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kyberblade · 2 years ago

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Back To You (Din x Reader) - Part 12

A/N: Ahhhhhhh! It’s here! This took a total detour, and now we have yearning, feelings, thoughts…. So. Much. Fluff. Oh! And we have Mando’a again in this one. Lots of it. If she understands and/or says it, it’ll look like this. (Just italic.) (Which is all of it. I mean. What else is there to do on the Crest in downtime except learn Mando’a? I MEAN IN A T RATED FIC, GUYS, GEEZE! You are all heathens. JK. I love you all. Ahem. Back on topic.) The translations are at the end of the respective sentences in parentheses. We have a bit of show dialogue in this one. Also, once again, there is some lore in this that @writerlyhabits wrote in a fantastic short, and I loved it so much, I asked if I could use it.

(This takes place right where the other one left off and goes into the first part of episode 2x4/12, The Siege.)

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, and Din is once again a warning in and of himself in this one. Typical show violence. Some light swearing. Space swearing, and a general sense of you’re going to scream at me, I know it.

Word count: 12,214

As always, thanks to @grippingbeskar for encouraging me, looking over this for me, and being the one to introduce me to Din fanfiction in the first place, getting me hooked. You are fantastic and I always love our chats.

Thank you to @deceiverofgodss who is the ruler of all Mando’a knowledge, showed me the error of my ways, and was kind enough to help me fix it. (Any errors remaining are my own. It’s tough, okay?)

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Xxx

Staring down at the blaster in your hands, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging its way up your cheek. Tracing the tips of your fingers softly over the fresh etching of a mudhorn near the bottom of the grip, right below where your thumb would rest when held properly, you tilted your head just slightly to get a different vantage point.

A small green hand tugged on one of your fingers, drawing your attention away and to the tiny green face staring at you from in your lap. “I’m sorry, little one. Have I not been paying enough attention to you?” You tucked the blaster away in your belt with one hand, bringing the other to cup the child’s face.

“You haven’t been devoting every second to him, so in his eyes, no,” Din mumbled from his spot in the pilot’s seat.

You chuckled. “Is that true?” You asked the kid, large innocent eyes simply blinking slowly as he stared up at you.

Scooping him up, you squished him into a hug, his tiny face near your neck. He screeched, pushing away from you, his tiny hands on your cheeks, his legs kicking in an effort to escape your grip.

“What? You wanted attention, ad’ika. I’m just trying to give it to you.” (“Little one.”)

The child grunted in frustration at you as he kept trying to scramble away, reaching toward a chuckling Din for rescue.

“Oh no. You got yourself into this. You figure it out,” Din said, holding his hands up in surrender.

The child huffed, looking back to you with a scowl before you finally let him drop to the cockpit floor with a chuckle.

“Go. Be free, my tiny frog obsessed friend.”

The child hopped up into his chair across from you and turned his back, staring out the viewport pointedly.

Laughing softly, you turned to Din. “Hey, what are we going to do about the puck?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it safe for me to even leave the ship? I don’t want to cause-”

“You won’t,” he cut you off.

“Still,” you continued, “maybe I should try and conceal myself as best I can? Cover my face with my scarf, wear one of my new robes with the hood up, or something?”

“That wouldn’t do any good if someone has a tracker.”

“It would slow them down just enough that I could get to you in time.”

“What, then? We just take down everyone who has your fob?”

You looked out the viewport to your left, not really seeing any of it.

“Mesh’la….” Din tried, his tone apologetic.

“Is there a way to block the trackers?” You asked instead, turning back to him after a minute of silence. “Some sort of scrambler or something?”

Din sighed. “Hypothetically, I guess it could be done. But it would be-”

“Dangerous?”

“Complicated,” he finished. “It would include chain codes and signatures and…. I’m not even sure what all else.”

You let out a shaky sigh before looking back out the transparisteel to your left.

“Look, when we get there, I’ll talk to Karga. He used to be part of the guild, maybe he still is, I don’t know, but he gave out the fobs.” You turned to him with wide eyes. “It’s okay, he’ll help us. He’s a friend.”

“You trust him?” An alternative way of asking what you really wanted which was, “will I be safe?”

“With my life. And I have, literally, a few times. And the child’s.” He reached out and put a hand on your knee. “It’ll be okay.” His way of saying, “yes you’ll be safe.” His thumb traced the edge of your knee softly. “I would never do anything that I thought would put you in harm's way like that.”

“I know,” you mumbled, staring at the way his thumb wound back and forth over the thin material of your pants. The warmth of his grip bled through, despite the leather covering his hands, and you wanted to melt into it. “I know you.”

It had become your little secret exchange, meaning complete trust in the other no matter the situation.

“Then you know nothing bad is going to happen.”

“No, I know something bad is most likely going to happen.” Din let out a huff at your remark, making you smile. “But I also know it’s going to be okay.” He nodded once. “Somehow when you’re around it always is.”

“What can I say?” His tone was light and playful. “I’m just talented when it comes to saving your skin.”

“Mir’sheb.” (“Smartass.”)

Xxx

Nearing the gray and dreary planet, you eyed it skeptically through the viewport. Alarms kept going off every few seconds, Din flipping another series of switches, a few presses of some buttons, and they would turn off before the next one started sounding.

“Do you ever go anywhere green?”

Din chuckled. “I don’t choose where my friends live, mesh’la.”

“You may need some new friends, then. Not in place of these, in addition to.” Your eyebrows narrowed as you saw long lines of lava covering the surface of the planet like glowing strings cinching it tight.

“I have enough friends,” he grumbled.

“Name five.”

“You, the kid-”

You leveled a look on the back of his helmet where he sat in the pilot's chair. “We don’t count. People you don’t live with, Din. Non clan members.”

He sighed heavily. “Cara, Greef, Peli, Vanth, Bo-Ka-”

You snorted. “Bo-Katan is not your friend, don’t be ridiculous. You trusted her as much as I did, and I didn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.”

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, head tilted in curiosity. “Could you even throw her at all?”

You stared at him in silence for a long moment. “That’s the point, Din.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I didn’t…. Never mind.” He turned back to face the console.

The planet was looming closer, a large settlement coming into view, colorful awnings painting what must be a marketplace in vibrant shades of life.

“Get some friends from Naboo or Endor…. Somewhere I can wander and get lost between some trees. See plants everywhere you turn. Bugs, animals, clean air….”

“So my new hypothetical friends have to live somewhere you want to go?”

“You’re welcome to come with me, of course,” you teased.

The ship settled down with a soft thud, jerking side to side softly as the engines sputtered to stay on. Extra whirs and ticking sounds came from somewhere deep in the Crest as it wound down, having barely limped to Nevarro.

Following Din down the ladder to the main part of the ship, you grabbed the lighter of your capes to help conceal the saber, and yourself if needed, and threw it on. Walking over where Din stood by the lever for the ramp, you looked up at him and smiled softly before he could reach out and pull the lever. Taking his hand with yours for a quick moment, you gave it a tight squeeze before you let go, turning toward the ramp.

He stared at you for a moment longer before reaching out and pulling the lever, the ramp starting to lower before stopping abruptly with a jolt. Glancing back down at you, he saw a lopsided smirk climbing up your face.

“Stop it.” His tone was dry as he stared at you.

You turned to look at him, eyebrows narrowing in confusion, eyes wide. “I’m not doing anything!”

“You made your point, the ship is falling apart. Now let the ramp down.”

You chuckled softly, turning to fully face him, and he mirrored you. “Din, I swear on my blaster, I am not doing that!”

He continued to stare at you for a long moment before he decided on, “Swear on your saber.”

You met his gaze straight on, your expression falling flat. “Really?” When he didn’t answer, you rolled your eyes with a sigh. “Din, I swear on my saber that I am not doing that, your ship is just a hunk of junk held together with Mon Calamari twine and the promise of goodwill deep in her bones. She’s a force of nature that’s defying all the odds and not simply combusting when you jump to hyperspace. There is no need for me to do anything to help her prove that point any further. She does it just fine on her own.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Can we go now?” You gestured down the ramp, the child letting out a soft coo from his spot in Din’s arms as he looked up at his father figure.

Letting out a grunt after a loaded minute, he brushed past you gently, heading to the end of the ramp, and you chuckled softly, following after him.

When he got near the end, his visor surveyed the ramp frozen at an odd angle once again, shaking his head in disbelief before he hopped off the end with a grunt.

“Mando!” A loud voice boomed before you’d made it to the end of the ramp. “Looks like someone could use some repairs.”

Coming to the edge, you saw a woman with dark hair looking up at you with her eyebrows raised almost into her hairline, and a tall man beside her with a wide smile across his face aimed at Din and the child.

You heard someone clearing their throat, and your attention was pulled down to find Din extending his hand not holding the child up towards you to help you off the ramp.

Taking it, you sat on the edge with your legs dangling down before pushing off, squeezing his hand in yours like you had on the ship just before, and landing on the ground with a soft thud.

Keeping Din’s hand in yours, you turned to the two new faces to find them staring at you unabashedly. You smiled, nodding once in greeting.

“It also looks like you have some explaining to do,” the man added in a softer tone, one eyebrow cocking as his gaze moved from your joined hands and up to Din’s visor.

Giving your hand one firm squeeze before letting go, Din put his hand on your lower back and gently pushed you toward the man, introducing you. He trailed off after he said your name, looking at you pointedly. “This is Karga.”

Your eyes went wide as you looked back at the man shaking your hand, suddenly feeling a nervous sweat trickle down the back of your neck.

“You say it like I’m some villain,” Karga mused, chuckling softly.

“We just had three hunters with trackers for her try and make a hit on Arvala-7.”

All amusement fell off of Karga’s face, his hand dropping yours, moving to rest on his hip. “What did you do now, Mando? What are you mixed up in? You can’t just keep coming here with all of your-”

“Nothing!” Din cut in, agitated. “Nothing,” he hissed a bit softer before sighing. “It’s because of her connection to me. They trashed her apartment back on Coruscant and left threats saying ‘friend of the Mandalorian’ in Mando’a on something I gave her years ago. I think whoever issued the bounty is just trying to get to me and the kid, but hunters don’t know that and they…. They told me to just ‘leave the bitch’.”

Karga groaned softly, the woman at his side letting out a soft scoff of a laugh.

“I bet that didn’t go well for them, did it?” It was the first thing she had said, her expression amused as her gaze flitted between you and Din.

“I shot him shortly after, so no,” you said softly, eyes falling to the ground by her feet to study it intently.

“Well, good riddance!” Karga said, his voice relieved, his face matching as you met his gaze.

“But that was your first kill, wasn’t it?” The woman asked softly, your gaze tearing away from Karga and over to her’s, tears filling your eyes and causing your vision to blur as you nodded once in confirmation.

“This is Cara,” Din offered softly. His voice was much closer to you than he had been a moment ago. Looking up, you saw his helmet through the swirl of your tears as he stood right beside you. “If anyone is going to help us sort this out, it’s these two.” You blinked rapidly, hoping to clear your vision. “My friends.”

The way he tilted his head on the last word made you chuckle. “Yeah, okay, point made.” You swiped at the few tears that had rolled down your cheeks. “You’re relentless.”

“Only for something I think is worthwhile.”

The unspoken words hung in the air between you. Only for you.

Looking up, you were so close, it just seemed to…. Happen. His forehead came to rest against yours so softly, you barely felt it.

You held his gaze, his soft words swimming around your head in a loop until Karga let out a heavy sigh, drawing your attention back, Din pulling away with an almost imperceptible sigh through the vocoder, making you chuckle.

“How’s my credit around here?” Din asked, reaching out to grasp Karga’s arm in a friendly greeting.

“I think something can be arranged. Isn’t that right, Marshal?” He turned to Cara on the last word, almost saying it playfully.

“I’m sure we can work somethin’ out,” Cara said, smirking, looking between the two of you. The child cooed and she reached out to touch his head softly, smiling genuinely down at him.

“I’ll get my best people on it.” Turning, Karga called out to two mechanics working a few yards away. “Hey, fellas! Let’s fix this man’s ship! I want it as good as new.”

They nodded, answering in some language you didn’t recognize.

The child cooed again, pulling Karga’s attention back his way, his face melting into something affectionate, his voice along with it. “And you, come here, little one!” He chuckled softly, taking the child from Din’s arms. “Has Mando been taking good care of you, huh?” He looked at Din over the baby’s head. “Have you been takin’ good care o’ him?” The child gibbered at him, making you smile at the exchange. “Yeah? Yeah! He said ‘yeah’! Oh, yeah.” He chuckled, turning to walk towards the village, still conversing with the child, the child babbling right back. “Yes. Come on. Yeah. Yeah, look at you.”

Din and Cara exchanged an amused look before turning to follow after him, Din’s hand finding yours without a glance, pulling you along beside him, your cloak helping to cover the grip from prying eyes.

As you made your way through the main streets of the town, you realized you were under the colorful awnings you had seen from the air, and it was indeed teeming with life. New smells, sounds, and sights all around you, drawing your attention every which way. There was a clear threshold of the old town where the new more vibrant way of life was stepping off of the old crumbling walls.

One booth in particular caught your interest, and you took the few steps to close the distance between you and it, Din’s hand slipping out of yours with a slow reluctant drag as you pulled away. Before your hands could part completely, he snagged your pinky between his thumb and index finger, still hidden under the flow of your cloak.

Looking down where they hid under the material before glancing up at his helmet, you found him carrying on conversation with his friends as they all stood to the side of the road, seemingly oblivious to you if anyone just happened to glance this way fleetingly. But under your cloak his hand gave your finger a squeeze, making you remember what you were doing, eyes falling on the booth absently before smiling at the vendor and taking the first random thing you could get your hands on, your focus now entirely between his thumb and index finger.

Not even sure what you had bought, you stuffed it in the satchel meant for carrying the kid at some point and moved back toward the group with a smile, all of you moving forward again. You looked down at the ground when you saw Din’s visor turn your way in your peripherals, hoping your growing smile was less visible at this angle.

“Looks like you two have been busy.” Din turned back to his friends, his tone light and conversational.

Karga sighed. “I myself have been steeped in clerical work. Marshal Dune here is to be thanked for cleaning up the town.” He began to walk ahead of the group with the kid still in his arms, his steps purposeful as he wove his way through the crowd.

Cara hung back, looking at Din with a smirk. “Your ship‘s not lookin’ too good.”

Din took a heavy breath in, speaking as he let it out. “I had a run-in with the New Republic.”

Karga had suddenly rejoined the group. “They should leave the Outer Rim alone. If the Empire couldn’t settle it, what makes them think they can?” Stepping up to a doorway, he punched in a code. “Here we are.”

“I’m surprised to see this place is still standing.” Din’s voice seemed almost distant, in a memory, and you looked up at him with an arched brow.

“Wait till you see inside.” Cara walked backwards towards the doorway Karga disappeared through.

Pulling on Din’s hand that still held your pinky finger, you met the gaze of his visor as he turned to you. “I’m going to go get the supplies we need before we really get into anything here. Just some ration packets, and some other stuff. The usual.”

“Okay, I’ll go with you. Once we’re done here, we can-”

“No, Din. It’s fine. They need to show you something, and I’ll be fine. You’ve taught me how to defend myself, given me beskar and a sigil. Meh ibac shuk'yc, Ni liser ratiin pirimuu tracyn.” You grinned up at him, laughing softly when he let out a breath at your last words, his helmet tilting to the side just so. (“If that no work, I can always use fire.”)

“Ni shi copaani gar at cuyir morut'yc.” His voice was soft, one hand coming up to rest on your cheek before hesitating just shy of your skin, and falling to your upper arm instead. (“I just want you to be safe.”)

“Ni ganar ru'hibira ibic teh gar.” (“I have learned this from you.”)

“I’ll go with her,” Cara said, still standing at the doorway, watching quietly.

Din looked over his shoulder at her, and she shrugged, pushing off of the doorframe she was leaning on and walking toward the two of you.

“I’ll keep a lookout, and honestly, I have a few questions,” she grinned at you. “I can finally get some answers about the brute in beskar over here.” She jerked her head toward Din and winked at you, making you smile and Din groan.

“I don’t know,” he began reluctantly. “Mesh’la, if you wait-”

“If I wait, we will waste time. Cara knows where everything is, I can get done in half the time if she helps. I won’t tell her too much, don’t worry.” You winked at him, making Cara throw her head back and laugh at the exchange.

“Mir'sheb,” Din mumbled, squeezing your arm still in his grasp. (“Smartass.”)

“Shi par gar.” You tilted your head slightly as you looked up at Din, his weight shifting to one side before Cara finally pulled you two apart. (“Only for you.”)

“Okay, love birds, or whatever the hell this whole situation is, break it up. Let’s get moving. Come on.” She pulled you away by your upper arm, immediately starting in on the questions. “Was that Mando’a?”

“Elek.” (“Yes.”)

She hesitated. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Elek, ni jorhaa'i Mando'a.” (“Yes, I speak Mando'a.”)

She huffed. “No wonder you and Mando get along so well. Both so damn infuriating.”

Din’s laugh could be heard at your backs, making your smile grow.

“N'eparavu takisit.” (“I eat my insult.” (“l apologize.”))

She let out a groan, making you smile, as you walked up to the first booth side by side. Grabbing a few ration packets, you went to grab some credits from your belt, your cloak pulling away in the process, and your saber flashing in the sunlight for the briefest of moments.

Glancing up, you caught her gaze on yours, eyebrow cocked, smirk on her face before her eyes flitted back down. She eyed the saber on your hip for a long moment, gaze staying down until you left the booth and it finally lifted back up to yours. “And would you, by chance, be a Jedi?” She kept her voice low, and you were grateful, her eyes studying the ground in front of the two of you as you walked.

You smiled, her smirk infectious. “Bartender.”

Her eyes danced, lifting back up to yours, her smirk growing wider. “Even better.”

Chuckling, you turned to face forward again, looking at the various booths you passed by. “What was that building back there?”

She mirrored you, walking a few paces before pointing to a booth on the left and beginning to make her way over there. “It’s a school now. Used to be a bar that was the main hub for the guild here on the planet.”

You adjusted the strap of your satchel absently, your voice soft. “Oh. So that’s where it happened.”

Cara’s voice was equally as soft, her features looking at you with curiosity and also concern. “Where what happened?” She began to hand you a few fresh fruits from the booth, paying for them herself once she was done.

You looked up to meet her gaze confidently. “Where the three of you faced off against Gideon. And he….” You had to swallow, and take a deep breath before you could continue. “Where he almost died.”

Her expression turned comforting, a hand coming to rest on your upper arm in soft grip to match her tone. “How much has he told you?”

You smiled sadly, turning to begin down the road again. Stuffing the fruit in your satchel, you kept two of them out, handing one to her, which she took with a smile. “I’m sure not everything, but enough. He kept referring to it as an ‘incident’ until the seventh or eighth time when I finally said, ‘oh, shut up you overgrown tin can and tell me what really happened’, and he-”

Cara pulled you to a stop abruptly, making you grip the fruit in your hand a little harder than intended, and making dents in the soft flesh. “Wait. You called him an overgrown tin can?”

You examined the fruit. “….Yes?” Looking back up at her, you cocked an eyebrow in question.

She just smirked at you, her eyebrows raised in shock like when she had first seen you on the Crest. She let out a gentle chuckle, slightly shaking her head. “….And you’re still alive?”

