze was thunderstruck by certainty the moment he heard that distant call that that was him. He was here.

He stopped all of a sudden, dropping all his thoughts all at once. He sniffled, wiping his tears hastily before he could be caught crying like a boy and made fun of. “Chirrut?!” For all knew, this could just be an illusion, of course. He was alone, there was no one else to confirm it for him. But then, on the other hand, it was better to go mad than to deal with Chirrut’s non-existence sane.

Fortunately for him, that didn’t seem like the case. “Baze! Where are you?”

Baze almost jumped and cheered at the reply, still from a great distance though it was. Looking at the horizon, back to where he’d last seen their cargo ship blow up, he doubted Chirrut was anywhere so near. He couldn’t see his shape forming, anyway. If this was a product of his madness, then Chirrut would already be right there, wouldn’t he? Right where his mind wanted him. “I’m down here! At the beach.”

“Beach?” Chirrut sounded confused. “Oh!” he said after a moment. “Okay, okay, I remember now. I’m up here on the mesa!”

“The mesa?!” Now it was Baze’s turn to be baffled. If this was his imagination talking, he’d either gone crazier than he could imagine, or he was a lot more creative than he gave himself credit for. His brows joined each other tightly in the middle. What was Jedha doing in Scarif?! Or did Scarif have mesas of its own? It didn’t look like that when they were touching down. “Where is that?”

“Where is that? Really, Baze?!” Baze wasn’t sure but it sounded like Chirrut was laughing. “Come on, Baze! Who raised you?!”

Who raised him?! What a thing to say! Baze opened his mouth to protest.

“Anyway, look— listen, I mean.You know where to find me so I’m gonna go ahead, okay?”

“What!” Baze barked.

“Keep up!”

Keep up?! A blind man was telling him to keep up? Baze was bewildered. He supposed if one survived death—if survive was a word that could still be used for them—one enjoyed the feeling of…well, being indestructible. In a way. Chirrut must be over the moon.

“Chirrut!” Baze called him again. “Chirrut!!” Typical of the man, though, Chirrut went on his foolhardy way, anyway. He snarled, listing down an endless number of items he swore he would do once he’d caught up with that blind fool. Jedha damn him, where was he, anyway?! What mesa? How would he start to find his way?!

Look for the Force, Chirrut had once told him as he lay dying, and you will always find me.

Baze’s knees almost collapsed under the weight of his understanding; it was like a planet had come crashing down on him. He couldn’t believe it had taken him that long before he grasped that Chirrut meant for him to use the Force as a compass. Of course!

How embarrassing. Baze felt the familiar heat of shame rushing up to his face. He’d strayed so far from his faith, he may as well be a child now, learning the first teachings of the Force. He couldn’t even remember the last time he prayed before the last few moments of his lifetime.

Well, was he not once the most devoted Guardian of them all? Baze figured it was just like muscle memory—or at least he hoped so.

Rolling his shoulders and popping the bones of his neck, Baze started back the way they came, towards the landing pad. It wasn’t lost to him that he wasn’t really following a suddenly enlightened path of the Force, more so that he was following an age old technique that was proven to work when he least expected it: winging it.

⚭

Making his way to the mesa, Baze began to realize many things. The first was that he felt light. He left the beach without his backpack and his cannons but they’d been nowhere to be found in the first place. And then his bones felt strong, and all of the aches that came with age and a life out on the streets, a life full of risks were gone.

The second was that his kasaya robe still fit him even though it had been years since he’d last worn one. He didn’t notice this until after he realized that the red armor over his collar was gone. He thought that was part of what made things lighter—the kasaya robe wasn’t made simply to distinguish them as the Guardians of the Whills, after all, it was made with form and function in mind. It was in one that he first learned how to fight with his hands—which was why no matter how much time had passed, he still remembered how to move in one without tripping all over his train.

The third was that the Force wasn’t a secret pathway. It was the belief that wherever he was going, whichever turn he took, he was going the right way. Or as Chirrut would put it, he was following the will of the Force. Baze didn’t stop to think about this until he couldn’t remember the last time he saw those arachnid trees. When he looked back, Scarif no longer existed behind him, hidden as it were by the canyons and swooping dunes that could only come from Jedha. It was a spectacular view, Baze thought, gazing over the vast golden landscape, halfway up the trail that would lead him back to his beloved NiJedha.