You grinned, understanding what she meant. “I call him a lot of things.”

Her eyes were wide. “That’s….” She let out a loud breath through puffed out cheeks. “That’s just not the Mando I know.”

“How do you mean?” You tilted your head at her, bringing the fruit to your mouth to finally take a bite. It distracted you for a moment, it was so juicy and sweet and caught you off guard, making you roll your eyes and groan as you chewed. Shaking your head to clear the fruit induced haze, you focused your gaze back on her.

She just smiled knowingly. “Letting you call him anything other than Mando, teaching you Mando’a, telling you anything about himself….”

“He’s also teaching me a few other languages-” You examined the fruit, plotting where to take your next bite when she cut you off, drawing your attention away.

“Oh, he has it bad.” She was grinning like a fool.

You knit your eyebrows together in confusion, fruit forgotten. “What-”

She polished her fruit on the sleeve of her shirt, grinning as she spoke. “I thought his body language was enough of a tell earlier, helping you off the ship, leaning his head against yours, just being so close, but this all makes it so clear.”

“He’s a very giving person! I mean, look at this. He gave me this.” You fished the knife out of your belt, careful to not get any juice from the fruit still in your hand on it.

She hesitated, looking at you with eyebrows that didn’t really know which way they wanted to go. “A shitty knife?”

You chuckled. “No, that.” You pointed at the etching.

She narrowed her eyes, bringing the blade closer to her face. “He gave you…. His sigil? You’re a member of his clan?”

Taking the knife and carefully putting it away, you took out your blaster to show her its newest addition. “That’s what I thought it was originally, too, and yes, but, it’s also an ancient Mandalorian symbol of courting.”

Her eyes instantly flew off of the blaster she was studying and onto your face, her expression completely blank. “Of….”

You laughed again, taking the blaster gingerly from her hands and reholstering it. “Yeah, I know. Threw me for a loop, too. Took him days to admit it.”

“You love him.” Her tone was soft, and she smiled fondly.

Studying her face for a moment, your own smile growing steadily, you nodded once before studying the fruit in your hand once again. “Yeah I think I do. I think I have for a while now.”

“How long?”

You thought for a minute, idly fiddling with the fruit in your hands, and smiling again when you realized. “Since he first started coming into my bar every few months if I was lucky, and calling me mesh’la.”

She pulled on your arm gently, both of you moving to the next booth slowly. “He called you that earlier. What does it mean?”

You hesitated, wincing when you realized you should have seen it sooner. “….Beautiful.”

“Oh, you have it bad.” She threw her head back and barked out a laugh.

“A drunk patron was trying his luck with me, and Din started teasing me with it-”

“Mesh’la.”

You scrunched up your nose in distaste at the sound of the word coming from her mouth. “It doesn’t sound the same when you say it.”

She grinned. “Because I’m not a giant shiny man cloaked in mystery and shrouded in secrets. You have a type.”

You felt defensive all of a sudden, but couldn't stop smiling as you jumped in. “He’s a good man. Caring, helpful, protective, smart…. Funny….”

She matched your dreamy tone. “Calls you mesh’la….”

“You’re really intent to ruin that for me, aren’t you?” You turned to her with a grimace, tilting your head at her as she laughed at your expression.

“No! No, I’m just teasing.” Stopping at the last booth you needed, she spoke softly as you gathered the last few things you needed for the Crest. “I’m happy for you, both of you. He deserves some happiness and normalcy in his life. If he’s found that with you, then I’m happy for him.”

Pausing in your item search, you turned your head to look at her, smiling softly to match her own. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “But can I just say?” You sighed, rolling your eyes as you went back to paying for your stuff, and she chuckled. “I think you two need to sit down and have a real discussion about this? Because you both are so obviously over the moon for each other, it’s disgusting, and I think it would go a long way if all that got out in the open.”

You nodded, turning to look at her. “You might be right.”

She sighed. “Got everything?” Finally biting into her fruit, she reacted much the same way you did.

“Almost. I just remembered I wanted to get a holopad so I can do some research, and possibly to help with repairs on the Crest. Maybe a comm unit so I have the option to stay in contact with Mando if necessary. Is that something I can find here?”

She grinned at you triumphantly. “Until recently, I would have said no, but there’s a new Marshal in town, and she’s been working to get everyone access to stuff like that. I’ll see what I can do.”

“She sounds amazing,” you teased.

“I’ll pass it on.” She winked at you. “Whatever I end up with, it’s free of charge.”

“No,” you began to protest, reaching for your bag of credits, her hand on yours stopping you. “No, Cara. That’s not fair. It’s the most expensive thing on my list. Both of them are. You have to-”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she grinned at you, softly pulling your hand away from your credit bag. “Consider it a gift for making the grumpiest man I know in the galaxy happy.”

“Who is she making happy now?” The modulated voice at your back made your stomach do silly things, and you turned quickly to face the T visor already fixed on you.

“Oh, this giant grumpy tin can I know,” Cara teased, her eyes flitting to yours, narrowed as if to say, watch.

“What did you just call me?” Din’s voice was low, his head tilted forward just slightly as his visor zeroed in on Cara.

Quickly reaching out and taking his hand in your own, you drew his focus back to you. “Nothing. She’s just teasing. I told her about the time I had you explain the incident and all she heard was my nickname for you, that’s all.”

“I told you he’d wanna kill me,” Cara mused smugly, walking over to stand beside Karga who looked on with a broad grin. She tossed her fruit in a trash bin nearby, before turning to Karga. “Come on. Let’s give them a minute to settle in and breathe before we start in on business. Drop their stuff by the ship then come meet us at the office.”

“But we-”

“Come on,” she hissed through clenched teeth, cutting Karga off and pulling him along back down the street, giving you a pointed look before she was out of sight.

“What was that about?” Din looked down at you, his head tilting in that way that always made you smile.

“I don’t know. She said a lot while we were walking. Let’s go drop the stuff off at the ship. Maybe I’ll remember on the way.”

“She said a lot, huh?”

You laughed. “Yeah. She wanted to know what mesh’la meant.”

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” His voice was tight, concerned.

“Yeah, why?”

He groaned, a hand coming to pull down the front of his helmet in exasperation. “She’s never gonna let me hear the end of it.”

You laughed again, this time a little louder. “She is convinced we have it bad for each other, and that that mesh’la was the secret start of it all.”

“Secret start?”

“Yeah. She thinks you didn’t just say it to tease me because of that drunk Twi'lek-”

“Well, she’s right. I didn’t.”

You swallowed, your voice coming out small. “You didn’t?”

“Well, it was the first time, but I’d been thinking it for weeks already, just…. Couldn’t…. Say it. Then once I had I just…. Couldn’t… Stop.”

Pulling him to an abrupt stop with your hand on his bicep, you turned to face him as he did the same. Looking up into his visor, you found yourself wishing not for the first time you could see his eyes. Not just to see them, but so they could see yours, without a filter, not in black and white, and see how truly and deeply you meant what you said and how you felt.

“That’s not fair, Din,” you said barely above a whisper, people walking around the two of you as you stood in the middle of the street.

“Oh, I think it’s entirely fair, mesh’la.” His voice was low, almost playful, and a shiver ran down your spine at the implication.

“You can’t just…. Say that’s what you were saying all this time.” You stared at his beskar covered chest, looking for the right words.

“Why?” His weight shifted and his helmet tilted and you wanted to scream at how casually he was playing this.

Glaring up at his visor, he chuckled softly at your reaction. Speaking lowly, hissing the words through clenched teeth, you leaned up on your tiptoes to get closer to his face. “Because, you overgrown tin can, I-”

Suddenly you were being pulled into a nearby alley, pushed softly up against the wall, and Din was crowding your space like he had in those last few moments on Arvala-7. Looking up with wide eyes, you saw yourself reflected in his visor only inches from your face, the rest of his body pressing into yours, the hard edges of his beskar trying to mold along your softer lines.

“Continue,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

Your mind spun for a moment as your hands reached up and wound into his cowl of their own accord like they always did, gripping it tight and pulling him closer as he let out a soft groan at the movement. You faintly registered he’d made you drop your fruit in the dash to the alley, but you didn’t really care right now.

“Um,” you began, licking your lips and trying to think while your mind felt weighed down like you imagine spice would make you feel.

He took in a sharp breath at the motion, groaning softly when you shifted your weight slightly, his head tilting back just enough that you could see a small patch of bare skin.

You had one mission, your thoughts suddenly crystal clear, and you pressed up on your tiptoes once again, placing your mouth just shy of the patch of skin and letting out a shaky breath. “Are you asking me,” you spoke lowly and slowly, making sure your breath hit his skin just right, your lips just barely grazing his neck if you moved the right way. “Are you asking me to continue calling you an overgrown tin can?”

He shuddered at the feel of your breath on his pulse, and you smirked.

“Because, if that’s the case,” you sighed, making sure every bit of the breath hit his skin, and smiled even broader when his weight melted further into you. “There are plenty of other things I can call you.”

“That’s not fair,” he said in a low, gravely voice, mimicking your words.

“Oh, I think it’s entirely fair, cyar'ika.” You mimicked his response back to him, changing the endearment, and his sigh seemed to indicate he approved.

His forehead came to meet yours with a soft thunk, making you laugh softly as he continued to melt into you against the wall. This hardened warrior clad in the toughest metal in the galaxy was turning to putty in your hands at some simple words. The back of your head lightly landed against the wall at your back as he continued to lean into you, every part of him trying to crawl into every part of you.

“Gar cuyi ner aliit. Ni kar'tayli darasuum gar. Gar cuyi ner mir'sheb bal gar utreekov kar'tayli darasuum gar, cyar’ika.” His voice was low and sounded like he was drunk or sleep deprived, every word a little lazy as it rolled off his tongue.

Your breath caught in your chest. “That’s what you said on the ship the first time I asked you to teach me Mando’a.” He nodded against your forehead, making you grin. “That’s a low blow, Din, I still don’t know what it me-”

“You are my family.” He spoke clearly, all trace of laziness leaving his voice.

You looked up into his visor through your lashes, and somehow you knew he was holding your gaze, too.

“I love you.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. It was like gravity had decided to punch every ounce of oxygen from your lungs and refuse entry to any more. You simply blinked up at him, once. Twice. Three times before your mouth snapped shut and you swallowed roughly, trying to make your brain work again.

“You are my smartass, and your idiot loves you, darling.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that tumbled out of your throat and past your lips, into the scarce space between you. It seemed to bounce off his beskar and vibrate back into your chest, leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Bringing your hands up to rest on either side of his helmet where his cheeks would be, you held his gaze with the biggest smile you’d ever felt on your face. His hands had come to sit on your waist, his thumbs tracing lazy lines against the curve of your hips, leaving sparks in their wake each time.

Voice barely above a whisper, you just managed to get one thing out. “Bal gar mir'sheb kar'tayli darasuum gar.” (“And your smartass loves you.”)

He chuckled softly, helmet falling to rest on your shoulder as it rocked gently side to side in disbelief. “I was waiting to tell you. I wanted…. I wanted it to be just right, and the time was never….” He lifted his head back up just enough to look at you. “We have really weird lives.”

You laughed softly as his head came back to rest on your shoulder again, one of your hands coming up to the back of his neck, lightly threading your fingers through the ends of his hair that stuck out of his helmet at the nape of his neck.

He groaned, the rest of him going as still as a statue. “If you keep doing that, we’re never going to leave this alley,” he all but grumbled into your shoulder, making you snicker.

Moving your hand down to simply cradle his neck, you turned your face towards him, ducking your head slightly to try and catch his eye. “You’re right. We need to go to the ship, then go back to see your friends. They said they had some business involving you-”

“No, forget that. Let’s go get the kid and go somewhere nice and warm. Somewhere green. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?” His tone was once again lazy, and you couldn’t help but grin at his antics.

“Din, they are your friends. Come on.” He groaned as he finally stood up, not quite removing his weight off of you. “Speaking of, where is the kid?”

“Karga talked me into leaving him at the school while we went to his office, then we got sidetracked when we ran into you.”

“Sidetracked, huh?” You said smugly, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah,” his tone was almost shy, making your seemingly permanent smile grow a little more at the rare sight.

“Well, come on, then. You made me drop my fruit when you manhandled me back here-”

“I did not man-”

“So,” you continued as if he didn’t say anything, earning a sigh of frustration. “We’re going to go back to the booth and get a replacement because it was really good, and then we need to go drop everything off at the ship, then we go back and see what your friends need.”

“Our friends.”

You stopped, turning to look at him behind you. “What?”

“They both really like you. Karga wouldn’t stop chewing my ear off about you the whole way back here from the school, and you only said about five words to him.”

“Really?”

“Cara obviously likes you, too. Ganged up on me, and everything,” he grumbled, turning his head to look at nothing in particular before looking back at you. “I told you they would help.”

You rolled your eyes. “Kriff. You talk too much when you’re happy. Come on.”

He scoffed. “Excuse me?”

You began to walk toward the fruit stand, turning when you didn’t hear his tell tale jingle behind you and finding him with his hands on his hips as he stared at you, standing in the mouth of the alley.

“Who said I was happy?”

It was your turn to scoff, your own hands going to your hips as you stared him down. “Oh really? Fine. You wanna play that way?” You closed the few feet between you, leaning in and saying in a low voice, “I can play. So you're saying that when I did this….” One of your hands went around the back of his neck, fingers lightly tugging on that tuft of hair, making his breath stutter. “Or this….” Pressing onto your tiptoes you leaned into the front of his neck, letting your breath warm his pulse point once again, his breathing becoming labored. “Or this….” Your free hand wound up into his cowl and pulled him impossibly closer, his breathing stopping altogether.

You smirked, your eyes cast down towards his chest as his head leaned in towards yours. “You’re telling me none of that made you happy?”

“Ni cuyi gar utreekov, partayli?” His voice was low and almost sounded pained. (“I am your idiot, remember?”)

“Ni kar'tayli. Ni kar'tayli gar. Gar cuyi ner kar'ta, partayli?” You whispered, your heads finally resting against one another. (“I know. I know you. You are my heart, remember?”)

“Shi par gar.” He whispered back. (“Only for you.”)

“Um, excuse me?”

Din immediately pulled his blaster and aimed it at the new mechanical voice, your own arm pointing at the sound with your vambrace ready, both weapons charging up as the droid jumped slightly and took a few small steps back.

“Oh. So sorry. I- Mashal Cara Dune has sent me with the items you requested.” Holding out a bag with a jerky movement, the humanoid droid looked between the two of you, waiting for a response.

Sighing, you disengaged your vambrace, reaching over and pushing Din’s blaster down slowly, ignoring his slight head tilt in question. Easing his weight off of you, you closed the small space between you and the droid, taking the small bag with a smile. “Thank you.”

“What items?” Din asked, holstering his blaster as he peeked over your shoulder.

Looking in the bag, you pointed at each item. “A holopad to help on the ship and for research, a comm so we can keep in contact if we need to split up, and…. Wait, that's all I asked for, what’s….” You rolled your eyes, reaching into the bag and withdrawing a piece of fruit like you had dropped.

“She says she hopes you enjoy the replacement,” the droid said politely, bowing its head and shoulders forward slightly before turning and leaving as quickly as it came.

“She’s something else,” you chuckled, shaking your head before you bit into the fruit, having the same reaction again with your eyes fluttering shut and a soft groan passing your lips. “You have to try this.”

He watched you for a long moment, until your eyes narrowed under his studious gaze, your eyebrow cocking. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “When we get to the ship, and we can get some privacy, I’d love to try one. You’ve already piqued my interest.”

“How do you-”

He began dragging you back down the street by your wrist in a light grip, headed toward the ship.

“If you moaned any louder while you ate that damn fruit, I might have started to get jealous.”

Blinking for a few seconds, you finally processed what he had said, throwing your head back and laughing as he continued to pull you toward the Crest.

“Sorry. I’ll keep that in mind next time. Try to keep it down.”

He stopped suddenly, rounding on you, his helmet inches from your face.

“Don’t you dare,” he said lowly. He took a deep breath, letting it out before adding on, “I just hope that someday it’s not just fruit that gets that reaction.”

You blinked up at him rapidly, your breath stuck in your chest before a soft moan bubbled up and out.

A breathy chuckle passed through the modulator. “I can work with that.”

The rest of the way back to the ship, you tried to ignore the warmth of his gloved grasp around your wrist. The way sparks shot up your arm at any point of contact. The way it stirred something to life deep in your gut that felt like it was trying to escape out of your throat on something stupid like a breathy giggle for no reason at all.

You stared at his grip around your arm, his hands so much bigger than any part of you, encompassing your wrist easily with extra to spare. It made you feel warm, feel safe, like nothing bad in the world could touch you, so long as he was nearby, and you could do absolutely anything as long as his hand stayed right where it was, or at least touching you in some way.

It wasn’t the Force, though you felt that flowing freely between the two of you, and circling around you like a protective shield. It was a force all its own, something strong and true, more resilient than even the most raw connection to everything around you. You’d never quite felt it before, and now that you had, you wanted to feel nothing else for the rest of time.

Dawning on you, something you’d thought a hundred times before, but now had an entirely new meaning, you looked up at the back of his helmet and smiled as he continued to guide you back to the ship now only yards away. This is home. It’s not a place, or a structure, or even just shelter on the road. It’s a person, multiple persons, coming into your life and painting the dull gray walls a vibrant shade that only they can. Leaving an indelible mark on you for the rest of your life.

Seeing their smile, hearing their laugh, it only adds another coat, making it brighter than before, more spacious and warm. A place you can retreat to when things threaten to knock down your perfect structure.

And this man in front of you made the most beautiful colors for you, spreading them on every surface he could touch, physically and mentally. Now every time you looked at your hands, you didn’t see wear, you saw his giant fingers hovering just out of reach, waiting for yours to slip into his before he whisked you off to the next adventure. And sometimes that adventure was simply holding his hand until the next crazy thing happened. Just sitting in the silence between moments, knowing the other was there.

You’d never seen his smile, but you’d heard it. And it sounded beautiful.

You’d tried to ignore it, until you realized…. You didn’t have to anymore.

Smiling, you opened your mouth to say as much, but stopped when you spotted the two mechanics working on the outside of the ship. Nodding to them politely, they returned the gesture before resuming their work. One of them made you narrow your eyes at him as you walked up the ramp into the Crest. Something just felt…. Off.

You tried to look at the parts in his hand, but when he glanced up and saw you were looking, he startled ever so slightly, fumbling what was in his hands and concealing it from you as he pretended to focus on the open panel in front of him.

“Well, the ship is looking better already,” Din said, turning in a small circle once he stepped inside off the ramp. “Still needs work, but it’s coming along.”

Leaning on the frame of the opening, arms across your chest, you watched the mechanic go back to whatever was in his hand, fumbling with it inside the panel.

“Yeah. It’s looking great,” you said absently, keeping your voice low so you didn’t alert the mechanic or Din that you were suspicious of anything.

Whatever he was doing, it looked over complicated, and you just decided to go back and fix it later.

You heard a hiss from Din’s helmet over in a corner and a quiet moan as he took a bite of the fruit, making you smile. “I told you.” You stood guard at the door so neither mechanic could come and accidentally see him with his helmet tilted back.

“That’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever tasted,” he mumbled, another soft groan falling shortly after, making you chuckle softly.

“You should savor it, then. Eat it slowly.”

“Too late,” his modulated voice came through close behind you as he chucked what was left of the fruit out across the barren surface of the planet. “That thing never stood a chance.”

“Did you just litter?” You asked in mock shock.

He stared at you for a long moment before pointing out towards where the fruit had landed. “You see that out there? That’s lava. It’s gonna disintegrate.” His voice was droll, making you roll your eyes.

Removing the satchel of items from its place on your shoulder, you set it on some boxes by the refresher door. “I’ll put it away later. Cara and Karga are waiting for us. Let’s head back.”

“Are you sure?” He began to crowd your space again, backing you into the wall right behind you.

“Din,” you hissed, looking at his chest as you tried not to smile, lightly pushing against his armor even though you both knew it was futile.

“We could stay here until the repairs are done, lay low….” His voice was lowering with each statement, now just a low rumble as he tilted his head and looked down at you, his face only inches away from your own.

“They would find us in a heartbeat, Din,” you scoffed. “And you call yourself a hunter.”

He grunted at the slight, making sure to lightly poke you where he knew it would tickle, making you go still instantly, wide eyes on his visor. “We could still go grab the kid and leave now…. Go somewhere green…. And warm…. Anywhere you want to go.”

Your arms found their way up around his neck, pulling him even closer still as you finally let the smile win. “And what about the rest of the repairs?”

“I recently taught someone how to do minor repair work, and she seems to be doing an amazing job so far….”

You let out a huff. “Oh, really?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, his beskar vibrating against your chest with the sound.

“Then you should tell her that she’s doing a good job.” You smiled coyly, hand finding that tuft of hair at the nape of his neck and dusting the tips of your fingers through it.

“She knows,” he all but groaned out, head falling against yours like before with a soft thunk.

“Is that what you were trying to say the other day when you grumbled about what I did under the console in the cockpit? Because that sounded a lot like complaining.”

He grunted in response, making you chuckle.

“Hey, now, don’t start speaking Tusken to me, Din. We don’t have time to dive into that.”

He shook his head gently as it rested against yours.

“Gar cuvi ori'atin,” he grumbled. (“You are very stubborn.”)

“Shi par gar,” you whispered. (“Only for you.”)

You both laughed softly, enjoying the small moment of just one another and a peaceful breath. Pushing his head back just enough that you could look up and meet the T of his visor, you smiled up at him, opening your mouth to say something when a throat being cleared cut you off.

Din’s body went rigid then collapsed against you further with a sigh. “Karga,” he mumbled almost bitterly.

“Yes. It’s me. The person waiting for you patiently back at my office. While you’re here…. Doing….. This.”

Tucking your face into Din’s cowl, you snorted out a laugh, trying to hide your snickers at his tone while Din just groaned at his friend.

“Did I invite you aboard my ship? No. In fact, last time you were on my ship, I shot you.” Din pushed off the wall behind you, turning to face Karga slowly where he stood at the top of the ramp.

“Come now, Mando. Those were different times!” He chuckled nervously, his hands held out beside him.

“But I haven’t changed much,” Din muttered almost under his breath, slowly closing the distance between them.

“I told you not to interrupt them,” Cara’s voice sounded from the bottom of the ramp, both men turning their heads to look at her.

You took the few steps to the top of the ramp, standing between the two men and looked down at Cara, hands on your hips. “Smart woman,” you teased. Looking to each man over one of your shoulders than the other, you looked back forward down the ramp. “Well.” You clapped your hands together in front of you once to break the tension. “Let’s get to this office, shall we?” You looked at Karga pointedly.

“I will if he will,” Karga nodded his head toward Din as he all but mumbled his agreement.

Din sighed. “Just go already. We’ll be right behind you.” He gestured down the ramp with one arm before it went back to rest on his hip.

Karga looked over his shoulder every few steps to make sure you were actually coming.

Din turned to you at the top of the ramp before either of you could take a step, sighing. “Well, I guess we don’t get to make a grand escape like we were talking about.”

“Like you were talking about,” you clarified, making him huff. “At least not this time,” you added, making his breath hitch for just a moment. “Anywhere I want to go….” You began as you started down the ramp, watching him over your shoulder with a smirk. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Turning forward to go the rest of the way down the ramp, you barely just heard his low reply before his footsteps followed after you.

“I hope that you do.”

Xxx

Din POV

He couldn’t get enough.

The moment had come, and it had all just come out, he couldn’t stop it. It was like some obnoxious string pulling it out of him before he knew what he was saying. But as soon as the first word was out…. He couldn’t say the rest fast enough.

Couldn’t say it sincerely enough. The depth he wanted, the truth beneath his words, it all seemed to fall flat, and yet…. Yet it sat so utterly right once it hit the air.

He’d sworn the creed, dedicating his life to The Way, recited the rules time and time again, and even that paled in comparison in his mind to this.

He’d always been a man of few words, whether that came from being alone for so long or was just another part of him was hard to tell now, even for him. He only spoke to bounties to intimidate and direct, almost never more than that. If he did, it was one word answers or a simple grunt in response. Usually he let the carbonite chamber do the talking for him, leaving him in blissful silence once again.

But then he found himself in a bar on the lower levels of Coruscant, finally finding the courage to say a simple hello to a bartender, who smiled as she said it back. He could go on and on that he was simply reserved because of what he witnessed in the alley weeks prior, how you don’t just jump into conversation with someone who lobs a lit bottle of alcohol across the street on accident, but that would all be lies.

That was something else he didn’t often do, Din wasn’t one to tell lies. There was no need. Yes, he was a bounty hunter. No, he wouldn’t just kill you for sitting next to him on the random planet of the week. Yes, he was with the guild, had a fob, had killed someone, the list went on and on, but each was a singular truth.

Until he found himself trying to explain to himself how he felt about you.

Oh, the lies he’d told, each one ridiculous and stupid, things he didn’t even believe as he was saying them, but he stood by them long enough to let them get in the way.

I travel too much.

You’re reading too much into things.

There’s no way she doesn’t smile like that at everyone.

Then one day, an over eager drunk Twi’lek said something stupid to you while he was there. Complimented your eyes, among other things, slurred with whiffs of spotchka vapor following after each kind word. You’d mumbled something behind a polite grin, along the lines of, “Don’t let my boyfriend hear you say that.” And Din’s heart had sunk.

He’d waited too long. Of course he had. You had-

He caught your pleading gaze as you wiped down a cup behind the bar, the Twi’lek leaning in much too close over the counter between you, slurring questions about this supposed significant other.

Getting to his feet silently, he went to the Twi’lek just a few feet away, standing beside him and leaning one arm on the bar. “You need to back away.”

Turning to look at the newcomer, the Twi’s face was hard set but it quickly melted when he had to tilt his head back to be able to look Din in the face. Standing to his full height, chest puffed out as he swayed a little bit, the Twi’lek did his best to seem bigger than he was. Din also rose off the bar, but felt no need to try and intimidate the other man several inches shorter than him.

“And who are you?” The Twi got out surprisingly clearly.

“Does it matter? You need to back off.”

The Twi scoffed, laughing softly before turning back to face the girl behind the bar with a salacious grin. “Excuse me, but you’re interrupting things between me and my girl, so-”

Before he could think, Din had reached out and grabbed the man’s upper arm in a tight grip, smirking at his wince in pain. “I said….” He lowered his head just enough for emphasis. “You need to back off.”

“And I said, who are you?” The Twi hissed through clenched teeth.

“I’m-”

“He’s the boyfriend,” you said smugly from behind the bar, smirking, lazily drying another glass.

Din froze, but quickly shook it off, tilting his head menacingly at the Twi’lek in his grip. The man had the decency to swallow roughly, cowering back as he fumbled over words of apology, lame gestures with his hands pulling his arm from Din’s grip roughly before he just turned and ran.

“You didn’t close your tab….” You called after him. “Asshole,” you added on a mumble, making Din chuckle as he turned to face you, leaning on his elbows on the bar.

“So I’m the-”

“Sorry.” You paused drying the cup, screwing your eyes shut. Opening them again, you narrowed your eyebrows. “He just wouldn’t take a hint.” You smiled kindly at him. “Tell you what, I owe you. The rest of tonight is on me, whatever you want.”

“Well, in the interest of keeping with the theme…. How about a spotchka, mesh’la?”

You scrunched your nose up at him in question as you began to pour the drink. “What does that mean?” You slid the small glass over to him.

“Beautiful.” He slid the cup back over to you, laughing softly when you tilted your head in question. “You need a drink after…. All that,” he gestured vaguely towards the front door where the creep had vanished, making you chuckle. “And I need to keep my wits about me in case anyone else feels brave tonight.” He sat back in the stool with a loud, dramatic sigh.

Tossing your head back and laughing, you gently shook it in disbelief at him before taking the shot quickly and leaning on the bar so your faces were only inches apart, lowering your voice. “Well, I’ll tell you, if you just stay right there and keep me company, I’m pretty sure nobody would be stupid enough to try anything again. ….I would hope.”

He laughed softly, something he hadn’t done in a long time, and he enjoyed the way it rolled out of his chest and off his limbs. He really should do it more often. “Well, let’s give them something to talk about, then.”

The nickname had just come out. It was meant to be teasing, but unlike everything else, it was the first thing of truth he’d allowed himself concerning you, and that brought the rest of the walls down. He found himself smiling more, laughing, and just relaxing for the first time in years. And oddest of all, at least to him, he found himself talking. About himself. Willingly. To another human being. For hours.

He walked away from the bar at sunrise the following day, hours after closing, having spent the wee hours of the night with you as you cleaned ‘for extra security’ he’d joked. That bled into him on one side of the bar, you on the other, both leaning forward on your elbows and talking enthusiastically about anything and everything. He shared his creed, and without being asked you’d turned around after pouring two shots of spotchka and swiping your own, downing it with your back to him and shuddering as it burned down your throat.

He’d stared for a moment, glass held halfway to his lips, watching as you fiddled with the wall of bottles mindlessly, waiting patiently for him to be done so you could turn back around. No rush, no pressure, just a part of his life now a part of yours.

He never really cared for spotchka much before, but after that night, it held a certain…. Edge over other drinks in his mind. He couldn’t drink it without smirking.

And now that everything had caught up with him, his words spilling out and covering you both with a sense of calm that came only from knowing something true deep in your bones. Now….

He’d always been one for space, privacy, the Crest his personal haven away from anything and everything. But now….

Now he looked at you, standing in the middle of the street, and he feels that smirk he gets from drinking spotchka climbing his face, and he can’t help but grab you and pull you with him into somewhere more private. You give him a certain…. Edge nothing else ever has.

He doesn’t want personal space. He doesn’t want anything that doesn’t involve being near you in some way. The thought physically makes him break out into a cold sweat. All it had taken were a few moments on Arvala-7, a few stolen touches and longing glances, and he couldn’t stop.

You made him feel like everyone said spotchka was supposed to. His head spun, his thoughts clouded over, but only because of how high he felt like he was floating. His stomach refused to stand still alongside him. His hands began to sweat, he couldn’t stop smiling, and everything from head to toe began to hum.

But there was a stillness in it all, a calm he’d never felt before that gave him a clarity he only ever had while hunting. You helped him focus, helped him breathe in the midst of chaos.

He understood now how people got addicted to spice. If it was anything like this, he didn’t blame them. There was a certain thrum through his veins he didn’t want to ever leave.

You made things bearable. Made so many things actually enjoyable.

And that was why when Karga had cleared his throat somewhere behind him while the two of you enjoyed a moment on the Crest, there wasn’t an instant repeat of the last time he’d caught the man on his ship uninvited.

His irritation was instantly soothed when he looked down to find you tucked into his cowl, snorting out laughter at the absurd situation.

He smirked, feeling an edge as he straightened up, turning to face his friend.

The rest of the exchange blurred in his memory, the next important thing being you walking down the ramp, looking at him over your shoulder with a mischievous smirk.

“Anywhere I want to go….” You began as you started down the ramp. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Turning forward to continue down the ramp, you barely made it a few steps before he mumbled his reply, his footsteps following after you.

He meant it. He wanted to go anywhere with you, so long as you’d stay beside him, and help him face wherever it was…. Tome. (“Together.”)

“I hope that you do.”

Xxx

Normal POV

Rounding the corner into the office, you heard a dry, sarcastic voice start into a conversation as soon as Karga was over the threshold.

“There’s no registration on the ship, but I’m pretty sure it belongs….”

The Mythrol sitting behind a desk faded off with wide eyes when he looked up and saw Din.

“I believe you two have met.” Karga’s tone was droll, his eyes almost rolling at the exchange, glancing at Din pointedly.

A puff of vapor shot out with a hiss around the Mythrol’s neck in a cloud that quickly dissipated, his large eyes locked on to the Mandalorian as the warrior came to a stop in front of him. You looked on in amusement, trying unsuccessfully to hide the quickly rising upturn of your cheek.

Din nodded, staring the poor blue man down. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

A gulp was his response, before a wry, somewhat shaky, “Right back at ya.”

Unable to contain your soft snort of laughter any longer, you quickly tried to cover it behind your hand, arching an eyebrow at Karga as he looked to you in amusement. A broad smile came across his face before his features schooled once again into something more official in nature.

“Mythrol here’s taken care of my books since he was a pollywog. But then he disappeared one day after a bit of ‘creative accounting’.”

Both of your eyebrows shot up in understanding before your gaze shifted back to the bright blue man behind the desk expectantly.

He chuckled softly, nervously. “Magistrate Karga was generous enough to let me work off my debt. Thank you, by the way.” He added the end almost as an afterthought, making you shake your head gently at his antics.

Karga smirked. “Three hundred and fifty years, but who’s counting?”

“Well, if he runs off on you again, let me know.” Din hadn’t looked away from him once in this whole exchange, and you almost felt sorry for the man. That visor could be intimidating.

Mythrol let out a huff. “Let me assure you, I do not wanna spend any more time in carbonite. Still can’t see outta my left eye.”

You’d seen the carbonite chamber on the ship, and Din had told you stories, but it was different to hear a first hand account of it. A light shiver rolled down your spine at the thought. Cara, standing behind you since you all walked in, must have noticed, and she tried to change the subject.

“So. You got my delivery?” Her tone was dripping with things unsaid, her gaze holding yours as she made her way over behind another desk on the other side of the room.

“Yes, thank you,” you said quietly, matching her stare ounce for ounce, the intensity of it far outweighed either of your tones.

She smirked at you as you walked past her. “How was the fruit?”

“Just fine, thank you,” you mumbled, ignoring her snicker at your back as you continued around the table.

“Best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Din mumbled as he rounded around beside you, making Cara’s laughter stop short, her eyes narrowing as she studied the two of you suspiciously.

“Okay, I know what I meant, but what do you two….”

“We’re just talking about fruit, Cara. Get your mind back up here and out of the gutters.” You shook your head gently at her, smiling slightly.

“But he….” She shook her head, looking at the desk. “Tin can strikes again.” Poking her finger into the top of the desk a few times before letting out a huff, she studied the surface before looking back up to the rest of you. “Can we talk business?” Her eyes were narrowed in playful annoyance.

Din almost groaned, speaking on the heavy breath instead. “I’m only here for repairs.”

“Which’ll take a while.” Karga sounded cautious, almost hopeful. “Which means you’ll have free time on your hands, right? And we could really use your help.”

Din exchanged a look with you, his visor carrying an unspoken message you’d learned to understand by now. He wanted your input. Shrugging gently, you heard his huff in annoyance at you, his head slightly rolling in exasperation, making you laugh softly.

“Help how?” He finally offered.

Cara pushed a few buttons and a holo map popped up over her desk. Pointing to each place she spoke of, you moved in closer to get a better look. “This is Nevarro. We’re here. This entire area’s a green zone. Completely safe. But over on this side is the problem.” The map reeled to a giant red zone, zooming in on a structure, and your eyes narrowed as you stared at it.

“It’s an old Imperial base.” Karga’s words barely registered with you, his voice sounding far away as something similar to what you heard on Trask began to flood your ears. Whispers. Menacing and threatening. Haunting. Your stomach began to leave the atmosphere while your feet were still firmly on the ground. Something wasn’t right.

Cara spoke and her voice jolted you back to the room, no remnants of the ghostly visitors anywhere to be found. It sounded like the conversation hadn’t missed a beat at all, but you swore you’d been listening to the whispers for a good minute if not longer, or so it felt. “It’s where all those troops came from when we defeated Moff Gideon. This base has been here since the Imperial expansion. It’s got a skeleton crew, but for some reason, it hasn’t been abandoned.”

The whispers returned softly, in the background now. There was no laughter like on Trask. Only pain. Torment. Something evil sitting in the background pulling the strings and sending menacing hisses into your mind. You tried to not show any signs outwardly, but your shoulders tensed, and you wrapped your arms around your chest, almost like holding yourself.

Din met your gaze over the map between the two of you, his helmet tilting just slightly in question.

Shaking your head as minutely as you could, you focused back on the map, eyes flicking back to his visor after a moment to find his gaze still on you as his friends went on.

Karga trudged on. “There’s a lot o’ heavy weaponry in that place the black market would love to dismantle and get their hands on.”

“And you wanna mop up the last of the Imperial force before they do.” Din didn’t even turn to Karga till the last word, finally tearing his gaze away from you.

His friend sighed. “Mando, I just want them off my planet. If we could take out that one last base, Nevarro would be completely safe. We could be a trade anchor for the entire sector.”

You felt his gaze on you once again, and somehow you could tell exactly where his eyes were falling despite the visor. It left a burning trail along your skin, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end and goosebumps following in the wake of his stare.

“And the planet would finally be free.” Cara was looking at Din calmly.

Finally meeting his gaze again, the map spinning lazily between you, you attempted a small smile, your lips keeping closed tight to keep it reigned in, not trusting yourself to not hiss in discomfort through your teeth as the whisperers surged all at once before stopping abruptly. Closing your eyes and sighing a breath of relief, you opened them, prepared to continue on, but feeling a sudden wave of peace as you met his gaze, making your decision a thousand times easier. You smiled a little more easily at him and nodded once.

“You’re not staying here, are you?” His voice was quiet. It almost wasn’t a question.

Your smile turned more towards a smirk, arms crossing over your chest, your weight shifting to one side along with the slight tilt of your head. “What do you think?”

He returned your nod before sighing, turning to the map again. “What are we looking at?”

Xxx

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arrowsandbats · 4 years ago

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Tim’s Complicated School History

So I’ve noticed there seems to be a fair bit of confusion on where Tim went to high school, whether he dropped out or not, if he went to private or public school, etc., so I thought I’d create a general chronology of (Pre-Flashpoint) Tim’s tumultuous high school career. The confusion about this is deserved, as Tim has literally gone to no less than FIVE high schools and also homeschooled for a bit, so it’s a LOT to keep track of. Tim has attended both private schools and public schools, and has gone to school in Gotham and Bludhaven (and almost Keystone!), ultimately ending his school days when he dropped out of Gotham City High School during his senior year to go search for Bruce after the events of Final Crisis.