He couldn’t begin to describe how good it felt to be home, again. It was different from the relief of coming back after a long gig offworld, it was sweeter than that. It was closer to the bliss of having reached his final destination, that triumph of having accomplished the last hurdle before the prize.

Sweeter still, this was the NiJedha that the Empire had never yet touched. Where the walls weren’t rubble and the air didn’t smell like the fumes of their tanks and the ground wasn’t broken by the weight of them. He could see clear skies where there had once been the belly of a Destroyer, he could go wherever he wanted and there would be no Trooper to stop him. This was the NiJedha of his childhood; he could recognize it almost as if it was his own shadow. It was a pleasant discovery but not one, he could say, that surprised him greatly. For this was a perfect world—he understood that much by now. A world where everything made sense, and everything fell into place.

The city was empty but he didn’t need it to be full. He passed through the once-bustling marketplace and found himself a full body mirror suspended off a hook at the side of a dubious antique shop. The reflection that looked back to him was off-putting—quite simply, he looked like a homeless man who’d been dressed by the Guardians out of pity. He was the main character in a story about charity and compassion. Which was to say: he looked like a charity case. That was unnerving.

The leather bindings had to go—there was no going around them. Baze had never bothered with them in the past, they were just things hanging down the sides of his collar, to keep his hair off his mind, useful especially when sniping someone. Chirrut liked to pull on them when he was being playful, singing ding dong as he laid on his lap but aside from being a cat’s toy, there was no longer any use for them.

The ends came free with one determined tug each. Little by little, the old straps unraveled and fell off. He gathered the rest of his wavy locks to the top of his head where he looped them and knotted them and sealed them in place with an elastic band. The result still wasn’t all that impressive, but at least he was cleaner and he looked more like he was in his element.

Now he could say he truly was ready—ready to leave the past behind, ready to face eternity. Without a second glance, Baze moved on. He knew where to find Chirrut, of course. He realized a bit late that he always had.

High above him, the Temple of the Kyber loomed ever closer—a massive monolith of faith and knowledge erected near the edge of the mesa. For as long as he could remember, it had become nothing more than a shadow of what once was, a monument for everything that was broken and gone. Now it glimmered under the light of the unseen sun, a promise of many tomorrows.

That started now—with a man in his own kasaya robe who sat on the temple steps, welcoming him with a grin. He was…as he had remembered him—not as he had left him. Carefree. Strong. Alive. He couldn’t see where he’d left his staff but Chirrut didn’t look like he’d noticed either. He shined like a changed man, glowing with a star within, brimming in its light. Was it any surprise that the Force looked good on him?

Baze smiled in contentment. He would say it to him, he would tell it as a joke. He missed the sound of Chirrut’s honest laughter.

Chirrut leaned forward, arms on his knees, as if to look at him better. Baze stood still, a man carved straight out of patience while Chirrut satisfied himself with his appearance. He could feel his heart bursting for no other reason than that he had finally come so close to the man he loved the most. Then with a decisive nod, Chirrut passed his judgment. “Took you long enough.”

Baze’s mouth fell wide open, and all the light that seemed to fill the place suddenly grew dimmer—or maybe that was just his own eyesight and his rising temper. What a thing to say to welcome him! And after a long journey without a map. He’d perceived differently—this Chirrut was still the same man! Impudent, stubborn, infuriating.

“Took me long enough?” He sputtered in absolute surprise. He jabbed a finger to himself and demanded, ��Took me long enough?!” Chirrut laughed at him. Well, he got what he wanted but it was at his expense. And just the nerve of this man, really! “If you didn’t like me taking long enough, then you shouldn’t have gone and run off like that in the middle of a war zone!” he cried, marching, stomping his way up to Chirrut’s damn throne.

“Technically, I walked,” Chirrut argued, non-plussed. He shrugged, watching Baze’s swift progress. “Come now, how could a blind man run off?”