Here’s the breakdown:

Pre-High School: Tim attended private boarding schools until he was about 13-14 years old. To my knowledge these schools are never specifically named, but 13-yr-old Tim mentions in Batman #441 that he attends a boarding school just outside Gotham. In Robin III #4 Tim angrily tells his dad that him and Janet “shipped [Tim] from one boarding school to another and nobody paid any attention as long as [his] grades stayed high.” This seems to imply that Tim attended a number of different boarding schools, when there’s really no reason for him to have attended more than two (an elementary and middle school), and even then a number of private boarding schools are actually K-8 (if not K-12) so I don’t know why he attended so many schools?? Nevertheless, from K-8 Tim attended private boarding schools, primarily in the Gotham area presumably.

Tim was probably still in middle school in his earliest appearances (Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying, Batman: Rite of Passage, etc), but he starts high school right around the time he finishes his Robin training (around the time of the first Robin miniseries).

High School #1---Gotham Heights High School: The first reference to Tim being in high school comes from the 1991 Robin II miniseries. Tim has recently started at Gotham Heights High School as a ninth grader. This comic takes place after Tim’s parents were kidnapped and poisoned, and so while Jack is in the hospital Bruce is acting as a guardian of sorts for Tim. It’s at Gotham Heights that Tim befriends Sebastian Ives, as well as his friends Hudson and Callie Evans. When Ives asks Tim about the fact that he seems too rich for public school, Tim explains that he used to go to private school but that Bruce had him transferred into public school because he thought it would be “more broadening.” Even after Jack gets out of the hospital he allows Tim to stay at Gotham Heights HS, although Jack clearly has a low opinion of public schools. Tim presumably started at Gotham Heights HS at the beginning of the ninth grade and attended for about a year and a half.

Interlude---Keystone: After the events of Cataclysm, Tim’s family moves to Keystone to avoid the chaos going on in Gotham. (They only end up staying a few weeks at the most, but they moved with the intention of living there permanently, meaning that Tim was transferred out of Gotham Heights HS.) In Robin #63 Jack mentions trying to get Tim into Keystone Academy, but that it’s tough in the middle of the school year and that he was working on getting him a tutor in the interim. Tim was supposed to meet his new tutor the same day that he went back to Gotham to be with Steph while she had her baby. He left without telling his dad, and so Jack and Dana come back to Gotham to get him and they all decide to stay in Gotham after all. It’s unclear if Tim returns to Gotham Heights HS briefly or if he just doesn’t return to school until he’s enrolled at Brentwood.

High School #2---Brentwood Academy: After the events of No Man’s Land, Tim is enrolled in Brentwood Academy, a boarding school in Bristol Township (a wealthy suburb directly to the north of Gotham, where the Drakes and the Waynes both live). After missing so much school, Jack forces Tim to go to a boarding school so that his grades will hopefully come up. (I think the reasoning here is that if Tim lives at school then he’ll have no good excuse for missing class?) In Robin #75 Tim refers to himself as a “new sophomore,” and he transferred to the school some time after sophomore year started (almost definitely after winter break, but I can’t find an issue that confirms this?) but before spring break. Tim’s main friends at Brentwood are his first roommate Ali, his second roommate Wesley, and his classmates Buzz, Kip, and Danny. Tim isn’t at Brentwood for very long though. After only a few months (maybe even less) of Tim being at Brentwood, Jack finds out he’s lost a good portion of the Drake family fortune in bad investments. He’s forced to withdraw Tim from school as he can’t afford the tuition anymore, and the Drakes sell their home in Bristol Township and move into their townhouse in inner-city Gotham.

Interlude---Rest of Sophomore Year: When Tim left Brentwood it was rather late in the year, and it was apparently too late to re-enroll him in public school, so he took the rest of the school year off. That summer he has to take a placement test that will keep him from having to repeat the 10th grade. He passes, so when he re-enters public school he does so as a junior.

High School #3---Louis E. Grieve Memorial High School: Tim starts his junior year at Louis E. Grieve Memorial HS, where he quickly befriends Bernard Dowd and Darla Aquista. He doesn’t attend school here very long, probably for about 3-4 months (he’s only been at Grieve Memorial HS for a few weeks when he’s forced to quit being Robin, Steph takes over for about 2 months, and then it’s only another couple weeks until the events of War Games). During War Games, Tim’s friend Darla is targeted by several mobs (because her father is an Italian mob boss) and mobsters take over his school and end up killing several students, Darla included. Darla’s funeral is one of three that Tim has to attend in as many days, his dad being killed during Identity Crisis and Steph “dying” at the end of War Games.

High School #4---John Wayne High School, Bludhaven: After War Games and Identity Crisis, Tim moves to Bludhaven to try for a fresh start. He picked Bludhaven specifically for an in-patient facility that will help his stepmom, Dana, process her grief over Jack’s death. Tim moves to be close to her and starts attending John Wayne High School. He probably only attends for about two weeks though, before he has his (fake) Uncle Eddie withdraw him from the school to start homeschooling. Tim withdraws with the intention of homeschooling until he can test out of school early. But it isn’t long (maybe another month or so) until Infinite Crisis, and then Tim and Dick go on a nearly year-long training journey with Bruce.

Interlude---OYL: During the missing year* between Infinite Crisis and One Year Later, Tim isn’t in school at all, as he and Dick and Bruce are travelling the world and training.

(*Also, with the nightmare that is comics continuity and the passage of time, Tim really couldn’t have been gone for more than like,,,,6-8 months, as it was late winter/early spring when Infinite Crisis happened---at least according to the Robin series---and it’s summer when he returns to Gotham. He’s still 17 early in the Red Robin series so it couldn’t have been a year and a half that he was gone, therefore he could only have been gone for like half a year.)

High School #5---Gotham City High School: After the OYL time jump, Tim starts attending Gotham City High School. He starts during the “summer session” (presumably to make up for the semester he missed during OYL?) before his senior year. His main friends here are Zoanne Wilkins (who he starts dating), Jared Walton, Craig Pulaski, and then both Ives and Steph transfer to GCHS during Tim’s senior year (altho Steph is usually a year older than Tim in Pre-52 canon, so it really makes no sense for her to be there??). This is the high school Tim is attending when he drops out of school in his senior year to travel the world looking for Bruce. In Red Robin #17, Tim and Ives meet for lunch (after Bruce has returned and Tim has moved back to Gotham) and Ives mentions Tim not finishing senior year. Tim asks Ives how senior year is going---implying that the events of the first arc of Red Robin only take a few months---and catches up on how Ives and Zoanne are doing.

Some general Tim school stuff: Tim is a very smart kid, but not a very good student. In the Robin III miniseries both Jack and Tim’s school counselor make reference to the fact that before high school Tim had always been a straight A student, but that his grades and attendance have slipped considerably. He is routinely too tired to pay attention in class, he’s constantly missing weeks of school, he fails to complete homework assignments bc of Robin missions, etc. Several times he even references in his inner monologue that he thinks he might fail a specific class. And honestly, Tim just doesn’t care about school. He often makes irritable inner-monologue comments about preferring practical application over learning things in a school setting, he tries to get himself out of school permanently when he lives in Bludhaven, etc. That being said, he’s never been noted to actually fail a class and even with all the school he’s missed he’s never had to be held back, so presumably he’s still earning like Cs in most classes.

#tim drake #timothy drake #robin #batfam #meta #dc comics #our posts #i hope this is useful #i plan on making more of them at some point

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Help Me (Keep My Head Above Water)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil

The water is no place for a man who thrives in the skies. Luckily, he has a brother who’s the opposite.

So, this fic comes with huge thanks to @gumnut-logic for both giving me permission to play with her amazing Marks&Wings AU and also patiently correcting me when I got some of the facts and lore a little wrong (and answering all my occasionally silly questions about things as they cropped up). My muse has been somewhat fickle this week, but playing around elsewhere seems to have woken it up again. For those of you unfamiliar with the AU, to grossly oversimplify, it’s a wingfic AU, with the exception of Gordon, who is an aquatic shapeshifter instead.

Being me, I immediately honed in on the (whump) potential with Scott, and of course there’s some Scott&Gordon here because I could. And I had to have Gordon shifting into my favourite marine creature (which I discovered @godsliltippy had already written during my re-read of the whole series earlier to double-check some facts, but the more the merrier, right?)

Scott knew he was in trouble the moment he hit the water.

Maybe it should have twigged two seconds earlier, when his right wing exploded in pain and his pleasure flight had become a panicked fall, but in those two seconds all his concentration had gone into trying to stabilise himself, somehow trying to stop the fall and when that failed, folding his wings to let them go.

Then he hit the water, wings that had decidedly not folded when he told them to slapping the surface hard enough to jar and sending a fresh wave of agony through him, and reality kicked in.

Wings and water didn’t mix. Not unless they were seabird wings, and Scott’s were absolutely not. His feathers weren’t waterproof; quite the contrary, they absorbed the water like a sponge until there was seven and a half metres of waterlogged wing dragging him down.

Keeping his head above water became a priority and a challenge.

He needed to let them go, absorb them back into the Mark where they couldn’t keep dragging him under, a dead weight tugging at his shoulder blades and forcing him to use every ounce of strength to fight against it.

He couldn’t.

Maybe it was the water, weighting them down so much they couldn’t fold up against his back. Maybe it was the injury, red swirls in the water telling him it was bad. Maybe it was neither of those and he just didn’t have the strength.

The reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that he couldn’t, that each frantic surge up to keep his head above water exhausted him more and more, that the sudden appearance of speed boats roaring into view towards him didn’t mean help was on the way.

He’d been shot down. That much was obvious, even if he hadn’t had the time to mentally catalogue exactly what had happened and why. No-one else was around; the stretch of ocean he’d been over – was now in - was devoid of human life. Supposed to be devoid of human life.

But it had been a manmade thing that had blown through his wing, and now there were more manmade things headed his way. It didn’t take a genius to put the clues together.

Flying away was out of the question – if he could, he wouldn’t have ended up in the water in the first place – and swimming wasn’t going to help him either. Keeping his head above water was enough of a challenge; with his waterlogged wings, not to mention the injury, there was no way he’d be able to get any lateral direction at all. And even if he could, there was no way he could out-swim a speed boat or several.

They spluttered to a halt just in front of him, fanned out in a semicircle. Too far away to touch, but close enough to see the look of triumph on the face of the man in the one directly in front of him. It wasn’t reassuring; any remote chance that they’d come to help him out was dashed into pieces.

Sound carried over water. Even over his own gasps for breath and the slosh of the waves his desperate attempts to survive were producing, he could hear the laughter. Satisfaction.

The next moment, their voices went from cruel and jovial to terrified, pitch rising and culminating in a frantic “grab him now!”

Wide eyes weren’t looking at him. They were looking past him, faces white and drained of blood, and Scott had no idea what they could see, but if it wasn’t good for men in speedboats, it wasn’t going to be any good to a drowning man with wings pulling him down.

Still, on his next surge out of the water – barely a surge, a weak splutter fuelled by determination and more than a little bit of panic – he turned his head.

A tall, pitch black fin was bearing down on them. Him. It towered far above him, easily taller than Alan at a glance, and Scott’s first instinct was fear. There was blood in the water after all. His.

It rolled up, a pitch black back to go with the fin, before diving down. A flash of white confirmed its identity.

Orca.

Orca weren’t known to attack humans, were intelligent enough to recognise them even when they didn’t look right, but the speed it had been approaching with, and the dive-

The men on the boats were shouting and screaming, equally panicked even though they weren’t the ones in the water with it. Some were fumbling weapons. At least one gun ended up overboard as it was dropped by shaking hands.

Scott couldn’t see it. Keeping an eye out for the apex predator that had decided to investigate what was going on and keeping his head above water were one task too many – two tasks, really, but Scott wasn’t giving up on living just yet – and after it had dived, he’d lost track of it.

Then something collided with him from beneath, taking what breath he had away as the deep depths his wings had been dragging him down into was replaced suddenly with smooth, thick skin, and that pitch black dorsal fin erupted from the water scant inches from his face.

It kept going, kept rising until his chest was out of the water. The majority of his wings. His waist, his knees, and it registered that the orca had scooped him up onto its back.

He didn’t know if that was normal orca behaviour. He didn’t know much about orca. His gut told him that didn’t matter.

Scott reached out, arms trembling and weak after his fight with the waves, and wrapped his arms around as much of the dorsal fin in front of him as he could. The creature was huge, but not so huge his wingtips weren’t still draped into the water, threatening to drag him back off the moment the orca moved again.

The men were still shouting, engines sputtering back into life, but Scott ignored them – even the panicked gunshots that went laughably wide considering the size of the orca, if only because they went so wide. He didn’t know he was safe, on the back of an apex predator that on the surface had no reason to help a drowning human with wings, but as his fingers closed around the far edge of the fin and then – and only then – did the huge creature move again, he felt that maybe, just maybe, he was.

There was a chance that the orca was exactly that. A sea creature that had come to investigate and decided in its wisdom to intervene.

But there was also a chance it wasn’t.

Scott didn’t know if orca was in Gordon’s resume, if his aquatic brother had ever got close enough to one to add it to his ever-growing collection of possible transformations. He didn’t have that link with him that Virgil and John did, the second and third Tracys always able to pick their brother out from a myriad of seemingly-identical marine wildlife. Some days, Scott hated that. Hated that Gordon could hide so completely from him. Hated the fear that came from the knowledge that one day something might happen and he wouldn’t know until Virgil screamed, or John threw himself into a silent frenzy. Hated that he’d be entirely helpless.

Even now, he hated it a little, because he’d never been scared of Gordon no matter the form he took, but he’d been scared of the approaching orca. He didn’t have the link to confirm the identity of the creature that was saving him.

But he had his gut, and his gut told him that somehow, it had to be Gordon. Never mind that Gordon hadn’t been in the area as far as he knew. Never mind the fact that Gordon was supposed to be at home, and if he was here, it meant he’d been out swimming without telling him.

His gut told him he was safe, and he trusted his gut enough to relax as the orca’s clicks and whistles washed over him. The orca didn’t speak any human languages, but to Scott the fury was clear.

The speed boats circled them. With his head resting on the smooth, damp skin of what had to be his brother, Scott could only watch as they loudly debated if it was worth trying to snag him.

A tail – fluke, Scott dimly recalled – slapped the water when one got too close. Scott was doused with water, his fingers tightening their grip as much as they could as the wave threatened to wash him and his useless wings back into the ocean, but the boat – carrying something that looked a lot less friendly than the simple handguns used by the men on the others - was capsized.

If he’d needed any confirmation he was being defended, that was it.

The orca that was almost certainly Gordon swam around in a circle, the movement nudging Scott further onto his back from where he’d slipped, more agitated clicks and whistles making it very clear that further advances would not be tolerated.

His wings – his waterlogged, injured wings – were just in the way. Scott grit his teeth and tried to pull them in, away from the water and folded so he could let them go. The left wing obeyed, albeit with effort against the weight of the added water. The right screamed and despite himself he let out a choked-off cry which he hurriedly muffled by biting his arm.

Apparently that wasn’t moving. Whatever they’d shot him with must have hit the muscles that controlled the spreading and folding of the wing.

One wing furled and one wing at full span had him sliding, pulled down by the spread weight on his right, and he snapped his left out again instinctively. Another tight circle from the orca beneath him and he was shifted back to where he’d been.

So that meant no folding his wings.

Scott sighed, trying and failing to ignore the agony throbbing from his wing. Around them, it seemed like the speed boats had decided it wasn’t worth battling an orca to get their prize. The capsized men were being dragged onto boats, before the engines roared and they disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The aggressive clicks and whistles stopped for a moment. When they started again, there was something different about them, and Scott got the distinct impression he was being addressed. He might have been imagining it, but they sounded concerned.

“I’m okay,” he reassured the creature. He wasn’t, not with a hole in his wing that was probably still leaking blood and exhausted from his battle to keep his head above water, but even if probably-Gordon knew that, he didn’t need him to say it. “Thanks.”

Gordon or not, the orca had saved him. Scott didn’t know what the men had been after, but anyone who tried to catch his attention by shooting him out of the air probably didn’t have friendship on the agenda.

He got another series of clicks and whistles in response, before the huge creature slowly began to swim. Scott could tell it was nowhere near the speeds an orca would normally travel at, but even that tugged at the wingtips still in the water, discomfort traveling up the appendages and resulting in additional loud complaints from the right. But he didn’t complain; he, too, had no plans to hang around where he’d been shot down. The orca clearly had a destination in mind, and it was one Scott very much hoped was home.

It wasn’t long before a familiar engine whined into earshot. Content to remain slumped where he was, numbing fingers weakly clutching the dorsal fin and head resting on the black skin, Scott only blinked as Thunderbird Two loomed in the distance.

Ahead of it was a black streak, diving straight for them.

“Scott!”

Virgil’s apparent nonchalance at landing directly on the orca’s back was the final, unnecessary, confirmation that it was Gordon.

Giant black wings, the biggest in the family by some half a metre or so, stayed fully extended for balance as Virgil crouched by him, one hand on the dorsal fin for extra stability while the other landed on his shoulder.

“What happened?” his brother demanded. Scott could see worried deep brown eyes focusing on his right wing, and wondered if it looked as bad as it felt.

“Shot down,” he admitted, knowing there was no point lying when his bleeding wing was in full view.

Fear flashed through the worry in his brother’s eyes, and Scott knew he was thinking about what might have happened if Gordon hadn’t intervened. He plastered a reassuring grin on his face.

“I’m okay,” he promised.

“No, you’re not,” Virgil snapped back, wings bristling. The hand on his shoulder moved and Scott muffled a cry as gentle gloved hands explored the area around the wound. “This is nasty, Scott.”

He knew that, but he was okay. He was okay because Gordon had been there, because Virgil was there, because he could hear Thunderbird Two coming to a hover overhead, with either Alan at the helm or under the remote control of Thunderbird Five’s inhabitants.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, wishing not for the first time that he had the same link with his brothers the middle three had, so he could push the emotions behind the words into Virgil’s head until he understood what he meant.

But then, the two of them had never needed that to understand each other.

Virgil’s eyes softened just a bit.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. Orca-Gordon let out what sounded almost like an indignant set of clicks and whistles. “I know you are, Gordon, but Thunderbird Two is faster and his wings are still in the water.”

Scott assumed Gordon had been protesting that home was already where he’d been taking him.

More clicks and whistles, but the orca slowed to a halt. Virgil fiddled with his wrist comm, and the giant Thunderbird lowered, her belly opening and a harness descending.

Scott was no use at all, still too exhausted from his dunking to do anything except lay on Gordon’s back as Virgil fussed around him with straps until he was secured for hauling up. It wasn’t the most glamourous of transportation, and being in the air without being able to rely on his wings for flight if something happened was more than a little unsettling, but it did the job. With Virgil also hooked into the harness and travelling up alongside him – although his wings were only folded and not let go in what was a quiet assurance for Scott’s nerves at being mid-air with his own out of action, which his younger brother almost certainly did for that exact reason – he soon found himself safely inside the green ‘bird.

What he wasn’t prepared for, as Virgil lifted him to his feet and gently hauled an arm across his shoulders while his own snaked around Scott’s waist for support – obviously taking as much care as possible not to disturb his wings – was Gordon’s entrance.

Scott had assumed another harness would be sent down, if Gordon even chose to get on board instead of racing them home. In his exhaustion, he had clearly forgotten his aquatic brother’s penchant for dramatics.

Watching an orca breach was breath-taking. That much sea creature did not seem like it should be able to clear the water much, if at all, but in true Gordon style, the black and white face almost reached the still-open hatch before fading back into the tanned skin and blond hair of his human form. Scott’s heart leapt up as he realised Gordon wasn’t high enough to grab the edge of the hatch, but before he could react, a tanned hand grabbed onto a trailing harness strap and his second-youngest brother climbed the rest of the way into the module bay.

Beside him, Virgil was all but quivering in vibrant disapproval.

“Gordon-” his brother growled.

“I knew what I was going,” Gordon interrupted, waving a hand as though to dismiss Virgil’s ire at the reckless stunt. Whatever else was exchanged on the matter seemed to be non-verbal, as amber eyes flickered in Virgil’s direction in what could have been an eyeroll even as the blond picked his way over to Scott’s side.

Virgil was supporting him from his left, away from the injured wing, and Gordon didn’t get too close to his right out of obvious concern, but Scott still found himself the object of scrutiny.

“You look awful,” Gordon told him bluntly, stepping backwards as Virgil clearly decided to save the lecture for later and refocused on leading Scott and his still-spread wings over to the medical bay.

Scott had told them both that he was fine, and it was perfectly clear to him that saying it again would not affect his brothers’ opinions. So he switched tactics. “Thanks,” he said dryly, leaning heavily on the levity – and also Virgil’s shoulder as his slightly unsteady self was guided over to a stretcher. It worked enough to get a small grin from the blond.

Normally, the stretcher would be secured up against the module wall. With his wings still more outstretched than not, despite the water weighing them down – painfully, now that gravity was in the equation rather than buoyancy – there was no way that Scott would be able to lay on anything remotely close to a wall. Brains, however, was a genius with multiple fail safes, and while they tended to try and avoid lifting on rescues unless there was no alternative, he had included a reconfiguration of the stretcher that could be laid on with wings outstretched. Just in case.

It was secured to the roof of the module, lowered mezzanine style when required, with sides that folded out to support the outstretched wings. Additional telescopic legs extended from the underside to lock into ports on the module floor, firmly locking it in place against any movement the Thunderbird might make in flight.

With the rest of the equipment that could potentially be in the module, it was sometimes a tight fit, but it fit and that was what mattered.

Scott didn’t bother resisting as Virgil coaxed him onto it, trying his best not to entirely face-plant as he returned to horizontal and the relief of gravity no longer tugging at the edges of his wings. Cushioning his head with his forearms, he shifted his left wing until it draped itself over the extension, still waterlogged. A glance over at it showed pinions in disarray from his unwelcome dunking, the sensation of which hadn’t particularly registered over the pain of the other, but now that he’d seen it began to niggle incessantly in the back of his mind.

The right was less inclined to obey, muscles screaming in protest at the mere idea that they should move, and it was with great reluctance that he left it as it had flopped.

There had been enough crying out in pain in earshot of little brothers today.

Unfortunately, his brothers seemed to disagree as Virgil appeared somewhere near his head, murmuring apologies as his hands cradled the shoulder of the wing and manipulated it into position. Lighter touches further down, out of sight, told him Gordon was helping the rest of the wing follow the movement.

Scott bit down on an arm to muffle any vocalisations at the pain.

“Sorry, Scott,” Virgil repeated, sympathetic pain in his own voice. “I’m going to need to stop the bleeding before you lose too much blood.” Treatment meant more pain, but Scott knew it was an unfortunate necessity.

He turned his head away as Virgil drew out the anaesthetic, trying to ignore the sting of the needle at the base of his wing. It wouldn’t completely dull the pain, their wings were all too sensitive for that, but it would take the edge off, at least.

“Hey.” Gordon appeared in his line of vision, hair mussed where he’d obviously attacked it carelessly with a towel. A hand rested on one of his arms, his second youngest brother always tactile, and more so after one of them had been in trouble. Scott was half-surprised there wasn’t an octopus wrapping around him. Something in Gordon’s eyes told him it had been considered.

“Hey,” he replied, doing his best to ignore the sensations as Virgil got to work on his injured wing, sending shoots of supressed pain through his flight muscles as they reacted to whatever he was doing. Scott had learnt from experience that sometimes it wasn’t worth watching.

Considering he’d been in the water, Gordon’s hand was surprisingly dry against his own still-wet skin. It wasn’t like him to dry off so quickly; often it took a brother or three or a grandmother to persuade him otherwise.

His brother had something in mind, and Scott might not be linked with him, but he was pretty certain it involved him.

“Do you want a hand?” Gordon glanced meaningfully at his wing – left, uninjured, wing – and as if on cue the irritation of pinions out of alignment flared up again. Scott could handle it himself later, if Virgil didn’t get there first after finishing with the injury – which would no doubt include soothing the ruffled feathers on that wing as well – but later meant later and Gordon was offering to do it now.

Like all of them, there were very few people Scott trusted near his wings, and despite not having wings of his own, Gordon featured on that shortlist.

Gordon didn’t often touch their wings, not since gaining his own Mark and losing any and all jealousy he’d ever had about being the one left out even though he’d never cared to fly, but like Grandma – and Dad – had wriggled his way into learning to care for them regardless. Scott had fond memories of watching Virgil talk Gordon through it on his own black feathers the first few times, offering himself up as practice. Their mental link had probably helped Gordon comprehend what it was like, and sometimes Scott wondered if it was similar for him and his own Mark, or if it was entirely different.

“I’d appreciate one,” he admitted, no reason nor desire to decline when it needed doing at some point anyway. Gordon grinned and dropped a towel on his head.

Typical annoying little brother, but Scott took the hint and, careful not to jostle his right arm or wing, where Virgil was working, ran it over his hair to get the worst of the water away.

When he finished, Gordon was out of sight. His location was betrayed a moment later, when Scott discarded the towel and nimble fingers immediately made themselves known at the junction of the wing and shoulder. As always, a light tremble ran through the wing at the initial contact, which Gordon waited out before starting.

The methodical approach his brother settled into was soothing, and Scott didn’t have to work too hard to convince himself to focus on that rather than the far less soothing sensations coming from his right wing, where Virgil appeared to have progressed to wrapping the wound.

Considering both the size of his wings – they might be marginally smaller than Virgil’s, but they were still huge – and the waterlogging he couldn’t just shake away, Gordon’s treatment took time. A towel was introduced, only the lightest of touches to avoid damaging any feathers, but enough to absorb at least some of the water, and Gordon’s fingers coaxed out enough of the rest that Scott could feel the weight easing away. It wasn’t perfect; he’d still need to shake the wing at some point, or at least hold it open while upright so the rest would seep away. But it was enough to be a relief.

The secondary relief of his feathers realigning to true and the itch fading away was also very welcome indeed.

By the time Gordon was done with the back of his left wing, Scott could feel Virgil doing the same thing to his injured wing. It wasn’t as enjoyable, entirely due to the injury and all sensations therefore determined to report as varying levels of pain, but it was a good pain – comparable to the satisfaction of peeling scabs – that faded as those feathers, too, found themselves realigned by the care of a brother.

“The front will have to wait a while,” Gordon said, reappearing in his eyeline. There was another towel in his hands, which he was clearly using to get rid of the water that had transferred from Scott’s wings to his fingers. “Feeling better?”

If Gordon had asked, Scott was more than willing to lift his wing from the stretcher so he could get at the currently face-down feathers, but the look in his brother’s eyes said that even if he did that, he wouldn’t be touching them. Considering the bone-deep exhaustion that had done nothing but grow as he’d felt safer and safer with his brothers, it was true that Scott might – might – not be able to hold it up long enough.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “Remind me not to go swimming with them lifted in the future.”

There was an aborted noise from Virgil, who still didn’t have the whole story and was no doubt going to be demanding it later – alongside the rest of the family – but Virgil wasn’t the one who’d faced down and prepared to attack multiple boats to keep him safe, so Scott ignored it.

Gordon knew what he was doing; he could see it in the quirk of his lips and the resigned amusement in his eyes. There was more than one brother who would be having nightmares tonight, after all.

“If you even think about it, I’ll drag you straight back out faster than you can say Thunderbird One,” his brother replied after a moment. It was light-hearted, matching Scott’s attempt at levity to keep both their heads above water about what had happened, and what could have happened, but it was also a promise.

Gordon might not have the same link with him that he did with his other older brothers, but somehow he’d be there. Like he was this time, and eyeing the swimming shorts that were the only attire his water-loving brother wore, Scott decided that just this once, he’d let him off going swimming so far from the island.

He didn’t think he was going to be receiving any such leniency for his own distance from home, but after today, Scott was content to stay a little closer. Despite the reassurance of Gordon’s promise, he had no desire to repeat the experience.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderwhump #help me (keep my head above water)#wingfic #au #marks&wings #gumnut-logic

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shiny-procrastinates · 3 years ago

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(re)Watching Magia Record S1 - part 1

Hello and welcome everyone to the first post on this watch-along commentary of the first season of Magia Record! Whether you are just now watching it for the first time, or are re-watching in preparation for the second season, or have only played the game and are curious about the anime (in which case I'd be surprised you even exist) I hope you can have some fun reading these ramblings as I try to put my thoughts into words (actually turned more into narrating the show) throughout all 12 13 episodes.

Before we can get to it, though, I have a few warnings to give:

1 - As much as I'd love to be able to memory swipe so I can watch this fresh all over again, such an ability is sadly still beyond my grasp. In other words, this isn't my first time watching (or second, for that matter; more like the sixth… or seventh…). That being the case I can't claim that these are my first impressions and it's very likely this commentary will be somewhat biased by my previous knowledge. However, I can guarantee one thing: I will do my best to keep this spoiler-free, so you don't have to worry if this is your first time watching.

(I will, however, be assuming that you have watched the OG series and Rebellion, so beware of that).

2 - Please don't come into this expecting it to be Madoka 2

Also no, this is not a continuation of the OG, it’s an alternate universe spin-off.

This one's for first-time viewers.

Well, ok, this sounds like vague tweeting and I'm kind of whining here, but I have seen a number of peeps on the internet saying that Magia Record is bad only for their argument to boil down to "because it isn't OG Madoka!"

Yeah it isn't. I'm pretty sure there's "Side Story" written somewhere in the title too.

Leaving aside the matter of nostalgia glasses and whether the original series was that much of a masterpiece or not (it's been over five years since I last watched it, so I can't say anything either way.) it seems kind of weird to me that someone would bash a spinoff on the grounds of how close it is to the original. Because here's the thing: to me, the whole point of spinoffs is taking an already existing scenario and putting a spin on it to make something new. That's exactly what makes them fun!

MagiReco didn't need to be a Madoka clone or to try hard and beat the original. That would probably have made it bad, actually. What it did need to do was to create an interesting story using the world set up by the OG Madoka and the other spinoffs, and that, in my opinion, it did, so I hope people can give it a chance and judge it on its own merits rather than only compared to the original. I'm not saying you can't hate it, either, I myself have my own problems with it, it's just that I want to see more reasonable reasons than "it's not the OG so it's bad".

3 - As you can probably already tell from these warnings, these posts are bound to get looong, so I'd recommend setting aside a fair amount of time and getting real comfy if you're gonna read it all. I also don't mind if you just skip ahead and only read the interesting parts, I'm not the internet police.

3.5 - I don't want to use it as an excuse, but I think I should make it clear that English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes and awkward/stilted text. It's hard to tell by myself, so feel free to correct me if you find something.

SO, with that out of the way let’s get down to what’s really important:

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story: Magia Record Episode 1

Whew, now that’s a mouthful.

You know, in my mind I always thought a “side story” was something that happened alongside a “main story”, like another POV, so I’m not sure that’s the most appropriate title, but who am I to judge?

So here we go, we’re off with some beautiful futuristic scenery already, that’s the Madoka series I know.

As the classic Sis Puella Magi plays in the background, two unseen narrators tell us the tale of the so called “magical girls” as we are shown the reality of being one, meeting our first witch for this series.

Risking your life to save a cat doesn’t seem like the smartest of things. Rather, witches eat cats? That’s mean.

No, you really, really don’t. This narration definitely seems made to make everyone who saw the original say this, particularly with how silly are the wishes these girls suggest.

And hey, look, even this girl who supposedly had her wish granted doesn’t seem very happy.

Hang in there, this is only the first episode.

Man, this scenery really is pretty though.

After an exciting fight with a witch in the train, our girl here silently goes home to find

Whatever the heck this is.

So, our girl here seems to be having strange visions whenever she enters her room, that is very very suspiciously cut exactly in half. Protagonist, you sure have an unique sense of interior decoration.

She goes on with her day, makes two lunchboxes and… oh, it seems she’s all alone.

Is this something you should be telling your own daughter?

Long story short, Iroha’s parents are abroad right now (as is suspiciously the case with many a anime protagonist parents). I actually love the parallel this scene draws with OG Madoka: whereas Madoka’s parents seem responsible and Madoka even looks up to her mom and they’re a happy united family, Iroha comes off as being the responsible one in her family and her parents are gone from the get-go. This way, the lonely atmosphere of the previous scene also starts making sense.

So, it seems like there’s something Iroha wants to do here, and that’s why she decided to stay behind.

Perhaps. Did you wish to save a black cat?

Wow, this teacher is speaking fast. Calm down lady, we’re not here to speedrun the content, geez. Though I guess we should be happy she’s at least giving a proper class, unlike a certain other teacher…

Oh great, it's this guy.

Ok, Iroha doesn’t remember what she wished for and Kyuubei doesn’t know either, although he knows she used her wish for the sake of someone. Kyuubei theorizes that the reason she doesn’t remember might be that not remembering was part of her wish, but Iroha doesn’t think she’d wish for that. I don’t think you’d ever think to wish for something like that until you had to wish for something like that though.

She’s got a fair point. After all, wishing in this universe is basica— the heck is going on in the background there?! O-kaaay…

Iroha was having a weird think-spot mental conversation with Kyuubei there, and missed speedrun teacher’s lecture entirely. Being meguca is suffering.

We get some school motto propaganda, and now we’re on the roof. Oh? Where did all the friendship stuff from the propaganda go? Seems like Iroha’s not following the school spirit. Unless she considers the white weasel a friend, so that’s why she gave him her extra… wait, Kyuubei can EAT? I thought he was some alien machine-like being. H-Huh...

Classmate A: Tamaki-san, maji tenshi!

She’s probably just shy. According to her classmates, Iroha used to be busy doing something or the other, but no one can remember what that is.

Cute.

But maybe don’t do that somewhere someone could easily walk in on you, Iroha.

Iroha gets a call by the girl from the combat scene from before, whose name is Kuroe. I couldn’t tell from their conversation if they’ve known each other for a while or if they just met each other for the first time in the fight before.

On the train, although she’s the one who called her over, Kuroe remains silent. Iroha, clearly uncomfortable, tries her best to make conversation. Poor Iroha, I know the feeling.

We learn from her that the number of witches around has been decreasing. She comments that being unable to get Grief Seeds is troubling, but it’s better than having witches causing trouble. Poor girl has no way to know just how much of a bad news it is running out of Grief Seeds.

What’s with pink-haired girls and lacking self-esteem? Iroha, are you sure you didn’t wish to save a black and forget that you did? You did save a white one just before.

Kuroe finally decides to talk, and she tells us this:

If you go to Kamihama, you’ll be saved. To anyone that saw the OG, the first thought that comes to mind is that they’ll be saved from their destiny of turning into witches, but it seems Kuroe doesn’t know the truth yet. She just doesn’t want to fight witches anymore. I think.

The train lights up, and…

...this is extremely unsettling considering the truth about witches and the conversation they’re having right now. There’s a lot of this, but this just hits different having watched the original.

Iroha’s not inclined to believe what Kuroe’s saying. Of course, despite not remembering her wish, she’s the type that’s happy with fighting witches if she can save someone, and Kuroe’s not being very convincing either. The whole thing is apparently a rumor spread by some girls who saw a dream that told them that.

Except that Kuroe actually had the dream too.

Like most magical girls, Kuroe made a short-sighted wish, and regrets it. She now wants to be saved, so she’s going to Kamihama.

...or she was, but before that, they’ll have to defeat the witch they let escape the other day, ‘cos she’s back for more.

I actually have so many questions about this scene. Weren’t Labyrinths pocket dimensions? How come this one’s moving in physical space? We know witches themselves move and their Labyrinth goes with that, but I thought it was more, like, the entrance to the Labyrinth moves. Then how come witches can escape if magical girls get carried with their Labyrinth when they move…? Just... just... what?

The answer to all of that is probably “magic”.

Like that, Express Witch Labyrinth crashes right into what seems to be a train station. Labyrinths don’t have brakes, confirmed.

Brutal.

Looks like it’s not only magical girls who have territorial disputes going on. Although it’s nice that they won’t have to fight two witches at the same time, this is not exactly a relief when you consider these two were already struggling with the previous one, and this one just ripped it apart like crab.

As expected, Iroha’s arrows do no damage at all. When all seems lost…

A wild singing mini Kyuubei appears! Is this a shiny?

The singing Kyuubei distracts the witch and jumps towards Iroha, who uses her pro white cat catching skills to grab it, and… something happens. Whatever this Kyuubei did, Iroha’s having some flashbacks now. Sadly, the middle of a battle isn’t the best time to be having a BSOD and, despite Kuroe’s attempts to snap her out of it, they’re sitting ducks right now, a black and a white one.

Thankfully for them, though, they’re not alone in this barrier. This mystery blue haired girl spams flying spears and makes short work of the witch Iroha’s arrows didn’t even scratch earlier. She’s clearly at a whole ‘nother level.

Also, chibi Kyuubei’s gone. Totally not suspicious. Nope. Not at all.

So, from this OP miss get-the-heck-out-of-my-territory, who didn’t even bother saying her name, we learn that not only there is no salvation in Kamihama, there are more, stronger witches, and there are currently no Kyuubei. She gives them the Grief Seeds from the two witches before, and passes on a warning to them. Not the friendliest of magical girls. Though if you consider what happens when you run out of Grief Seeds, one could understand why it’d be undesirable having too many magical girls in the same place.

With this, Iroha and Kuroe take the train back to their town and things are totally awkward again.

Welp, seems like Kuroe doesn’t want to chat anymore, so we’ll have a dream sequence instead.

Forgive my lack of words, but this scene doesn’t need them. This is just… you couldn’t ask for a better representation of what being a magical girl wishing for salvation is like. Everyone has their own reasons, but in the end, having known despair, these girls are desperately clinging to this last hope called Kamihama. It’s almost a pilgrimage.

“Let’s go to Kamihama. We’ll be saved there”

And in the midst of all that is the mysterious girl from Iroha’s dreams.

(the track here, Paradero de Memoria, is also great btw)

Now, with various wishes written all over in the background, we get Kyuubei’s spiel about magical girls. I think this is word-by-word the same from the original too.

We now get to finally know what our protagonist’s wish was.

So Iroha wished to cure her younger sister’s illness, but the sister in question is now nowhere to be found. Worse: everything related to her is gone. Even Iroha, who made a wish for her sake, didn’t remember her existence until now. Oh man, that’s no normal disappearance. What happened? Guess that’s what Iroha will have to find out now.

With that, we conclude the first episode of Magia Record(’s s1)!