“It’s all the same!” Baze roared. Walking, running…the method in which he left him was not the point, the point was that he was accusing him for being too slow when in the first place, he left him. When they’d stuck together when Jedha fell, when they’d looked after each other in the forests of Scarif…at the end of it all, at the most vital point of their lives, Chirrut still left him. In spite of all the care they’d taken, he’d taken, Chirrut still did the one thing he shouldn’t have done to stay alive. Impudent. Stubborn. Infuriating!

His knees gave in under the power of his emotions, one step away from Chirrut’s position. Chirrut, the Force smite him, only looked on with a smile like an apology—but one worn without regrets. Baze stared at it, at him, incredulous. “You still left me,” he said, gaze turned upwards. “After all this time…after all that I did to keep us together…Chirrut, how could you just leave me like that? How could you have just…let yourself die! Like that? Without a fight?” A hand fell on his chest. “Without me?”

From one side, Chirrut tilted his head slightly to another. His smile remained unchanged, but it spoke volumes where his tongue chose silence. Finally, he moved lower, closer to his heartbroken, grieving partner, and reached up to touch his cheek.

“Baze,” he began, dark eyes looking into his. He looked cheerful for all the crime that he committed. “Did you think I would go, knowing you wouldn’t follow? That world didn’t belong to us anymore, and neither did we belong to it anymore. If I hadn’t pushed the master switch, what do you think would have happened?”

They’d have lost their side of the battle, that much was certain. The only question they had to ask was how it would happen. Death. Captivity, then death. Captivity, torture, perhaps a long episode of it, then ultimately death. Even if some foolish, optimistic side of Baze might argue that they could still have had the slightest opportunity to survive, escape and live, he realized he would still prefer death than to see Chirrut captured and tortured. Or for either of them to be used as a tool for the submission of the other.

Now Baze saw his faithlessness plain. Did he really think Chirrut would leave him just like that? Of course not. Of course Chirrut, of all, wouldn’t do that. His best friend, the man he loved and who loved him back, the other half of his soul. Now, more than ever, Baze understood that. That Chirrut knew what he was doing all along, what he would be doing. And what laid in wait for them beyond life, death, and all that came with it.

“Chirrut,” Baze gasped softly, reaching up to catch his cheeks with trembling fingers. Dark eyes looked back into dark eyes, living pupils following each other. He choked out his surprise, “You can see?!”

Chirrut beamed, chuckling at the base of his throat. With another self-affirming nod, lips pressed in the same way, he delivered another merciless verdict: “Took you long enough.”

This time, Baze responded with loud, ugly laughter, barking unstoppably as if Chirrut had just dropped the funniest joke in the entire galaxy when all he’d spoken was the simple truth. It came through his mouth and painfully, out of his nose. It came even as his tears flowed, spilling quickly like a waterfall. They mingled with his joy, masked under all that laughter—but it wasn’t long until they drowned his cheer. And then he was crying helplessly.

It wasn’t sadness that drove him, it was just…everything. The fear, the relief, the anger, the joy. He covered his face and wept, full of shame and hilarity; he was laughing at himself and his doubts which embarrassed him. Chirrut took him in his arms and whispered sweet hushes. Deft fingers picked at his hair band until it came off and his locks fell around him. Those same fingers ran through them like an instrument, stroking the same chords, playing the same music that would calm him down. This huge baby called Baze.

“It’s okay,” Chirrut sang softly to his ear, kissing it lightly. “It’s okay! Why are you such a crybaby?” he laughed, and sniffled. “We should be celebrating this happy reunion. You and I, together again!”

He and Chirrut, together again. It was the sweetest thing that Baze could have ever heard after all the heartache and the beating but he couldn’t stop. It felt like now that all the fighting was over and all the grief had ended, there was nothing left to do but to cry until he felt sick.

When he let Chirrut peel his hands from his eyes, he was still choking and gasping and leaking all over. Chirrut tittered underneath his own tears, stroking away a graying lock, tucking it behind an ear. “You’re such a sap!” he said, taking his face with both hands to cover it in kisses, like he was drinking his tears and closing his wounds. “My poor, crying Baze is such a sap.”