This is a really strong first episode in my opinion. It decently introduces our protagonist, sets up the mysteries we will be dealing with from here on and also manages to trace connections with the original, while using the viewer’s previous knowledge to give a whole different impression to some scenes. You wouldn’t be like “hell no” at the rumor there at the start if you didn’t know the truth about magical girls, and I doubt that final scene would hit that hard either. It’s just really good at this and it’ll continue doing that from now on. I love it.

Speaking of the final scene, me having watched the original over five years ago might also be part of it but that is really my favorite scene in Madoka overall. I just really really love that scene. (Seriously, I’ve watched this scene so many times I know it by heart now. Help.)

Alas, I lied, the episode’s not over yet, we still have our classic anime first episode ending-opening to watch. So let’s listen, to Gomakashi:

This logo’s real pretty.

So yeah, pretty standard anime opening. If you pay attention, there are some references to Connect too, what with the selfcest and whatnot. Although I managed to mistake this when I first watched, this one’s actually sung by the trio TrySail rather than ClariS. That’s the VAs for Iroha, Asakura Momo; Yachiyo (the get-out-of-my-territory girl), Amamiya Sora and Natsukawa Shiina, whose character we’ve yet to meet. TrySail has a lot of cool songs, so do check them out if you haven’t already. (free ad)

This time, in fact, the episode is over! Whew, I did say this was going to be long, but not even I thought it’d be this long. By the time this is posted I should have a backlog of these, so my plan is to post one everyday until we are done. I hope you had fun reading this here rant and I’ll be looking forward to meeting you guys again tomorrow, same place, maybe same hour, so we can go on and watch episode 2 together!

(P.S.: I am considering doing a series of posts at a later date comparing the anime to the game, but we’ll see. The first few chapters are fine, but the game is stupidly long, so I feel it’d take a lot of motivation and stamina I’m not sure I have at the moment. There’s also the possibility watching the first arc again would bring back my yt copy-apocalipse grief back and that’d suck, definitely don’t wanna go through that again.)

#magia record #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm magia record #this post apologizes for existing

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 23

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 23 - Child Ghost

Twenty minutes later, each of the three hooligans sat on the bench in the hospital corridor in a daze, each clutching a bottle of fresh orange juice. The nurse had just scolded them for disturbing the rest of the patients in the surrounding rooms, and they all looked a little bit ashamed. A-Yan's face had some colour brought back. After drinking a few sips of the drink, he calmly said: "I c-can't exorcise it completely. I can only figure out the source of this thing. Maybe it's a good thing that it's harder to expel."

Lin Yan asked what he meant, and the little Daoist priest explained: “As the saying goes, 'He who never wrongs others does not fear the knock in the night*.' Although this girl is weak from her illness, there must be other reasons why, out of so many other patients, this thing chose her. If we can find the reason, then maybe it will leave by itself."

*(T/N: 不做亏心事，不��鬼敲门 - means if you've done nothing wrong, you don't have to worry about any retributions.)

"It-It keeps repeating 'Why haven't you come yet?' It may be a wandering spirit who hasn't fulfilled his dying wish. His Yin energy is very weak. He probably died not that long ago."

Lin Yan's heart skipped a beat. He suddenly thought of Xiao Yu, and couldn't help but reveal his recent doubts to the little Daoist priest. After a long while, he turned his head and looked at the ghost next to him, and whispered: "Last time, I was only concerned about getting rid of him. I never asked him anything."

A-Yan sat curled up in the chair and listened to Lin Yan while gnawing on the cap of the orange juice bottle. He looked like a kitten. He jolted up and said: "Ghosts are divided into different categories. Today, the one here can only manifest by attaching itself to a living person and it will disappear once that person dies. However, the one that follows you is very, very strong."

A-Yan continued: "A ghost has no form at first, but if the soul is resentful and the body is buried in a place where the atmosphere has heavy negative energy, it's very likely to turn into a powerful ghost. A ghost will cultivate for a hundred years with a phantom body and, after a long time, it will develop a real body. When they have a real body, they don’t have to resort to 'bump around' like today, and they can even move around in the daytime without fear of Yang energy. They aren't so much ghosts as they are demons or animals." A-Yan clenched his fingers: " The most difficult evil spirit to deal with is known as the true body of the ten thousand clans. It requires special formations, plus needs to be done at the right time and place, so there's not much room for error. Once a part of the process goes wrong, the exorcist is likely to be drowned by the energy, go insane and instead be harmed by the evil spirit."

"L-Last time the formation was set up, Master made a fake one to fool the ghost, and he found the gap in time he needed. Otherwise, if you wanted to eliminate him, I'm afraid that you would have to gather more than fifteen boys in a Mandarin Duck Formation to have any hope." A-Yan suddenly gave Lin Yan a strange smile: "That was because he had just re-entered the world and was still confused when we tricked him. Now, I'm afraid. . . Brother Lin Yan, at this point, he should have already remembered something, right?"

Lin Yan thought back on all the things that happened at the lecture and the ghost's increasingly human-like behaviour. He was secretly surprised; was this ghost really recovering his memory? He nodded and replied, "He told me lots of things the day of the lecture. He can talk, just not very much."

A-Yan smiled nervously: "Y-Your four-pillar pure Yin is the most suitable alignment to feed ghosts. The longer he follows you, the more physical he'll become, and the more he'll remember."

"But. . ." A-Yan looked into the distance with a glaze in his eyes, his fingers tightly squeezed the drink bottle. He turned back and grinned at Lin Yan: "Be very careful."

"All I can say is that every action has a reaction, and I can't help you with anything at that point."

He didn’t know why, but Lin Yan felt that the way the little Daoist priest spoke seemed to imply something. Feeding ghosts. . . Lin Yan harshly inhaled the hospital’s air mixed with the smell of disinfectant and frowned. “Let's not talk about it. We have to save A-Zhou's cousin first and figure out the reason for the possession. Do you have to find out who the deceased is first?"

A-Yan nodded. Yin Zhou held his glasses, a little confused: "We don't have much time left. Dozens of people die in hospitals every month. We don't have time to go through each of them individually."

Lin Yan sighed: "That's no other option. Go and pull up the records of everyone who's died recently in the hospital. Maybe there's a clue somewhere."

After all, there were several people now that were exhausted from the attempted exorcism, paralyzed on the bench and not wanting to move. Lin Yan discreetly adjusted his position. Xiao Yu suddenly walked over to him, squatted down and grabbed his knees with both hands.

Lin Yan turned his face and snorted. "Weren't you ignoring me?"

Xiao Yu didn't answer. He gently lowered his head and put the side of his face on Lin Yan's knees, long hair cascading behind him like a waterfall. Lin Yan instinctively wanted to reach out his hand to touch his head, then he thought that he was probably still angry, so he put on an indifferent air and cold expression, not acknowledging him.

After a while, Xiao Yu raised his head. He pressed his hands firmly against Lin Yan's legs, stood up, turned and walked further down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" Lin Yan asked in a low voice. Seeing that he didn't answer, he had to follow a few steps behind. Xiao Yu quietly returned to the door of Xiao Yang's room and went straight through the door panel. Lin Yan was full of doubts. Peeking carefully through the door glass, he saw that Xiao Yang's mother was tired from crying and was sitting on the side of the bed, dozing off with her arms propping up her forehead. The girl, on the other hand, waited by the window again in the same manner as when Lin Yan had first arrived.

Xiao Yu walked to the girl's back and patted her shoulder lightly. What happened next left Lin Yan dumbfounded. The girl with her rolled-back eyes turned around and quietly "looked" at Xiao Yu, showing a normal human on her face for the first time. The corners of her mouth were pulled downward, a look of aggravation painted clearly on her face. Xiao Yu was tall, so he simply squatted in front of the girl and stroked her hair very softly. They were talking, and Lin Yan's eyes widened. Although he could not hear them, their expressions and slightly moving lips convinced him that they were indeed communicating in a language he didn't understand.

The little Daoist priest and Yin Zhou also followed at this time. They curiously holding the windowpane and looking in. They couldn't help but be shocked by the girl's appearance now.

"She's talking to herself?" Yin Zhou was surprised: "What's she saying?"

"Mortuary language." The little Daoist said in a deep voice. "The language used in ancient rituals to communicate with the dead."

Lin Yan looked at the harmonious picture in the room, unconsciously picking at the crack of the door. He grit his teeth and indignantly thought you're Xiao Yu. At home, you're fierce and want to kill me, yet you go talk to a young girl with such a tender look. You just look at such a pretty young girl that I don’t want to let it go. Zhu Xi's Neo-Confucianist teachings have really gone to the dogs. It’s useless for you to think about it. I decided ages ago. When she's a few years older, I'll take her to watch movies and visit the amusement park. Let's see what you can do. . .

"Hey? Are you going to follow him inside?" Yin Zhou patted Lin Yan on his shoulder. Lin Yan had been distracted internally cursing Xiao Yu, and he was so frightened that the hairs on his neck stood on end.

"Holy shit, when did you get here? Were you trying to scare me to death by keeping quiet?!" Lin Yan grumbled, clutching his heart.

"Did you really not hear me talking so loudly before?!" Yin Zhou said in surprise: ". . . Why are you blushing?"

A-Yan smiled and gave Lin Yan a deep look, not making a sound.

The conversation in the room seemed to be over. Xiao Yu stood up. He leaned over and rubbed the top of the girl's head and walked out. Xiao Yang reluctantly turned and stood by the window again. Lin Yan gritted his teeth and waited outside. He internally decided he wouldn't fall for any more of his tricks considering he seemed to do them with anyone. . .

Xiao Yu had already returned to stand in front of him while he was distracted. Lin Yan turned his face away from him in anger, but Xiao Yu didn't care. He took out the memo and the soft-tip fountain pen Lin Yan had bought from his pocket and began to write.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Yin Zhou looked at the pen and paper hanging in the air and stared in shock.

Xiao Yu shoved the note into Lin Yan's hand, then retreated to stand behind him. Lin Yan looked down. The light green note had two lines written on it. The first line was a series of capitalized numbers: "Three-Five-One-Zero-Zero-Four." The second line was a sentence: "He's waiting for his father."

"Father?" Yin Zhou looked at the words on the note and suddenly clapped his hands: "Hey, I got it, no wonder it came to Xiao Yang. Xiao Yang's mother is a single parent. My uncle passed away last year. I came to the hospital to watch her overnight last week and heard her say she missed her dad and it felt like he was still there with her. . . Then what does that row of numbers mean?"

Lin Yan was also puzzled holding the note. When he asked Xiao Yu, he shook his head and didn't speak. Lin Yan couldn't help muttering, "What the hell? You touched her head and smiled for a long time without asking anything. . . It’s not because the little girl looks good..."

"A g-ghost's memories are incomplete. They can only remember what they want. It would be nice if they can remember the numbers." A-Yan suddenly opened his mouth, his eyes sharply focused towards Lin Yan. Lin Yan's face grew hot, and he hurriedly lowered his head to cover it up. He explained to him that he was searching for people, why did his mind take such a strange turn. . .

That being said, why did he always get distracted by a dead person? This isn't going to work, no. Lin Yan secretly squeezed his fist.

Yin Zhou saw that the two of them were acting strangely. He crossed his hands behind his head and looked around in the corridor. When he saw the computer in front of the nurse on duty at the staircase, his eyes suddenly lit up, and he whistled frivolously: "Look, dude. Time for some fun."

With Lin Yan's girl-pleasing good looks and Yin Zhou's series of honeyed compliments, the three stooges quickly got their hands on the nurse's sister's computer. Yin Zhou stared at the screen intently. His fingers flew across the keyboard and the mouse clicked rapidly. After 15 minutes, the corners of his mouth stretched upward. His whole body suddenly leaned back in the swivel chair. He squinted his eyes and exclaimed: "Done. Turns out the info comes from this hospital. Makes it much more convenient not having to check other systems."

Lin Yan leaned in front of the computer, and the homepage showed: "351004, Zhou Jintian, male, 11 years old, died on May 11. Cause of death: internal organ rupture causing extensive abdominal hemorrhaging." A scanned copy of the body claim form was attached below. In the lower right corner where the family members signed, the family name was written in two large characters: "Zhou Mo" with a small red seal next to it.

"From the deceased's information from the database, this line of numbers is the bed number from the morgue." Yin Zhou touched his head: "This ghost is a child. No wonder he's standing by the window all the time, waiting for his father to pick him up from school."

Lin Yan took a picture of the page with his phone. He smiled and pushed the back of Yin Zhou's head: "Good job."

At the spicy and sour noodle shop across from the hospital.

Lin Yan always disliked eating near hospitals. He always feels that there were grieving patients’ families and infectious bacteria floating everywhere, but these spicy and sour noodles were particularly famous. Lin Yan drove the car for a while, and after a lengthy internal struggle, he turned back. Lin Yan scooped a spoonful of spicy soup and was satisfied that a delicious dinner was definitely worth it.

The little Daoist priest left for a shift in the restaurant where he worked. Yin Zhou stayed in the hospital to see the patient and verify the information. Lin Yan sat alone at the snack bar, a greasy orange plastic table with two bowls of spicy and sour noodles in front of him. One was placed in front of him, and the other was pushed to the opposite side. The "person" only he could see was sitting in the opposite chair with his face turned sideways in a daze. It seems that the ghost really didn't need to eat. Lin Yan sighed and asked in a low voice: "You don't eat or sleep, you follow me every day, aren't you tired?"

Xiao Yu ignored him. His slender fingers propped up his chin, and the outline of his side face looked very beautiful in the dimming daylight. The table was near the window, and the warm yellow halo of the street lamp brushed over the bridge of his nose. His skin looked as fine as porcelain. It felt like porcelain too, icy cold.

Things were still awkward.

"Excuse me, can I borrow the chair? We don't have enough." A childish male voice sounded and Lin Yan raised his head. A boy dressed as a high school student was holding the back of Xiao Yu's chair. He saw Lin Yan looked confused and pointed to the boys and girls chatting at a large table next door. The girls were wearing heavy makeup, the boys wearing ear studs, their school uniforms covered in black and blue pen doodles. There were so many people in the store that they were missing several chairs.

"Someone's using it." Lin Yan replied quietly.

"I know you've been sitting here for a while, no one's there." The boy was unyielding.

"If I say someone's there, someone's there, and if they aren't there now, they will be later." Lin Yan was a little impatient.

"Nutjob, it's just a chair, why so angry?" The boy muttered. Before leaving, he rolled his eyes at Lin Yan.

"Sorry." Lin Yan mumbled to the boy's back. He wasn't sure why. No one could see Xiao Yu, which always made him a little anxious. Lin Yan hesitated and for the first time took the initiative to reach out and touch Xiao Yu's statue-like fingers and whispered, "It's lonely, isn't it? Of all the people in the world, I'm the only one who can see you and I treat you badly."

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei #danmei novel #bl novel

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jeans-ong-ong · 4 years ago

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Hi! I just wanted to say I adore your comic! The colours are so beautiful, your art style is lovely, and the care you put into this project is evident. With so many things to tackle, like using real life cultures, the effects of war on those in service and out of it, and mental health, How do you go about doing research for it?

Hello! Thank you for this wonderful ask - both for the compliments and the interesting questions. So, let’s dive right into it: apologies for the long answer, but when you ask a creator to talk about their projects, they love to do it.

I started planning Introspection of a Deserter right when I began attending my Bachelor course in Education and Pedagogy - I met a lot of philosophical concepts that tingled my creativity, and I had to read a lot of books, so I felt like I was in the right mental space to handle a project that was deep and complex. I was studying how people grow up and shape their life, and it felt relevant for me to write a fictional biography that hit a series of themes that were interesting for me. I was 19, and now I am 22, and in all honesty I don’t think I’ve done a good job on the needed research.

Cultures Well, this part was simplified by the show. I think the creators of Avatar did some decent research, especially aesthetic wise, but they didn’t really go for the authentic representation. The info I got by talking with some asian fans is that Avatar does not work according to determined social mechanics, for example, in Korea or Vietnam. From what I gather, it was felt closer by Asian Americans, due to the characters feeling quite american, but the aesthetic being non-western (in A:tla at least). Being pretentious as I am, I felt like I wanted to use a bit more authenticity, but I didn’t really get it right on several aspects. I watched some fantasy asian movies to get examples for the tone I wanted (fun fact: I’m working on a watchlist of 30 movies to find the root of the mood of Introspection), mostly chinese; I read some articles about daily lifestyles and so on. On a hindsight, I should have watched more documentaries. I actually planned a trip to Vietnam in the indefinite future to “feel” the vegetation more! Vegetation is one of those thing you tend to take for granted, but it gives an entirely different texture and feeling to the landscape. Take, for example, the webcomic Heart of Keol: I couldn’t do that just by watching some fantasy movies (the author is, indeed, Korean), I need to live it first. However, a lot of stuff was made up and conveniently placed there, and that ... that has some consequences. See, for example, the religion storyline. Now, this one is a sore spot for me, because I’m viscerally attached to it. I don’t actually plan to change it in the near future - even if I do have a pair of books about buddhism on my readlist. What I’m telling in the comic is fundamentally a story about pseudo-catholicism: the concept of sin doesn’t match the concept of karma, the “sinfulness” of homosexuality and the desire of redemption, that’s just something that does not make sense in the context of a Buddhist culture. Let’s not even get into reincarnation: I have not done the minimum amount of research necessary to get such a difficult concept. And yet, I feel like changing this side of the comic would distort it to an unrecognizable story, and if I want to keep drawing it, I believe I need to mantain a bond with it. Will I try to be more authentic nonetheless? Yes. The effect of war I must admit I am quite fashinated by war. There is actually a branch in Medical Anthropology that studies war! And not only in the Medical one. However, the academics that do that have a severely higher risk of getting shot so I’m... still considering it, yes? I started looking into it because of Introspection. I think reading stories is educational most of the time, if only for the spark of interest one might develop for certain themes. You create some basis neuronal connections that will make it easy to look into more reliable sources later. But what is even better for me is Writing Stories: perfectionism forces me to look into sources (and as I grow older, I get that more and more), and looking into those makes me wish to write a story in that setting. That being said, my personal connection to war has been pretty indirect so far. I’ve listened and read stories about people who have been in battles, soldiers, victims - and I’ve been reading a lot about colonization in the last 4 years; from the classics to current issues (think Palestine). I include this bit on colonization because it will/would be a very recurrent theme in the story, and yet I know I’m still not there yet, I need to be more informed. The interest started with the disciplined experience of being in the military as studied by Goffman, and later on by Foucault, but then came in the concept blood thirst, and how does one person manage to enjoy killing people? How does one’s conscience tolerate it? I still haven’t finished doing research for that, because that story line “has just started”, and I like to keep concepts fresh in my mind (probably a mistake. Artists: do the research before you start working on the story, not while you’re doing it - unless it’s a written piece, that you can rework and rework. I didn’t finish the script before starting to draw the comic, so uh ... that’s a consequence). Mental health This was probably the one I winged the most through experience and knowledge gathered over the years. I haven’t properly read a book about depression yet - but I’ve just got one pending in the reading list, and the same goes (spoilers!) for alcohol and drug addiction. I did read a lot of experiences told by those who have been there, and I’ve even done an internship (actually only half of it because of Covid-19) in a rehab center for alcohol and drug abuse. However I know depression a bit, I’ve had several people with a variation of it in my life, and part of this comic is a re-elaboration of what I and other people have gone through in a (not always) exaggerated way, and fictionalization. When I was in a very different mental place, I used to refer to this comic as my “self-therapy”. Just an example can be found in (planned) book 4, which will be an hypothesis of therapy for someone with serious suicidal thoughts. Never will the comic be about “complete healing!”, because that’s not something I believe in, however it will be used to experiment, and hope a bit for a better, if bittersweet, vision of life. As I got into doing the comic, some themes became more important than others because I felt more bound to them, and usually I do more research on those now. Academic paper reading, people who live them in first person experiences (through documentaries, autobiographies, or youtube videos), or even personal experiences are all sources I draw from in comic planning. This being said, I should either choose shorter stories or simpler subjects for my next comic. But will I? Who knows. Thank you for reading so far!

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witchesoz · 3 years ago

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After Oz: Oz Squad

The Oz Squad is a comic that run in the 90s, written by Steven Ahlquist. Its main purpose was to update the characters of Baum works for a “more adult audience”.

I usually don’t like these pieces of work. These “dark”, “gritty”, “edgy” adaptations of Oz that try to modernize it and darken it. I usually don’t like them because they are poorly done, often include too much sex than necessary, and often aren’t faithful at all to any sort of Oz lore and merely use vague references. But this comic book actually started in a fascinating way. It manages to darken AND modernize the Oz lore perfectly, with a very strong basis.

In this story, Oz and Earth are now linked together. While people from Earth don’t go on Oz, they know of its existence and now all the stories about Oz are true, while members of Oz can actually go on Earth whenever they went. But as a result, all sorts of threats arose from both of the worlds, and Dorothy Gale with her faithful friends formed a special task force named the “Gale Squad” that is supposed to treat with all the Oz-related threats and crimes.

As I said, this is actually a strong and fresh basis, that plays out very well in the beginning. There is barely any sexuality, no an excess of blood and gore, and most of the “moral darkness” of this setting is actually explained by the fact that our world has a deep, profond, complex morality that clashes violently with the mindset of Oz where everything is black or white, good or wicked. Thus, the Ozian people that come to Earth always end up changed in a way or another.

This idea is actually the core idea of this work (well, was) and is also this comic’s greatest strenght. The comic studies the clash and oppositions between our world and the Ozian one, and how they would influence and change each other - which results in philosophy, morality and politics.

One thing this comic book does (that usually the other “dark edgy” adaptations don’t do) is that it keeps the world of Oz identical to the writings of Baum. It is still a marvelous and peaceful place filled with wonders and magic, that still has the same struggles and ways of life than in the books (well… almost. I’ll talk about it later). The darkness and the “edgy” doesn’t come so much from a re-invention of Oz than from the confrontation of Oz and our world.

[ I said there was “barely” any sex. Usually there is no mention of sexuality, except for one moment - a sex joke with “rewinding” Tik-Tok. This was a really weird and out-of-style moment that seemed both ridiculous and childish, so I have to mention this as a flaw. But usually it doesn’t go that far.]

As far as the Ozian lore used… at first I thought the comic would stick only to the book lore (we see Tik-Tok, the Magic Belt, Ozma, Jack Pumpkinhead…), however there are also elements that strongly hint at the movie-lore (the Eastern Witch being associated with red and rubies, the winged monkeys being servants of the wicked witch of their own free will…). But, later in the comic book, some weird decisions appeared. It is now the Witch of the East, and not the one of the West, that melts when entering in contact with water. Mombi is the Witch of the West. Smith and Tinkers are alive and living in Oz, not lost in paintings or on the moon. Such little details that make me wonder if the author wanted to re-invent the Ozian lore, or if he made mistakes based on a poor knowledge of Oz.

It is so difficult to see that because, otherwise, the author actually does a wonderful job at freshening and reinventing the Oz lore. For example, the idea that “no one can die in Oz” is taken back and reinterpreted as “Ozians have the natural ability to heal at an extremely fast rate and grow back organs”. The backstory about the Tinman’s origin is also quite fresh. The idea that Dorothy brought to life the Scarecrow with the Silver Slippers is a not-so-well-known idea that is however present ever since the Baum stage adaptations. And I love the take on the four cardinal Witches, this idea that they are an “institution” much older than any form of monarchy or ruling in Oz, and thus that, as a whole, they can allow themselves to be above moral considerations, because before being “good” or “wicked” they are, in the end, all Witches. A fascinating idea (and quite similar to my personal headcanons and ideas, so of course that will please me).

There is actually a big focus on the past of Oz, thanks to a time-travelling machine, and it seems all good… until the series ends abruptly without explaining everything. Another element that wasted a bit the potential of this story was… the lack of focus.

Indeed, the further you go in the comics, the further the author goes away from Oz and starts using the characters to tell unrelated, weird stories (I even wondered several times if I was supposed to know the reference to these stories, or if it was a nod to another comic or book). For exemple, the Scarecrows ends up meeting Leonardo da Vinci and Joan d’Arc at the same time as vampires and werewolves. Or Dorothy ends up for a time in a Far West town and become sheriff. And that’s not speaking about the “Special” that includes the murder of president Kennedy, the MIB and Baba-Yaga. So many stories that don’t feel like Oz at all, and actually don’t even look like the first arcs of the comic, to the point you wonder if there is some problem somewhere, or issues missing. Which is also as many pages wasted, when they could have told us more about these stories and mysteries hinted throughout the chapters.

Another thing I don’t particularly like (and which is a flaw I find often in Oz-related works) is the inclusion of other pieces of fiction. For example, in this comic we talk of Liliput and the Baron Munchaunsen. I generally dislike to see a mix of so many “outside” elements with Oz, when the Oz world has already enough worlds, lands and characters to explore on its own.

But as I said, this comic also has a lot of qualities. For example, while it focuses a lot on technology and robotics, it never goes into a full sci-fi and stays in the “magical technology” mindset of the Oz books. Similarly, while it presents a lot of politic talks and spying plots, it is treated on an equal foot, and as a whole, with the fantasy and the magical material. A lot of qualities unfortunately drowned or othershadowed by other flaws, mostly due to the author apparently not knowing when restraining his creative flow, or not realizing when something may be of bad taste.

I’ll end with the biggest “WTF” moment for me: there were nazis in Oz. Apparently, after WW2, some nazis managed to enter Oz and recreated the war there. Including the concentration camps. Yep.

It is merely alluded through flashbacks and scenes but… I mean, that is really poor and bad taste. If yet it had been a more subtle reference, if it had been disguised or diluted but… no, straight nazis.

#oz #review #opinion #after oz #oz squad #comic book

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years ago

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CSI: Rogers and Barnes- The Serious Cereal Serial Killer

Episode 1- Walk of Shame

Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Episode Summary: Someone’s dead. Bucky has some plums and despairs at Steve’s choice of breakfast. They go to DC to try and convince Katie to come back and help with the case but she aint having it…coz she hates Steve’s guts… Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. Dark Comedy themes basically CSI:NY + Brooklyn 99 = CSI: Steeb.

Episode Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark (yeah she still doesn’t like him this Episode…)

Song for Episode: Let Her Go by Passenger

A/N: Contains Avengers and Stark Spangled Banner Easter Eggs and jokes. You don’t need to have read that series to understand or enjoy this, but we’ve used the Universe to spin this off from.

Also, our knowledge of American Policing and Brooklyn is limited, so bear with us if we slip up, but at the end of the day this is a fiction so we’ll claim any mistakes as creative license!!

PLEASE REBLOG and COMMENT!

Tags are open.

CSI Rogers and Barnes Master List

Main Masterlist

Steve turned the key in the lock of his apartment, stepped inside and closed the door behind him as slowly and quietly as possible so as not to wake up Bucky. It was still quite early, he had been on the usual morning run with Sam, something that the men did daily during the week unless work cases got in the way. He walked through the hallway and tossed his keys on the kitchen counter before grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. He practically drained it in one before he set a fresh pot of coffee to brew and then headed for the shower. He stopped on his way down the corridor as he saw the door to the spare bedroom, now Bucky’s, was wide open. Steve peered into the bedroom but there was no trace of Bucky and his bed was perfectly made, cushions in place. He sighed and went into his own bedroom, taking off his clothes and trainers and heading into the en-suite. He turned on the shower and stepped under the warm spray, tilting his head to greet the water as it cascaded down on him.

Bucky had returned from an undercover mission in Russia almost 7 months ago and had immediately taken possession of the spare room in Steve’s apartment. What had started as a favour to a friend who had returned from a long term mission overseas and was trying now to re-settle in New York, had turned into Steve seemingly permanently (and reluctantly for that matter) sharing his flat with his lead Sergeant and sometimes annoying friend. Their personalities were as opposed as day and night, but there was a bond between them that went back to their teenage years and both secretly hoped it would last till the end of the line.

Rinsing off his hair he turned off the shower and stepped out. He gave his hair a quick rub over and then, wrapping a towel round his waist he headed into the bedroom and over to the dresser which stood against the wall by the foot of his bed. His eyes fell to the framed photo on the top of it and he blew out a little huff as 2 laughing faces greeted him back. It was a photo of him and Katie, a selfie that she had snapped whilst they had been in Central Park. Katie had positioned them to get a squirrel in the back ground and it had worked. Just as Katie had pushed the button the squirrel had looked directly at the camera from behind them and it had sent the pair of them into a fit of laugher. Up until Bucky moving in, this photo had been in his living room by the stereo. But now it stayed in the private of his room. He couldn’t bring himself to place it in a drawer.

He dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white t-shirt, before grabbing his electric razor to sort his facial hair out, ensuring his once again present (albeit shorter than before) beard was clean, crisp and defined. Once he had finished the rest of his morning routine he made his way to the kitchen and poured himself freshly brewed coffee into his favoured breakfast mug, one that was adored with the words “O Captain! My Captain!” a quote from the poem by Walt Whitman as read by Robin Williams in “Dead Poet Society” one of his favourite films. It had been a joke gift from Katie when he had gotten his promotion, just another reminder of how good their friendship used to be. He had just grabbed a piece of left over pizza from the fridge when the front door open and he heard Bucky taking off his shoes as he muttered something under his breath. When Bucky entered the kitchen Steve was leaning on the kitchen counter sipping from his mug and looking at his friend from under his long eyelashes.

“That your breakfast?“ Steve asked nodding towards a brown paper bag Bucky was sporting.

"Yup. That yours?” he answered looking at the pizza in Steve’s hand Steve shrugged. “Man, have a plum instead” Bucky offered.

"No, thanks.“ Steve refused curtly.

"You know breakfast is the most important meal of the day, don’t you?” Bucky quipped, biting into a plum. “That nutrition program you took years ago clearly didn’t teach you shit” he snorted.

“You’re hilarious" Steve deadpanned. “Where did you sleep last night? Or should that be with WHOM did you sleep last night?” Steve was asking both out of curiosity and as a way to distract attention from his eating habits. “What’s the dame’s name this time? That’s if you even bothered to ask.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve drained his mug. “Name’s Alex seeing as you’re that interested, granddad.” Bucky informed. Steve merely arched an eyebrow and shoved his now empty mug in the dishwasher.

“I’m impressed” Steve said, walking out of the kitchen and heading to the living room “Have you remembered what Miss Friday was called yet?” “Maybe I always knew full well but didn’t want to tell you as you’re a judgemental dick.” Bucky shot back, following him into the living room “Just because you’re not getting any.”

Steve snorted and shook his head “I really don’t care about the fact you seem to be working your way through the entire female population of New York…” “Admit it, you’re backed up.” Bucky said, looking at him and Steve rolled his eyes. “When was the last time you got any?”

Steve really wasn’t prepared to divulge that. It had been Christmas time, with Katie…7 months ago. And he had no desire to tell Bucky. Instead, he ignored him and looked at his watch.

“We’re leaving in five” Steve said “Get ready Punk.”

"I am ready, jerk" Bucky replied gesturing to his outfit.

“You’re seriously gonna got to work wearing the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?“ Steve looked at him with an expression of disgust on his face. "Talk about the walk of shame.”

“Well, yesterday was my day off so nobody at the station will know what the hell I was wearing" Bucky replied with a wide playful smile.

"Whatever.“ Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while saying "Take your weapon and your badge and let’s go, it’s getting late.”

“Aye, Aye Captain” Bucky said miming a salute.

********

“Captain Rogers” greeted the security guard at the door of the station. “Sergeant Barnes.”

“Good morning, Heimdall” Steve greeted back while Bucky acknowledged the man with a nod of his head.

As the pair headed for the floor where the Investigation Unit of the 101st was located, Bucky pulled out his phone and started typing.

“Texting her?” Steve asked looking down at Bucky’s phone.

“Who’s her?” Bucky replied.

“Jeez, Buck, the girl you spent last night with. Alex, was it?” Steve scoffed.

“Oh.., nah.” he said with a frown “What would I?” he continued. “And you can say bang, Steve. You’re not a medieval bard” a mischievous smile now spreading on his face.

“Bucky, I swear to God one day….” Steve started to say but was interrupted by the melodious voice of Wanda as he got out of the elevator, Bucky following him cackling.

“Good morning, Steve.” Wanda said “Coffee?” she asked looking at him with doe eyes.

“No thanks, Wanda. Already had breakfast” he replied while Bucky muttered “If that’s what you call it”. Steve turned to give an icy look to Bucky who retreated to his desk.

“I’ve left the reports you asked for yesterday on your desk.” Wanda informed him. “Would that be all?”

“Thanks, Wanda.” he said before ordering “Assemble the team in the briefing room in fifteen.” and he walked towards where Natasha was scrolling through her phone and Clint was sat on his chair, his feet on the desk throwing a baseball against the nearby wall.

“Morning Romanoff” Steve said. Natasha lifted her eyes from the phone and acknowledged him.

“Rogers.”. She might seem to be engrossed on whatever she was doing with her phone but Steve knew she never missed a trick.

“Barton” the Captain raised his voice “You break something, you’re paying for it. We’re on a tight budget.” and with that he entered his office and shut the door behind him, something that was unusual for their Captain. His door normally remained open unless the conversation was private or he was pissed off.

As there was no one else in there with him, it was clearly the latter.

“He needs to get laid.” Clint said, turning back to Natasha, resuming his bouncing of his baseball again. Bucky let out a snort.

“He sure does” replied Natasha who suddenly threw her phone on her desk and got up to make her way towards Wanda’s counter.

“You should ask him out on a date” she whispered to Wanda leaning over her desk.

“Wh… What are you talking about” Wanda stuttered while closing the book she was reading and feeling the heat spread through her neck up to her cheeks.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him” Natasha added with a half-smile.

“That obvious” Wanda enquired covering her cheeks, which were now deep red, with her hands showing Natasha her chipped black nail polish. Bucky watched the exchange with a slight smirk.

Natasha only shrugged and retorted “Well, you should find the courage to do it in that witchery book you’re reading” she said pointing to the paperback with a movement of her head. “Scarlett Witch”.

Bucky picked up the phone, there was a message on his desk to call Stark about some evidence on a case, turning away to allow Wanda to get over her embarrassment. He heard the voice of Deputy Commissioner Fury and turned to watch as he greeted Natasha and Wanda.

"Good morning, ladies.“

“Good morning Sir…” They both said in unison as her swept past them heading towards Steve’s office. He rapped on the door and didn’t wait for an answer before he swung it open, causing Steve to glance up slightly puzzled. His team knew to wait for him to call them in before entering if his door was closed. At seeing his boss he immediately stood.

“Sir.”

“At ease Captain” The deputy commissioner spoke, waving his hand. Steve gestured for him to take the seat opposite his desk.

“You hear with a mission?”

“You could say that.” Fury said, “Get Barnes in here and close the door. This one’s sensitive.”

“Sir…” Steve frowned slightly and stood up, heading out into the main office.

“Buck…”

Bucky was by this point on the phone, leaning back in his chair feet on his desk. He looked at Steve, nodding to acknowledge him, holding his hand up, finger on his right hand extended instructing Steve to keep quiet.

“That’s great Stark!” he paused, “So it’s definitely a match…excellent, yeah…sure…thanks…”

He placed the phone down “Science Bros got a match on the bullet from the mini-mart robbery. Matches the gun Simon Cranston had in his possession when we brought him in. We got him bang to rights!”

“Good, listen, Buck…Fury’s here. Says he has a case but it’s sensitive…” Understanding immediately Bucky stood up. He smoothed down his blue and white button down and followed Steve into his office, closing the door behind him.

“We have a situation.” Fury said. “Body, found by a dog walker early hours of this morning. Early shift called it in.”

“Ok, well we’ve not held briefing yet…” Bucky said, trailing off as he saw the frown on Steve’s face.

“What is it sir?” “Technically it’s the 99s patch…” Fury said, “But as soon as Peralta realised who it was he called Holt who in turn called me. This is one for the 101st.”

“Why?” Steve asked, frowning.

“It’s Senator Ross.” Fury said, looking at him.

“Shit.” Steve sighed

“I’m not gonna lie Steve, as much as I admire and like Holt, your unit is more geared up for this and the 99 are currently swamped on a drugs case any way so…” Fury shrugged.

“Right, I’ll get the team onto it right away.”

“Odinson and his team are currently manning the scene, I had them take over from Holt’s guys as soon as I found out.” Fury nodded “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that we need absolute discretion about this, at least for the time being. I’ll liaise with the top brass and Capitol Hill. Once we know what we’re dealing with we can discuss how we handle the press. For now, keep them away.” “Sir.” Steve agreed.

“I trust you can take it from here?”

Steve nodded and watched as his boss left before he turned to Bucky. “Get Romanoff and Barton down there now, and then get onto Wilson and Stark. I’ll call Holt, find out the details and sort out taking over. Then we’ll head down there.”

“Sure.” Bucky said, heading out into the office, closing the door behind him.

Steve paused for a second, before he picked up the phone sighing. A murder always attracted attention but when it was a public figure that interest was going to be relentless.

*****

It was almost ten when Steve pulled his car to a stop near Greenway Terrace in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Bucky got out of the car closing the door behind him and put his phone in the back pocket of his black jeans and waited for Steve to reach his side before they both started walking towards the tightly secured area.

They approached Thor who was standing by the Scene Crime Do Not Cross yellow tape ordering to one of his immediate subordinates to remove unnecessary individuals from the scene and keep the tourists and the press as far away as possible. It was a bright July morning and this part of the park offered the tourists, and the public in general, a beautiful shady sitting area with stunning views to New York Harbor.

Once they exchanged a few words with Thor who assured them he would keep the press at bay, they ducked under the tape and headed to the area where Detectives Romanoff and Barton were examining the surroundings of the crime scene.

"Romanoff, Barton. What do we got?” Bucky heard Steve ask the pair of detectives.

He was looking around trying to get used to the scene before him. He had spent the last years mostly doing undercover work, gathering intel, bringing down drugs or arms dealers and smugglers so, it had been a while since he had been in a presumed murder scene.

“We’re sweeping the area for casings or slugs.” Natasha said.

“Nothing, Cap, according to Wilson there’s no gunshot wound, so…” Clint added.

“Footprints? Vehicle tracks?” Steve enquired.