“You’re one to talk,” Baze croaked, wrapping his fingers over one of Chirrut’s hands. “You’re worse—you’re the pot calling the kettle black!”

“And we wonder why?” Chirrut choked, smiling. “It’s tears of joy, fool. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you!”

“Idiot,” Baze chuckled. “And that’s supposed to make me feel bad? C’mere.” Reaching to the back of Chirrut’s neck, he drew him for a hungry kiss. Their lips opened up and met in sweetness, containing a private world of wonder within them, warm and familiar. A place like home. So this was how forever felt, Baze thought. This was how it started. He felt so much like a young man again, sharing his first kiss under the eaves of a tree in full bloom.

Chirrut slid down his lap and sat awkwardly, putting Baze between his legs. His fingers made a nest within those long locks as they so often did when they renewed their kiss. Baze slipped a hand between his robe and his flesh to pull him closer, receiving a delightful moan from the man in response.

They stopped to breathe, their lips bruised but hungry still. Baze inhaled Chirrut’s scent which reminded him of nectar and the wood from fragrant trees, no longer of the soil of foreign lands, of cannon smoke and the salt in the sea breeze. He felt a keen temptation to start with his neck but knew better than to rush. Not after they’d waited for each other for so long.

“So when do we start?” he asked instead, brushing the back of his fingers on Chirrut’s damp cheek.

Chirrut’s brows wrinkled briefly as he canted his head sideways again. He looked almost boyish as he did it now that he had regained his dark eyes, and Baze wanted to kiss him more than ever. “Start with what?” he replied.

“The celebration. You wanted one, didn’t you?” Baze said, bearing his weight on the step he sat on. “Or we could just sit here and admire NiJedha, I’m fine with that. We have all the time in the galaxy to do what we want with.”

“Okay,” Chirrut said, nodding while he wiped his face on his sleeves. “Do you want me to pull out a rocking chair for you too, grandfather?” His forearm was up even before Baze’s swinging fist connected with it. The impact cracked sharply in the silence, later replaced by Chirrut’s happy laughter.

“You’d like that!” Baze scowled.

“An eternity of this, are you sure you’re ready?” Chirrut cackled. He fell back to the steps before Baze could retaliate and lifted himself up in a handstand, legs swinging upwards smoothly to bring himself down to the landing before the sealed gates of the Temple of the Kyber—and he did it all without wasting a breath, not even a sound. If he had to compare it with some worldly thing, Baze would be stumped. The Force could give him another lifetime for it and it still won’t be enough time.

An eternity of that. Baze decided he was ready for it.

Crouching near the step, Chirrut folded his arms on his knees, smiling down at him. “You’re sure you don’t want to come inside? You look like you could use a homecoming party.”

“A homecoming party,” Baze snorted, shaking his head. “That’s what you’re calling it now? One day, you’re going to run out of jokes and innuendos.”

“Want to find out?” Chirrut challenged him, holding out a hand like an invitation.

Baze couldn’t remember the last time Chirrut moved so brazenly. Pockets of intimacy had been a luxury for the both of them, who lived by the rules of instincts and practicality to survive and make ends meet. Stay alive, together until time was up. Now it seemed it was time to reap what they’d sown. They both knew the point was not in the finding out, of course, that was just something silly for Chirrut to say.

It was in his hand slipping onto Chirrut’s, and their fingers wrapping around each other. The brush of skin on skin was electrifying, each tiny spark sending shivers up his flesh and a smile up his face. Had he really felt that hand go limp and cold in his? Even if he did, what did it matter now? To him, Chirrut was alive again. And that was that.

They rose, hand-in-hand, eyes locked onto each other as Chirrut moved back and eased the doors open. There would be yet another life to revisit in there, another world to rediscover. They could go on and on reliving the old days, the good ones and the bad ones, just because they could.

What they did with the time they were given, it didn’t matter anymore. So long as they could do it together.

#spiritassassin week #spiritassassin #rogue one #chirrut imwe #baze malbus #liv does sa week #seaofolives original #sa fic

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