“No vehicle tracks. And seeing as this is a granite terrace no chance of footprints either.” Clint replied. “We are searching the area for some mud or dirt marks though."

Steve nodded, analysing the information his detectives had delivered, his hands perched on his belt. "Any indications that the crime may have occurred somewhere else?"

“Nope.” Natasha said “But we won’t know for certain until forensics finish.”

"All right. I want you two to investigate the surrounding neighbourhood. This took place presumably last night and there’s this hill over there that separates the area from Furman Street, so it is unlikely that we find any witnesses.” Steve elaborated.

“Got it Cap…” Clint said. “We’ll talk to the neighbours. See if anybody has seen anything suspicious.”

“Romanoff…” Steve started to say before Natasha cut in.

“We’ll visit the surrounding shops and businesses to check surveillance footage. I know the drill , Rogers.” to which Steve couldn’t help but smile.

“Ok. See you at the station when you’re done.” Steve dismissed them and looked at Bucky who was watching as the forensics assistants were taking photos of the crime scene and the corpse from every angle possible.

“Ready to see what Ross has to say?” Steve asked Bucky as he began to walk towards Sam Wilson, the unit Pathologist and Tony Stark, lead forensic who was gathering evidence.

“Didn’t know you were one for black humour, punk” Bucky replied suppressing a laugh.

“Wilson?” Steve greeted Sam. “What do you have?”

“Hi, Rogers. You prefer the cause or the manner?” Sam shot back.

“Is the order relevant?” Steve asked smiling at Sam’s playful ways.

“Not in this case.” Sam said.

“What about the time of death?” Bucky asked.

Sam pondered about it for a few seconds before replying “I estimate it between three and five a.m.”

“What? Two hours span? Couldn’t you be more specific?” Bucky said surprised by Wilson answer.

“Where did you get this guy, Rogers?” Tony entered the exchange. “Do you want the exact hour and minute? That’s impossible unless you were here with a stopwatch!"

"Stark.” Sam tried to shut Tony.

“All right. Call it, Wilson” Tony said with a sigh but glaring at Bucky.

“Well, based on the corpse temperature and his body mass and taking into account muscle stiffening and blood setting, I could give you from three to four thirty in the morning, but we’ll have to wait until I’ve opened him up to be more accurate.” Sam elaborated.

“The guy is as pale as a ghost” Bucky tried to say something meaningful.

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s called palor in scientific jargon.” Tony quipped visibly annoyed at Bucky’s presence.

“That’s enough!” Steve raised his voice. “Wilson, please, continue.”

“All right. So, it looks like he was killed here. There’s enough blood on the ground and no sign that he was moved after the killing took place…the murderer knocked him down first, nasty wound on the back of the head and he took a bit of a beating too. Lots of bruising to his face.” Sam explained.

“Quite a violent MO. Rage…” Steve mused.

“Yeah. If the cereal didn’t choke him to death, the blunt force trauma did it.” Sam said looking down at the corpse. “But again, I’ll know more when…”

“Hang on, what do you mean? What cereal?” Steve cut him off while sharing a surprised look with Bucky.

“I pulled this out of his throat with a pair of tweezers.” Tony said to Steve showing him an evidence bag with what looked like some sort of breakfast cereal.

“Are those Puffed Rice?” Bucky asked gaining a glare from Tony. Sam and Steve looked at him at the same time.

“That’s one hell of an odd calling card.” Steve whispered gazing past the other men into the river front. “What kind of message is cereal conveying?”

“Well, I think that…” Bucky was beginning to say but was interrupted by a raging Tony.

“Barnes, would you shut up? We’re trying to work here and your presence is disturbing enough without your silly comments.”

Steve wanted to warn Tony about his remarks but things were a bit rocky between them after what had happened at the Commendation party, so he let it be.

“Thanks, Wilson. Let me know when you’re ready to do the PM.” Steve said. He always liked to attend the Post Mortems in person, if possible. It was easier to ask questions and understand as Sam worked.

“Yeah, well, cut the cheque.” Sam replied.

Steve smiled at the pathologist, who was waiting for Judge Hill’s order to remove the body and take it to the morgue, and waved both men goodbye as he ordered Bucky to follow him with a movement of his head.

“What do you think?” Steve asked him

“Well before Stark jumped in, and by the way that guy has a stick up his ass, I was about to say I think we need a profiler” Bucky replied while both men walked their way back to the car.

Steve was quiet for a minute before saying “I know someone."

Bucky had noticed Steve hesitation before speaking and was about to ask him who he was talking about but was interrupted by Steve’s phone ringing. So he waited patiently leaning on the car door while Steve got the call. He was scrolling through his own messages when Steve came back with a serious demeanour.

"We’re stopping at Police Plaza. It was Pierce, he wants to meet me at headquarters.”

*******

Bucky headed into the coffee shop over the road whilst Steve was waved up to Pierce’s office.

“Captain Rogers…” Pierce greeted him. “I’m sure you can guess what this is about.” “Ross.” Steve nodded, taking a seat as Pierce nodded.

“Ross and I were at University together.” Pierce said, “So this…well, it’s kind of personal for me.” “I’m sorry to hear that sir.” Steve nodded.

“So, I want to be kept in the loop on this one. Normally I don’t take an interest in every body we find, I can’t but…”

“I understand.” Steve assured the Commissioner.

“So, do we have a cause of death?”

“Well…” Steve scratched at his chin “We won’t know for sure until we can do the Post Mortum, which hopefully will be later today but…well, it’s odd. It was either a blow to the head or cereal.”

“Cereal?” Pierce blinked.

“Yes, Forensics recovered a quantity of the stuff in his throat. But like I say, we won’t know for sure until Dr Wilson has done his job.” Pierce sighed. “Who uses Cereal as a murder weapon?” “Well, on that…” Steve sighed. “I think we could do with a profiler.”

“Whatever you need.” Pierce said, “I’ll pull some strings, get you someone from the FBI, anything.” “With all due respect Sir…” Steve looked at him “I’d rather bring in a profiler who’s in the force…and I know just the person. But I’d like the chance to speak to them first. They won’t feel happy about simply being forced into this if that makes sense.” “I really don’t care if they’re happy or not.” Pierce said, his jaw twitching “I want the A- team on this, Rogers, no matter what.” “Absolutely, and you have my word. If they don’t agree I’ll call, then you can pull whatever strings you need.”

“Who do you have in mind?” Pierce looked at him. They continued to talk, Pierce promising to make budget available for all the overtime he needed before he headed down in the elevator, leaning back against the wall. Working a murder was always stressful as you were under so much pressure to bring the perp to justice, but with Pierce now being personally interested, the pressure was going to double. He stepped out of the cool air conditioned lobby of HQ and called Fury to run his idea passed him. Fury gave him the green light and with that he crossed the road, finding Bucky was on the phone.

“I don’t believe in co-incidences Romanoff.” he said, nodding to Steve “It could be nothing but just keep an open mind…” Steve gestured to the phone and Bucky handed it over.

“Romanoff, its Rogers.” he said,

“Hey Cap.” “Listen, I need to head out of town with Sergeant Barnes for the evening, related to this case. We’re bringing in a profiler and I need to speak to them in person. Can you liaise with Wilson and ensure either your or Clint, or both are at the PM. Usual stuff…” “Sure.” there was a pause “Who’s the profiler, anyone we know?” There was a lilt to her voice that told Steve she knew exactly who he had in mind.

“Dismissed” he said simply, ending the call and tossing the phone back to Bucky. “What’ the coincidence?”

“Oh, erm… Ross’s real name is Paul Thaddeus Ross, he uses his middle name.” “So?” “PR…his initials, same as the cereal…puffed rice.” “That’s a bit tentative Buck” Steve said. “But good spot, we’ll bear it in mind.”

“So, you taking me on a trip?” Bucky looked at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah.

“Anywhere nice?”

“DC.” Steve looked at him “The profiler I told you about. She lives there.” “She…oh, you’re talking about Stark…the little one?” Bucky said with a slight sigh. “You want me to drive with you to DC, to convince the woman that hates your guts to come back and work for you?” “Pretty much, yeah.” Steve nodded. “Why her man? You could bring in any profiler…” “Because she knows the team.” Steve said, “I explained this to Pierce. Getting that lot to trust an outsider to the force will be hard work and I don’t have time for Natasha pulling her grin of death shit. Profilers who are actually still active officers within the Police Service are a rare commodity and, well frankly Buck, she’s one of the best in the business.” “And you let her go…” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t going to stand in the way of her taking an opportunity that was, frankly, too good to refuse.” Steve sighed. “Right.” Bucky said “and that’s all there was to it?” “Yup” Steve held his gaze as best he could. “You’re a shit liar.” Bucky grumbled, standing up “I take it we get an overnighter?” Steve smiled, knowing that was Bucky’s way of agreeing to come with him. “Yeah, we’ll stay tonight. If we leave within the hour we should be there for just before 6pm.” Steve said, checking his watch. “You’re the boss…” Bucky said, standing up “We best go grab a bag.”

Less than 30 minutes later the 2 of them were making their way out of Brooklyn, the address of the SHIELD unit building programmed into the GPS.

"So how you gonna play this?” Bucky asked, lounging back in the passenger seat of Steve’s Audi Q5. It made Bucky laugh how Steve’s newest purchase, the sleek steel grey Audi held every gadget and extra he could ever need and then some. Steve lived quite a frugal lifestyle. He had nice things, his apartment was furnished well, his clothes were a mixture of high end high street brands with the odd designer item thrown in, but he never bought what he didn’t need as such. His apartment was a total of 5 rooms including the bedrooms despite the fact he could easily afford a more grandiose place. Bucky knew that it was as a product of growing up without much, his mom had never been well off, and Steve was likely stashing most of his money for a rainy day.

But when it came to cars, Steve Rogers was happy to splurge.

The Captain shifted slightly and bit his bottom lip , his thumb rapping on the top of the steering wheel. "I’m gonna show her the case file. Ask her opinion. See what she makes of it…and hopefully it’s gonna grab her interest enough to make her agree to come back for a while…“ "And if it fails?” Steve hesitated. He looked at Bucky who gave a groan, spotting the look on his face. “You’ll go over her head…man she’s gonna hate you even more then!” “Not sure that’s possible.” Steve sighed

*******

“Steve…” Captain Phil Coulson stood up, greeting him warmly “It’s been a while.” “Indeed it has.” Steve smiled at the man he had worked a case with a few years back, one which saw Thor’s brother, Loki, put away for a very long time. “Almost 3 years I believe.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun huh?” Coulson smiled and Steve reciprocated.

“Sergeant, James Barnes…Captain Phil Coulson.” Steve introduced the two men. “Please, call me Bucky.”

Phil nodded and then gestured to the elevator “Shall we?”

They followed him in, their Visitors badges pinned to their chests

“So, Fury called ahead. You want Stark back?”

“In a nutshell.” Steve nodded “I can’t go into details but…we need a profiler, and this one’s already getting some high up attention. From our Commissioner no less.” “Yeah I won’t lie, I’m not happy about this.” Coulson sighed “She’s working a case on a very big Sex Trafficking ring at the moment so losing her will be a blow…”

“She is only on secondment.” Steve reminded the man “The deal was if we need her back…” “I know” Coulson assured Steve he understood, “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Phil, I wouldn’t be doing this if I had a choice.” Steve said gently.

“That’s right, he wouldn’t. She hates him…” Bucky added. Steve shot him a glare.

Coulson frowned “Really? She’s never had anything but praise for her old team and commanding officer.” Steve felt something in his chest warm slightly.

“But of course, that could just be professional courtesy.” Coulson finished.

The warmth disappeared.

The elevator stopped and they stepped out into a large, modern, open planned office. Coulson led them through the throngs of desks, towards the right side of the room. Steve heard her before he saw her.

“I really don’t give a shit…” she was saying, her tone exasperated “This is a big chance for us to nail this guy. So you tell Sergeant Jones his men are needed…and don’t make me go to Coulson…”

As they approached her desk Steve saw her slam the phone down and rub her hands over her face and he could already smell her day perfume- Daisy By Marc Jacobs. A light, woody fragrance yet fresh and feminine at the same time. Whenever he caught the smell of it on anyone else he instantly thought of her. It was alluring, comforting…

Her head raised, her green eyes locked onto his and she shook her head. “You have got to be shitting me…” she spluttered out.

“Sergeant…” Coulson looked at her, “Really?”

“Sorry Sir, I’m just…surprised, shall we say, to see Captain Rogers. And Sergeant Barnes.” her tone was even but her eyes were flashing dangerously.

“Strictly business…” Steve held his hands up “Got a case I need your help on.”

“Out of all the profilers…you need me?”

“He says you’re the best.” Bucky jumped in. At that her face softened somewhat and she gave a sigh and turned to her boss.

“Can we use the briefing room?”

Coulson nodded “I’ll get Jackson to book it out for you.” “Thanks.” she said, moving her chair back. She stood up and Steve took her in, dressed as always for work, a button down (light pink this time) the top few buttons undone revealing a navy blue vest top coupled with black jeans and tan knee high boots. “Gentlemen…” She motioned for them to follow her and they headed into the large room at the back. She closed the door and perched on the desk at the front and looked at Steve expectantly. “So what made you drive 4 hours over here to hear me tell you to fuck off instead of merely picking up the phone?” “This.” Steve said, handing her his phone after he pulled up the photos he’d had Tony email him.

“Holy shit…” she mumbled “Ross? He’s dead?”

Steve nodded “Commissioner Pierce is taking a personal interest on this, and given the odd calling card left, I’ve got a feeling this isn’t going to be the last body that turns up.” She looked at him, the pair of them sharing an understanding. Unless it was gang related, it was unusual for a calling card to be left by a onetime killer.

“Keep going…” Steve said, as she swiped across his screen. He watched as her mouth dropped open as she squinted at the screen, before looking at Steve, then Bucky, then back to the photo.

“Is that…puffed rice?” she asked.

“You got it.” Bucky nodded “But we won’t know if that’s what killed him until Wilson’s done the PM.” “Death by Cereal…” she snorted “A Cereal Serial killer…”

Despite himself, Steve felt his mouth curl up in a smile “I was hoping it would grab your attention.”

Katie bit the inside of her cheek “I’ve never seen anything like this before.” “Why cereal?” Bucky looked at her.

She scratched her head “Ok, so this is purely supposition, but when I was training to become a profiler, there was a case study about a killer in Minnesota. He was leaving Caviar in the mouths of his victims. They were upper class bankers and dealers, he was targeting them because he blamed them for his business going bankrupt. It was kind of a taunt really…” she bit her lip “But Cereal is something that’s so widely available, it can’t be that…maybe it’s the opposite. Look how dangerous something that you can see or take for granted every day can be…”

Bucky looked at Steve, and had to smile at the way the Captain was looking at the woman opposite him, his expression soft, almost proud.

“You said she was good Steve…” he said and Steve turned to him, giving him a smile. Katie held out his phone and he took it, his fingers brushing her slightly and she pulled her hand back immediately, a pink flush rising to her cheeks as she looked down at her legs which were swinging to and fro as she sat on the desk.

“So what do you say?” Steve asked softly

“I can’t.” she said after a pause.

“Katie…” “No, Steve.” she looked at him “I left Brooklyn to do a job here, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Pull someone in from the Bureau.”

“I don’t want someone from the Bureau.” Steve said “I need someone on this we can trust, someone that knows the team, someone that can get their hands dirty…”

She sighed and looked up at him, and he didn’t miss the flash of sadness across her face “The days of me jumping to your tune are over.” she said with a shrug “Sorry, you’ve had a wasted journey but no is my final answer. Good luck.” With that she hopped off the desk and left the room without looking back.

“Well that went well.” Bucky said, “I could say I told you so but…” “Don’t” Steve practically growled, his hands on the buckle of his belt. “Looks like I’m gonna have to do this the hard way.”

“Yeah she’s gonna have your balls for earrings.” Bucky turned to him. “Now I don’t know about you but I think we should check in with Romanoff about the PM and then go get a drink.” ***** “So you’re alive then?” Katie’s voice hit Steve’s ears as she shut the office door behind her. “Just ghosting me.”

“I’m not…” he started to protest but knew it was useless, she’d hit the nail on the head. He had been avoiding her. Completely.

“Why Steve?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears “I thought…I thought it meant something to you, that I meant something to you…” “Sweetheart…” he sighed, walking out from his desk towards her “It did, you do, I just…” “You just what?” she looked up at him. “I wake up, and you’re gone…didn’t even stay for breakfast… and then you ignore me for 3 days?”

“I shouldn’t have let it get as far as it did.” he sighed.

“So you regret it?” “No, it’s not that…” he sighed “Katie, I’m your boss…this…us…” he waved his hand between them “it can’t happen.” “It’s a bit late for that…” Katie shook her head, the tears in her eyes were now replaced with a blazing fire, one that he knew only too well and he inwardly cringed at the verbal attack he was about to receive. Only it never came. Instead her voice remained level as she raised her chin to look at him straight on “You know, you pretend to be this moral guy, when all along you’re no different to the rest of them. You got what you wanted and now you’re not interested.” “Katie, that’s not what it was.” he sighed “I care about you, everything I said that night was true but…” “I’m gonna take that job in DC.” she said, cutting him off.

Steve sighed “There’s plenty of time to think about that. Don’t do anything rash…” “Well then give me a reason to stay.” she whispered, pleading with him as she stepped forward. “Steve, we could have something so good if you just give it a chance.” Steve’s hands fell to her hips, an automatic response, before he moved back, shaking his head. And that was the moment he saw her break. The disappointment in her eyes killed him and he couldn’t look at her anymore.

“I can’t.” he said, turning away.

She didn’t speak another word. Instead she turned and left, not even slamming the door behind her.

“The next day I signed the paper work to authorise the 2 year secondment.” Steve said, his fingers sliding across the label on the bottle of beer in front of him as he sat in the bar opposite the hotel with Bucky, finishing his explanation “She left at the weekend without speaking so much as another word to me, said her goodbyes to the team when she knew I wouldn’t be there.”

“You didn’t even try and fight for her?” Bucky looked at him, shaking his head “Man, what the actual fuck?” “Can you imagine the shit storm it would cause?” Steve sighed “One of us would have had to move units, and that would have been her, not me.” “Dude, you could have worked through that!” Bucky said “She was coming to DC, it’s not that far away. You could have seen each other at weekends, or in your free time…” “Maybe.” Steve sighed. If truth be told he’d thought about that a lot after she left. Thought about calling her and seeing if they could work it out, but the longer he left it the harder it got. And she ignored all the calls and texts he had sent her anyway. “It’s too late now.” he shook his head. “Do you love her?” Bucky looked at him. Steve hesitated for a second, considering the question. It was an easy answer in the end.

“I think in a way I always have.” Steve shrugged “As a friend anyway…”

“That’s not what I asked.” Bucky said simply.

Steve looked at him and sighed “Don’t make me say it Buck, please.”

That was all the confirmation Bucky needed. He shook his head and looked at his friend “You’re an idiot.” “I know.”

“How are you gonna feel when she comes back?” “Same as I always feel when she’s around.” Steve drained his bottle “Like that scrawny assed punk from Brooklyn that was always getting his ass kicked.”

“Well, just like old times then…” Bucky said, knocking back the rest of his drink before he clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder “I got ya back pal, till the end of the line.”

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